Twice as Hard

by Amber Bardan

  A bark echoes just ahead. I jog toward the sound. Fuck, she’s probably losing her little mind over a squirrel.

  My pulse pounds. I should’ve walked her myself to do her business.

  “Pippa, get your butt here now.” My voice echoes through the trees. Her bark echoes ahead. “Don’t make me chase you.”

  I run between trees. She always comes when called. Always. My chest clenches. I underestimated the temptation of a plump squirrel snack.

  Woof.

  My head jerks toward the bark. Farther away. Shit. I break into a full sprint. Oh my god, she’s never been anywhere bigger than our local park.

  She isn’t an outdoorsy dog.

  She’ll end up lost and hurt.

  “Pippa,” I scream.

  We’ve never gone on vacation anywhere she could explore. My fault. I’ve always been too focused on work. Liar. I’ve always been too afraid to break routine.

  I left L.A. behind for Canada five years ago, and engaged in exactly zero tourism.

  It took Dean leaving for weeks, then a letter arriving with instructions for this road trip, to get me out of our Toronto apartment.

  I’d been convinced I’d arrive and he’d be waiting. Instead there were only more notes. I shove through trees and break into a clearing. A dirt road. My heart thunders up my chest and fills up my throat. “Pippa?”

  I’ve lost her. I bend over, sucking in desperate breaths. Tears push behind my eyes. Oh, my god—I’ve lost Pip.

  A bark sounds.

  I sniff sharply and start running again. A louder woof rings out. Closer. I speed up. There she is, a black dash between trees.

  “Pippa, stop.”

  I go after her. The trees clear again. Another dirt road. She sprints over an incline. I follow, then clear the hill, and stare down at a lodge-style home. Black smoke seeps from the chimney.

  Pippa gallops around the side of the house.

  Crap, does she smell BBQ or something?

  I approach the house, following her around the side. A figure bends over, grasping Pippa’s collar.

  I pant, slowing. “Thank you, she just ran off—”

  He straightens. His head turns toward me. I choke on my gasp.

  Luke.

  A hand clamps over my mouth, hauling me back against an unforgiving male body.

  I jerk, but an arm snakes around my waist.

  Breath warms my ear. “We warned you everything on this side of the mountain is ours.”

  My blood freezes.

  Fuck, Pip, what the hell did you get me into?

  Chapter Five

  “Drop,” Clarke commands. Pippa rolls on her back, presenting Luke her soft belly. Traitor. I struggle in the inflexible grip.

  “You see?” he whispers. “She knows when to listen and obey.”

  The hand around my middle slides up to my breast and squeezes, eliminating any doubt I may have about his intentions. A jolt of shock slams through me and I jam my heel into his foot and wrench my body to the side. His growl radiates behind me, but his grip only tightens.

  I’ll suffer for that, my gut tells me.

  “Take her out back.”

  I think he means me, but Luke urges Pippa up by the collar and leads her from sight. Then I’m hauled backward. Clarke drags me toward the front door. The heels of my sneakers scuff along crushed rock. My eyes strain, and I open my mouth wide in his palm—to scream or bite, but his hand spans my face ear-to-ear.

  We reach the front step. My pulse roars through my head. Oh, god. I drop my bodyweight suddenly, and lift my knees. My body sinks in his grip, but he just tucks an arm beneath my knees, and carries me. Fuck. I made it easier on him.

  I shout into his hand. The sound’s muffled gibberish that only burns my throat.

  He opens the door and carries me through the house, into a living room with a huge open fire and cream rug, far too luxurious for these rough men. He sets me down between a big comfy-looking couch and the fire. I regain my balance as he releases me, then go completely still.

  What the hell is happening?

  He doesn’t pounce or tear off my clothes. Maybe he’s going to let me go after all?

  “We warned you anything could happen if you came back here.”

  I turn to him a degree at a time. He unhooks the clasp on his watch, and for some reason that action makes my stomach clench in anticipation.

