Chapter 1
What was the time? Chantelle squinted at the alarm clock but her eyes refused to focus. Still dark, so it must be early. Something woke her. Might be the amount she drank the night before or the fact she ached in many ways, some of them good, some bad. Hard to distinguish where her body parts ended and Bobby and Sam’s began. The tangle meant she’d spent several hours of lying in bed. She ached from tight muscles, and a crook neck.
Tongue running over her teeth decided her: she needed a drink and to pee. Untangling herself from the two men proved more difficult than she expected, so a few minutes passed before she stumbled to the bathroom. After relieving herself, she flushed, washed her hands, and grabbed a face cloth. Wetting it first, she ran it over her face and neck, under her arms and over her breasts. The cold water made her shiver but as soon as she rinsed the cloth and dip it in fresh water, the heat of the room settled about her again. The wash at the sink made her feel better though. She next used the flannel to wipe herself more intimately, a blessing to overheated, overworked, and tender skin.
Shouldn’t get so carried away all the time. The notion brought a smile to her face and made her hot all over. Did every girl dream of having two men in their bed? Maybe not, and Chantelle hadn’t sought the scenario. Still…she had put Sam and her man together and, except for some unexpected dangers, the situation worked out well.
So well, she sometimes felt too lucky, but such thoughts tempted fate, so she put them out of her head. Better get back to bed before her absence woke her men. She switched off the light and made her way back to the bedroom.
Too late. Though the men lay where she left them, Bobby’s eyes glowed in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
So did Sam’s.
A gasp caught in her throat. Would she ever get used to the changes in Sam? Bobby had altered Sam to save his life, but she often forgot.
“What’s taking you so long to get back here?”
Good question. Bobby’s low murmur stroked places a voice had no right to reach, making Chantelle clutch the doorframe. Arousal came upon her like a flash fire, and Bobby would know from her scent, but did he also tune into her surprise upon seeing Sam’s eyes glowing in the night? Did Sam? She never wanted him to believe she didn’t want him. Or was afraid of him.
Fine. She had been, the one time when waking after such a terrifying night when she didn’t know whether Sam would live or die. Though Bobby warned her of what kind of creature Sam might become, she hadn’t known what to expect. How could she? What Bobby tried to do was the stuff of legend.
Once Sam accepted what he was, no…she didn’t fear Sam now. She loved him.
“Are you sure there’s room for me in the bed?”
Bobby growled. “As if we’d dare turf you out,” Sam mumbled, chuckling.
“You might if the two of you wanted to be alone.” Chantelle stalked over.
“Oh, I’d seek your permission first.” Sam rolled away from Bobby to make room. “I may be a creature of the night now,” he waggled his eyebrows and grinned showing his teeth, “but I’m neither stupid nor so brave.”
Great. He noticed her reaction, but at least he made a joke. So unlike the moody Sam they knew and loved. Course, he didn’t have so many reasons to be so temperamental these days. Good to see him happier, but she missed the old Sam a little.
She struggled for something to say as she slid on the bed between her men. Hesitating.
“What’s wrong, love?” Bobby read her body language and her scent as always.
“Truth?” One corner of her mouth curled as she asked.
“Truth.” The word vibrated out of Bobby with a hint of something she knew well. A dog’s equivalent of saying, ‘of course’ with a touch of irritation.
“I can tell what will happen if I get between you two again tonight.”
“Such as?”
“One, I will regret it as I overheat.” She sent a silent apology to the guys, but she didn’t always want to be the meat in this particular sandwich. “And two, one or both of you intend to jump my bones.”
“What’s wrong with that?” The rasp in Bobby’s tone edged higher.
“Nothing if you hadn’t both taken a turn this evening.” She cocked her head on one side. “Even I get sore.” Chantelle sat back on her heels. “I’ve something else in mind if you two aren’t satisfied, and I can tell you’re not.” She flicked her gaze down to two hard cocks.
What was she going to do with these guys? Content but never sated. Par for the course. She would never tell Bobby but part of the reason she’d paired him with Sam was to lighten his need of her. Her mind was always willing but not always the flesh…and, besides, she didn’t mind some Bobby and Sam action. She looked from one to the other knowing Bobby would cotton on. A hand went to his crotch, and he gave his burgeoning member a squeeze as if it hurt.
