Voss's hands were next, pulling at the ribbon in her braid. He untied it in one practiced motion and let her hair fall, then swept his fingers through the golden strands, as if detangling the day's worries. "Too much sugar," he said softly, and then licked one fine line of it from her temple to the shell of her ear.
She made a sound, not quite a protest, not quite surrender.
Victor's mouth followed the path Voss had cleared. Where his tongue caught at the sugar, his teeth nipped, careful but possessive. Then he bent and licked her collarbone clean, each pass hot and thorough. When her knees bent under the heat, Ivan caught her from behind, arms hard as a vise around her waist.
"You are not getting away," Ivan breathed.
She did not want to get away.
They washed her with hands and mouths, and all the ways they knew would undo her. Voss hooked a finger under the hem of her panties and dragged it up, inch by inch, exposing the pale skin of her flower.
