Page 127 of Specter Bred

Hayes turned toward her.

So did I.

Archer’s attention had already settled on him, and unlike me, she wasn’t conducting anything resembling a professional assessment. Her eyes drifted over the breadth of his shoulders, down his chest and stomach, lingering with enough appreciation that Hayes started grinning.

“Well?” he asked.

Her eyes made another leisurely pass before finally lifting to his face. “You’ll do.”

Hayes pressed a hand to his chest. “High praise.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Maeve said.

“Too late,” he chuckled.

“Careful, Farm Boy. You’re still at the bottom of the food chain," I reminded him as his ego inflated.

His grin only widened. “Yeah, but apparently she likes what’s on the menu—” before he could finish, she shoved him backward, and Hayes fell, sprawling across his cot in a mess of long limbs, freckled skin, and crooked anticipation.

As she swung her leg over, straddling his torso, her eyes stayed locked on mine. There was a challenge in them, as if she was making it clear this wasn’t surrender. Archer was simply setting it aside, for now. The fight between us wasn’t over.

Torturously slow, she peeled her shirt up over her body, exposing inch after inch of toned stomach, the hard lines of muscle shifting with every movement. The whole time her eyes stayed on me, a reminder that while Hayes lay between her legs, this was as much for me as it was for him.

Her cotton sports bra came next, stripped away and tossed aside, as Hayes went still beneath her. He stared up at her like a man caught in a trance, blue eyes fixed, pupils wide and hungry. His mouth parted, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides as he waited for permission to touch.

Farm Boy looked half-starved.

And from the way he watched her, the way he allowed her to take the lead without question, it was obvious their rhythm had already deeply formed. She pushed. He yielded. She controlled. He submitted.

It was a hell of a thing to watch. And I understood immediately why he’d sounded so damn wrecked talking about it.

"Should I let him touch me, sir?" she asked me, dragging her lower lip between her teeth.

"Does he wait for permission?"

A slow smile touched her mouth.

"Like a good boy."

Beneath her, Hayes let out a rough groan, already restless.

"Let him suck your tits, Archer."

Her eyes dropped to Hayes.

"You heard him."

Immediately Haye's arms wrapped around her torso, shifting her enough that he could sit upright. His mouth went straight to her soft breasts, finding each nipple and pulling into his mouth with sucks and desperate kisses.

Maeve’s head tipped back, exposing the long line of her throat, and for a second all I could think about was sinking my teeth into the strong cord of muscle there and marking her as mine.

Instinct and curiosity pulled me closer before I gave either much thought. Her scent was stronger, but I wanted it straight from the source, untouched by distance and free of Farm Boy’s scent tangled through it. Closing the last few inches between us, I pressed my nose into the crook of her neck and breathed her in.

Her scent was a contradiction. Sweet and floral, like wild jasmine, mixed with something darker beneath it. Smoke and cedar. Soft and dangerous all at once. It hit me hard and was addictive enough that I wanted another breath before I’d even finished the first.

"Fuck, Teacup," I groaned, looking down at Hayes’ lips worshiping her breasts, building them into tight peaks. "You like when he sucks your nipples like that?"

"Yes, sir," she gasped.