“Prepared to take one for the team, honey?” A wink in Sam’s direction underlined her point.
A groan filled the room, but not one of despair. Both men were awake now and Sam’s moan spoke of what was to come.
“Someone’s eager.” Bobby’s growl filled the room, the hand not on his own cock going straight to Sam’s, thumb circling the tip, smearing the wetness there. Though Chantelle opted out of this tryst, sensation flooded her nerves, making her tingle.
Didn’t surprise her when Bobby let go of both dicks, grabbing Sam by the nape and dragging his mouth to his. Sam opened at once, no doubt knowing Bobby would nip if he didn’t. Mouths fused, making Chantelle shiver—she knew too well how Bobby’s tongue delved, plunged, staked the Alpha dog’s claim. As he sucked on Sam’s lips she was as connected to the men as they were to each other, as though Bobby kissed her.
She edged away to the foot of the bed, not wanting to hinder their movements, and half afraid she’d forget how tender she felt and throw herself into the mix. Her whole sex ached but her mind warred against common sense.
Bobby broke the kiss, gave Sam a push, rolling him over, tugging him back when it became obvious Sam lay too close to the edge. The idea of both men tipping out of bed while joined made Chantelle struggle not to giggle, though she winced. Might be painful if Bobby linked to Sam like the dog Bobby was. The controlled aggression in Bobby’s movements and the compliance in Sam’s made her want to weep from her eyes and her sex.
Nice arse, Sam. Bobby wasted no time, separating those cheeks exposing the entrance into Sam’s body he was now intent on loving.
As shifters they all saw well in darkness, but Chantelle scooted off the bed, went to the window, flipping the curtain open a little to bath both men in the cool white light of the moon. Leaning an elbow on the window sill, she settled back to watch. Bobby went down, lapped, wetting Sam, pressing with one thumb, two, lapping again, until Sam cried out, rolling his hips whether to get away, urge Bobby on, or to rub his cock into the bed, Chantelle couldn’t tell.
“None of that now.”
At Bobby’s order Sam grew still though he whimpered and, hell, the sound made her sex clinch.
“On all fours like a good dog.”
“Fuck you.” Despite his protest, Sam obeyed. One of Bobby’s thumbs sank deeper, replaced by one finger to the knuckle, then two. Sam panted like the canine Bobby suggested he was. He lowered his head, his back, presenting his fine backside for Bobby’s use.
Bobby didn’t stop, using a rhythm Chantelle recognised, plunging, a gentle curl of his fingers, urging Sam’s sweet spot to react. The scent in the room changed as Sam came close to orgasm, spiced with the fragrance of Bobby’s control. When Bobby replaced his fingers with his cock, Sam grabbed the bed covers in two clenched fists.
Her man’s stabs were short. Chantelle looked to his face, the intense stare, concentration in his eyes. Enjoying himself. Using the tightest part of Sam to roll over the bulbous head of his glans.
A blend of hot air and a cool stray breeze wafted over Chantelle’s skin, connecting her to the scene by triangular points fro
m her sex to her nipples. As Sam’s breathing grew heated, a flush spread across her chest. Chantelle crossed her legs and rolled her hips, applying a little unexpected pressure and pleasure. Sam wriggled his hips, and, at last, Bobby gave him what he wanted, a deeper lunge…returning to the shallow thrusts before another plunge.
Several short and one deep dive made Sam gasp each time. As he tried to follow Bobby’s withdrawing cock, Bobby controlled him with a firm grasp of Sam’s buttocks. Damn, but he might leave an imprint if he didn’t ease up. Not as Sam appeared to mind. Sam might hurt his neck before it happened—he whipped his head side to side. Impossible; her two guys having come tonight, and here they were hurtling toward a third time, Chantelle on their heels from being the voyeur to their pleasure. If Bobby so much as brushed a finger over her clit, she’d erupt.
