Three is a War(52)

Silence. More tension. Then Cole’s eyes find mine in the review mirror, his lips pinned.

“I call first dibs on the cold shower.” I arch my brow.

He returns his attention to the road and tightens his grip on the wheel.

I need one of those hugs that turns into a primal bang against the wall. I want their hands on me, pulling my hair and wrenching my legs open. I want them to fuck me like they hate me.

It’s physically painful to just sit here, staring at their rigid profiles and breathing in the testosterone saturating the confined space. By the time Cole pulls into the garage, my face is flushed and my thighs are drenched.

Leaping out of the SUV, I dart toward the interior door with thoughts of self-pleasure in a cold shower.

When I step into the kitchen, an arm catches my waist. My feet lose contact with the floor, and I’m tossed over a hard, broad shoulder.

“Cole!” I grip the back of his t-shirt and buck to get free. “What are you doing?”

He carries me through the living room, caressing a hand up the back of my thigh. With my head hanging upside down, I watch his boots fly up the stairs to the hall. Then his fingers sink between my legs, sliding through my wet heat and racing my pulse.

“Jesus, fuck,” he whispers. “You’re soaked.”

I brace my hands on his back and lift, meeting ice blue eyes. “Trace?”

His scowl is deep, but I can’t interpret its meaning. Cole’s fingering my pussy right in front of him, and he’s not stopping it. Instead, he slowly trails behind and unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt with methodical flicks of his fingers.

I narrow my eyes at him, and he narrows his right back. Something shifts there, in the crystalline depths. Something carnal. Tameless.

His expression darkens, and he quickens his gait. Then he strides past Cole and leads the way to the bedroom.





I know things got out of hand on the dance floor. Wild and uncontrolled, we worked ourselves to a feverish pitch. As I hang upside down over Cole’s shoulder, my fingers tingle with the need to touch. A fluttering ache persists in my chest, and there’s another, more demanding heartbeat throbbing between my legs.

But Cole and Trace can’t possibly intend to do anything about it. Not in the ways I fantasized during the ride home.

They don’t share.

Cole carries me into the bedroom and drops me on the bed. I land on my back, and he follows me down. His expression is pure wanton lust, his hands like supercharged static as he pulls on my dress and hikes it up my hips.

I twist, seeking Trace, but he’s already here, falling on me with ferocious caresses and a starving mouth.

“You’re not—” I gasp at the sharp scrape of Cole’s teeth against my butt. “We can’t—”

Trace devours my words, plunging his tongue past my lips and swallowing my air.

I squirm and writhe between them, sawing my legs together, desperate to be fucked while struggling to slam on the brakes.

Cole works my dress over my chest, my head, and off, leaving me completely bare. Then his hands are everywhere, stroking my hips, my thighs, and between my legs while Trace kisses me breathless. Their hot mouths and impatient fingers flood me with warmth and loosen my knees. I want…

We can’t do this. They’ll resent me. They’ll hate each other.

I try to break the kiss, but Trace presses closer, harder, tangling our tongues. I try to wriggle away, but I’m outmatched, overpowered.

Four hands.

Two mouths.

One of me.

Cole moves down my body, licking and nuzzling my hips as he caresses me from chest to toes. When Trace releases my lips to suckle my neck, I find my voice.

“Why are you doing this? You’ll regret—”

Trace grips my throat in an iron fist. “Shut the fuck up.”

His tone, the gravelly heat in his growl, I’m a slave to it.

I scratch at the collar of his hand, and he lightens the pressure just enough to allow breath.

“Do something for me.” Cole climbs over me, his fingers sliding over the fly of his jeans to free the button.

I whimper, flicking my gaze between him and Trace.

“Get out of your goddamn head and enjoy this.” Cole yanks off his shirt and attacks my breast with tongue and teeth.

Trace releases my throat and moves to my chest, licking and sucking my other breast. My hands fly to their heads, holding them to me and pushing them away as my entire world comes undone in a crashing wave of need.

Enjoy this.

That isn’t the problem. What freaks me out is the regret I’ll see in their eyes tomorrow morning. There are so many conflicting thoughts pounding in my head, but I need to remember we’re all adults. No one is here against his will. They’re controlling this, and whether or not they thought through it, they’re committed to it.