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Her gaze lifted to his, and she moistened her lips. "Do what?"
His mouth curved, but it wasn't with humor. "Stay where you are, Samantha Beth. Don't close your eyes. Tell me when your shoulders start to hurt."
He was the only one who occasionally called her by her first and middle names. She wondered why he thought she'd close her eyes, but then he brushed both palms over the tips of her breasts. Once, twice . . . Sensation speared between her legs, to the base of her spine, up into her throat and through her aching shoulders. She found herself straining toward him, lifting her chest. Whether intended or not, he'd made sure she was doing a very good stretch. But it also pushed her into the red zone.
"Geoff . . . it's starting to hurt."
"Eighteen . . . nineteen . . ." He teased her nipples once more and moved his hands to her shoulders, holding them and easing her back so she didn't hurt herself trying to relieve the pressure too quickly. "Twenty. You should probably do some of the exercises that work those muscles out another way. You really pushed it on that one."
He returned to his chair and started working again. As if nothing had happened. Seriously? Was he playing some kind of Dom game with her? No, that was the counting thing, and he'd been getting into it, she could tell. Then he'd withdrawn.
She tried not to scream. Ever since she'd become determined to actualize this thing between them, she kept hitting this wall, with both men. She'd come to the conclusion they were restrained by the belief that it was an either/or situation: that she was going to choose one or the other. Though the three of them had met in college and been roommates ever since, Geoff and Chris had been friends since childhood, so neither would step over that line and jeopardize the chances of the other man.
Yet if she truly were in love with only one of them, she would have denied herself and moved out, because she would never drive a wedge between Geoff and Chris. However, she'd always sensed something percolating between the two as strong as what she felt for them. It was buried in the shadows of their deep friendship, but she could feel it waiting. If she was brave enough, she might just be the bridge for all of them. If the stubborn cluelessness of the two men didn't make her brain explode.
She'd thought about trying to have a meaningful conversation about it, but any attempts to get them to talk about feelings resulted in withdrawal plus shutdown. Or they'd just listen to her, nod, and things would continue the same as always. God had a sick sense of humor when it came to communication between the sexes.
She did a few more exercises and coiled up the resistance band. As she passed behind Geoff again, her gaze slid over what he was doing. She'd seen him print out the document under his left hand, and he hadn't written any notes on it. The work documents and notes that had to be preserved were to his right, perched on a couple of law books. His laptop was in a safe space. Should she . . . Oh, the hell with it. She eased forward. "Geoff, do you think--"
It was ridiculously easy to tip the coffee mug, as less than a fourth of the contents were left. A finger of fluid swept across his printout as she drew in a breath. "Oh, I'm so sorry." She hurried to get a paper towel and started to mop it up. "That was really clumsy."
"Yes, it was."
His tone was torn between exasperation and something else. She tried to hide a smile that was part mischief and all nerves, both fueled by something more urgent than either one. She really couldn't get more contrived. Her face was flushed, she was sure. When he closed his fingers around her wrist, she jerked, not to get away, but a twitch of response.
"Take off your shirt, Sam."
The unexpected command sent a thrill right down to her toes. Especially when she raised her lashes to meet his hazel eyes and saw exactly the look she'd been hoping to inspire. "I can't . . . unless you release my wrist."
"Ask me to do that."
Did he feel like she did, a foreigner who'd suddenly found someone who spoke her language, making it impossible not to speak straight from her heart?
"I don't want you to let go of me. I like how it feels, you holding me like that."
His gaze flickered, his jaw tightening. He loosened his grip, but only enough to guide her arm across her body. With her wrist still resting in his hold, she was able to use that hand to free her other arm from the sleeve and pull the shirt over her head. The shirt slid down and draped on the connection between them. He let go of her to pull the shirt off, then recaptured her wrist. He sat at eye level with her breasts, studying the quivering curves.
"Skin like milk and snow. That's what Chris says. He's always worried about you going out without sunscreen." Geoff cupped one of her breasts in his free hand and she made a whimpering sound in her throat as he held it firmly, passing his thumb over the nipple until it beaded further. Her pale skin felt too tight for her body. She wanted to be released to fly, only she wanted to fly right to him. When he lifted his gaze to her face, the look in his eyes arrested her. So often she'd seen thrilling hints of what she'd suspected was there, and his even, cool expression sent a hot flush through her. So much was happening behind those eyes, things that simultaneously scared her and unleashed the cravings she'd kept wrapped up for far too long.
If he truly hadn't explored his Dom side, they could be about to crest the first big hill of this roller coaster together. That was scary, but it didn't scare her, if that made sense. She'd seen things at the private parties with Flo that had scared her, things she wasn't sure she wanted to do. Florence had helped her with that, too.
"A Master or Mistress doesn't dominate with ropes or pain. They do it with a word, a look, a simple touch. The rest is just fun and play. The root of what you desire will come from his lips, his hands upon you, the way he looks at you. Dom/sub relationships are ninety percent about the mind."
Now she understood exactly what Flo meant, because when Geoff was wearing that expression, she was a morass of confused desires and a still heart, waiting for a word from him to begin beating.
"You knocked over my coffee on purpose," he said thoughtfully. He had a mesmerizing voice. Regardless of whether he spoke softly or in his court voice, it drew attention, making a woman strain her ears to hear what he said. "Did those exercises to tease me."
"Yes." She lifted her chin. "That day we went to Naughty Bits . . . we didn't get to talk like you said we would. I'm tired of waiting."
About a week ago, she'd coaxed them into an erotica shop, Naughty Bits, thinking that would be the best way to send them the message that it didn't have to be either/or, that she wanted both of them. The intuitive owner, Madison Fine, had drawn Geoff over to the Dungeon Room. Barely breathing, Sam had watched out of the corner of her eye as Geoff fingered floggers and rope, studying the things Madison showed him.
When Sam had darted a glance toward Chris, she'd found him staring at Geoff with an unfathomable expression, until he noticed her watching. He started teasing her about the role-playing costumes the two of them had been left to examine.
They hadn't bought anything that day. Madison had suggested they go to a local bagel shop, discuss their desires and come back after they decided. They'd headed off to do just that. Then Geoff got a call from work about some kind of affidavit crisis. Twenty-four hours later, Esteban was ringing Chris's cell about the trip to Mississippi.
"Hmm." Geoff had precisely sculpted features, a far more masculine version of the male beauty often depicted in the sensual Abercrombie & Fitch ads. Though he was a corporate attorney, when his expression became more uncompromising, as it did now, she imagined
him as a criminal prosecutor, bringing a hostile witness in line. Or making a point to the jury the way a judge did when admonishing them or giving them instruction.
