by Renee Rose
He groaned. He wouldn’t last long at this rate. He’d been hard for her since the first flirty smile she’d flashed at Starbucks that afternoon.
She licked a long line from his balls to the rim of his cock then took his length deep into her throat.
Jesus fuck! His eyes rolled back in his head.
Behind her, his partner produced a condom and rolled it on his dick. Sloane rested on her knees, bent at the waist, presenting in a perfect position to be fucked from behind.
He buried one hand in her hair, stroking her head. “John’s going to fuck you now, baby,” he warned her, wanting to be sure they had her consent.
“Mmmph,” she moaned and waggled her hips as she hollowed out her cheeks and sucked his cock hard. Incredible to see how she’d given herself over to them, her trust in them clear, her surrender beautiful. He felt a strong desire to protect her—from them, from life, from anything that might ever threaten her. She brought out the most primitive male in him—the caveman who wanted to provide and protect.
John gripped her hips and held them still as he pushed into her.
She momentarily stopped sucking him, just held him engulfed in her deliciously hot mouth.
“Don’t forget Keith, baby girl,” John murmured, his voice deepened with lust as he glided in and out of her slowly.
She started and lifted her eyes apologetically. Keith stroked her cheek with his knuckles, watching, transfixed, as she started up again. Damn, the woman could suck the chrome off a bumper.
His balls swelled.
John picked up his speed, holding her hips steady as he shoved in deeper, harder.
She sucked faster, matching John’s pace, her eyes wide with panic. She was close.
Damn, he was close, too.
“Fuck, Sloane,” he muttered.
John’s jaw tightened and his brow furrowed. He plowed into her with more force, their bodies slapping together.
Sloane lost all rhythm. She pulled off him and pumped her fist over his cock with the head bumping against her outstretched tongue. It was enough. His thighs gripped.
“I’m coming,” he warned her, but she let it spill onto her tongue.
“Fuck, yeah,” John grunted behind her, his strokes growing rough as he, too, lost control. “Yeah,” he roared, shoving deep into Sloane.
Keith pinched her nipples, and she jerked with release, her mouth opening into a surprised sort of O.
Beautiful. Exquisite, really. He took a mental picture, not wanting to forget the way she looked in that moment.
Chapter Four
A male voice murmured Sloane awake. Sunlight streamed in through a crack in her curtains. Holy shit. She stiffened. Had she actually spent the night with them? She blinked, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.
No. Freaking. Way.
Both cops lay in bed with her, one on each side.
“What time is it?” she croaked, panic seeping in. She had to be in court by eight.
“It’s only five thirty, but I figured you might need to get going.” Keith stroked a lock of hair from her face as he spoke. It had been his voice that woke her.
John leaned up on one elbow, his bare chest as perfectly defined as his partner’s.
Holy shit. How had she ended up letting them spend the night?
What had she expected to happen? That they’d put their clothes on, say goodnight, and go their separate ways, she supposed. But when she’d collapsed on Keith in utter exhaustion, he’d picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. That was the last thing she remembered. She must have fallen into the deepest sleep she’d had in years.
“Yeah, I need to get moving.”
Keith climbed out of bed, still naked—gloriously so—and stood back to let her pass. Wow. Had she really had a cop threesome last night?
She stood up and tried to pull the sheet with her to cover herself, but John snapped it back. “No way, baby girl. There’s no being shy with us on the morning after.”
She scrambled to pull on a robe. When had she taken her shoes off? One of them must have done it for her. “Oh really? What’s your usual morning-after routine?”
The two men exchange a glance.
“We don’t have one,” Keith answered. “You’re our first overnight.”
Her cheeks flamed. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Did they think it was weird?
“I had a great time last night, but you guys have to go.” She shifted from one foot to the other.
“We know,” Keith said, but those blue eyes appeared haunted again, the way they had before the sex antics had begun. “We want to see you again.” He said it so plainly, so seriously, she stopped her fidgeting and stared. Had they discussed it? After she fell asleep? Or did they just read each other’s minds?
“I’m sorry?”
John climbed out of the bed and pulled on his boxer shorts “Yeah. We do.”
“What? Both of you again?”
John gave a sheepish shrug. “Either. Both. However you want us. We want to see you again.”
She gaped at the two beautiful men who had rocked her entire world the night before.
No.
She couldn’t. Once hadn’t been rational. Twice would be stupid. “I had a great time, but, uh, I really can’t do this again.”
Keith’s solemn gaze grew more sober. He tossed a card on the dresser. “You know where to find us.” His voice sounded heavy, disappointed.
She shoved back her matching disappointment and bobbed her head. “Yep, I sure do. I’m going to hop in the shower. Just let yourselves out. Thanks, guys. Bye!”
In the bathroom, she turned on the water and stepped into the shower. Her throat grew dry as she washed away their scents, memories of her night with Keith and John flashing through her mind. It had been worth it. A positive experience in her rather limited logbook of sexual adventures.