As if he was aware, Bobby met her stare, increased his pace, thrusting now, fucking, giving Sam what he and Bobby both needed. Sam shuddered; Bobby sped up. Sam let out a combined groan and a growl which had no business coming from a human throat, coming, but Bobby didn’t stop. He kept Sam’s orgasm alive by pistoning his hips, heading toward his own climax. He grunted, the sound warning of his release, but he didn’t stop moving. He tightened Sam’s cheeks into a hollow into which to thrust, so tightly wrapped around his sex, Chantelle got the barest flash of her lover’s penis. Sam had as good as collapsed though his cock strained and twitched while Bobby rode out his own climax.
A second before he stopped Chantelle noticed her own orgasm, a ghost orgasm, after all her body had been through during the evening, but the waves were familiar and undeniable. Watching her men commanded her body. Fine with her. The aftershocks were about all she could take tonight, but the ripples stole the strength from her legs.
“Is there room for me on the bed?”
Chantelle closed the curtain and edged toward Sam’s side, which would do her for the rest of the night. Good thing, too, for a second later, Bobby muttered, “Sorry, Sam. You’re stuck with me awhile.”
Chantelle lay out on the bed, chuckling as Sam let out a small moan. She pulled the duvet to her waist and fell asleep knowing her two men lay tied together, Bobby’s cock having swelled inside Sam the same way he had done inside her earlier. She nodded off, smiling. Let Sam have the resulting ache for a change.
Chapter 2
“Well, if it ain’t hopalong.”
Sam froze, hands out, reaching for the glasses the bartender set on the bar. The voice needed no introduction. Andrew Hellman and not far behind would be…
“Sshhh. Not here,” hissed Dylon Woodcock.
Hellman and Woodcock. Would be a comedy duo or an evil twin convention if not so sad. The two men were the bane of many a rookie. For Sam, as he moved up the ranks, he’d suffered their comments along with everyone. When his career ended with his backside stuck in a desk job after an on-the-job injury to his leg, he’d earned grudging respect from Woodcock, but Hellman never got off his case. Not even now, with Sam no longer an officer.
“Sammy boy knows I mean nothing by it. Stating nothing but the facts.”
Nothing but the facts, eh? Sam picked up both glasses and spun, favouring what used to be his good leg. Little did Hellman know things had changed.
Shit-eating grin. God, he’d love to wipe the shit-eating grin from Hellman’s face. He switched his gaze from the man’s mouth to the man’s eyes. Met his stare. Gave him a nod. Hard to detect but the skin around Hellman’s peepers tightened a little. His scent also changed, the man far from happy.
“Didn’t expect to find you here, skippy.”
Skippy? Was that the best Hellman could do? The general buzz in the pub fell away into the background as Sam concentrated on the dicks standing only six feet away from him. They were far from the only police (or ex-police) in the pub, all being here ready to move on to the award ceremony. More than two heads turned. Some looked away as soon as they spied Hellman and Woodcock. Sam didn’t as much as blink.
“Invited like every good officer in Atkins’ department. And some not so good.” Sam let his gaze drift to Hellman’s feet and back up again. The grin fell from the man’s face. Behind barely parted lips his teeth clinched, his smell became sour. He might snarl any moment. The notion made Sam want to laugh. He refused to cower; didn’t feel the slightest bit nervous. He glanced at Woodcock.
If Hellman’s glower amused him, Woodcock’s shocked expression made Sam want to roll around on the floor and howl. Maybe cry with laughter. He swallowed, hoping the reaction didn’t make him appear nervous, no longer caring when Hellman’s lips curved, the beginnings of a smile returning to his face. Sam wiped the man’s expression clear of pleasure by walking over. Back straight. No limp in sight.
“What the…?” Hellman cut off the sentence but his shock stunk up the room so much Sam almost recoiled. Ever since the night he’d changed, he’d inherited some of Bobby and Chantelle’s attributes, including the ability to detect more with his nose than any of his other senses.
“How?” Woodcock didn’t even try to hide his surprise.
Hellman didn’t allow Sam the opportunity to reply. He gestured to the two glasses, one in each of Sam’s hands. “Brought your boyfriend with you?”
So taken with baiting Hellman was Sam, he hadn’t noticed Bobby moving in until the man slipped an arm around his shoulders. “He sure did.” Bobby grinned at Hellman, peered at Sam, grinning with open admiration on his face.
