Just keep telling yourself that.
The rasp of Roark’s clothes falling to the floor sounded behind me, and I turned, backing up until my ass hit the vanity.
Roark sat on the edge of the tub, elbows on his knees, wearing a thin pair of white boxers that were frayed and unraveling at the seams. His eyes glowed in the sunny glare of the window as he watched me through his lashes. Watching me as a man, not as a priest.
Ugh, these guys…these hot-blooded, fiercely loyal, overprotective men, with their brutally-honed physiques and flirtatiously attentive eyes, had already stolen my heart. Now they were just playing with it, along with every nerve-ending and pleasure zone attached to it. I could only endure so much teasing before I internally combusted.
I pulled at the frayed hem of my jean shorts, fingers sweating, and voice quiet. “What are we doing?”
I couldn’t let myself hope. I was too damned tired to deal with the disappointment.
Roark laced his hands between his knees, his thumbs rolling together. “Ye ready to sleep, Jesse?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jesse leaned against the door and shook his head. The heat in his eyes sent a wave of shivers sprinting around my body and landing with a jolt between my legs.
“I’m just gonna say what everyone’s thinking.” Roark didn’t move, his head tilted down, his eyes up and fastened on mine. “We haven’t had privacy in months. Long, chubbed-up months.”
My heart jumped, sparking quivers down my legs. I swear on all that was holy, I had to dig my fingers against the counter behind me to stop myself from coming at the implication of his words.
He hissed through his teeth. “Me knob’s wanting out, love. If I den’ get it in ye soon, it could well fall off.”
In me? He meant in my mouth, right? My chest hitched, my toes curled, and my clit flared with throbbing need. Maybe instead of puddling into a quivery mess, I should’ve been worrying about what they would think of me, themselves, and each other in the morning?
Jesse regarded me, his eyes hot and smoldering, fire on fire, stoked with intensity.
Fuck. I stood on the corner of Gravelly Brogue Street and Burning Glare Boulevard. It was a dangerous place for a woman to venture, alone and unarmed. Yet I’d never felt safer or more excited.
I wanted to be smothered by them until the only thing I smelled was the musk of their arousal. Until all I felt was the slide of hot, tight, sweat-soaked skin. My pussy clenched painfully, aching to be filled by their tongues, their fingers, their cocks.
Not their cocks. They wouldn’t give me that, but I’d come…I’d most definitely, assuredly come just thinking about it.
Jesse pushed off the door. My lungs didn’t contract once during the long second it took for him to close the distance. His eyes never wavered from mine, a dark and devious intent sparking in the copper depths.
Would he let me touch his cock? Wrap my lips around it? Sweet holy fuck, I wanted to see him tremble with release, taste it on my tongue, and feel his relief slide down my throat.
“Take off your clothes.” He crowded my space, arms braced on the counter on either side of my hips.
I’d never stripped so fast, especially in such a confined area. My elbows banged against the vanity. My knees bumped into Jesse’s legs. As I tore at the laces on my boots and wrenched them off, he didn’t back up, didn’t give me an inch of wriggle room.
Roark watched me wrestle with the button on my shorts, his expression tightening as if he were seconds from launching off the edge of the tub to help me along.
Socks and shorts off, shirt next, I stood naked and breathing heavily in the rigid prison of Jesse’s arms and chest.
In those lust-filled seconds as he watched me, drawing out the anticipation, I reached for the waistband of his briefs.
My fingers dipped beneath the elastic and brushed against a patch of thick hair. My eyes begged, Please let me touch you, as I said, “I still owe you for last time.”
“No.” He grabbed my wrists, pulled my arms behind my back, and held them there with one hand.
Was he afraid his seed would get on my fingers and I’d inadvertently touch myself and become pregnant?
His free hand traced my collarbone, fingers dragging over and around one breast. He caressed my ribs, my hip, the crease between my thigh and pelvis, and dipped between my legs. He lingered there, cupping, the pads of his fingers lightly dancing over my folds.
Tremors rippled down my legs, and I widened my stance, unabashedly pleading for more.
Roark hadn’t moved, elbows still resting on his knees, his head tipped down, and hooded eyes locked on mine.
“Come here,” I mouthed at him.