Mountain Desire

by Vanessa Vale

  “I don’t drink. I don’t do anything,” she said, accentuating the last.

  Mac leaned forward. “You were gonna stick your finger in my ass. That’s something.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, pushed her glasses up. “Yeah, that’s the closest I’ve come to a hard dick in my life. Are they all as good-looking as yours?” She raised her fingers to her lips, shut her eyes. “God, I think this drink is making words fall out of my mouth.”

  Mac and I sat side by side, frozen in place. What the fuck had she said? She’d never seen a hard dick before? My own throbbed. It had heard her just fine. Was she really a virgin? Was that what she meant? I had to ask.

  Reaching out, I took her hand, held it in mine. The gesture surprised her, and she looked to me.

  “You’ve never had sex before?” I asked, keeping my voice low so anyone passing by wouldn’t hear.

  Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced away, tugging her hand from mine. Answer given.

  “No,” she admitted aloud.

  Holy. Fuck.

  Mac lifted his hand, called over the waiter. “We need to get some food in you.”

  “And another one of these,” she said, lifting her glass.

  We weren’t assholes. No. But I doubted she’d have let slip the fact that she was a virgin—or at least vastly inexperienced, since she’d said Mac’s dick was good-looking—if she hadn’t been loosened up by a little vodka. We’d get her some food and get the truth.

  Because we were going to have her. We just needed to know how to go about it. A virgin shouldn’t be taken into a bathroom stall at the Gallows and fucked hard and fast. She needed a bed. Privacy. She needed to be ready to be opened up the first time, softened and sopping wet from a few orgasms. No doubt riding my face would pull that off. Then she’d be ready for our cocks. She’d seen Mac’s, and it wasn’t going to be an easy fit.

  And I was even bigger.

  5

  MAC

  * * *

  “This isn’t my apartment,” Sam said after I opened the door and let her into my house. I followed, Hardin on our heels.

  “It’s mine,” I told her.

  She was drunk. Not shit-faced but definitely buzzed. Not only was she a lightweight, but she’d said she didn’t drink.

  We’d capped her at three vodka cranberries and ensured she ate something. She’d wanted cheese fries, and neither of us stopped her. Even with the carb/grease combo, she wasn’t safe to drive. Not that she had a car.

  Because of all this, Hardin and I agreed we wouldn’t be taking her home. Whoever had sliced her tire was out there, and we didn’t know who he was or why he’d done it. We weren’t leaving a tipsy Sam home alone in case the fucker planned more shit.

  “You like blue,” she commented, taking in my dark-colored couch and curtains, which were both thanks to Hardin’s mother’s decorating. There wasn’t a knickknack in sight because I couldn’t stand that shit, but I’d agreed to her tackling the rest.

  I didn’t say anything as I worked off my boots and left them by the door. Shucked my jacket. Hardin hung up his coat to stay awhile.

  “Why am I here?” she asked, tugging down the zipper on her heavy coat. She couldn’t get it down more than a few inches, and I went over to help. After the freezing air outside, the house was overly warm.

  “I don’t want you throwing up in your sleep.”

  She looked up at me with those pale eyes, and I watched as her mind worked, even through a haze of vodka. “Yes, aspirating on vomit is not a pleasant way to die. I could do that anywhere. The activity isn’t isolated to my bed.”

  I got the zipper down, and she worked the coat off her shoulders.

  “That’s true, but you’ve got us to watch you.”

  “In bed?”

  I frowned. “In bed, what?” My dick perked up at that word.

  “You’re going to watch me in bed?”

  I could barely get my mind around her words because what I was thinking and what I should say were two completely different things.

  “I’d rather watch the two of you,” she added before I could reply.

  “Sweetheart, the only way Hardin and I will be in bed together is if you’re between us,” I told her. In that analytical mind of hers I didn’t want her to misconstrue anything.

  “Okay,” she murmured. Her cheeks, already pink from the outdoors, darkened.

  I looked to Hardin, who was coming out of my kitchen, glass of water in hand.

  “Okay, what?” I asked. She was reducing me to the dumbest questions.