“His limp…” Woodcock sounded dazed.
“It’s a miracle what they can do nowadays when you find the right surgeon.” Bobby snagged the glass containing his drink and took a swig, staring at the two troublemakers with an expression Sam recognised: Come on you two lugs, make something of it.
He stunned Hellman and Woodcock. “But…but…you’re straight,” Woodcock stammered.
“He’s not…They’re not together, you daft bugger.” Hellman flushed, gnashing in irritation at what he perceived to be Woodcock’s stupidity. A few of the coppers in the bar sniggered but looked away as soon as Hellman glared at them.
If only they all knew the truth.
Bobby’s grip tightened. Surely, he would not make a show? Not here. Not now.
Sam wasn’t sure what he’d do if Bobby came out declaring they were together, and not because he was ashamed. Toying with Hellman was one thing, but their relationship, what he had with Bobby and Chantelle, was too precious to cheapen in front of these guys. Either Bobby sensed Sam’s emotions, or he never intended to say a word. He lessened his hold but still hung around Sam’s neck. “Chantelle’s on her way but didn’t you know the three of us work together these days?”
“Work?”
“Work, live, play.” Bobby didn’t elaborate further, though he gave them a wink. “I’d love to say it was great to catch up but…” He steered Sam away, letting go when they were halfway across the room. “Wankers,” he muttered, forcing Sam’s lips into a curve.
“Pity Chantelle missed that.”
“Maybe for the best.”
Bobby might be right. She might not have kept her retaliation so subtle. The two men slid back into the seats other officers had saved for them.
“Some things at the precinct never change,” one of them offered maybe in a way of an apology. They all fell back into conversation, chatting until…
Sam glanced at his watch. “Is she going to make it?”
“She said she would.”
They’d travelled to London the previous day. While in the area Chantelle wanted to hit the shops with two girlfriends. Happy she had the opportunity to partake of some female bonding, Sam and Bobby went on to the award ceremony without her. The plan was to talk with some old work colleagues over a pub lunch before the ceremony in the afternoon, honouring their old sarge, Gordon Atkins.
“There’s time yet. And she’d hate to miss it.”
Bobby was right on both counts. They’d all been suitably impressed hearing how Atkins was in the wrong place at the righ
t time, off duty and attending a football match when he spotted and joined five of his officers responding to called-in reports of a man on the loose with a machete. Atkins along with his officers formed a human blockage around the suspected terrorist, and, despite the possibility the suspect wore a suicide vest, held onto him to prevent a detonation of a possible bomb. He was one of a few receiving a national Police Bravery Award.
* * * *
Chantelle cursed the lights as she waited to cross the street. Although she had loved the time spent with two of the women she used to work with, neither were going on to the award ceremony. The packed shops meant she had taken longer to find the right dress and pay for it, the queues endless. The good weather had brought people out in their droves, and instead of sunbathing in the parks they meandered, aimless, under her feet, getting in her way, making her late. As for the congestion charge lightening traffic…she didn’t believe it. A car blasted its horn when she was halfway across—the lights had changed but she could not walk faster than the pedestrian ahead of her—and it took all her self-control not to kick the bumper. Instead she flipped him the finger and two people clapped her in praise.
At last. She was a few hundred yards from the entrance to her hotel. All she needed to do was change clothes and be on her way. She’d make it, no problem. Though the ceremony was private, family and close friends, or those perceived to be, and other officers were all attending. Chantelle couldn’t get over the fact Gordon Atkins invited them. The fact touched Bobby and Sam, too.
Back in her room, she kicked off her shoes, dumped her bags, and laid the dress she had chosen on the bed. Visitors to the ceremony didn’t need to wear uniforms, unless they were officers, but a dignified mode of dress was expected. The plain black sleeveless dress was perfect.
Fifteen minutes later she did a quick inspection on, having showered and then freshened her make-up. She ran a brush through her long red hair, and slipped her shoes back on, grabbed her jacket and handbag and headed for the door. Two stops on the train would get her to the ceremony with ten minutes to spare, but one street away from the station she ran into an old acquaintance.
Ruff Trouble Page 16