Copyright © 2011 Jodi Redford
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
No doubt about it. Bram Colton and Ryan Hollister were the proud owners of the hottest buns in Macomb County. No, make that the entire state of Michigan.
Mentally wiping the imaginary drool from her chin, Lacey McGuire pulled her gaze from the tight back ends of the two men in question and instead stared at the receipts piled on her desk. Unfortunately, those amazing posteriors belonged to her business partners and best buddies. Okay, and frequent stars of her sexiest fantasies, damn it. Which only made her desperate need for concentration more difficult—and necessary.
“Hey, Lace. What do you think? Better angle?”
Bram’s deep baritone managed to snag her focus from the data she’d been inputting into the electronic spreadsheet. Rather than a pair of firm butts, she was met with the equally tempting visual of broad, muscular chests—one covered with a sporty navy blue Henley and the other by a hunter green flannel shirt. Both men wore jeans today, making it all too easy to notice the intriguing bulges behind their flies. Not the angle Bram had been referring to, though it was definitely fantastic.
Cheeks flushing, she lifted her scrutiny to the velvet painting of Elvis that Ry and Bram had thoughtfully positioned on the adjacent wall of her office. The tacky thing was her consolation prize for chickening out on their dare to sing “Like a Virgin” on karaoke night while dolled up in the accompanying Madonna getup. Like there’d been any chance in hell of that happening.
Which meant she was stuck with Elvis. For life. Or until the damn painting perished courtesy of a mysterious accident. She transferred her gaze to Bram’s and Ry’s smug grins and ground her teeth. “You do realize I have two voodoo dolls in my drawer that bear striking resemblances to you both, right?”
Bram snickered. “Doubt there’s space left for more pins.”
“Trust me, I’ll make room.”
His hearty laugh holding no trace of repentance, Bram ducked around Ry and opened the door to her office. Boisterous noise from the bar rushed inside the small room before Bram exited and snicked the door shut, sealing off the cacophony. Ry continued fussing with the Elvis painting, obviously wanting to make sure she had the best possible view from her desk.
Despite her annoyance, her gaze lingered a tad longer than necessary on the broad expanse of his back. Although it was now covered with flannel, she’d seen it plenty of times gloriously bare. There’d been that summer three years ago, when he and Bram had worked the entire month of August at her house, installing her new deck. They’d saved her a small fortune by eliminating the need to hire a contractor, but her sanity and libido had barely survived the constant sight of Ry and Bram right outside her screen door, their tanned, buff torsos glistening with sweat from the relentless heat.
Her vibrator had burned through a ton of batteries those four weeks. If she added up the cost, it probably would have been cheaper to pay a carpenter.
Ry stepped away from the picture and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. “Well, I think that looks pretty damn groovy, baby.”
She squinted at him. “You did not just say groovy.”
“I’m trying to keep in spirit with the sixties and Elvis theme.” He rocked his pelvis in a dead-on impersonation of the King.
Her mouth went dry. Holy crap, those hips should be outlawed. Squirming in her seat, she scowled and returned her stare to the velvet painting. “That butt-ugly thing should take a cue from Elvis and leave the building.”
“Not gonna happen, sweets. And in case you were cooking up an evil plot in that pretty head of yours, Bram and I paid the artist extra to use flame-retardant fabric and paints.”
Damn. They knew her too well.
His grin crafty, Ry plopped down onto the couch and stretched out his long legs. Faded denim pulled snug over powerful thighs, cupping that impressive package between his legs. Gulping, she tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing instead of ogling her best friend’s crotch. Oh yeah. Logging last night’s receipts. She scrambled for the stack and began adding the figures to the spreadsheet. All the while she was hyper aware of Ry lazily sprawled less than five feet away from her. Why oh why did he have to decide to park his gorgeous fanny in her office when her horniness meter seemed to be at an all-time high? She was about to demand that very question—well, minus the last part, obviously—when she recalled the Christmas decorations taking up most of his and Bram’s quarters. Normally the artificial tree and evergreen garlands and wreaths would be out in the restaurant and not squirreled away in one of the offices, but with the big Beach Party shindig this coming weekend, every inch of the bar had been taken over with tropical-themed festivity.
Damn. She was stuck with Ry and her repressed hormones.
Maybe not jumping back into the dating pool after the fiasco with Dan, her ex fiancé, hadn’t been so smart. Frowning, she mulled over the sad state of her sex life. It’d been almost a year since she’d broken their engagement after learning that Dan had slept with the stripper from his bachelor party. At the time, she’d been devastated to the point of never wanting to put her heart through the turmoil of loving someone again. It’d taken several more months for her sexuality to return after the bruising it’d suffered, but even so, she hadn’t been ready to entrust her body or heart to another man. Instead she’d relied on her trusty vibrator and made do with her erotic fantasy men—Ry and Bram. Only lately, her fantasies were constantly intruding at the worst times, making it difficult to concentrate on even the most mundane tasks.
Yes, this obsession with her best friends was pathetic. And probably unhealthy.
