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“Kiss her harder.” His hand slips down Jethro’s face to his jaw, and he leans down to whisper close to his ear, “I wanna watch.”
***
My brain is officially shutting off.
I must be dreaming. Or maybe I wandered into my own blog and the serial I’ve been posting there. Any moment now, something will jerk me out of sleep and break the dream in half.
“Open your eyes, Candy,” Joel says, and I obey.
Joel is always in charge in my story, in my fantasies.
Jethro’s dark gaze is fixed on me, eyes wide and pitch-black with want, his mouth slack. He reaches for me, touches my cheek, and I lean into his touch.
It feels real. The hard bulge between my legs, his rough skin on my face, his hair standing up in all directions.
And Joel right behind him, tall and imposing with his broad shoulders stretching his white button-down shirt, dark hair falling in his bright eyes, kneading at Jethro’s neck, his breath coming fast.
Holy crap, I can’t wrap my mind around it.
Thankfully, Jethro doesn’t leave me time to freak out. With a low hum, he jerks me up against him, licks my mouth, parting my lips, and thrusts his tongue inside.
Heat pools between my legs. Every thrust of his tongue echoes inside me, down low, like a thrust of his cock. The feel of his ripped chest under my soft breasts, his salty-sweet taste with that hint of mint and smoke, the shift of his muscular thighs under mine.
I’m so caught up in it, I barely notice Joel circle the couch and sit down beside us, making the cushions dip a little as he settles, sprawling back.
I do notice the moment he starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing inch by inch a sculpted chest made of corded steel. Bulging pecs, flat pink nipples, a six pack to die for, a dark treasure trail leading into his black pants.
It distracts me enough that I break the kiss to get a better look.
“Undress him,” Joel says, a growl riding right under his voice. He smooths a hand down his bared chest, reaching for his zipper. “Take off his T-shirt.”
Oh God, yes. I find Jethro watching me from under his dark lashes as I reach for the hem of his T-shirt.
“Slowly,” Joel says, and his voice makes me hot, so hot I might burst into flames.
I pull up the soft fabric, unveiling Jethro, and the temperature has just reached combustion levels.
Crap, he’s beautiful. Not as ripped as Joel, but ripped all the same, smooth olive skin stretched over firm muscle, dark small nipples on defined pecs and a faint six pack that clenches and comes into sharp definition when I brush my hand over it.
Whoa… I watch as he grabs the hem and pulls the T-shirt over his head, those abs tightening, pecs rolling, biceps bunching. Dark ink ripples on his shoulders and arms. A ship. A crow. A clock?
Nice. Really nice. Oh my… Better than I imagined. Gorgeous.
“Now…” Joel’s voice drops a notch. “Take off your clothes, Candy.”
Jethro twitches beneath me, lips parting on an exhale. His eyes are dark like outer space. His scent rises, filling me up, citrusy shampoo and that dark spicy perfume that wafts off his skin.
Heat washes over me. There’s no question of refusing the command. My breasts tighten, and my nipples harden painfully under the heated gazes of two sets of eyes I never thought I’d have directed at me as I tug on my light sweater and tank top, lift them up and pull them off me.
Which leaves me in my bra and skirt, and sudden doubt makes me look down, checking.
Phew. Thank God I put one of my nicer bras on today, gray lace with a black finish that pushes my girls up and together—not one of those washed-out sports ones with the frayed straps.
“Christ, you’re pretty,” Jethro groans and puts his hands on my waist, sliding them up to cup my breasts through the lace.
“Fuck yeah, touch her tits,” Joel commands, and I whimper. “Take off that bra.”
Before I react to his words, Jethro’s hands slide up, pull down the straps and tug down my bra, letting my breasts spill out. My nipples jut out, diamond-hard, and my pussy clenches on nothing.
