He pulled the Petula Clark album off her lap. “Want to hear it?”
More than anything, she wanted to race back to Martin and Ricky and tell them everything. She felt the safest in their arms, in the cage of their possessive eyes, and in the reassuring words she knew they would give her.
She itched to run, but she owed Hector her life.
So she nodded. “Sure. I’d love that.”“We’ve been here for forty-five days.” Martin gripped the edge of the sink in their cell, digging his fingers into the porcelain as he tried to curb his pent-up rage. “Forty-five fucking days, Ricky. We’re halfway through our time, and we’re no closer to the goal than we were at day one. We need a new plan.”
“Give her more time.” Ricky raked a hand through his hair.
They’d been arguing since Tula left this morning. Cooped up in this tiny goddamn cell. Sitting on their fucking hands. Wasting precious hours.
Martin’s frustration with himself, Tula’s inability to see what was right in front of her, and Ricky with his laid-back demeanor and cock-hardening kisses—all of it was coming to a head because Martin couldn’t do it anymore.
He couldn’t pretend that watching Ricky and Tula fuck each other wasn’t killing him.
He couldn’t ignore the fact they would be leaving her alone and unprotected in this place in forty-five days.
He couldn’t run from his vicious need to restrain, choke, whip, and mark them until they bleed.
He couldn’t touch them without spreading his filth all over their perfections. But he needed to touch them. And love them. He just didn’t know how. When he allowed himself happiness or pleasure, his impulses took over and turned everything into pain.
His pleasure and their pain. One didn’t come without the other.
“Did you hear me?” Ricky rose from the bed and approached him.
“Yeah. You want to give her more time, so you can continue getting your dick wet.”
“Banging her was your idea, you fucking prick.” Ricky seethed in his face.
“And it’s been a real hardship for you.” He shoved Ricky away.
Seven years of celibacy was nothing compared to the past month with Tula and Ricky. Looking without touching. Kissing without fucking. The sounds of their groans, the sight of their joined bodies, the scent of their raw, unbridled arousal in his lungs—it was ecstasy and torture, heaven and hell, death and resurrection.
He coughed to mask an unbidden groan as hunger flooded his body, pulsating and shooting flames low in his belly. The physical need he’d denied himself for so long hardened and swelled between his legs.
He didn’t have a second of privacy to fuck his own hand, and he refused to do it in front of them. The shame would’ve been more than he could bear. Not to mention his unraveling control. He didn’t trust himself around them. Letting go while they were within reach was too risky.
If he hurt them, he would never forgive himself.
“Your pissy mood has nothing to do with the mission.” Ricky closed in, blocking Martin’s view of everything except the glaring frustration in his brown eyes. “You know I’m having the best sex of my life, and you would be, too, if you could get it up.”
Martin swung.
The punch crashed across Ricky’s face, powered with all the torment and desire that was unfurling inside him.
Ricky hit back, landing a jaw-cracking blow that whipped his head to the side. Blood filled his mouth, and he spat it into the sink. Then they lunged at the same time.
He slammed Ricky against the wall and attacked his mouth with tongue and teeth. “I fucking hate you.”
Ricky smacked him, ringing his ears. “I love you, you stubborn cunt.”
In a practiced sweep, Ricky’s leg shot out and hooked Martin’s ankle, taking him to the floor. Martin’s shoulder rammed into the frame of the bed on the way down, sending a screech of metal through the room.
They grappled in the narrow aisle, punching with elbows and knees, grinding and twisting for the top position. Slick with sweat and grunting in pain, they rolled over supplies and overturned jugs of water, destroying everything within reach.
Martin boiled from the inside out, burning to fight and fuck, ruin and devour, punish and possess. His mouth glanced off Ricky’s lips, trying to capture a kiss that turned into smacking teeth and lashing tongues.
“Say it again.” He latched a leg around Ricky’s thigh and flipped them, putting himself on top. “Say it, you little bitch.”
“I love you.” With a furious glint in his eyes, Ricky tore a hand through Martin’s hair, ripping it at the roots. The other shoved between their hips and fisted Martin’s erection through his jeans. “I need you. Fucking Christ, Martin. I need this cock inside me.”
An agonized, animalistic sound escaped Martin’s throat as he ground against that firm grip, working his hips into a frenzied rhythm.