Die For You: Catastrophe Series, Book 1

by Michelle Mills

  Adam was quiet for a moment, pensive. His gut tightened. That could be what he wanted. Trevor wouldn’t be his first or even his second choice of guy to share her with. Adam had shared a woman before with a buddy in his unit, but it had only been for one night, never within a relationship. He needed more answers to make sure it was right. Trevor didn’t say a word. “Have you done that before?” Adam finally asked.

  “Yeah.” Trevor shrugged. “I had a girlfriend I shared with another man. We fucked her at the same time.” He grinned. “Often. And she loved it.”

  “At the same time?” Adam repeated, his voice deepening.

  Christ, his fantasy.

  “Yeah.” Trevor smiled, getting a faraway look in his eyes. “Their names were Mariah and Brad. A married couple. I would come over to their place, we’d hang out, spend weekends together, go on trips. We’d strip, go to the bedroom and fuck her hard, for hours on end. Jesus, she was hot. It was fan-fucking-tabulous, right up until I got hauled off to prison and the party train ended. I thought I’d get visits at least, and you know, some tears. But no. Mariah dropped me like a hot potato.” He exhaled. “It was one of those moments where I found out who my real friends were.”

  Trevor leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, looking ready to drive home his point. “Your woman is hot, Adam. But she’s yours. I get that. I’ve already tried to make my move and hit a stone wall. She knows she’s yours, and that’s what she wants. But think about this, we wouldn’t be doing this just for us. This is for her pleasure too. My plan is we make her come so hard she passes out. And while I’m fucking her, you can hold her and see it from her point of view, what it looks like, and when she orgasms you can feel her reactions.”

  Adam reached down for his coffee, took a gulp and rasped, “Jesus, you’re convincing, aren’t you?

  “I’d defer to you,” Trevor continued. “Let you call the shots. In this relationship, you and Rachel are the primary, I’ll be the third.”

  “What about Christian? Where does he fit in with this plan?”

  “That dude’s so deep in grief he won’t want to be a part of this and probably won’t even notice what’s going on. I found him a week ago crouched into a ball of grief on the front porch of his own home, unable to leave the gravesite of his wife and kids. Pure blind luck I saw the guy. He barely spoke the first three days we traveled together, almost comatose, like a doll with its stuffing yanked out.”

  “Okay, okay.” Adam exhaled, unable to believe he was considering going along with this scheme. Just yesterday he’d hated this guy. “But there’s a problem with your plan.”

  Trevor crooked an eyebrow.

  “When it comes to Rachel, I’m a possessive asshole,” Adam said. “And I’m not sure if I can get around that. I like to dominate. No whips or bondage shit, but if I tell her to do something, I expect it done. My way.”

  “And this is a problem because…?”

  “If I order Rachel to do this and she doesn’t want it, we could scare the shit out of her, and I’ll lose her. Nothing happens to Rachel that she doesn’t want. She might not want this, and if she doesn’t, you’ll just have to deal. The only way this happens is if she agrees. If she says no, that’s no. If I say stop, you back off. She stays safe. I’m not letting anyone hurt her.”

  Trevor tightened his grip on his cup. “No one is going to so much as hurt a hair on her head. Least of all me.”

  A hard gaze locked with his, and Adam knew they’d reached the same conclusion. The only woman alive was precious. Rachel’s safety and happiness were paramount.

  Adam nodded. “Okay then, here’s another problem. How’re you gonna convince a woman whose virginity I took two nights ago that ménage is the new normal?”

  “Fuck,” Trevor exploded. “She was a virgin? How old is she?”

  “Twenty. And she’s got a history of asshole boyfriends who smacked her around.”

  “Damn, this is becoming as intricate as the Middle East peace process,” Trevor quipped. He took a deep breath, his surprise at hearing of Rachel’s mistreatment evident. “Okay, I hear you, I’ll—”

  “No. You won’t do anything. Nothing. She’s mine. I’m taking care of her. I’ll feel this out and let you know the next step. You follow my lead.”

