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She rolled her eyes, then finished her drink as if she were afraid Mac might yank it from her fingers. “I’ve been on call for literally three years, and I don’t get out much.”
Oh, she had a shit-ton of experience and knowledge packed into her young age. She was smarter than I’d ever be in three lifetimes. Yet she looked around the bar as if we’d taken her on an African safari, studying all the wild animals in their native land. A stranger observing.
“I don’t drink. I don’t do anything,” she said, accentuating the last.
Mac leaned forward. “You were gonna stick your finger in my ass. That’s something.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, pushed her glasses up. “Yeah, that’s the closest I’ve come to a hard dick in my life. Are they all as good-looking as yours?” She raised her fingers to her lips, shut her eyes. “God, I think this drink is making words fall out of my mouth.”
Mac and I sat side by side, frozen in place. What the fuck had she said? She’d never seen a hard dick before? My own throbbed. It had heard her just fine. Was she really a virgin? Was that what she meant? I had to ask.
Reaching out, I took her hand, held it in mine. The gesture surprised her, and she looked to me.
“You’ve never had sex before?” I asked, keeping my voice low so anyone passing by wouldn’t hear.
Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced away, tugging her hand from mine. Answer given.
“No,” she admitted aloud.
Holy. Fuck.
Mac lifted his hand, called over the waiter. “We need to get some food in you.”
“And another one of these,” she said, lifting her glass.
We weren’t assholes. No. But I doubted she’d have let slip the fact that she was a virgin—or at least vastly inexperienced, since she’d said Mac’s dick was good-looking—if she hadn’t been loosened up by a little vodka. We’d get her some food and get the truth.
Because we were going to have her. We just needed to know how to go about it. A virgin shouldn’t be taken into a bathroom stall at the Gallows and fucked hard and fast. She needed a bed. Privacy. She needed to be ready to be opened up the first time, softened and sopping wet from a few orgasms. No doubt riding my face would pull that off. Then she’d be ready for our cocks. She’d seen Mac’s, and it wasn’t going to be an easy fit.
And I was even bigger.
5
MAC
* * *
“This isn’t my apartment,” Sam said after I opened the door and let her into my house. I followed, Hardin on our heels.
“It’s mine,” I told her.
She was drunk. Not shit-faced but definitely buzzed. Not only was she a lightweight, but she’d said she didn’t drink.
We’d capped her at three vodka cranberries and ensured she ate something. She’d wanted cheese fries, and neither of us stopped her. Even with the carb/grease combo, she wasn’t safe to drive. Not that she had a car.
Because of all this, Hardin and I agreed we wouldn’t be taking her home. Whoever had sliced her tire was out there, and we didn’t know who he was or why he’d done it. We weren’t leaving a tipsy Sam home alone in case the fucker planned more shit.
“You like blue,” she commented, taking in my dark-colored couch and curtains, which were both thanks to Hardin’s mother’s decorating. There wasn’t a knickknack in sight because I couldn’t stand that shit, but I’d agreed to her tackling the rest.
I didn’t say anything as I worked off my boots and left them by the door. Shucked my jacket. Hardin hung up his coat to stay awhile.
“Why am I here?” she asked, tugging down the zipper on her heavy coat. She couldn’t get it down more than a few inches, and I went over to help. After the freezing air outside, the house was overly warm.
“I don’t want you throwing up in your sleep.”
She looked up at me with those pale eyes, and I watched as her mind worked, even through a haze of vodka. “Yes, aspirating on vomit is not a pleasant way to die. I could do that anywhere. The activity isn’t isolated to my bed.”
I got the zipper down, and she worked the coat off her shoulders.