But no. Seeing them again wasn’t a door she wanted to open. How would it work? Three people couldn’t be in a relationship. Would it just be booty call kind of action? She didn’t have time for either option in her life.
So why did the thought leave her feeling so damn empty?
#
John watched his partner stomp toward the squad car. He hadn’t seen Keith this surly in years. Not since his late wife, Becky, got the three-months-to-live diagnosis. Depressed, yes. Shut down, robotic, barely there. Those versions of Keith were more familiar, or had been in the years since Becky’s death.
The fact his partner had been truly animated, truly engaged with Sloane last night, explained his foul mood today. Not that he could point any fingers. He had definitely been tempted to snap those cuffs on her for real and refuse to let her leave until she agreed to see them again.
Or just see Keith. Maybe he should step back and let his partner take this one.
But even as he had the thought, the pressure in his chest increased. He damn well didn’t want to give up Sloane, not even to Keith. Not that he minded sharing.
“We’ll change her mind,” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat.
Keith didn’t answer.
“We know where she works. We’ll wait for her this afternoon. Convince her she needs more of us.”
“Great, and how will you explain this to the chief when we’re arrested for stalking?”
He rolled his eyes. “If she really doesn’t want us, we’ll leave her alone, but I think she had the morning-after jitters and there wasn’t any time to talk her down.”
Of course, they’d never spent the night with a woman before. Sex, yes. Cuddling up afterwards, waking beside her was all new territory. So he wasn’t any expert on this situation. But he did know people.
Lawyers were cautious by nature. Cerebral. They weighed decisions thoroughly. Last night, she’d let go and given herself to them with pure abandon. They’d set the sheets on fire together. Without a shadow of a doubt, they’d rocked her world.
That probably scared her.
Hell, it almost scared him, and
he feared nothing. She was so damn perfect—for both of them.
“I want her.” Keith, the king of summing things up in as few words as possible.
“Yeah, me, too.”
“I mean, for keeps.”
Oh. Fuck. He wanted her. For himself.
John drew in a breath. The most selfish side of him said, Fuck that. You’ve at least had a wife. I’ve never had the chance. But he hadn’t watched the guy suffer for the last four years without wishing he could cut out his own heart and give it to him so he’d be whole. He would die for his partner. He’d give a kidney, take a bullet. Keith had saved his ass more times than he could count.
“That’s cool. I’ll stand down. You deserve her, man.”
Keith took his eyes from the road, brows low. “What? No, that’s not what I meant.” His partner shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his beard. “Wait...do you want her? Like, for a serious relationship?”
John hesitated. He, as a rule, didn’t do serious relationships. Never had. He liked women too much. Multiple women. Different women. Yeah, he’d been a player. But, damn, a woman like Sloane?
For a moment, he pictured her as his wife. Imagined coming home to that sultry voice, those legs, that whip-smart brain of hers. But they hardly even knew each other. He opted for a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Keith was silent for a long time. So long, John thought the conversation had been dropped, but just before they reached the station, Keith said, “Sometimes, you just know. I knew the moment I met Becky she was the one. Irrational—we had nothing in common. I liked sports, she liked the ballet. I loved the outdoors, she liked to stay in and read books. But none of that matters. There was just something there. Something indescribable. Not just chemistry, either, even though that was off the charts. It was like she knew me, the moment she saw me. And I knew her.”
Inexplicably, his heart pounded hard in his chest, like they were about to go in and defuse a bomb or chase down an armed burglar.
“I felt that way about Sloane.” His voice cracked.
Keith parked and turned in his seat. “Me, too.” He looked miserable.
His heart pounded harder. His mouth had gone dry. “You can have her, man. I don’t want to stand between you and—”
“Fuck that. You can have her. You’re young like her. You could start a family, make a life together. I’m not going to stand in the way of your future.” He scrubbed his beard again and hesitated then turned away and opened the door, climbing out of the car.
#
Keith took down the information from the distraught college student whose car had been stolen. Fourth one that week—all from the university area. Someone was definitely running a ring, because none of them had turned up abandoned, as often happened with stolen cars.
He and John had a few leads—just rumors, barely enough to start digging. But, today, he couldn’t concentrate on the case, couldn’t shake his rotten mood. He ought to be happy. He’d had the hottest blonde in town last night. But Sloane was like an addiction—one taste hooked him. Apparently so was his partner.
He’d meant it when he said John could have her—if she could be convinced to see them—or him—again. A girl like her only came around once in a lifetime. Or maybe twice, in his case. He considered himself lucky to have met his soul mate early on, to have had ten glorious years with her.
Watching John settle down and have his own happiness would be enough for him.
They finished up with the report and climbed back in the car. “In-N-Out Burger?”
“Yep.” He started the vehicle and drove to the fast food joint.
“Let’s leave it up to her.”
Although picking up a conversation they’d left off discussing three hours ago, Keith knew exactly what he was talking about. Or rather, who.
He nodded slowly. “I’m down with that. But I just want you to know there will never be any bad blood between us if she picks you.”
