Filthy Scrooge
Page 17
They were a trio, and as such, if they’d progressed to ménages, it only made sense that she be the third spoke of their sexfest.
She rubbed her knuckles against her hip and inhaled deeply. Wait, what? What in God’s name was she thinking? She didn’t want to have a threesome.
With them or anyone. Ordinary twosome sex was vexing enough.
Fisting her hands, Cait continued on until she reached Tris’s door. She pushed it open as quietly as possible and stepped inside the darkened living room. Silence prevailed but only briefly. Then the bed banging erupted again, more violently than before. The moans that sliced through the night mixed and mingled, though each was distinct and completely recognizable.
Jerks.
Their earlier conversation flashed through her mind, tinged heavily with a sense of betrayal she couldn’t repress. She never liked being left out, but this brought that feeling home with a vengeance. Just when she’d made a decision to take a definitive step toward embracing her sexuality, they had to reenact some kind of tawdry movie mere feet away from her own bed.
“Try not to go at each other too badly before I get home, ’kay?”
“We’ll try to control ourselves.”
Lie of the century right there. Control themselves? Not hardly.
Tristan and Matt were in that room. In the three years they’d lived together, she’d heard them more often than she could count, and she knew she was hearing them now.
“So you’re leaving us on our own tonight?”
Man, they’d jumped all over her absence, hadn’t they? She was thrilled she’d helped them get lucky.
Her heartbeat quickened as the groans hit a crescendo. The lump in her throat became a rock, keeping out the oxygen she couldn’t gulp in fast enough.
Still she kept moving toward Tristan’s bedroom. Crazy or not, she had to know who was in there with them. The woman must be the quiet type.
Cait would just ease open the door, peek in, get the scoop, and back out with no one the wiser. They’d never know.
But the door was already open, just a little. Just enough for her to see the action on the bed and the two figures going at it.
Two.
Only two.
The one beneath fisted his hands in the sheets, sheets that were already more off the bed than on. A strong grip was all that could anchor him in place with the force of the thrusts into his ass. Each one sent the frame clattering against the wall. Probably leaving scuff marks. Probably tearing strips out of the floor.
They’d spent hours varnishing that hardwood, lovingly restoring it after the previous owners’ lackluster care. Now it would be ruined.
Everything had been ruined. Everything.
“Fucking hell, I’m coming.”
Tristan’s exclamation sent her careening back into her body, ripping away thoughts of the floor, of life as she’d known it before she walked out the door that night. In its place was something entirely different, a new reality she couldn’t quite focus on as her eyes struggled to behold what her mind couldn’t—wouldn’t—comprehend.
“Me too. Shit.”
She clutched her beer, her heart rampaging so hard she feared she’d pass out. Her nipples puckered, and her vision blurred. Their long, muscled, perspiration-sheened bodies doubled. Even so she was incapable of looking away from the erotic tableau spread out in front of her.
Tristan reared back to tear off the condom, then gripped his long, erect cock—maybe she still had double vision, because he couldn’t be that big—and pumped it over Matt’s flexing back until long streams of cum shot off like a fountain. Tristan groaned and tipped his head forward, working his erection for every drop.
She breathed through her mouth, stunned and aroused beyond belief. And she was confused. So freaking confused. But she couldn’t turn away, and she couldn’t shut off the longing knifing through her lower belly.
It took all her will not to fling herself over the threshold and beg Tris to take her the way he’d seen fit to take their best friend. Hard. Untamed.
That was what she craved.
She didn’t want Tristan to treat her as if she were a delicate, breakable doll, his innocent Caity Bait, the name he’d christened her with in college because she’d been younger than everyone else and too tempting for the older guys.
She needed to be possessed in the way he’d possessed Matt. Ached to be caught beneath that spray of cum. Except she wanted it on her breasts, where she could use her fingers to mop it up. Then she’d taste him, let the flavor of his release explode on her tongue. Drink up every bit of him and ask for more.
To keep from moaning herself, she took a quick swallow of beer. It still tasted off. Not like it had tasted even minutes ago.
Matt stroked his own cock now, fast and rough. Any instant now, he’d go off too.
She’d never seen two men together before. Never realized she wanted to. Especially her men. But God, it was so hot. So unbelievable.
Matt shifted slightly, giving her a better view of the show. And then he came with a wild cry, his spurts disappearing into the tangled sheets, making her clench with unfulfilled want.
Cait gasped and took a step backward. Her knees locked, making further movement impossible. Jesus, what was her problem? She could process what she’d seen later, after she was safely in her own bedroom, far from the pants and shudders that had arousal pooling in her panties.
But she’d only managed a step when Matt shifted his head as he fought to catch his breath. His eyes met hers for one long, charged moment.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
Tristan laughed, but he didn’t respond to Matt’s curse, probably figuring it had to do with his spectacular finish.
Not quite.
Matt looked as shocked as she felt. Gobsmacked, actually. He started to get up, but Tristan bent, still holding his cock, and licked a trail up between Matt’s shoulder blades. Matt fisted his hands in the sheets again and closed his eyes as aftershocks racked his body.
Tristan licked for a while, careful to clean up every remnant of the mess he’d made. Matt barely whimpered, but she could tell from his rigid stance over the bed he would be ready to go again in no time.
If she hadn’t been there, he would probably already be rolling over and taking hold of Tris’s cock, bringing the still-stiff length to his lips and swallowing the salty tang of the release she yearned to taste.
A hot wave of urgency swept over her. She quivered, her tight nipples pressing against the bodice of her wool dress. She couldn’t watch this anymore. Not unless she intended to become part of the scene and not just a voyeur.
Not that they’d invited her.
The party she’d crashed was clearly just for two, and she’d already overstayed her welcome.
Though she stumbled, she managed to turn and get the hell out of there.
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USA Today bestselling author, Taryn Quinn, is the redheaded stepchild of bestselling authors Taryn Elliott & Cari Quinn. We have been writing together for a lifetime–wait, no it's really been only a han
dful of years, but we have a lot of fun. Sometimes we write stories that don’t quite fit into our regular catalog.
Do you like shorter and dirtier reads?
Anything goes with this pen name.
• Sexy—check.
• Erotic—check.
• Sweet—usually mixed in with the sexy…so, yeah—check.
• Rom Com—check.
• Dark—oh, yeah…check.
• Paranormal—check.
Did we mention that we like all the genres?
So, c’mon in. Light some candles, pour a glass of wine…maybe even put on some sexy music.
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