  Trevor leaned back in his seat and lifted his chin. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Adam left the kitchen, his talk with Trevor churning in his head while he tried to decide how to play this. He opened the creaky back door, kicked his boots off and left them to tangle with the other work shoes already littering the wraparound porch. He walked back inside, cut across the quiet living room and climbed up the stairs to the master bedroom on the second floor.

  After the four of them had arrived yesterday, scouted out the lay of the farm and decided to stay, he’d insisted Rachel room with him. Originally, he’d done it to mark his claim, to keep her safe and to let Trevor know she was his and to stay the fuck away. But he had to admit as he opened the door and watched her sweet form sleeping in the king-size bed, he’d done it because he just plain wanted her there.

  After their night in the tent, he couldn’t imagine sleeping without her in his arms.

  He moved to the side of the four-poster bed, heart stuttering as he stood there taking her in. His woman as she lay on her side; his T-shirt riding up her bare ass.

  His woman.

  He knew he was a huge bear of a man. A scarred pit-bull who wanted his sex rough and sharable. What woman would love that shit? He watched the rise and fall of her chest, her soft skin and glossy hair. She was so fresh and touchable. Silk compared to his scratchy wool. He knew he was too much for this nineteen—no, twenty-year-old girl, but dammit, she was his now. He’d fucked her and that was that. And no matter what, he’d keep her safe. Even from himself, that rule still applied.

  Trevor’s words rang in his mind.

  “I’m saying we share her at the same time, in the same bed. A ménage. You’re the primary—her man. I’m the secondary you bring in to spice things up occasionally.”

  Adam’s groin tightened. It’d always been his fantasy to be in control of that type of situation, to direct another man’s actions while he touched his woman. That one time with his buddy and the woman they’d picked up from a bar had left a powerful image in his brain. Another man might want Rachel, might get a taste, but she knew who her master was, would always listen to his directives, would always know he was right there, seeing to her needs, her pleasure.

  Here was his chance at a ménage relationship where he called the shots. And he’d take it in a fucking heartbeat.

  But he couldn’t. Not with Rachel.

  It had surprised the hell out of him, but she’d been turned on by his demands that first night, enjoying what he’d offered, asked for more. He clenched his jaw. But that was the way it had started with girlfriends he’d had in the past. At first, they seemed into it, then it became too much and it was over. And he never fucking saw it coming. No way would he start down that same path with Rachel. He had no idea if she wanted something like a ménage, or if the idea would disgust her. And if it disgusted her, she’d leave him in a hot second. If it had happened before, it could happen again now, even at the end of the world. And as Trevor had said, there could still be plenty of men out there ready to snap her up in a heartbeat.

  And this time it would tear him apart. If Rachel left him, insisted on moving out of their room and chose one of the other men in their group, or someone else they had yet to meet, he would lose his ever-loving mind. Complete meltdown. Like one of those damn nuclear power plants going Chernobyl. He would beat the hell out of any man who touched her.

  Mine.

  Fuck. He shook his head, conflicted by the feelings tearing through him. When would he ever find a woman who accepted him for who he was, one who matched him sexually? Someone he didn’t have to pussyfoot aro
und. Someone who accepted him, scars and all.

  He sat next to Rachel on the bed, swept her hair aside and kissed her sweet neck. She murmured and sighed. He forced himself to remain sitting, because even though he was disappointed at the thought of never fulfilling his fantasies, fucking Rachel was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. There was something special about being a woman’s first. About the way Rachel’s pussy perfectly fit his cock, about how tight and hot she felt. There was something different there, something new. It was simply the best sex he’d ever had. And the good news was they’d just started. There was so much more for her to learn and discover. He smiled. Rachel was a quick learner. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever graduate to sharing, but even the bit they’d had so far, the way she accepted his directions, submitted to him in bed, that was enough. For now.

  He placed a hand on her naked hip and whispered against her ear. “Wake up, babe. Time for our morning jog.”

  “Oh, no,” she groaned and rolled onto her back.

