As cosmic rewards go, Kara thinks between gasps, this was pretty frakking good.
She’d thought the Gods had decided to leave her alone these days, but divine intervention surely had a hand in this. She still can’t quite believe it’s happening.
Kara’s had her share of threesomes and moresomes over the centuries, and Matt had told her about some of his own wilder exploits back before he joined the Academy, but the part of her brain that still looks at him and thinks Lee first (and probably always frakking will) can’t quite bend her mind around the fact that he had been the one to suggest this at the bar earlier. Drunk off the success of closing his enormous case thanks to Neal Caffrey’s help—okay, and off a whole lot of top shelf whiskey to boot—he’d leaned over and suggested they bring the devil-tongued art thief on loan from the States’ fed department home with them to continue the party privately.
She remembers the three of them leaving the pub and Matt dragging them all safely out of sight of Ronnie and Alesha, and him backing Neal against the wall and leaning in and kissing him, wet and dirty and with enough tongue that Kara thought she might jump them both right there in the alley if their cab didn’t hurry the frak up. Everything after that’s a bit of a blur.
But now her palms are braced on the cool mirrored wall in their bedroom as Matt thrusts into her from behind, and on his knees in front of her, Neal puts that devilish tongue to good use. He’s been to their apartment plenty of times before, working on the case for months now, but he plays it fairly close to the vest. Kara doesn’t know all that much about the guy, except that he’s drop dead gorgeous, likes the finer things in life, and has an incredible eye for art. And apparently other stuff as well.
Neal laps at her clit, tongue flicking the sensitive nub, and Kara moans, reaching down to fist one hand in his soft dark hair, grinding harder against his mouth. She slides her other hand back and up, fingers cupping the nape of Matt’s neck and bringing him closer too. Matt obligingly presses wet, open-mouthed kisses against her neck and his hands tighten reflexively around her hips, even as he keeps up the relentless rhythm, driving hard and filling her with every stroke. She gasps again, her body arching, and Matt runs a palm up over her clenching muscles to curve around a breast, his thumb rubbing against her nipple the way he knows drives her crazy.
They’ve been together almost nine months now, playing house in London, living a more normal life than Kara ever thought she’d frakking see, and it amazes her still how much she loves it. Loves him too, but that part was always there. His head lifts, blue eyes that are still so familiar after thousands of years catching hers in the mirror, and her brain stutters a little, the way it always does, and Kara thinks fleetingly: Lee would never…
But he is Lee, she reminds herself, just a little bit changed now. A little…more. Sometimes she jokes about him having multiple personality disorder, but he never seems to find that one funny somehow. (Matt’s got a pretty good sense of humor, so that must be Lee talking.)
Suddenly Kara thinks she might have had a little too much whiskey herself, but the thought—and all others—are abandoned when Neal’s mouth slides lower and his hands reach past her thighs, landing somewhere that makes Matt groan, eyes fluttering closed as he leans heavily into her back. He thrusts harder, faster, panting in her ear. Kara’s watching the way Neal’s tongue curls around Matt’s scrotum, flicks up to the base of his cock where it’s buried inside her and just the sight of it pushes her over, her shattering orgasm triggering Matt’s climax too.
Later, when she’s riding Matt and Neal bends her forward, slides into her from behind, Kara just groans, her eyes flicking down to the blue eyes below her then up to the ones reflected over her shoulder in the mirror and thinks: Thank you, Lords.
Sometimes change is a very good thing.