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“That’s true, but you’ve got us to watch you.”
“In bed?”
I frowned. “In bed, what?” My dick perked up at that word.
“You’re going to watch me in bed?”
I could barely get my mind around her words because what I was thinking and what I should say were two completely different things.
“I’d rather watch the two of you,” she added before I could reply.
“Sweetheart, the only way Hardin and I will be in bed together is if you’re between us,” I told her. In that analytical mind of hers I didn’t want her to misconstrue anything.
“Okay,” she murmured. Her cheeks, already pink from the outdoors, darkened.
I looked to Hardin, who was coming out of my kitchen, glass of water in hand.
“Okay, what?” I asked. She was reducing me to the dumbest questions.
“Okay to me being between the two of you in bed.”
Now she looked away, suddenly shy. I wasn’t having any of it. She might be lacking certain social skills, but she didn’t hide. With my fingers I lifted her chin so she had to look at me again.
“Do you know what that means, Sam?”
“Sex.”
She was succinct. That one word, though, held so much meaning. So many possibilities. Getting her naked. Getting between her parted thighs. Tasting her. Fucking her. Sucking on her nipples. Having her suck our dicks. On her back. On her knees. Holding the headboard. Bent over the side of the bed. Taking two dicks at once, pussy and mouth. Pussy and ass.
All that would take more than one night. It would take days. Weeks. Hell, the rest of our lives.
If we got her in my bed, she wouldn’t be getting out for a long time. She had to work tomorrow. We all did.
And she wasn’t sober. We wouldn’t touch a woman who’d had too much to drink, her consent diluted by alcohol. I had to wonder, would she be this bold otherwise?
She stepped back, and I let her. “I am being completely irrational.”
Hardin handed her the glass. “Here. Drink this.”
She looked at the glass, nodded. “Yes, I do not wish for liver cell destruction.”
I put my hands over my lips to cover my smile as she took a big swig of water. She worried about the death of her liver. Hardin worried about the wicked hangover she might have tomorrow.
“I am in the home of a stranger, with not just him but two strangers. No one knows I’m here. I just suggested sex. This is textbook horror movie script or the MO for sex trafficking.”
I should be offended that she’d think either of us was a fucking sex trafficker, but she was right.
“Sam, we told you before, you’re safe with us,” Hardin said. “If you’d gone home with some other guys, I’d have taken you over my knee and spanked some sense into you.”
Her mouth fell open, and she blushed again.
I got hard at the idea of seeing Sam over Hardin’s knee, ass bared and pink from his big hand.
“Finish your water,” he ordered. She did. “The reason you came here is because you trust us. You didn’t have to think about it, analyze the shit out of it or run some kind of spreadsheet.”
She pushed the empty glass of water at me, then—stunner—she grabbed the hem of her scrub top and long-sleeved T-shirt underneath and took them off with all the fumbling and lack of modesty of someone not sober. Her ponytail got caught, and she tugged until it came free. “Good, then we’ll have sex.”
I stared. Hardin stared.