  He eyed the way her tits moved underneath his T-shirt. He’d always been a breast man, and damn if she didn’t have the most perfect tits, like they’d been ordered to his specifications. He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed with her. He’d fucked her last night. Twice. But if he lay down next to her now, he’d fuck her again and they’d never get going.

  “Adam,” she whined and cracked open one eye. “Don’t you ever take a day off? Come on. Isn’t today Sunday? Even Jesus took Sundays off.”

  “Jesus was a peacemaker, not a soldier. You take a day off, you get weak.” He offered his palm to help her up. “Come on, up and at ’em.”

  She used her elbows to prop herself up, both eyes flashing at him with sudden fury. “That’s exactly my point. I’m not a soldier. You are. This isn’t an episode of The Biggest Loser. I already lost my weight. I don’t need a fitness coach.”

  Totally fucking cute. Like a kitten or a baby tiger spitting and hissing.

  “Uh, yes, you do. When I first met you, you probably walked a thirty-minute mile. Now you can already jog one in fifteen minutes. That’s still pathetic. Better, but pathetic. You can do better. Come on, let’s get going. I need to get a closer look at this farm. We might as well get some exercise while I’m doing it.”

  “You’re a cruel taskmaster.”

  “No, I’m not.” He chuckled. “I’m just trying to help you get in shape.”

  “Don’t you remember what happened the first time we went jogging together?”

  He smirked. “Remind me.”

  “You kept pushing and pushing me until I finally fell to my knees and puked on the side of the trail. And then—” she poked him in the chest with a finger, “—and then all you did was hand me a bottle of water and told me to buck up and keep going.”

  “Damn right I did.”

  “Not a word of comfort. No sympathy. Nothing. You made me run some more. You’re hardcore, Adam. I’m not a recruit who is going to end up wanting to join the Marines after surviving boot camp.” Her cheeks were flushed, eyes flashing, silky auburn bed hair draped over her shoulders.

  “Damn, you’re cute.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” He leaned down, cupped his hand behind her neck and kissed her. Hard. With tongue, so rough their teeth clicked together. When he finally pulled back her blue eyes fluttered open, clear and bright. A smile spread across her swollen lips.

  Gorgeous. She was beautiful in a fresh, clean way. Real, not fake and overdone like some women were. He liked her best like this, in bed, hardly dressed.

  “Okay, babe, that’s enough.” He patted her hip. “You do this every time, and you end up loving it. Time to go.” He got up from the bed and strode over to a group of bags on the floor and pulled out some clothes he’d picked up the day before when they’d hit Fresno for supplies. “Here, put these on.” He threw them on the bed for her.

  “What’s this?”

  “These are your new workout clothes. I burned the gray sweats.”

  “Oh no, you didn’t.”

  He threw back his head and laughed at the expression on her face. “Oh yes, I did. When I told you I wanted you to stop hiding those perfect tits behind baggy-ass clothes, I meant it.”

  “You picked them out? You don’t even know my size. How do you know they’ll fit?”

  “I’m sure they’ll fit you a whole hell of a lot better than your old clothes did. Now go to the bathroom, do your thing and get dressed.”

  She picked up a form-fitting top and eyed it with suspicion. “I don’t know, Adam.”

  “Up,” he ordered. He grabbed her hands, pulled her out of bed and shoved the clothes in her arms.

  “But—”

  “Clothes on. We’ll go for a jog and get to work with the other two fixing this place up. Then tonight, Christian and Trevor are hosting a party on the tour bus.”

  “They are? A party?” A bright smile transformed her whole face into something he could look at forever.

  He reached a hand out, cupped her jaw and swept his thumb over her sensuous, full lips. “Are ready to loosen up tonight?”

  “I haven’t done anything like that since…since…”

  “Not since our first night together when you got shit-faced?”

  She scrunched her nose at him. “Don’t remind me.”

  He smiled, put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, smacked her ass and pushed her toward the bathroom. “Now let’s get outta here and burn some calories so I don’t end up with a beer gut after tonight.”

  “Like you’d end up with a beer gut. Please, I think your body is wired to remain buff.” She snorted over her shoulder.

