by Raven, Jo
“He said he had a bad headache,” I reply, before Jet opens his mouth. “He was dizzy. He said he hit his head yesterday.”
Jethro grunts and rubs a hand over his mouth.
“Fuck.” Joel drags me back to the couch and pushes me down to sit, then sinks down on his heels in front of Jethro. “Hey, Jet.”
“What’s up, mate?” Those pretty dark eyes are hooded, hazy.
“How you feeling?”
“Been better.”
“That was a good hit, huh? Nearly cracked your thick skull?”
Jethro grins faintly, crookedly. “You wish.”
“Have you eaten today?”
Jethro shrugs, mouth twisting.
I realize I’m holding my breath. It’s so… intimate, the way they interact, the way the one cares for the other. Makes me feel like an intruder. Like the third wheel, even if what they have doesn’t seem sexual.
“I’ll make us something to eat,” Joel says, still making no move to get up, his hands resting on Jethro’s knees.
“Something with bananas in it?” Jethro asks, his voice holding laughter, and God, I should go. Now Joel is back, I’m not needed. Jet will be fine.
But the moment I start getting up, Joel stops me with a hand on my leg—the exact moment Jet throws an arm around my shoulders.
“Pancakes,” Joel says firmly. “With chocolate syrup and bananas. What do you think, Candy?”
My stomach gurgles, and I duck my head. “Yeah. Sounds great. But you guys—”
“Then it’s set,” Joel says and stands up.
“Don’t you guys want to talk and eat and rest—”
“Stay,” Jethro says, and I dip my chin.
Why can’t I ever say no to him?
“Then I’ll help,” I declare and scramble to my feet. “With the cooking. And everything.”
Jet huffs and lies back, stretching his arms over his head, and my gaze snags on his bare midriff and the thin trail of hair leading into his waistband.
Hey, I’m human. Can’t help it.
“Right this way, then,” Joel says, giving me his blinding smile, flashing that dimple, and I follow him to the kitchen like a puppy.
Oh God, is this normal? Despite my years of drooling after these two guys and building a whole fantasy world with them for everyone to read on my blog, can I really be equally attracted to both of them—and not just that, but falling for them hook, line and sinker?
***
The kitchen is small and clean, with what look like drawings taped to the far wall, and chrome cupboards and dark counters. Very masculine somehow.
Just like the sight of Joel making pancakes.
Oh my God. Hottest pancakes, hottest chef ever. The way he’s rolled up his sleeves to whip up the ingredients, revealing ropey, muscular forearms, and the look of concentration on his face… I’m staring, standing there all useless and drooling at him.
He sends a distracted smile my way as he reaches for a pan, and I lean back against the counter, my knees weak.
“Thanks for bringing him home.” He puts the pan on the fire, pours the pancake mixture in it, his movements sure and fluid. Experienced. “I wish he’d told me he needed a ride.”
“Why didn’t he? You two are tight.”
His smile slips a little. “I dunno. Sometimes he gets this strange idea that he’s imposing on me. That he’s a nuisance.”
“Why would he think that?”
Joel takes out one perfect, golden pancake and pours in another. “Hell if I know. He’s my best friend. He’s pain in the ass sometimes, but I love him.” He swallows hard. “Not that way. As a friend. Fuck.”
He almost burns the pancake, and I watch, fascinated, as color seeps into his cheeks.
“Got a problem with guys loving other guys?” I ask.
“What? No, of course not!” Now he looks horrified, and I chide myself for pushing him.
Then I wonder if that was that what Jet did—pushed him into an uncomfortable zone. It sure seems like an easy feat with Joel.
Right on cue, an amused chuckle comes from the kitchen door.
“Talking about me?” Jethro leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side. He’s grinning like a wolf.
“Go get the bananas,” Joel snaps. “Cut them up.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Joel sure is bossy. And Jethro sure seems to enjoy it, judging by his easy grin and prompt response.
My mouth is dry. I lick my lips, wondering how that would translate in bed.