  “So I can only assume that you want to be here.”

  The statement hits me. You want to be here. I shake my head, despite the fact I spent all afternoon imagining them. Spent an hour in the bath with my hand between my legs.

  “My dog, I was chasing my dog. I didn’t even realize I’d come onto your side...”

  “Gabby.” He says my name with a low note of warning. “Did your dog make you take off your clothes at our waterfall?”

  He sets his watch on the mantel.

  My mouth falls open. The door slams. Footsteps thud toward us. Luke enters the room, silent and enormous, all his brooding attention fixed on me.

  And it’s odd really, that he’s the quiet one, but it’s his steps that thud, and his movements that scream the loudest.

  “I asked you a question, Gabby. Did your dog make you strip naked at our waterfall?”

  My gaze flies back to Clarke.

  “Did your dog make you bend over naked so my brother could see your cunt and ass?”

  My head spins. My skin tingles. No. But that was an accident? I flush from toes to cheeks.

  He pulls a scrap of white cotton from his pocket. “Did your dog make you leave these behind for us?”

  I stare. He brings my abandoned panties to his face. He wouldn’t. He does. He sniffs my motherfucking underwear.

  “Did your dog make you tease us?”

  My breath hitches. What can I say? I was naked at their waterfall. That is indeed my underwear. Those things don’t give them the right to do this. I hold up my hands, palms exposed to him. Maybe he’ll see reason. “No, she didn’t, but—”

  Luke rounds the couch, and comes around the other side. My words dissipate, all my attention sucked to their movements. Where they stand in comparison to me. There’s one of them behind me and one in front, the couch on my left and the fire so close on my right.

  I’m boxed in.

  Holy shit.

  Clarke smiles, and it’s the wickedest thing I’ve ever seen. “Then there will be no more excuses.”

  I back up, then glance behind me. No, I can’t back up. The other one will get me. My heart pounds. A shivery feeling overtakes me. “This is all a big mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  “We’ve heard that before, and yet here you are.” He undoes the top button of his flannel shirt. “Now you’re ours.”

  Luke’s footsteps sound behind me. I turn to the side, hands out, trying to keep eyes on both of them.

  “Now it’s your turn to look.” Clarke’s shirt falls to the floor. “You want to look, don’t you?”

  My gaze gets stuck on his bare chest. Not sure how I’m supposed to react, but it’s impossible not to notice the man is toned. Light hair sparse between his pecs, making him look almost hairless when he’s not.

  Another swish and Luke’s shirt is gone too—and this one, holy crap, he’s bulky, his chest hair a dark mat trailing down his firm belly.

  I shouldn’t be seeing this. Shouldn’t be looking. I glance to his feet, keeping track of him without observing more than I should.

  “Like what you see?” Clarke’s question draws me back to him.

  I gulp, and lie through my teeth. “No.”

  “No?” He smiles again, oh, I’m learning about what that smile means. “We won’t tolerate lies, Gabby.”

  Move
ment has me looking back to Luke. He hasn’t said a word. Something tells me he’s the one I can get to. There’s depth to his expression.

  Even though he’s not chatting, that doesn’t mean there’s not a lot going on in his head. His squints and his frowns, and the tension of his lips and jaw, seem to have a lot to say.

  He has feelings, and I can only hope one of those feelings is a conscience.

  “Luke,” I whisper, using the man’s name. Making it personal. The way he looks at me now, he wants to be personal. I’ll use that if I can. “I’d like to go home.”

  A chuckle rumbles behind me, and a hand takes me by the throat. My belly flutters at the strength of his grip.

  “You’re pleading to him for mercy?” His breath is a fresh tickle on my cheek. “Honey, he begged to go to that shitty cabin and take you.”

  He draws me back, tight against him, so I fully face Luke. “He told me how you dropped your clothes for him.” He strokes my stomach gently. Completely opposite to the fingers on my throat. “He told me how you looked at him. He thinks if my gunshot hadn’t scared you off you’d have let him fuck you on the filthy forest floor.”