  “Okay to me being between the two of you in bed.”

  Now she looked away, suddenly shy. I wasn’t having any of it. She might be lacking certain social skills, but she didn’t hide. With my fingers I lifted her chin so she had to look at me again.

  “Do you know what that means, Sam?”

  “Sex.”

  She was succinct. That one word, though, held so much meaning. So many possibilities. Getting her naked. Getting between her parted thighs. Tasting her. Fucking her. Sucking on her nipples. Having her suck our dicks. On her back. On her knees. Holding the headboard. Bent over the side of the bed. Taking two dicks at once, pussy and mouth. Pussy and ass.

  All that would take more than one night. It would take days. Weeks. Hell, the rest of our lives.

  If we got her in my bed, she wouldn’t be getting out for a long time. She had to work tomorrow. We all did.

  And she wasn’t sober. We wouldn’t touch a woman who’d had too much to drink, her consent diluted by alcohol. I had to wonder, would she be this bold otherwise?

  She stepped back, and I let her. “I am being completely irrational.”

  Hardin handed her the glass. “Here. Drink this.”

  She looked at the glass, nodded. “Yes, I do not wish for liver cell destruction.”

  I put my hands over my lips to cover my smile as she took a big swig of water. She worried about the death of her liver. Hardin worried about the wicked hangover she might have tomorrow.

  “I am in the home of a stranger, with not just him but two strangers. No one knows I’m here. I just suggested sex. This is textbook horror movie script or the MO for sex trafficking.”

  I should be offended that she’d think either of us was a fucking sex trafficker, but she was right.

  “Sam, we told you before, you’re safe with us,” Hardin said. “If you’d gone home with some other guys, I’d have taken you over my knee and spanked some sense into you.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she blushed again.

  I got hard at the idea of seeing Sam over Hardin’s knee, ass bared and pink from his big hand.

  “Finish your water,” he ordered. She did. “The reason you came here is because you trust us. You didn’t have to think about it, analyze the shit out of it or run some kind of spreadsheet.”

  She pushed the empty glass of water at me, then—stunner—she grabbed the hem of her scrub top and long-sleeved T-shirt underneath and took them off with all the fumbling and lack of modesty of someone not sober. Her ponytail got caught, and she tugged until it came free. “Good, then we’ll have sex.”

  I stared. Hardin stared.

  She didn’t pay us any attention, just turned and strode to my bedroom. We had a second to see the full swells of her tits beneath a red satin bra before she turned away. The view of her back half made me stifle a groan. She was short, but she wasn’t skinny, thank fuck. She had some meat on her bones, soft and ample curves to grip while fucking her into forgetting her own name.

  She still had on her scrub pants and sneakers, neither of which were the least bit sexy, but her waist was narrow, her hips broad beneath the utilitarian fabric.

  “What the fuck is she wearing?” Hardin asked, adjusting himself in his jeans as we watched her disappear into my room.

  That bra was a weapon, ruthless and lethal to any man who saw it. It was the kind that only went halfway up, creating lush swells that made grown men come
in their pants. Her nipples were hidden, but if she took a deep breath or decided to go for a jog, they’d pop free. The shiny fabric caught the light and shimmered. And red.

  Fucking red.

  “Think the panties match?”

  I licked my lips. “With her? Of course they do.”

  He grunted. “We can’t fuck her.”

  Fate was cruel, for we could see what we couldn’t touch? What we couldn’t lick, suck, kiss, fuck. And in satin? I’d be rubbing one out to the vision of her tits for the rest of my life. And we hadn’t even gotten her bare. If she took off her pants, I’d come in mine like a teenager seeing for the first time a girl in just her underwear.

  “Not tonight.”

  “But I’m not standing here.” With that, he strode toward my room.

  I was smart enough to follow.

  She’d climbed onto my bed and knelt at the edge. The satin bra was a sexy contrast to the utilitarian scrub pants. In the soft light of my room, her skin was pale, creamy and perfect. Those tits luscious and full.

  I swore, then stepped up so Hardin and I stood side by side in front of her.

