Yep. She had to tell them. She turned back to her glass, downed the rest of the wine for fortification, and then mumbled into the empty glass. “Naturally I’m nervous about there being two of you. Anyone would be. I’m not stupid. I know you both have to take me at the same time for the mating to be complete.”
“But?” Keegan encouraged.
“The thing is that…” Fuck. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. Maybe she could sugarcoat it a bit. “I don’t have a lot of experience with even one man.”
Trace blew out a breath and set a hand on her shoulder. “Baby. That’s what you’re worried about?”
She knew she’d given them the wrong impression, but she didn’t care. It wouldn’t change anything. They didn’t need to know her secrets. She’d rather take them to the grave than admit anything that would make them look at her funny.
She jumped from the couch, dislodging their hands and thighs and giving herself a chance to breathe. She padded to the kitchen and set her glass on the counter, eyeing the rest of the bottle with longing and half considering the idea of picking it up and chugging it.
Instead she turned around and faced her future. “Let’s do this. Bedroom?” She nodded to the hallway and stepped in that direction.
Chapter Four
Neither man followed immediately on her heels, so she pushed open the first door on the right, found it to contain an office space, and moved on. The next door on the left was a guest bathroom. Finally, she stepped into the second room on the right and decided it was the master bedroom.
Conveniently, Keegan had a king-sized bed. She shivered, padding into his space slowly while flipping on the light. How many woman had he slept with in this room? Hell, how many women had he and Trace shared in this room?
Rubbing her arms as if suddenly chilled, she examined his space. His bed was made, which surprised her. Who made their bed? Especially men? His comforter was a dark navy, and hints of matching navy sheets hung lower than the bedspread. All of which was further testament to his anal tendencies.
The carpet was a deep rich brown, thick and luscious. He hadn’t saved money in that area. The furniture was also dark. Like the living room, the dark wood and furnishings didn’t make the room small or uninviting. On the contrary, it felt calming. She needed calm.
She sensed both men behind her as she wandered around his space.
Keegan cleared his throat. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yep.” The one word sounded forced even to her. She wasn’t close to okay. And there was no way to make her okay either. The best thing to do would be to let them claim her so they could get past this crazy night and move on.
How bad could it be? People sequestered themselves for days on end after meeting their mates. Surely she could fake it for tonight and then… And then what? How often would they want to have sex with her?
She shuddered, trying to hide her unease and failing miserably when Trace spoke. “You’re lying.”
He ambled farther into the room and sat on the bed. He kicked off his shoes and scooted back to lean against a pile of pillows at the headboard.
“What do you mean?” She picked invisible lint off her skirt.
Keegan’s hand landed on her lower back, making her jump with a squeak. “Honey, Jesus. You’re wound so tight. I know you’re nervous, but I swear to you we aren’t going to force anything that doesn’t come naturally. There’s no law that says the claiming has to be completed tonight. Or hell, even tomorrow.”
She twisted her neck to meet his gaze. “No. Really. I’m good.” That annoying ball of nerves low in her belly reared its head again. She squeezed her legs together against the wetness leaking between them. Arousal wasn’t something she was familiar with. And it scared the fuck out of her. The thought of losing control stressed her more than anything else.
“You’re so far from good.” Trace leaned forward and took her hand. “Climb up. Sit. No one’s going to maul you.”
Keegan helped her up, and she sat cross-legged next to Trace, tugging her skirt as far as she could down her thighs. Why had she chosen such a short dress today?
Keegan climbed onto the other side and sat next to Trace. They both looked at her speculatively.
Finally Trace spoke again. “I’ve never seen anyone look as fearful as you in my bed.”
She flinched.
He narrowed his gaze. “That didn’t sound right. I’m sorry. It’s just that you look like you’d rather have a tooth removed with a string tied to a door.”
He was so very right.
She swallowed. “No. I’m fine.” If she kept telling them that—telling herself that—maybe they could get this done.