The lively—and incredibly annoying—opening bars of “Who Let the Dogs Out” blasted from her cell phone, announcing an incoming call from Bram. She shot a glare in Ry’s direction. “Is it your guys’ mission to make work impossible for me today?”
Ry lifted his linebacker-sized shoulders in a negligent shrug. “Maybe he misses you already.”
She snorted before returning her attention to her computer monitor. Ten seconds later, her cell chirped as a text came in. Fingers flying over the keyboard, she gave Ry another peeved look and he laughed.
“Why am I getting the evil stare? He’s the one bugging you.”
“Probably because you put him up to it.” It’d always been that way. Ever since high school, there hadn’t been a dare Ry issued that Bram didn’t feel challenged to take on. It was for that very reason the three of them became friends. As a teenager, she’d been gawky and shy. Okay, as an adult, she wasn’t much better, but at least the braces were history. During their sophomore year, Ry had gotten it into his head to bet Bram that he didn’t have the balls to partner up with her—the smartest student in class—during chemistry lab. Seeing how Bram had always tended to be the class clown who thought homework was a four-letter word, Ry had been justified in his assumption that she would tell Bram no way. Little had Ry counted on Bram pulling a fast one on him by offering her ten bucks to partner up. They became the three amigos shortly after that. There were still days when she wondered what weird cosmic alignment sandwiched her in the middle of Bram and Ry—two of the sexiest playboys gifted to womankind.
Her cheeks burned as the word sandwiched tumbled around in her brain, inciting a host of naughty and provocative images. It wasn’t the first time her mind took that particular fork in the road. A hot, wicked threesome with her best buds was her most frequent fantasy. Who knew how many explosive orgasms she’d shuddered through while imagining Bram buried balls deep in her pu**y as Ry’s c**k pumped away in her ass. Or vice versa.
Just thinking about it now was enough to make her c**t throb with anticipation. She smothered a groan and shifted in her chair, the soft wool of her slacks a tormenting friction on her inner thighs. The damp, clinging state of her panties shuttled a hot wave of embarrassment through her. Oh God. She was soaking wet and on the verge of orgasm—while one of the starring leads of her fantasies sat across from her, completely clueless of her predicament.
Ry’s nearness only added fuel to her fire. Although she knew she’d regret it, she risked a peek in his direction. He’d leaned back and rested his head on the top of the small tweed couch. His eyes were closed and his features relaxed, but she didn’t think he was asleep. Last night’s late shift was no doubt catching up with him though. Usually Donna, the evening manager, covered closing, but a nasty bug had put the woman out of commission the past few days.
Taking advantage of Ry’s unawareness, Lacey drank in his delicious masculinity. Dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw. It’d been a few days since he’d shaved. She loved him like this—sexy, with a rough edge. Here was the dangerous lover from her dreams. The man who controlled her body with one smoldering look and made her climax with one husky command.
Her c**t tingled in response to the phantom whisper in her head. She squeezed her thighs together, the ache increasing. In her mind, Ry’s dusky eyelashes fluttered open and his heated gaze met hers. She knew he saw her naked need, her struggle to keep the looming orgasm at bay. The glint in his whisky-brown eyes informed her of the implausibility of avoiding the inevitable. Furthermore, he’d be the one to push her over the edge.
He lifted to his feet and walked to her desk, his presence overwhelming her senses, invading her space. His focus lingered on the tight buds of her nipples apparent beneath her sweater before drifting down to the V of her thighs. “Are you wet, baby?”
She tried to look away, but his adamant stare held her firm. Wouldn’t allow her to hide from him. She bit her lip and nodded.
Anyone could come in and see her. How could she expose herself—in every sense of the word—to that possibility? Illicit excitement raced through her veins and sped up her pulse, making her dizzy and breathless.
“Do it, Lace. Let me see how much you want me.” Ry’s hand stroked over the impressive bulge tenting the fly of his jeans.
There was no way she could deny him. Or herself. Her fingers shook as she eased down her zipper and slowly revealed the first inch or so of her red silk thong. A satisfied growl rolled from Ry. “My favorite.”
That’s why she’d worn it. She knew how much he loved the texture of the silk against her skin. And he knew how much she loved it when he pulled the fabric snug between the cheeks of her ass, using the tormenting friction to tease her c**t and labia, knowing full well the addition of his fingers applying pressure on the bunched elastic riding against her puckered rosebud would be enough to shoot her over the edge. But he never went that easy on her. No, he was a master at prolonging her pleasure. Keeping her suspended on the precipice of orgasm for endless hours.
The tension in his big body and the promise in his sinful eyes hinted she was in for a long night. “Take your pants off, Lace. Panties too.”
“Now.” The firmness in his tone thrilled her. He’d find a delicious way to punish her for disobeying him. Of that she was certain.
She shimmied from her slacks and thong. Ry dropped onto his haunches and picked up her underwear. He buried his nose in the garment and inhaled with a lusty groan. The sound, along with the expression on his face, made her skin flush and her c**t ache.
“Christ, you smell f**king good, Lace. I want to lap you up.” His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the slip of scarlet silk. “But first I want to watch you play with that pretty little pu**y for me.”
