Get Lucky

We’re going to have her. We’re going to share her. And we’re going to make her ours.

3

Phoebe

Fire blazes through my core, the feel of two rock-hard bodies pressing into me from either side sending my head reeling. I gasp as Clay’s mouth crushes to mine, his powerful hands cupping my jaw, his tongue demanding entrance to my lips as I melt into him. I can feel Eamon pressing into me from behind, his firm hands gripping my hips possessively, his words still teasing through my ears.

“Now him.”

A minute before, I’d been tingling with forbidden heat, wondering which of these dangerous, gorgeous, powerful mob kings was going to “win” me—which one was going to claim me as a prize.

Now? Well, now it looks like there was no need to wonder at all. Because it’s not going to be one of them taking me as the winning prize.

It’s going to be both of them.

I moan softly into his lips, panting, my whole world spinning as my mind whirls. This situation would be insane in any capacity, with any two men who’d just “won” me at a game of cards. But these aren’t “any” men. These are two Irish kings of the underworld. Back in Dublin, there’s a council of five who run the Irish mob organization, with a reach so powerful that it reaches even here, to Boston. Terry, Patrick’s uncle, might be the “boss”, but even he reports to the council of kings.

…And here I am, sandwiched between two of them.

Kissing them.

Of the five members of the council, Clay Moreland and Eamon Lear are the most feared. The most respected, too. But certainly, the most feared. They’re both huge, towering above my five-foot-four. And dark, and dominant, and so freaking good looking it’s not even funny.

In fact, it’s a problem.

Because everything about this situation should feel wrong. I should be screaming and running from the room. Not just because these are two strangers, however gorgeous. Not just because of who they are. Not just because I’m—technically—engaged to another man, however horrible he is, and however bullshit an arrangement that is.

There’s more. But before I can even think about it further, I’m gasping as I’m whirled, pulled away from Clay and spinning back into Eamon’s arms. He growls when he kisses me, and this time, I’m willingly opening my mouth for his tongue—willingly melting into him and moaning as his powerful hands drag my body tight to his.

This is wrong.

This is very very wrong, on so many levels. But the longer I kiss Eamon, and the longer I tremble at the feel of Clay’s lips on the nape of my neck, the more reason is being shoved aside. The more my ability to say anything but “yes please” is burning away.

This could destroy everything. This could ruin months of work I’ve put into getting into the position I’m in now. But I can. Not. Stop. Kissing them.

They whirl me again, and this time, I’m falling right into Clay, my palms landing on his hard, muscled chest and my moans drowning in his lips.

“Got you all to ourselves now, little princess,” Eamon growls into my ear, making me tremble as Clay kisses me hungrily.

“Now what are we going to do with you?”

Clay pulls away, and I pant, my face burning hot and electricity teasing through my body.

“You—you could let me walk out of here?”

Clay grins wolfishly.

“And I could pull a pot of gold out of my arse too, but I don’t think it’s going to happen, do you?”

His hungry, gorgeous smile sends fire teasing through me. Our eyes lock, and I swallow thickly, trembling as I feel both his hands and Eamon’s tighten on my waist.

“A kiss like that doesn’t say you want to run away, now does it,” Clay purrs.

I bite my lip, shivering, not knowing what to say.

“Does it,” he growls quietly.

I whimper, shaking my head. “No.”

“How about ‘no, sir.’” Eamon growls into my ear from behind me, making me tremble heatedly.

I shiver. Not even a little one, a big, body-trembling, core-tightening, panty-dampening shiver.

Fuck is that hot. And I don’t even know why. Maybe because it’s so wrong to call the two dominant, dangerous mob kings who’ve just won me in a poker game “sir”. Or maybe it being so wrong is exactly why it lights a fire inside of me.

“Sir, hmm?” I toss back, my voice breathy, trying to steady my nerves with sass.

“Yes,” Clay growls.

“Well maybe I’m not that kind of girl?” I breath.

Eamon chuckles darkly behind me as he pulls even closer into me.

“See, I think you are,” he says darkly. “I think you’ve been waiting for a man to dominate you a little bit for longer than you want to admit.”

I blush.

“Answer me.”

“Maybe,” I gasp quietly, heat shuddering through me.

“Maybe?”

“Yes.”

I tremble.

“Yes, sir.”

My voice comes out heated and breathy, like an admission of guilt.