Oh for God’s sake.
I walk over to the drawings and study them, trying to take my mind off the two very sexy men trapped in the tiny kitchen with me.
They’re… pages from a comic. Or seem to be. Fight scenes between superheroes and chases through dark alleys. A cat with arched back stands against the full moon. A fanged mouth opens in a wordless cry.
“Holy shit, these are good.” I’ve read my fair share of comics—even more so since I started working at the bookshop, and the art of these ones is exceptional. “Which comic book were they taken from?”
“Doesn’t have a name,” Jet says. “Not published yet.”
I trace a female silhouette hurrying down a torch-lit corridor, the curve of her hips, the way her long hair flows. “Awesome artist. Friend of yours?”
“You could say that,” Joel says, laughter in his voice, and I turn to find them both smirking at me.
“What?” I’m obviously missing something.
“They’re signed,” Joel says, turning off the stove and placing a bottle of syrup beside the perfect stack of pancakes he’s made.
I raise my brows and turn back to the drawings, searching for the signature. There it is, at the right bottom corner. “JE. Or JC?”
Jet laughs. Joel curses.
“Told you it wasn’t clear,” he hisses, trying to elbow Jethro who makes a face at him.
Wait a minute… “JC? As in Jethro Connors? You made these?”
“He’s the best,” Joel says fondly. “Asshole just won’t believe it.”
“And it’s a comic?” Excitement bubbles inside me. “Is it done? Can I read it?”
Jet pauses in the process of chopping up bananas into thin slices. “It’s almost done.”
I’m practically jumping from foot to foot, my hands fluttering at my sides. “Oh my God, you are making a comic! Can I read it? Pleasepleaseplease?”
“Joel wrote the story,” Jet says. “Ask him.”
Joel writes stories? And Jet draws.
This is too much. “You’re kidding me. You’re both screwing with me, right?”
Joel puts the pancakes on the small kitchen table, his cheeks a bright crimson. “I haven’t found a fitting ending for it yet.”
“He wants to write an epic,” Jet says, putting down the knife, grinning. “He thinks he has to write something like the ancient history he’s obsessed with. I keep telling him real life doesn’t always end with a bang.”
“Ancient history is real,” Joel mutters, frowning. “Babylonia. Assyria. They existed. It wasn’t a video game.”
“Assyria,” I mutter.
“Yeah.”
“And Babylonia.”
“I’m particularly interested in the reign of Ashurbanipal, as a matter of fact, but anything of that period fascinates me.”
“Ashurbanipal.” Oh, baby, keep talking dirty to me.
And I should probably stop randomly repeating words he says.
“You were serious,” I whisper. “You’re interested in ancient history.” It wasn’t a come-on line. It was real.
He rubs his chin. “I took history in college. I like that stuff. Better than fantasy.” He pulls a chair back and holds my gaze with his glittering one. “Dinner is served.”
“I’m more of a Middle Ages fan myself,” I hear my voice saying as I cross to the table and take my seat. “I love the epics. Beowulf. The Edda. The Song of Roland.”
“You li
ke history?” he asks, sounding pleased. “What did you study?”
“Still studying,” I mutter, and it’s my turn to blush. “Comparative literature.”
“No way.”
I wait for him to add two and two, realize we went to college together—well, that we were on the same campus, anyway, that I was one of the girls who ogled him on a daily basis, but he turns and drags Jet to the table.
“Who will say Grace?” Jet grins at Joel as he takes his seat, the plate of chopped bananas in front of him. He steals one, right before Joel smacks his hand.
“Grace,” Joel says and pushes the pancakes toward us. “Now eat.”
Chapter Fourteen
JOEL
I give Jet a hand up from the wrestling mat. “Had enough?”
“Screw you.” He groans as he climbs back to his feet. He’s been out of sorts lately. Falling on his ass three times in a row is unusual for him these days.
“I’ve got your back,” I tell him, not entirely sure what has stressed him out, but the quick, grateful look he sends me tells me it was what he needed to hear. “Come on. Loser buys the drinks.”
