Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

“Fluff, meet the boys,” Brylee says, and the cat prances about, hissing and archi

ng her back like a fiend.

I barely glance at the animal. It’s Brylee I’m looking at, her smile, her mouth, her lips, and I’m dying to kiss them again, kiss the laughter off them, fuck her mouth with my tongue until she moans.

“See her jewel?” Brylee points at the cat’s ass, and there’s a heart-shaped crystal thing hanging there.

Fuck, this girl’s crazy.

Ryan is making faces behind her back, and I’m fighting an urge to laugh I haven’t felt in what feels like years, and damn, she’s pretty.

So pretty.

She tucks a wayward curl behind her ear where a tiny crystal sparkles, and I see Ryan’s mouth go a bit slack, his eyes heavy-lidded.

Yeah, we both want her, no secret there.

She clucks her tongue, and the cat charges her, then bounces away, keeping a wary eye on us. Brylee laughs that crystal laughter that bursts in my mind like a star gone supernova, and tries to catch her, her tits all but spilling out of her low-cut sweater.

Is it too early to peel that sweater off and suck on her nipples, roll on the carpet with her until one of us ends on top?

“I love this place,” Brylee says, sitting back on her heels, laughing breathlessly as the cat sits down to lick her paws. “I can’t wait to go down to the lake.”

“And I haven’t showed you the hot tub yet,” Ryan says, his voice low.

I swallow hard. Getting into a hot tub, naked, with Brylee and Ryan sounds… dangerous. If you want to keep boundaries. Avoid going too far. But if you don’t…

Yeah, then it sounds damn awesome.

***

We walk in the woods around the house, and head down to the lake. I may be sleepwalking. Shouldn’t I be at work, moving heavy crates and lumber, coordinating the unloading of trucks? What am I doing here, in this place made of foliage and sky where the only sound is our footsteps and the occasional flutter of a bird overhead?

It puts me off balance.

“Will you light the fireplace?” Brylee asks, sidestepping a patch of snow under the trees. It’s damn cold out here, our breaths misting the air. “Can we roast marshmallows?”

“I didn’t bring marshmallows,” he says.

“But I did!” She grins and walks down to the lake shore. There are rocks and a small dock. A boat is moored to it.

Adele is written on its side in a looping script.

“Ooh a boat!” Brylee is practically dancing. “Is it yours?”

“Belongs to my family, yes.”

She quiets down. “And Adele?”

“That was my mother’s name.”

I walk on the narrow dock. Waves slosh against the old planks, the spray wetting my pants. The breeze coming over the water is like ice. “Do you take the boat out often? Fishing, like your grandfather?”

He shrugs, kicks at a loose pebble. “Not much.”

Brylee’s shoulders sag in what looks like relief.

“You don’t like boating?” I ask her.