She whimpered and he grasped the edge of her chair, swiveling the seat sideways until she faced him fully. He tugged her closer so her butt rested on the edge of the padded leather. His warm, calloused palms slid along her inner thighs, refusing to touch her exactly where she wanted him most. He hooked her knees over the arms of the chair, opening her completely to his gaze. Cool air stirred across her wetness. A lush decadence spiraled within her. Under Ry’s hot, watchful stare, she was free to be as uninhibited as she pleased. There was no awkwardness, no shame. No worry that he would think her anything less than what she was.
A vibrant sex goddess.
The intensity in his eyes and the prominent tic in his jaw banished her ever-present doubts. There was also the massive erection straining at the placket of his jeans to consider. With fantasy Ry, she never questioned if he desired her. No, he wanted her. Always. Any way, every way, he could have her.
“You’re dripping, baby. And your c**t is all swollen and glistening. I think you better rub it. Make it feel good for me.”
“But I want you to lick me.”
“I will. I’m plannin’ on spending all night eating out your sweet pu**y. But I want you to strum that c**t first. Get it nice and juicy for me.” He reached for her hand and sucked her index finger into his mouth, wetting it. She didn’t require extra lubrication, but the rasp of his tongue and slight scrape of his teeth was beyond arousing. A fresh surge of moisture trickled from her slit and slid toward the crack of her ass. Ry released her finger and guided it to her pu**y. Her c**t throbbed, begging for her touch, but she bypassed the demanding nubbin and grazed the slick folds of her labia, teasing herself. And Ry. His nostrils flared, his consuming focus glued to her motions. Undulating her hips, she dragged her fingertip higher in slow increments. She hovered just beneath the quivering bundle of nerves, waiting, stringing out the torment. Ry licked his lips, his erection thickening.
Unable to deny herself a second longer, she caressed her c**t. The contact shot an electrical current of pleasure throughout her body, making her jolt. A moan snuck past her lips. “Ooh.”
Ry’s attention jerked to her face. His gaze locked with hers. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
She’d known he would ask. Ry was always all about the details. “My c**t is wet and slippery.”
“Is it beating beneath your finger?”
“Not yet. Soon.”
“Tease it with little flicks.” A hungry hum of pleasure rumbled from Ry’s chest when she complied with his request. “You like that, don’t you, baby?”
“I like your tongue on me more. Or your c**k. Inside me.”
A sexy, knowing smile tipped one corner of Ry’s mouth. “Maybe. But we both know what you like best.”
She tried to look away from his dark, seductive stare, but it reeled her in.
“What is it that you love most, Lace?”
“Y-you. F**king me.”
“In my ass.” She bit her lip.
“What is Bram doing while I’m f**king your ass? Watching?”
She shook her head. “He’s with us. Filling my pu**y.”
“That’s right. We’re f**king you together, baby. The way it’s always been meant to be. Our c**ks are pounding into you, soaked with your juices.”
A strangled groan tore from her throat, the first beat coursing through her c**t.
“We’re gonna make you come, Lace. So f**king hard.”
Lacey’s phone chimed again. She gave a startled jerk, snapping from her fantasy. Holy s**t. Her breath sawing from her lungs in short gasps, she dropped her gaze to her lap, half afraid she’d find her hand buried between her legs. She was relieved to note that it wasn’t. Mortifying enough that she’d been mentally masturbating at work. If she’d been pleasuring herself in reality? She would have crawled beneath her desk and not come out for the next week, particularly if Ry had opened his eyes and noticed what she’d been up to.
Reminded of her fantasy lover’s presence, her focus veered to the couch. He was still in his relaxed pose, and the unmistakable sound of soft snores proclaimed him asleep.
Thank God for small miracles.
Her cell beeped again, announcing yet another text. There was no great mystery as to who it was most likely from. Smothering a sigh, she swiped the aggravating device from her bag and glanced at the words typed on the screen. Why aren’t you rescuing me?
She skipped to the previous message. Olivia’s got me cornered in the bar.
Lacey blew out a heavy breath. Olivia Barnam was only one among a long parade of bimbettes who’d fallen into Bram’s bed, but the woman had proven to be less willing to leave it than the others, and as a result, had gotten into the habit of stalking him at work. While she wasn’t exactly a fan of Olivia’s, Bram was a big boy. Let him take care of his own damn problems. She punched in a quick reply. Busy right now.
Almost immediately, Bram’s response pinged back at her. I’ll do anything you want. Just. Get. Your. Ass. Out. Here.
Anything she wanted? Her pu**y grew even wetter as she considered the possibilities. Yeah, not bloody likely. She eyed the wall before quickly typing in her selling price. Elvis. I want him destroyed.
Bram’s answer took a little longer coming this time. Ry won’t go for that.
Sucks to be you, then. A spark of orneriness prompted her to add, Give Olivia a smooch from me. She hit send. Before she even lowered her cell to her desk, Bram’s message flashed across the display.
Fine. Elvis is adios.
Ooh, yeah. Victory tasted sweet.