“You realize,” she breathed, voice gone thready this quickly, “that someone somewhere could be watching us right now.” She could see neither Tommy’s house up above or Stan and Candy’s below from this angle, but the sudden “appearance” of Stan’s house through the trees yesterday had proven Braden’s place wasn’t truly as isolated as it felt.
His voice warmed her ear. “Unlikely—but possible.”
“Is that why we’re doing this?” she asked. “Because someone could see us?” Behind her, she was aware of him unzipping his jeans just before she felt his hard cock press warm into the center of her ass, flesh to flesh, his arms closing around her. She shivered—not from the cold, but the heat.
“You liked the idea that someone could see us the other night,” he reminded her.
“I think I was drunk,” she admitted quietly.
He laughed softly. “That had nothing to do with it.” Lowering his grasp back to her hip, he slowly slid his whole length into her, making her gasp at the sudden fullness. “Because you like the idea right now, too.”
And as he began to move in her, and as she began to meet his slow, firm strokes, her hands clamping to the railing for support as she arched her ass toward him, she couldn’t deny it. The knowledge that somewhere, hidden within the trees, someone could be watching them, watching her take his cock, watching the passion etch itself across both their faces, added to her excitement. The brisk winter air all around them, the realization that they were outside, doing it on the slope of a snowy mountain like two animals—just part of nature—exhilarated her.
He said nothing more as he thrust deep into her—only their hot moans filled the silence—and she knew they both understood that his last words had been true. She liked the notion of being watched. He’d taught her to. He felt it with her. And it enhanced every hard drive of his length into her softness until finally he said, “God, baby, I’m gonna come,” then filled her in a whole different way.
A moment later, still inside her with his arms wrapped warm around her waist, he said something she’d never imagined Braden Stone would say. “I fucked up.”
She turned her head to look at him. “What?”
Uncharacteristic guilt shrouded his face. “I didn’t give you an orgasm.”
She blinked, then smiled. “Believe it or not, I’m not in it just for the orgasm.”
He looked at her as if she’d just announced she was from Mars.
“Seriously,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love ’em—but I don’t have to have them every time. It feels good enough just to have your perfect cock in me, just to have you fuck me so thoroughly.”
Withdrawing, he turned her in his arms, his eyes lighting with what looked like awe. “Have I mentioned that you’re incredible?” He kissed her forehead, and she feared she might crumble beneath the weight of the emotion that filled her.
Stop. Don’t feel this. Don’t let yourself. Only madness that way lies.
But instead of answering him, of coming up with some flip remark that would ease the tension in her heart, she simply responded by kissing him, another of those soul-searing kisses that they’d shared from the beginning, those kisses that were almost as good as sex itself.
“Mmm,” he sighed when it ended, their foreheads pressed together. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me crazy with just a kiss. All the stuff we’ve done, and still your kisses make me feel like I’m sixteen.”
It was like a starburst inside her to know he felt it, too—all that magic, all that power, just from a kiss. She lifted her mouth back to his, wishing she could tell him everything she felt, how much she’d loved his kisses from the very first moment he’d climbed into bed with her, how changed and new he made her feel. But she stopped herself—again—and just teased him. “Guess I’m just that good.”
He chuckled softly. “That you are, snowflake.”
Then he began looking around them, at the mantle of white across the backyard and the hillside below.
Laura peeked over her shoulder, in case there was something she was missing, but saw only the glitter of the sun on the pristine, untouched snow.
“Since we’re out here,” he said, “why don’t we play in the snow for a little while?”
She laughed, thinking he was getting relentless about keeping her from her work. “Define play.”
He tilted his head, looking deadly serious. “I build a killer snowman.”
Laura smiled. She hadn’t made a snowman since she was a young girl. As simple as it sounded, the idea appealed immensely. Only . . . “We don’t have on snow pants.”
Braden did a dramatic eye roll, leaning his head back. “You’re right—it would be a tragedy of epic proportions if we actually built a snowman without snow pants.”
She grinned at his sarcasm, conceding. “We will get wet, though. And cold.”
“I own towels, snowflake. And blankets. And a fireplace. I promise it’ll all be okay,” he added with an indulgent wink.
By the time they were done, they were both soaked and cold, but to show for their efforts, they had a perfect three-tiered snowman complete with scarf, wool cap, and carrot nose, all nabbed from inside, and eyes of dark gray stones dug from beneath the snow in the landscaping by the front porch. The only consolation Braden had made to her worries over their attire was ski gloves, which he’d retrieved from the closet by the front door, and he’d also grabbed one of his ski caps for Laura.
Upon coming inside, they both stripped down, dried off, and climbed into cozy dry sweats. Braden made mugs of hot chocolate, which they drank by the fire, discussing the attributes of good snowman-building. He’d had more fun with her out in the snow than he could easily understand.