Seeing Jet shovel food into his mouth eases the knot of worry in my chest. The thought that he was feeling so shitty he let Candy drive him here, that he didn’t want to tell me… it burns. I want to be there for him, always, like the family he doesn’t have anymore. The family he never really had, if what he’s told me of his parents is true.
Say all you want about my stupid, closed-minded parents, but they fed me and clothed me and held my hand to cross the street when I was little. Although Jet rarely speaks of his own parents, I doubt he had any of that.
But he has me.
I check his face for any sign of discomfort as I gather the dirty dishes and dump them into the sink to wash later. I watch him like a hawk for any dizziness as he gets up, collecting the silverware. He looks better than he did when he woke up, for sure. There’s color in his cheeks, and he’s steady on his feet.
He chuckles at something Candy says, and I watch the easy way with which she touches him and makes him laugh. She’s a sight for sore eyes—gold and cream and rounded curves, a cheeky smile that lights up her brown eyes. And the glasses.
Can’t forget those nerdy glasses.
The way she slept in Jet’s arms. The way he was curled around her, more relaxed than I’ve seen him in ages. She made her choice, I guess. A good choice, too.
Hell, I can’t begrudge him this.
But I wish I’d stop imagining them together. Jet fucking her against the wall. Candy riding him on his bed. Myself thrusting inside her from behind while he fucks her mouth.
And… I’m hard again. Like every time my mind conjures up images of the three of us.
Pushing the wishful fantasies deep down, where they belong, I take the glasses from Candy, the silverware from Jet, and all but shove them toward the living room.
“Go. I’ve got this.”
“You’re coming, too,” Candy says, surprising me when she links her arm with mine.
Jet throws an arm around me. “What she said.”
I give him a suspicious look. “You guys probably want some alone time.”
“We could watch a movie,” Candy says.
Jet leans more heavily against me, and I wrap an arm around his lean hips so we don’t topple over. “That movie you picked about Beowulf.”
“Yes, yes!” Candy is dancing beside me, tugging on my arm, and her excitement makes me smile.
“Beowulf it is,” I say and let them drag me to the sofa.
***
We end up watching Beowulf and then The Nibelungen, and drinking half a bottle of whiskey. I’m seated between the two of them, and it’s warm, and their bodies pressed against mine turn my thoughts into spinning circles.
If you asked me, I couldn’t tell you anything about the movies we watched. Candy’s curled up, her head ending up against my shoulder, her tits pressed to my arm, and on my other side Jet’s sprawled with one leg thrown over mine, sipping his whiskey, his throat working as he swallows.
The TV is just a distracting box with colors in the background.
My cock twitches. I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard in my life. A voice in the back of my mind is crowing with delight.
Another one is whispering that extracting myself from this tangle will be difficult.
Especially when Jet mutters something unintelligible and presses his face to my neck.
Christ. I reach up, put my hand on his head with the intention of pulling him back, but for some reason I only dig my fingers in his spiky hair and inhale. I turn, press a kiss to his forehead.
He tilts his head up so that my mouth trails over his lashes, over his cheek. He grins at me, and it hits me square in the chest. I fist my hand in his hair, not sure what to do with this feeling, and with the heat pooling in my dick.
Candy shifts, puts her hand on my face, and I turn toward her. Her mouth draws me like a magnet, and I kiss her, licking at her lips. She kisses me back, and her taste lights up my blood, turns it into a burning current under my skin. I grip her hip, pull her closer, and take off her glasses.
I chuck them to the floor, and my dick twitches. I’ve wanted to do this since I met her.
My hand in Jet’s hair tightens, drawing a moan from him, and fuck. That sound… it goes straight to my cock.
Everything with these two goes straight to my cock, making it even harder, so hard it could drill through steel.
This is getting out of control.
She breaks the kiss, reaches for Jet. He goes willingly, and they kiss over me, her hair trailing over my arms, his body a line of fire against my side.
