1
Someone fucked up.
And it was clearly you. Work this week was a bear and you must have been distracted. Because only a woman being held together by caffeine and a prayer would book a date with two men. At the same time. At the same damn restaurant. Ah, the pitfalls of online dating. Several different profiles across the Internet have finally caught up with you, in the form of a clean cut, square-jawed cop…and a tattooed biker with a cigarette behind his ear.
They both stand—one briskly, one slowly—as you come to a stop between the two tables. “Uh, hey. Gentleman, there’s been…quite an embarrassing mistake. You see…”
Cop gets it first, throwing a glance at Biker, before returning his sharp attention to your red face. “Jesus.”
Biker starts laughing.
“I think it’s for the best if we just forget this ever happened,” you continue, wincing at he note of hysteria in your voice. “I mean, who could ever choose?”
The biker slides the cigarette from behind his ear, tapping it against his sculpted lips. “Who says you need to choose?”
2
Who says you need to choose?
Biker’s question is hanging in the air like a dense, dangerous cloud…one that floats forward and surrounds you. You should laugh off the blatant invitation, repeat your apology and leave. That’s exactly what you’re going to do, right? Only, Cop isn’t laughing. After his initial scoff, he has grown still, watching you under hooded eyelids, maybe even a little ashamed of himself for still standing there. Waiting. They’re both waiting for an answer and you’ve let ‘yes’ become an option because you’ve been indecisive too long.
Little by little, Biker has let go of his amusement, smirk fading as his gaze runs over your body, pausing at the hem of your skirt and scraping back up. He swaggers over to Cop’s table, jerking out a chair and falling into it. Then he drags the chair over from his vacated table, placing it between him and Cop. Your seat. “Why don’t you come sit down?”
Decision time. You’re hovering on the brink of something unfamiliar. But the way they’re watching you in the dark restaurant, silent among the low hum of conversation, bass pumping from the speakers around you…it places one foot in front of the other until you’re sitting between these two vastly different, outrageously sexy men, their energy and focus branding you the moment you’re seated.
Cop wraps his knuckles on the table, a quick punctuation, making your stomach flip like a tossed-up quarter. “I don’t do this. I don’t share.”
“You’re still here, though. Aren’t you?” Biker rolls his tongue around his mouth, watching Cop, even as his tattooed hand glides over your knee and holds, massaging with such possession, your pulse beats in a thick, winding manner. “I’d say you’ve been working around the clock. Haven’t had time for a woman in a good, long while.” His attention returns to your heating face. “And then this hot, young girl walks in, legs for miles, looking like she’d be so fucking sweet on your tongue… and you decide sharing might be worth finding out how she tastes beneath her panties. Sound about right?”
You watch the pulse at the base of Cop’s neck tickticktick, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watches Biker’s hand smooth up your thigh, stopping just beneath your dress. “Yes,” he rasps. “I want to know how she tastes. Right now.”
Maintaining his grip on your thigh, Biker twines the fingers of his opposite hand in your hair, tilting your head back and exposing your neck. Right there in the restaurant. You can hear the hiccups in conversation around you, the quiet murmurs. But it’s all eclipsed by the lightning strike of lust in your tummy when Cop releases a shallow breath against your throat, licking up your sensitive flesh and ending with a growl behind your ear.
“Oh, my God,” you whimper, squeezing your knees together.
“Sometimes a woman needs two men,” Biker says, his voice like blue fire, fingers twisting in the strands of your hair, setting off a demanding pulse between your legs. “Sometimes it takes two men to worship a woman the way she deserves. And you, baby…you deserve that, even if God knows we don’t.” Cop shifts and you feel his erection against the outside of your thigh. Biker’s hand moves those final few inches until his fingertips brush your underwear. “What’s it going to be?” He whispers in your ear.
“Will you let us idolize your cock-bait body one minute and fuck it like dirty dogs the next?”
“Check please,” you manage.
3
Whoa. Buddy. That was THE most intense cab ride of your entire life. Not only because you were crammed in between two men who radiate heat like furnaces, their fingertips brushing up and down your legs, lips gliding over your bare shoulders, but because you’re pretty sure this is going to be the fastest orgasm of your life. Of anyone’s life, actually. At one point, you met the cab driver’s gaze in the rearview and swore he winked at you. As though you’d entered some alternate universe where everyone is in on a naughty secret…starring yours truly.