“Same here,” John promised. “Listen, man. I’m not going sappy on you, but I had that same thing with you. Minus the chemistry. Like we knew each other right from the start. I mean, I trust you more than my own brothers.”
Already in the drive-through for In-N-Out Burger, he ordered their food, grateful for the momentary distraction.
“All I’m saying, is maybe all three of us would work as a long-term thing.”
Keith snorted. “Come on.”
“I’m serious. Why not?”
“So, what? We’re all going to live together like we’re on some some crazy hippie commune?”
John grinned his boyish smile. “Except with deodorant.”
Keith gave a short bark of laughter, the first time he’d felt like laughing all day. “You’re fucking nuts.”
“Well, let’s just see. First, we gotta win back the girl.”
A reluctant smile stretched across his face, a primitive flare of hope sparking in his chest. John was the Golden Retriever of men. He liked everyone and generally figured things would always turn out well. He might not feel the same way, but he couldn’t help but love his asshole partner.
Chapter Five
Sloane’s feet were killing her. After trotting out in the spike heels last night, she should have opted for flats today. She limped up her sidewalk and unlocked the door, kicking her shoes off onto the hardwood floor the moment she stepped inside.
The cool air of the AC hit her in the face, and she drew a deep breath, happy to be home. She’d spent the entire day fighting off the memories of two pairs of manly hands on her body, of being bound, ordered into position, and pleasured.
She wanted to remember it all. She’d draw a bath and pour a glass of wine and just...go over the entire experience. She’d give herself this one night to remember it all and then put it behind her.
Brrrr. She checked the AC, ready to turn it up, and then froze. Seventy-three? She didn’t set her thermostat that low. Not ever.
The now-familiar chill she’d been feeling lately swept through her with a rush. What in the holy hell was happening?
Someone had been in her house.
Goose bumps rose on her arms and neck. She crept from room to room, holding her breath. Were they still here? What did they want?
She stepped in her bedroom and looked around. Opened the closet door. Everything looked normal, except…
She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream, then stumbled back.
It’s okay. It’s not that scary. It’s just shoes.
But, Jesus. Someone had arranged them— set all her shoes in a neat line, toes pointed outward. The laces of her sneakers had been untied and pulled straight out to the front.
Creepy. Super creepy.
Someone with a case of OCD couldn’t stop themselves from moving her stuff.
She ran for the front door, leaving her shoes but grabbing her purse. She got in the car and locked the doors, her phone already out in her trembling hands. She wished she had Keith’s card here, but it remained inside, on the dresser.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Someone broke into my house—322 West Avenida Bonita.”
“Are you in the house, ma’am?”
“No, I’m in my car in the driveway.” She was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in there, but thought she’d better wait outside, just in case.
“Okay, stay out of the house until the police arrive.”
“Can I request particular officers? Sergeants Swensen and Hathaway?”
A long pause. “I’ll relay your request, ma’am. I don’t know whether it can be accommodated.”
“Thank you.” Her voice shook.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? Seriously? What the fuck was happening?
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She needed a do-over on this day in a really bad way.
The minutes ticked by. It felt like hours. Her car grew warm, and she had to turn on the engine to run the AC.
Who had been in her
house? Was it some kind of prank? Some kids playing a joke on her? Or something more serious? Nothing had been stolen. At least, not before today, nothing she’d noticed. A peeping Tom? Oh God, had someone been there while she’d been home?
The thought had her quaking.
The sound of screeching tires brought her head up and eyelids open. Her officers. She leaped out of the car and went running for them before their squad car had even pulled to a stop.
Keith jerked the car to a stop and flew out, not even bothering to shut the car door. He wrapped her up in his arms, seeming to know exactly what she needed. “It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay. Tell us what happened.”
In the next moment, John was there, too, stroking the back of her head. “What happened? Someone broke in?”
She pulled away, still trembling. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded shaky, but she was proud of herself for not crying. “Someone’s been coming into my house. The cat was out last night, remember? Today, the AC setting had been lowered and”—she beckoned them to the door—“come and see my shoes.”
They exchanged a glance, and she stopped.
Great. They thought her a nut job. She had to admit, her accusations sounded pretty benign and stupid out loud. “I’m not making this up.”
“I believe you.” Keith held out his arm to prevent her from coming in. “Let us search the place first, then you can show us the shoes.”
She nodded and stayed on the porch as the two officers slipped inside the house, looking every bit as lethal as their weapons.
Several minutes later, they emerged. “It’s empty. Show us what you saw.”
She brought them in and pointed to her shoes, explaining how she’d left them in a big heap.
“I don’t like this,” John said.
“Nor do I.” Keith took out a notebook and pencil and made notes on it.
“Can you think of anyone who might want to fuck with you? Some guy you pissed off in court? A former client?” John asked.
Her mind ran over her recent cases. She hadn’t had any dissatisfied clients or anyone who seemed to blame her for the outcome of their cases as far as she could remember. She shook her head.