Three is a War(30)

“What do you think?”

“I think…” Cole trails behind me, eyes on Trace. “If you head to St. Louis right now, you’ll be home before bedtime.”

“You have the rest of your miserable life to be a dickhead.” Trace stretches an arm across the back of the couch. “Why not take tonight off?”

Stifling my smile, I head toward the panel for the stereo. “I just want you guys to know that someone finds your insults entertaining. Not me. But someone.”

The sound of their soft laughter releases my grin. I pull up the playlist on the digital screen beside the stereo.

“Christ, I missed you.” Cole leans a shoulder against the wall beside me.

“I’ll be here all night,” I say with a shrug, “chilling on the corner of awesome and brilliant.”

He watches me for a moment, flashing those adorable dimples. “What are you doing?”

“Checking out the music. Looks like you stole my playlist.”

“I might’ve.” He tilts his head. “Choose a song that inspires a red-hot burn.”

“Why?” I drag out the word, infusing it with suspicion.

“I’m about to show your ass how hard I love it.”

A tremble races through me. “You’re going to punish me now?”

“One of the many services I offer.” His eyes glimmer.

Heaven help me, he’s such a flirt, and I’m a total glutton for it. He has the ability to scramble my mind with a cocky smile and set my body on fire with a glance. I could spend days doing nothing but having sex with him in my head. The way he kisses my neck, bites my lips, holds me down, makes me moan, and doesn’t stop until I’m boneless and replete—he’s so damn good in bed I can come just from fantasizing about it. Sometimes I do.

But that’s not why I’m here. While sex is crucial in a relationship, the indescribable way he uses his tongue can’t be the basis for my decision.

I scroll through the song list and select Talking Body by Tove Lo. Then I step back and wait for instruction with a quiver of excitement in my belly.

“Danni.” Trace shifts to the edge of the couch and points at the floor between his legs. “Come here.”

“Are you—?” I stutter and look at Cole. “Is he…? I thought you were doing this?”

If Cole intends to spank me, he’ll do it with my pants off. At least, that’s how he always did it in the past. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions and something else’s going on here?

The only response Cole gives me is a chin lift in Trace’s direction, wordlessly ordering me to cross the room.

I wipe my slick palms on my yoga pants and move my feet. When I reach Trace, I pause in the spread V of his legs and silence the impulse to hug my waist. Then I drag my gaze to his.

“Cross your arms together as high as you can behind you.” He grips my thighs and pulls, forcing me to shuffle closer, until my shins touch the front of the couch.

I fold my arms across my back and clutch my elbows. The uncomfortable position pushes my breasts out and shoulders back, magnifying my blooming nerves.

“Perfect.” Cole steps behind me and gathers my hair, roping the waist-length strands over my shoulder and down my chest.

“Are you going to watch?” I ask Trace in a shaky voice.

“I’m going to restrain you.”

The heat in my face rushes to my core, leaving a shiver in its wake. “Did you plan this? I mean, did you guys talk about how you would choreograph it?”

“We discussed the logistics.” Trace’s cool expression reveals nothing.

I don’t believe for a minute that he’s all right with this arrangement. I’d love to know how that conversation went. On second thought, maybe not, considering it ended with him pulling a gun on Cole.

“Since you’re both going to be here…” My throat scratches, and I cough. “You’re leaving my pants on, right?”

I’m held immobile by Trace’s pale blue eyes, but it’s Cole’s hands on my hips that seize my breaths.

His thumbs hook beneath my waistband, and my shoulders tighten. Then he yanks my pants to the floor, taking my thong with them.

My lungs freeze up, and I lose my grip on my elbows behind me.

“Don’t move your arms.” Trace shoots me a flinty glare and lowers his gaze.

I tremble as he scrutinizes my naked body below the waist. Why do I suddenly feel so insecure? I’m a dancer, totally comfortable in my skin. But dammit, it’s been weeks since I trimmed down there.

“I haven’t shaved.” I shift my weight, squirming with vulnerability. “I didn’t know…I would’ve prepared…” Stop rambling. Idiot.