  “Kiss me,” she murmured, her hand grabbing hold of my shirt and pulling me down. I wasn’t going to deny her.

  She was clumsy and sweet, wild and full of passion, yet completely naive about kissing.

  It was the hottest fucking thing in the whole world. My dick wanted to keep kissing her, to cup one of her breasts, test the weight, play with the nipple, see if it was sensitive.

  But no. No.

  I pulled back and she pouted. She fucking pouted.

  “What about me?” Hardin asked.

  She relinquished her hold on me and grabbed the tail of his flannel shirt. No way could she move him, but he lowered his head, ready for a kiss of his own.

  Watching them kiss was just as hot as doing it myself. I could see how her back arched toward him, how her fingers gripped tighter. How her tongue came out, tangled with his.

  Hardin lasted about as long as me and then he stepped back. Pressed his hand to his dick through his jeans.

  “Why’d you stop?” she asked.

  “You’re drunk, sweetheart. We’re not touching you like this.”

  “You just did. You kissed me.”

  “And that’s all we’re doing,” I countered, the words not only for her but for me and Hardin, too. A spoken reminder that we weren’t doing anything tonight.

  Her hands went to her breasts, cupped them. They overflowed her palms, the upper curve of one nipple peeking out.

  Fuck. Me.

  “I want you to touch me,” she practically begged. “I want to know what it’s like. Do you have any idea what it’s like not being touched?”

  I couldn’t imagine being her age and… untouched?

  “You’ve never been touched?” I asked, repeating her words.

  “You haven’t ever been with a guy?” Hardin asked. “Even to make out?”

  She shook her head, and she slumped down, sitting on her heels. “No one wanted to get near me at Harvard. I mean, I was too young and only a few creeps even looked my way. Medical school was different and I kissed a few guys, but none of them made me feel anything and I ended it there. I’ve read about sex being mind-blowing. Heard about it from classmates, how hot it was, how they lost their head with a certain guy. I never felt even an attraction, so I thought maybe I was broken or something.”

  Hardin huffed out a laugh. “Look at you. How the fuck could you be broken? Do you know how gorgeous you are?”

  She smiled then. “But you won’t touch me.”

  We shook our heads. “Not tonight.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” I promised.

  “Fine, but that’s so far away. If you won’t do it, I’ll touch myself,” she huffed, then flopped back in the casual, relaxed way of a drunk. Her body bounced, and she set her feet on the bed, her knees bent. I, of course, watched her tits sway, hoping–begging—for one to slip from a satin cup. It didn’t, her hand slid down her belly and beneath the drawstring of her scrubs and I forgot all about nipples.

  “I’m really wet for you guys,” she said, her arm moving in a way that we knew she was playing with her pussy and rubbing her clit even if we couldn’t see it.

  I looked to Hardin. “Do we stop this?” I didn’t want her to stop. Fuck no. This was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, and we were all clothed.

  He didn’t look my way. “She’s doing it herself,” he said to me. “Don’t need to stop that.” Then, “Show us how wet your pussy is.”

  We watched as her arm stilled, then lifted. The arousal on her fingers caught the light. Fuck, I wanted to grab her hand, lick that sweet juice right off.

  But no.

  “Do you touch yourself, sweetheart? Make yourself come?” I asked, my voice sounding rough and ragged.

  Her hand went back inside her scrubs, and she worked herself with a little more enthusiasm. “Yes.”

  “When you get in bed at night?” Hardin asked.

  Nodding, she bit her lip as she lifted her hips. She knew what her body liked and got herself there quickly. Clearly the liquor had lowered her inhibitions, but I wondered if it had ramped her arousal or if she was always quick to climax.

  “Yes!” she said, her eyes falling shut.

  “Oh no, sweetheart. You want us to watch, then you keep your eyes on us as you work that clit.”

  Her eyes flew open, and a gasp escaped. Her other hand joined the first in her pants, and she went to fucking town. I imagined one set of fingers fucking her pussy, the other working circles over her clit. We couldn’t see, but we could imagine and just watching her… fuck.