  He chuckled again, realizing he actually felt happy. Happy? How could he be happy when the whole world had ended? How was this possible? But he’d never met a woman whose company he enjoyed so much, who was so easy to talk to, easy to be around. Fuck that, fun to be around. And damn, wasn’t that a good thing since they’d been joined at the hip, going through unrelenting hell together? Rachel was his one spark of hope this whole damn time. He’d needed to survive to take care of Rachel. She gave his life meaning and focus. A good focus.

  “Wait.” She stopped. She turned back toward him, the pile of clothes in her arms. “We’re going to hang out with both Trevor and Christian? You’re going to drink with both of them like we’re all friends? I thought you hated Trevor’s guts. Now you’re going to party with him? What changed?”

  Adam looked into Rachel’s wide, innocent eyes. She was only twenty, and a virgin up until forty-eight hours ago. She’d led an indulged, sheltered, upper-middle-class life, G-rated in every way. He couldn’t imagine this woman participating in what Trevor had proposed—taking on two men at once, two cocks at once. He felt sure she’d reject the idea immediately. He’d have to go gently and let this happen naturally, and possibly not at all. He couldn’t lose Rachel.

  “He’s growin’ on me. I talked with him this morning. Turns out we have some things in common, and he wants to change. But he’s still an asshole,” he qualified. “So you can talk to him, sit with him…but only when I’m in the same room.”

  She smiled at him. “Well, at least that’s a start. Because remember, survivors need to stick together.” Then she bounced up on her toes, kissed his cheek and sauntered into the bathroom with his gaze glued to the T-shirt barely covering her gorgeous ass.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Nothing brings a group of people together faster than a drinking party. ’Specially one on a dead celebrity’s tour bus,” Trevor slurred. He slid deeper into a dark leather recliner, blond head lolling backward, an empty shot glass dangling from his fingers.

  Rachel hardly heard a word he said over the thumping music pounding through the bus. Jeez. Who’d turned it up so loud? The bass seemed to be beating a hole in her chest. She leaned over an
d inched it back down. “My turn to pick the next CD,” she announced.

  “Babe.” Rachel glanced over and locked eyes with Adam. “No more Jay-Z,” he ordered. “Time for some Kenny Chesney.”

  A fissure of heat danced across her belly. Dear God, Adam was so freaking gorgeous. Tonight, he sported a sleek, black cowboy hat that cast a shadow over the top of his face. She didn’t know where it had come from, but he sure looked smoking hot. Like Tim McGraw on steroids. Yowza.

  “Sorry, but I don’t do country,” she replied with a lift of her nose. I’d just do Tim McGraw. She chewed her lip to stifle her laughter.

  Adam threw her a mischievous grin as if he could read her thoughts, tossed back a shot and slammed the empty glass on the table in front of him. An exotic bottle of extremely expensive-looking tequila, the kind she’d usually seen held under lock and key, rested at his elbow.

  Trevor had stocked the bus with enough alcohol to supply an army. And this wasn’t the kind of stuff Rachel used to pick up at the grocery store. Oh, no. Apparently, soon after Trevor realized everyone had died and therefore no one really owned anything anymore, he’d taken a side trip, ransacking some billionaire’s mansion, making off with liquor so old and so expensive it defied comprehension. “It’s the end of the world,” he’d said casually, “why not drink the good stuff?”

  She had to admit, she kind of agreed.

  Rachel turned back and flicked through the CDs. Letters began to blur as she sipped on her fourth…or fifth glass of fancy French wine. So fancy, the bottle was dusty and the words were handwritten in calligraphy on a yellowed label. She supposed she should feel guilty for drinking something so rare and valuable it could’ve been auctioned off at Sotheby’s.

  But she didn’t.

  And it was so good, so smooth.

  Hmm. Now, what song did she want? The Bee Gees? No. Trevor had brought along the Bee Gees? She laughed. She hadn’t pegged him as the type to have disco. 50 Cent? Nope. It was getting hard to focus on the words… Michael Jackson? Maybe.