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“And my tongue was on top of it, not even in. I didn’t get that far.” He ignored the flush that crept up her neck and kept going. “You’re a keg ready to blow, short stuff, and just because you’ve decided whichever one of us is willing to do the deed is good enough doesn’t mean we’ll just go along.”
“Right. Sure. You’ll gladly screw each other, but me? Forget it. Even though you both supposedly wanted me, which is complete crap, and I’m sorry I believed it for even a minute.” She hopped off the table. “Thanks for the orgasm. I appreciate you favoring me with your speedy tongue.”
Regret jabbed his gut. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but dammit, didn’t she get that he’d been hurt? How could she make sleeping with her into something they’d discuss as casually as which movie to rent?
“Cait, wait.”
“I’m tired, and I’m going to bed. We’re done talking. As for what happened with you and Tris, I’m done talking about that too. I don’t want you to tell him I saw you in bed tonight.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s over.” She gave him a thin smile. “Hope you’re very happy together.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” he called after her, but she didn’t halt her rush upstairs.
Matt pulled out a chair and slumped into it.
God, could this mess get any worse?
CHAPTER 3
Cait didn’t sleep. She curled up in the center of her bed, staring at the wall that separated her from Tristan. Matthew’s set of rooms was on her other side.
Right there, but so far.
In the past, she’d loved knowing her guys were only feet away. Not anymore. Now that knowledge was like a dozen knives slashing open her heart.
They were lovers. They undressed each other, kissed, touched each other’s naked bodies. And then, after all that, one of them thrust in the other’s ass and—
And then what? Did they curl up afterward and murmur endearments? Engage in pillow talk? Or mutter something manly and strut away?
Letting out a soft groan, she covered her face. Her nipples felt as hard and hot as burning coals, and her pulse had yet to stop racing, hours after her fight with Matt.
Then there was what had come after the fight.
Pictures scrolled through her mind. Explicit, erotic pictures of Tristan kneeling between her legs to lick her while Matt poised behind him, his heavy cock in his hand as he inched inside Tristan’s ass. Of her riding Matt while Tristan moved up behind her, his hands rolling up her torso to clutch her breasts while he claimed her from behind.
Way behind. Not just doggy style. She wanted both men inside her, breaching both entrances.
She was a freak. Had to be. Why else would a virgin be interested in leapfrogging right from so-called normal sex into the grand slam of fucking?
After a long, fitful night, Cait took a hot shower and dressed in black pants and a festive red cowl-necked sweater.
It was almost Christmas, dammit, and she was going to be happy if it killed her.
She brushed her long hair to a high sheen, taking care to arrange it around her shoulders. Though she often skipped makeup when she knew she wouldn’t be meeting with clients, today she did her full face. It might be Saturday, but she’d planned on working this morning, and she wouldn’t be dissuaded from doing her job just because she was embarrassed.
What had happened last night in the kitchenette had been the result of shock, hurt, and lust. A dangerous amount of lust, granted, but heavily flavored by other emotions.
At least if they’d had sex, she would’ve accomplished her goal and been done with it, but she hadn’t been thinking straight. Or at all.
She stared at the wall between her and Matt’s rooms. That’s what she should do. March over there before Tris woke up and just climb on top of Matt and finish the deal.
One popped cherry, one magnificent orgasm if she was lucky, and she’d be on her way.
Might as well demand what she needed from Matt. She knew how to make him see things her way. A few sweet words, a couple of descriptions of how wet and hot she’d been all night thinking about him putting more than just his tongue between her legs…
Plus this way Matt would see she was perfectly fine with the guys’ arrangement. They could keep screwing their brains out, and she wouldn’t make a peep.
