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I spin, slowly allowing my hair to fall back over me, and Ransom’s eyes heat, pulsing before me as his chest stretches wide.
I’m prepared to allow it to slide from my body, to stand here in the middle of the day, the sun shining bright and straight through the open French doors, in my bra and panties before them.
Hot blooded males who share women... all to help their friend.
One could look at this and call it capitalizing, but I call it love.
They love each other.
This is what love looks like.
Being there for someone who needs it.
By any means necessary.
And here. We. Go...
The soft silk falls to my feet and Ransom’s pool cue drops to the floor, and when he rasps my name with far more desperation than I’ve ever heard it spoken, I walk closer.
“What are you doing, Trouble?” he rasps, a wretched expression on his face.
Beretta moves ahead of me, placing himself at Ransom’s side, and he grips his friend’s shoulder when his body begins to quake.
He whispers something in Ransom’s ear that has his tongue gliding along his lips, and on my left, Arsen pushes to his feet.
No one stops him as he makes his way to me, and I don’t look away from the blue eyes glued to mine.
Arsen’s fingertips come up, running along my collarbone, and he keeps them there, trailing them along my skin as he rounds me, tipping my head to the side as he does.
I gasp as he presses hard into my back, my body lurching forward the slightest bit, but he catches me with a strong arm around my waist, only he doesn’t keep it there. His hand drops lower until the tip of his pinky slips into the waistband of my thong, and Ransom nearly falls into the seat behind him, Beretta still at his side, holding on to him. Squeezing.
I shiver when his free hand meets my spine, flicking my bra open without effort and it bounces at my sides, the heaviness of my breasts causing me to slip from the cups, my nipples barely covered beneath the soft material.
Ransom reaches out, gripping on to the edge of the pool table, his face drawn tight.
Using his chin and the same hand, Arsen pushes the straps from my shoulders and my bra falls, but not all the way. The cups’ edges catch on my hardened nipples, and Arsen’s husky chuckles waft over my skin, making goose bumps rise along my neck.
He helps it off, and I curl my toes in my heels.
My breasts are bared to them.
I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.
I’m burning.
Aching.
And all I want is the boy who can hardly look at me but can’t manage to look away either.
Beretta catches my eyes, giving an encouraging nod, so I lift my hands, cupping my own breasts.
The second my hands touch my skin, a moan escapes, and my head falls to Arsen’s shoulder, where he welcomes it.
I squeeze myself harder, gliding my hands out until my nipples are slipped between my fingers.
My thighs tighten, my knees bending in to touch each other, and Arsen’s pinky slips lower, making its way to my hips.
His thumbs hook over the band, ready to push them down, and I whimper into the air, my eyes locked with Ransom’s.
Arsen pulls, but the loud scratch of a chair shoving backward as Ransom shoots to his feet echoes around us, and Arsen’s grin stretches across the heated skin of my shoulder.
He knew it was coming.
On his feet, Ransom’s hand flies out, fisting Beretta’s shirt as his body begins to shake before us.
My eyes fall to the heavy bulge in his jeans, and when I look back up, he takes a step forward.
And then another.
And another, dragging Beretta with him all the way.
They stop right in front of me, and Beretta’s hand wraps around the back of Arsen’s neck, their temples touching as they silently watch the two of us.
Ransom’s face is drawn tight, and I lift my hands to smooth it away, but he grabs my wrists, hard, punishing, and I gasp, not fighting him as he pushes them behind me and someone else locks them in place.
His fingers trail down the center of my chest, under my breasts, and down my ribs. They bite into my hips, then slip into my underwear.
I suck in a breath, eager, as he presses over my clit, his lips parting, short, quick puffs leaving him as his eyes squeeze shut.
My hands lift, planting on his pecs, and he freezes, his fingers attempting to retract, but like in the darkness of the bathroom, a hand catches his, holding him there, so I push mine higher.
Past the rapid beating of his heart and over the throbbing pulse in his neck, until his face is nestled between my palms.
He takes a slow, jagged breath, and slowly, oh so slowly, his hand begins to work me.