  Luke’s gaze eats me up. His jaw works. I can’t slow my breathing. Clarke moves to the button on my jeans, flicking it open.

  “No.” My follicles prickle, my pulse scurrying under my skin. I grab his wrist. “Don’t.”

  His cheek presses to the top of my head. “Oh honey, you get that one for free, but just try saying no to us again.”

  My heart seizes. He pushes my fly open then his hand is in my pants, in my underwear. His fingers slide over my lips, and without so much as parting me, his touch meets my slick arousal.

  Oh, my god. Hot flushing shame fills me.

  “You were right, brother; she is wet for us.”

  It’s true. I shouldn’t be. No decent woman would be.

  But he’s touching me intimately, and even with a throat full of my own heart, my hips are restless against him.

  Luke’s nostrils flare, and his attention fixes on my waistband, on Clarke’s hand shoved in my pants. Two fingers work their way inside me. I cry out, rising up on my tiptoes, but I’m so slick it’s easy.

  He presses his lips to my ear. “Me, though, I knew you would come to us.”

  His fingers work, stretching my flesh, evoking feelings I shouldn’t accept but my body won’t refuse.

  “Stop.” I grab his wrist, digging my nails in. His fingers flex on my neck, forcing me to let go and grab the hand at my throat.

  This is wrong. Tears burn my eyes. Not only what’s happening, but the way there’s a tension gathering where he’s touching my cunt.

  I don’t want to be wrong.

  He slides his hand from my pants, releasing me. “Aren’t you going to show me what you showed, Luke?”

  I stumble free and turn to face Clarke, grabbing at my open waistband and holding it closed. My extremities throb. Hands, feet, tits, clit. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s time to show us that beautiful body you’ve had us frantic for.” His gaze flows over me in a hungry caress.

  Frantic for?

  My heart pulses in my throat. I back away.

  “You had to know we’d be going crazy thinking about you. Wanting you.”

  I try to catch a breath.

  “You look so surprised.” He closes the distance between us, then brushes the hair out of my face, away from my eyes, which must’ve given something away. “A gorgeous woman like you. How can you not know the effect you’d have on us?”

  I stumble back again into Luke. His hands grasp my sides.

  Me, gorgeous? No, I’m completely, forgettably average. Average height, average weight, average brown hair, average brown eyes. Regular and painfully easy to overlook.

  I’ve been forgotten and overlooked my entire life.

  “I’ve been losing my mind knowing you gave Luke more than you gave me.” His breath gets harsh, labored.

  What? But I dropped my clothes. It was an accident. Wasn’t it?

  Luke clutches my waist.

  Is he wondering the same thing too?

  “Do you find him more attractive, is that it?” Clarke’s hand rests on my cheek.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “You like me better?” Fuck, that smile again.

  I’m not sure which would be more catastrophic—satisfying his jealousy or stoking it. “I don’t like either of you.”

  His smile fades. “We warned you about telling lies. Don’t make us punish you so soon.”

  Punish? A shiver rolls over my skin, and my stomach lifts.

  “Take off your clothes, honey. You don’t need them anymore.”

  “No.” I grip the still open button on my pants.

  He sighs like he’s dealing with a petulant child, and gestures his chin toward Luke.

  Luke jerks my elbows behind me, securing me in place.

  Clarke reaches behind him into his waistband, and removes a long thick hunting knife.

  I press back into Luke, a gasp leaving my lips. My cardigan falls open.

  Clarke just shakes his head, and casually takes my blouse in hand. His knife glides through it like a birthday cake. He makes a tsking sound that seems to say, “Silly child, as if we’d hurt you.”

  But I don’t believe the sound at all. Cool steel brushes my sternum. There’s danger in the blade, danger in the way they toy with me, but most of all there’s danger in Clarke’s cool eyes.

  I hold my breath, not wanting to breathe or move an inch. He tugs the center of my bra and the knife severs it in two.

