I sagged my back against the locker, eyes closed and one hand peeling my bra down over my breasts while the other slid deep between my legs. My fingers pushed wetly through my slick, aching folds, bumping over my hard little clit as I gasped loudly. My other hand tugged at my nipples, rolling them and sending fire teasing through my body.
And right there, in my mind, it was both of them.
I’d never done that. Obviously. I’d never even gone there in my head, in my own fantasies late at night. But there in the locker room, after kissing them both and wanting them both, it was like a fire had been lit that I couldn’t put out. I moaned, rolling my clit under the pads of my fingertips and teasing my nipples as I panted louder, and as my body began to tremble.
And suddenly, all I could hear was Caleb’s words.
“Guess you could say we share a lot. A lot.”
The image of the two of them tearing my clothes off and putting their hands on me together had me moaning. Using both their mouths on me had me crying out as I rubbed my clit faster and faster with my thumb, curling a finger deep inside of my aching pussy as I whimpered for more.
But the thought of the two rough, wild, tattooed outlaws stripping down and claiming me together, giving me both of their big, thick cocks?
That pushed me over the edge. Hard.
I cried out, the orgasm shattering through me as I sagged against the cold metal locker, my hand rubbing my slick little pussy while the other pinched my nipples just hard enough to help push me over the cliff. I moaned, letting the fantasy of the two of them fucking me together and making me theirs together consume me, until I was panting for air, sitting on the floor with my hand still stroking between my legs.
I trembled, gasping little breaths of air as I let my fingers bump once more over my clit before sliding my slick hand from my soaked panties.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I jumped to my feet, faltering a little, reaching out to steady myself against the lockers as my pulse raced.
No.
No. Fucking. Way.
The fantasy had been wrong, and wild, and so freaking hot. But that was it. A fantasy. I’d kissed two men in the last twenty-four hours. But it was ending right now. I’d fallen for that whole “bad boy” thing before, and I’d learned that lesson.
No bad boys. Period. And two muscled, inked, gorgeous guys with the cocky smiles who ran a tattoo shop and drove motorcycles were pretty much the epitome of bad boy.
Right, and there was two of them. Here I was fantasizing about two guys that went against my rules.
I shook my head, barking out a short laugh to no one except maybe Simon if he could hear it. I quickly peeled off the rest of my clothes and jumped in a shower—a cold, cold shower—before getting into my scrubs and going to open the clinic for the day.
No way. The fantasy ended right here.
…I repeated that to myself about ten more times that day.
Too bad it didn’t help at all.
5
Caleb
Breathe. Just fucking breathe.
Fire roared through me, my veins igniting like fuses as my hands closed to fists.
Breathe, motherfucker.
I sucked in a breath, eyes closed as I tensed once more, forcing the air out through my nose, until I could finally open my eyes. I blinked, staring at the door. Kennedy had been gone for a full five minutes, but I just stared at the spot where she’d just been standing—the spot where I’d pinned her against that doorframe and kissed that sultry, tempting mouth with everything I had. I’d kissed her like she was mine—like those lips were mine to claim, and like the whole world could come at me to try and take her from me.
And for however long a frozen second it was, she had been mine. The memories of her soft moans tingling through me brought a fresh wave of fire through me as my muscles tightened all over again.
Shit, I knew this feeling. I’d known this feeling for years, with another temptation.
Heroin.
It’d been years since I’d put poison into my body. But that didn’t mean every day wasn’t still a battle of wills. Heroin finds the worst parts of you, and digs it’s claws in deep. It finds the darkness, and the pain, and the horror that you’ve tried to bury inside, and it gets in those cracks and breaks them wide open. I’d known pain and suffering early on—a mom who ended things on her own terms when I was five and a father who taught me to fight by seven.
…It wasn’t an optional learning experience.
A mother who took her own life and father who took out his pain on me? Yeah, believe me, I’d tried everything to black it all out. Booze worked, for a time. Then I discovered bikes and the thrill of mixing the two—pushing the limits of dumb blind luck to the point where it’s a miracle I wasn’t killed. When the law caught up with me a few too many times before I was even eighteen, I looked elsewhere for an escape. The Marines took me in and promised to break me of my habits. They promised to rebuild me from the ground up, and at that point, fuck it. I was ready to try anything if it meant getting out from the shadows of my past.