Oh fuck, this is even hotter.
The booze is singing in my blood, and Jet and Candy are making out in my lap, their bodies grazing the top of my leaking, throbbing cock with every movement.
I don’t know if I’m in heaven or in hell. I stroke Jet’s hair, lower my hand to the back of his neck—and slip my other hand around Candy’s back. Holding them both.
Mine, says a fierce voice in my head. It reverberates in my body. They’re mine.
When they finally break apart, breathing hard, mouths swollen from the kiss, I try to think of something to say, but coherent thinking is frankly beyond me. I want. I need. I’m pretty sure something big is about to go down between us, and I’m so raw with arousal I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m too desperate to come, and the situation is too close to my wet dreams and fantasies to stop it.
I want. I wanna try stuff. Touch and lick and kiss and suck. I pull them both to me, prepared to pick up where they stopped—when a ringing sound breaks through the haze.
Candy slips from under my arm and scrambles off the sofa, fumbling for something on the table.
Her bag, I realize when she throws it open and pulls out the source of the noise.
Her cell phone.
“Yeah? Bry, that you?” She turns her back to us as she talks to this Bry, her voice rising. “Are you all right? What’s wrong? Are you crying?”
I turn and find Jet’s eyes on me, a question in them. Scratch that, lots of questions in them—but only one I’m willing to think about right now.
“Yeah. I’ll be right over.” She nods, sighs. “Stay put, okay? Be there in ten.”
“Candy,” Jet starts, but I put a hand over his mouth. He’s not going off in the night after being dizzy and sick. He tries to bite me, then tries to pry my hand off his face, but I drag him to my chest, hold his head there, and he suddenly quiets and goes lax against me. “What’s going on?” I say. ”If you need to be somewhere, let me drive you. You’ve had a few drinks.”
“So did you. I’m fine, I promise, but ugh.” She kicks at the carpet. It makes me snort. She’s cute when she’s upset—and hot, with her long blond hair disheveled, her mouth reddened from all the kissing, her blouse askew.
Releasing Jet, I climb off the sofa, not caring that the bulge between my legs is
so obvious, my dick still fully hard. “You sure? I’m much bigger than you. It takes much more booze to take me down than you.”
Her eyes darken as she looks me up and down. She likes that I’m so much bigger than her, I can tell. Her tits heave with a deep breath.
Fuck, if I get any harder, I’ll come in my pants.
I close the distance between us, tuck a blond curl behind her ear. “Candy…”
“Seriously, I’m fine.” She smiles up at me. “You’d better take care of Jet.”
“I’m fine,” Jet objects from the sofa, but we both ignore him.
“Got to run. God, I wish I could stay.” She twists away from me, grabs her purse and jacket from the table and hurries to the door. “Have fun without me!”
Groaning, I reach down to adjust my hard-on in my pants, and when I turn around, Jet is reaching for the bottle of whiskey.
He lifts it in my direction and smirks, giving me a heavy-lidded look. “So, are you gonna take care of me?”
Damn. “Gimme that. You’ve had enough.”
He lifts it out of reach. “It will put hairs on my chest.”
“Your chest is fine as it is.” I grab the bottle and tug it out of his hand, put it down on the table.
“You like?” He wags his brows at me and lifts his T-shirt, baring his flat stomach.
Yeah, I like.
And I shouldn’t. “Let’s get you into bed.”
He winks. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Fifteen
JETHRO
Yeah, I like girls, and I like boys. I like them both together. On me. Under me. In me. Around me.
I sometimes thought my dad knew. That it was one of the reasons why he hated me. Hated my mom. Why would he hit her if he didn’t hate her, right? Why would he hit me?
But looking back, I’m not sure he knew. Guy was a fucking psychopath. What he did later… What he did to Mom. Christ. Who knows what went on inside his head?
Fucked up shit.
Now Joel… Sooner or later he has to notice, right? Notice that I’ve been with plenty of girls, but he’s the only boy I’ve ever wanted.