  I pressed my hand to my cock, tried to ease the ache.

  She looked to Hardin, then me, then came.

  Her back arched. Her hips thrust up. Her tits shifted with every deep breath.

  She was gorgeous, completely lost to her pleasure, but she was looking straight at us. She knew we watched and was getting off on it.

  She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t tame. Not one fucking bit. She was like Clark Kent, hiding her real identity behind a pair of glasses.

  Her orgasm seemed to go on forever, but when it finally wound down, she caught her breath.

  “Good girl,” Hardin told her. “Letting your men see you come so beautifully.”

  A small smile played at the corner of her mouth and then she fell asleep. From one breath to the next, she was out, the orgasm that fucking good.

  Hardin groaned.

  “Is this for real?” I asked him, my voice low. “The perfect woman in my bed, her fingers still on her pussy, sound asleep?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  6

  SAM

  * * *

  I woke up because my cell rang. Not because I was in a strange bed beneath a cozy down comforter. In a strange bedroom. I was by myself, the smell of coffee in the air, which meant I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t sure how my phone had ended up on the bedside table beside my glasses, but I had to assume one of the men had put it there before I’d fallen asleep. God, had I passed out?

  I grabbed it on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Dr. Smyth, this is Marion Gables in HR. I received your voice mail from yesterday.”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “I’ve added the incident you mentioned to your file, but just so you know, there’s nothing that I can do from a human resources standpoint.”

  “Dr. Knowles got in my space, made physical contact and invited me to eat with him.”

  “And you said you told him you wanted to keep things professional. Has anything happened since then to indicate he didn’t take that to heart?”

  “That was eighteen hours ago. I haven’t been in the hospital since.”

  “Please let me know if it changes. Have a good day.”

  She hung up. While the woman was calm, she was abrupt and far from thorough. I knew sexual harassment
laws, knew Dr. Knowles was pushing every one of them. Without HR taking my concerns seriously, I was on my own.

  As usual.

  I let it go, just as I always did, and thought of my more immediate problem. Hardin and Mac.

  I had to go out and face them. The bedside clock told me I had two hours until my shift.

  I considered escaping out the window, but my coat was by the front door and I had no car. I wouldn’t make it a block before I froze. I did consider that as an option, because I had no idea how I was going to confront them. Not after how I’d behaved. After what I did.

  Oh. My. God. I’d masturbated in front of them.

  I was in my scrub pants, no top. I remembered taking it off. Wantonly. I’d all but thrown myself at them, and they’d pushed me off.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered at the ceiling. It all came back, how Mac had told me to keep my eyes on them. While. They. Watched.

  Shit, shit. SHIT. While they watched!

  I grabbed my glasses and launched myself out of bed, went to the connecting bath. I stared at myself in the mirror, took in the snarled hair, bleary eyes. I had to shower. Was it polite to use a guy’s shower after a one-night-stand—even if there hadn’t been any sex? I didn’t have any choice; there was no way I could look them in the eye like this. I was a hot mess under normal circumstances, but now? I groaned. What they must think of me!

  I didn’t linger under the hot water, even though it felt so good and I was enjoying the familiar scent of Mac’s soap. After drying off, I separated the scrub top from the long-sleeved shirt I’d worn beneath, put the long-sleeved shirt back on. There was no way I was putting on dirty panties, so I went commando beneath the scrub pants.

  I ran my tongue over my teeth, felt fur and finger brushed my teeth using some of Mac’s toothpaste.

  I looked in the mirror again. I still looked mortified. Wet and mortified.

  I’d never thrown myself at a man before, let alone two. Two! Who went after two men? I’d behaved like a lunatic. Like a sex-crazed… no, sex-deprived lunatic.

  I could see them in my mind as they’d watched. The way their gazes were squarely fixed on me, barely moving as if, if they did, I might stop. I’d even seen the thick bulges of their dicks in their pants. I remembered what Mac’s looked like, wondered how it fit inside his jeans when it was hard like that. They’d wanted me. Even a virgin could figure that one out.