  “Oh honey, this is what you didn’t show me?”

  He grabs my tit, his thumb rubs my nipple. It’s hard. Oh god, why is it so hard? We’re standing right in front of the fire.

  “Your body—” His voice gets deeper. “Fuck, just look at it...”

  Silently, Luke presses closer. He’s looking over my shoulder. Looking at his brother feeling me up. Blunt hardness digs into my lower back.

  His cock. His arousal.

  Clarke strokes my breast and it suddenly hits me—a strange delayed reaction—there really are two of them.

  Two men who want me.

  There’s two of them who intend to fuck me. My pulse skips and skips. The air seems too thin in my lungs. I might pass out.

  At the same time.

  Maybe even at the exact same time. My pussy clenches, trying to hold back its response to that picture. What a terrible thing. It should be a terrible thing to even imagine.

  No decent woman would want that.

  But, I’ve already imagined it. I imagined it right after breakfast. Two of a good thing. Now the fascination is not just alive and present in my mind—it’s banging down my door.

  Larger, harder and more frightening than in my imagination.

  And I don’t think I can keep it out.

  My throat dries. This is my own fault. For thinking about such a wicked thing so much.

  He sets the knife on the mantel, then he’s back to me, pulling my jeans down over my hips. My underwear with it. He’s tugging off my shoes, and removing my socks.

  Then I’m naked, cardigan and torn top and bra hanging from my shoulders, held captive by one man for another to touch.

  Clarke strokes down the front of me. My skin ripples, puckering in dread. In dread. That’s what I tell myself.

  He fondles between my legs.

  “Don’t do this.” I squeeze my thighs together and look up at the ceiling, but I can’t block this out, just like I can’t keep him out.

  “Look at this hairless pussy. A woman doesn’t wax her pussy if she doesn’t want men to play with it.”

  My eyes shut. That’s true. I don’
t wax for myself, it’s for Dean.

  Dean.

  Holy shit—Dean.

  “I’m married.” I struggle, wrenching with all of my might. Dean, my husband I don’t deserve. But Luke is too strong. I’m like a little sparrow in his huge hands.

  “That really makes you a naughty little whore, then, doesn’t it, Gabby?”

  It’s the way he uses my name that forces my eyes open.

  A spark flares in his expression, lighting him up, like everything he takes from me makes him burn brighter. He wedges his hand deeper between my thighs. “A bad little whore who wants to take two strange cocks in her whore pussy.”

  He plunges a finger inside my vagina.

  A gasp wrenches out of me. “No.”

  He steps in closer, and his finger moves gently, just like his voice softens. “Your pussy doesn’t lie to us, Gabby.” The plunge of his finger makes a wet squelching sound. “She’s begging for our two cocks, and we’re going to give her exactly what she wants.”

  My lungs seize. No. But he’s right.

  The arousal on his hand is evidence enough. That I am a bad little whore. Just like he said. Guilt rides hard in my throat, swelling my tongue. I am bad, and it’s no wonder my husband would leave me.

  “Does your husband appreciate what a wicked little whore he has?” He withdraws and focuses his touch between my folds, two fingers on my clit, rubbing hard. His words are mean, they should hurt, but they’re true. So true, and I can’t deny it. Tension gathers under his touch. The way he says these things, the look on his face, like each dirty word gets him hotter. Hotter for me.

  “Don’t worry, honey.” He steps in and sandwiches me between them. “We know exactly how to take proper care of you.”

  Their heat overwhelms me.

  I shiver between them.

  “We’re going to take such excellent care of you. You’re never going to have to worry about anything you need again.” Clarke grasps my jaw, tips back my face, then he’s kissing me. His tongue drives into my mouth. My head goes light. I feel high. This doesn’t feel real. Luke releases my hips, then his arms surround me—the only thing between me and Clarke. The brush of his beard grazes the nape of my neck. He growls against me, his huge body rumbling.