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I stare down at her as she maneuvers herself up from the hardwood, tucking a tit back inside her shirt and scowling up at me. She says something again, but I'm already pushing to stand, giving her my back, dropping the butt of my joint into the ashtray and stepping around the table.
King embraces Lynx first, a cocky smirk on his face as he slaps Lynx on the back. Dropping an arm around his shoulders, turning him to face me. Lynx grins, and he looks less tired, eyes bright, bleached blond hair clean and messy, styled. He looks good. Better.
I step into them both, my arms going around both of their necks. I press my lips to the top of Lynx's head in a fierce kiss and our foreheads all drop together, eyes flicking between each other, I beam, happy, light-
“You're high,” Lynx's soft but gruff voice scolds lightly, but he's still smiling.
“And you're sober, don't be a fucking dick,” I smirk.
Lynx smiles and King barks a laugh, slapping us both on the back as we break apart, returning to the couches.
Lynx drops down onto the cushion beside me, King in his chair, and fresh beers are placed in each of our hands without needing to ask. Most guys are here because we throw the best parties, but a lot of them also want in with our brother's business. And they think us three are their way in if they voluntarily enslave themselves to us. It makes me want to laugh.
“So,” Lynx murmurs lowly, sipping his beer, his warm chestnut-red eyes flicking around the room. “Catch me up.”
I bark a laugh at that.
“You've been gone months, what the fuck you think we can catch you up on.” I drop my head back, lifting my arms back onto the top of the couch, fingers of my left hand absently twirling the blond hair at the nape of his neck.
“I don't know,” he shrugs, “anything,” dropping his head onto the back of my hand, stopping my fingers, rolling his attention onto us, but he's still touching me, so I don't object.
“How about you tell us where the fuck you've been tonight,” Raiden drawls leisurely, but there's a bite to his tone that let's me know he's not particularly happy.
It's fear.
And it comes from a place of love, but we agreed to let Lynx take the lead on how we go forward now, we're not supposed to be grilling him already.
“Not shooting up, if that's what you mean,” Lynx speaks quietly, but his eyes are hard, and my cock finally twitches, drawing my eye, I glance down at my lap briefly.
Thank fuck, little guy, I thought you were dead.
My attention refocuses on King, despite my rapidly growing cock, a dark brow lifting, arching high on his forehead, as the other one pinches atop his gray eye. He says nothing and even I feel uncomfortable. My fingers twitch and my skin prickles, anticipation of what's to come tastes like ash on my tongue, and my fingers flex, wanting to knot, to tap against my lips, but then Lynx relaxes, rolling his eyes.
“I was moving shit into my dorm,” he shrugs again, and I frown a little, but I trust him enough to tell us the truth. “And I took a nap.”
I flick my gaze between him and King, the latter of whom now has a divot between his brows, but he relaxes it out. The little shit likes to pretend he's just anger and testosterone, fists and brutish words, but I know really he worries about us the most. Probably a bit more than is healthy, but we're his brothers, in everything but blood, and we protect each other fiercely.
I feel the need to lighten the mood, especially as we're currently in the company of others, and although neither one of them sitting opposite me look like they're paying attention, they've both got ears.
I'd hate to have to slice them off.
Curling my arm over Lynx's shoulder, I drag him into a headlock, scrub my knuckles over the top of his skull to noogie him with my free fist.
“We've got our fucking boy back!” I start to chant, grinning wide and bouncing in my seat as Lynx's elbow connects with my gut.
I release him, dropping back onto the couch, my arm still draped over his shoulders, a smile on my lips. I feel light, happy.
We talk shit, drink beer, laugh, and it feels fuckingright, now that the three of us are back together. As the night wears on, Lynx's tension drains out of him little by little, my arm over his shoulders feeling it in every tiny shift.
And then the front door opens again, a group of girls dressed in colorful booty shorts and crop tops, despite the freezing wind and falling snow, file into the house. Finger-combing their hair and shaking their heads as they laugh, brushing snow off of each other.
Hot girls usually grab my attention, especially in a group, but it's the stiffening of Lynx again. The tightening of his muscles, that has me glancing at him from the corner of my eye, his own on the last girl to enter, pushing the door closed behind her.
She's different from the others she came in with.
Baggy straight leg jeans with giant tears in the knees hang low on her hips. The fraying black denim gaping down her shins, tucked into laced black boots, reveals finely inked floral tattoos. Her arms are bare, though, her pale skin inked with more fine line flowers. Long chocolate hair threaded with spun gold hangs in loose curls down the length of her back, brushing the base of her spine. She's tall, like, really tall, legs that don't seem to have a start or an end, but just go on and on and on. My eyes trace up the length of her, a weird criss-crossed strap crop top on her upper half that barely covers her tits, and her nipples poke through the tight, ribbed, red fabric like they're aching to be touched.
It makes my mouth water.
