Colters' Lady (Colters' Legacy #2)(71)

If Dillon wasn’t holding so tight to her head, she would have torn herself away and screamed her climax. It rolled over her and through her with excruciating force. She flew in about forty directions and lost awareness of everything but her endless release.

She slumped into Dillon, but he held her, his fingers gently stroking over her cheek as his thrusts gentled. She became aware of the two men still driving into her, Seth more urgently than Dillon.

With a guttural shout, Seth came, his fingers dug into her hips as he held her against his throbbing, pulsing cock.

Below her, Dillon stiffened and began thrusting upward, holding her firmly. Warm se**n spilled into her mouth, spurting with each push.

She swallowed rapidly, taking everything he had to give, wanting more as his erection slid over her lips.

Then to her surprise, Michael was back, this time pushing into her swollen pu**y, his erection not as rigid as last time, but still hard and forceful. How could he recover so quickly?

She moaned as Dillon’s c**k slipped from her mouth and once again he cradled her head on his lap, soothing and caressing her face with gentle hands as he waited for Michael to finish.

Michael didn’t last nearly as long this time. He pumped against her without the patience he’d exhibited when he’d f**ked her ass. After several more thrusts, he forced himself deep and held onto her as his body convulsed and his hips spasmed.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to the center of her back before carefully withdrawing.

Dillon immediately pulled her from the arm of the couch and into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She sucked in air, trying to catch her breath after such a volatile ride. She huddled against Dillon as he pressed kisses to the top of her head and smoothed his hands up and down her body in gentle strokes.

After a moment, the dreamy euphoria started to fade and she gained more awareness of her surroundings. The reassuring thud of Dillon’s heartbeat against her ear comforted her. Made her feel safe and secure.

Then she moved, pushing her legs up so that she was snuggled a little closer to Dillon, and she felt warm stickiness between her legs.

Panic raced through her chest, and her pulse ratcheted up, kicking and pounding at her chest. She twisted free of Dillon and reached down, sliding her hand between her legs. Then she brought her hand up to see se**n glistening from her fingers.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “No. No, no, no!”

Chapter Thirty-One

Lily scrambled to her feet, still holding the hand in front of her, unable to look away.

“Lily, honey, what’s wrong?” Seth demanded as he stepped to her.

Dillon bolted from the couch, reaching for his pants.

Her hand shook as she stared dumbly at the moisture, slick on her fingers.

“Did you use a condom?” she demanded in a nearly shrill voice. She turned to Michael. “Did you?”

Oh God, she was going to be ill. Her entire body shook now, and Dillon wrapped his arms around her, trying to pull her close, but she twisted away, her gazed fixed on Seth and Michael.

“Yeah, I did,” Seth said. “Of course, I did. I wouldn’t do that to you, Lily. You said you wanted them.”

“I did too,” Michael said in a strained voice.

“Then what is this?” she asked, thrusting her hand forward.

Seth swore. “One of them must have broken.” He hurried toward the trash can just a few feet away and stared down. Then he gingerly pulled one out and stared back at Lily with regret and apology in his eyes.

“It broke, honey,” he said in a low voice. “One of them broke. I’m sorry.”

She bolted for the bathroom, went inside and locked the door. She turned on the shower, knowing in her heart it didn’t matter, there was nothing she could do now. But still, she climbed into the shower and scrubbed until she was nearly raw, wiping away as much of the se**n as she could.

How could she be sure the birth control was already effective? It was why she’d insisted they wear condoms. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—take the chance. What if it didn’t work?

Oh God, she couldn’t be pregnant. Surely fate wouldn’t be that cruel.

As the water poured over her, she sank to her knees, her tears mixing with the heat and steam. She weakly gathered the washcloth in her hand and scrubbed again in a futile effort to remove the se**n deposited into her body.

She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking as long-held grief and guilt boiled to the surface, exploding outward.

“Lily. Lily!”

“Dear God.”

“Get her out of the shower.”

“Lily, honey, you have to stop. You’re rubbing yourself raw.”

Strong hands gripped her shoulders and another hand gripped her wrist, pulling upward and forcing her to drop the soaked washcloth.

They carried her from the shower. Someone turned off the water, and she was enveloped by warm towels.

She didn’t know who had her, who dried her or who spoke to her. She was lost. Adrift in mind-shattering pain and grief that had been too long locked under a shield of numbness.

They dried her body and her hair. One even dressed her in a loose fitting T-shirt. All the while they spoke in low urgent tones, asking—pleading with her to tell them what was wrong.

“I just want to be alone,” she finally managed in a voice ravaged by tears. “Please,” she whispered. “Just leave me alone for a little while.”