A Smile as Sweet as Poison by Helena Maeve

cock into her was a far cry from gentle. Hazel gasped, clutching at him with her knees. She would’ve done it with her hands, too, if Dylan didn’t pick that precise moment to take hold of her wrists. He liked her pinned down, she’d noticed.
    So did she.
    Ward set a punishing rhythm, his pendant sliding between her breasts with every rough motion of his hips. The metal seemed to heat from contact with her skin, but even if it ignited spontaneously, it couldn’t possibly match the blaze in Ward’s eyes. He grasped her neck, finding the gap between collar and flesh with his fingertips and settling there, each pulse beat laid bare beneath his touch.
    Hazel felt the frayed ends of her self-control slip away long before Dylan slid a hand down her body and pressed the tips of his fingers to her clit. She tried not to think about the two of them touching while they touched her. She tried not to fuse her focus to the place where all three of them were so intimately connected. It was a lost cause. Orgasm spread outward, from her core all the way to the top of her head, then down again, in greater and greater waves, until Hazel could no longer control her trembling, or the litany of sounds spilling from her lips.
    She felt Ward coming inside her mere seconds later, his final thrusts pushing her hips down and into the mattress.
    Like Dylan, he was mindful not to crush her with his weight. They seemed to think she was fragile, somehow, and Hazel was too spent to contradict them.
    Someone—she thought it might have been Dylan but couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes—brushed a hand through her hair.
    “You okay?”
    “Mm, tired,” she got out.
    “Sleep,” Ward murmured, his body a welcome furnace against her spine. “We’re not going anywhere.”
    As she slid deeper and deeper into the arms of Morpheus, Hazel mused drowsily that he seemed to mean it. Then again, it was no surprise.
    They all thought they did.

Chapter Five
     
     
     
    With Ward and Dylan in the apartment, there was no way Hazel could indulge in her favorite new pastime of surfing porn sites and predominantly loathsome forums. The break had made for a good night’s sleep but by morning Hazel was already feeling the effects of withdrawal.
    “So I know this is presumptuous and out of the blue,” she started. Dylan’s back was turned while he puttered around with bacon and eggs. He was already dressed, back from his morning run before Hazel had even rolled out of bed.
    At least Ward was just as much of a couch potato. He had yet to finish shaving.
    “What’s that?”
    Hazel bit into her toast and, mouth full, asked, “Could I have a key? I was thinking of swinging back in the afternoon, maybe fixing you guys up with some real dinner…” The excuse hardly stood up to scrutiny, but it was the best Hazel could do on short notice.
    Dylan’s white-clad back didn’t give much away. His placid expression was no better help once he shut off the induction cooker and sauntered over to the kitchen island with their breakfast. “You wait on people every day. You don’t have to do that with us.”
    “I know—”
    “We could go out,” Dylan went on, a cheery note in his voice. “I know a great Italian place close by.”
    “Black tie?” Hazel waved a hand, both to dispel her arch tone and dismiss the memory she’d conjured. It was Ward who had picked the restaurant the first and last time they all went out together. It wasn’t fair to hold Dylan responsible for that fractious experience. “Anyway, I can’t. I’ve got the graveyard shift tonight. You and Ward’ll be alone for dinner.”
    “Oh.” Dylan’s face fell as he finished serving the eggs.
    One of her yolks punctured, flooding the wedge of toast.
    “I’ll get you a key, then.”
    “I mean, you don’t have to,” Hazel temporized.
    “It’s a good idea.”
    Her heart did a backflip despite Hazel’s best efforts to keep her expectations low and her feet on the hard, cold ground.