Now, he’d finally gone upstairs to let her work, deciding he could stand to do a little of that himself. At the very least, he needed to check his e-mail. He couldn’t remember a time since the advent of the Internet that he’d gone this long without checking it. God only knew what fires might need to be put out by now.
But after hooking up the laptop to the Internet connection in the master bedroom, he was pleasantly surprised to see nothing too urgent had arisen. So he took his time answering messages, then closed the computer and retreated to the upholstered window seat where the sun still blasted in full force. Propping up the overstuffed throw pillows at one end, he reclined and thought he might let the sun lull him into a nap. Spying the snowman he and Laura had built brought a small smile to his face as he let his eyes fall shut.
He was still horny, though. Damn, no matter how much sex he had with this woman, she still kept him in a constant state of arousal.
His mind drifted to what she’d said out on the deck about how it was enough just to be fucked by him. Understanding the woman who lay at Laura’s core still made such talk more exciting than it would be from any other girl. Like everything with her, he never quite got used to it—it excited him as much each time as if it were brand-new.
Before long, he found himself pondering Tommy’s visit last night, which had turned out much differently than he’d imagined. He’d issued the invitation in all innocence—he enjoyed the guy’s company, valued his friendship, so it had seemed natural to have him down for a meal, even if he did have a lover on the premises. What Braden hadn’t expected was the sense that something heavier was developing throughout the evening. There’d definitely been very sexual vibes in the air, and it wasn’t just from talking about Tommy’s sex games. Braden knew he’d proliferated it—he’d been just intoxicated enough to go with the flow. So he hadn’t held back on saying Laura had great tits, and he hadn’t hesitated to bring up Stan and Candy, nor to let his touch drift dangerously near to Laura’s crotch while Tommy watched.
The odd truth was—he’d felt a certain unfamiliar pull, found himself imagining Laura being with both of them, him and Tommy. He’d found himself envisioning her letting go that much more—opening herself up that much deeper. And he f
ound himself wanting it. Wanting to see her that way, with another man, with two men.
He also couldn’t help remembering how much she’d obviously liked having two cocks last night in bed—even if one had been only a toy. She’d wanted it, too—wanted him and Tommy, together. He doubted she knew she’d wanted it—but she had.
The sun finally made him sleepy enough that he began to drift off. But as drowsiness meshed with his arousal, a question edged his mind. Would she do that for him if he asked her to? Would she let herself indulge her true desires in a ménage à trois?
She’d done everything else he’d wanted—everything. So very perfectly, so very passionately. This would be a big step further, for all of them. He’d never shared a woman with another guy before, either, let alone a good friend. But damn, he wanted her to know that ultimate pleasure, and he wanted himself to know the satisfaction of giving it to her, of knowing she did it because he asked it of her.
Riley and Sloane continued to turn up still more items concealed on the grounds—some were hidden in the backyard and outbuildings, but most appeared in the secret garden. Of course, Riley and Sloane were still getting intimate every chance they got—so much that Riley knew she was too caught up in her passion and not concentrating on solving the mystery as much as she should. An entirely new occurrence for her—since her head was always in the case. Except for now. Sloane Bennett and the best sex of her life were dimming her focus.
When Aunt Mimsey invited Riley and Sloane to tea on her back porch, Riley knew it was trouble. And she was proven correct before even lifting her aunt’s dainty flowered teacup to her lips.
“Winifred tells me you two are denying your feelings for each other,” Aunt Mimsey said with a giddy, knowing grin that made Riley want to sink into the porch’s wooden planks. It was bad enough that Aunt Mimsey and the Dorchesters had figured out something was going on between them, but a hundred times worse if they thought there were feelings involved. Because if Riley even hinted at having feelings for Sloane, she’d be humiliated. What she and Sloane shared was—at least in Sloane’s mind, she knew—strictly about getting horizontal. Or, well, in some cases perpendicular, and once even vertical against one of the pear trees—but she harbored no illusions that Sloane Bennett cared for her in any lasting way.
So she swiftly changed the subject. “Winifred has a wild imagination. No one here has any feelings for anyone else—Sloane and I are simply trying to solve this case. Which reminds me, we’ve come up with lots of new clues. Mostly in the garden—a secret garden,” she added, letting her eyes go wide. She suspected any sort of secret would catch Aunt Mimsey’s fancy and detract attention from her and Sloane.
“Oh yes, the secret garden,” Aunt Mimsey said, as if it were a boring piece of yesterday’s news.
Riley blinked. “You know about the garden?”
Aunt Mimsey took a sip of her tea, looking a bit wistful. “Well, I never mentioned it to anyone, but your uncle Walter and I used to make out there when we were first married.”
Sheesh, the secret garden was a regular lovers’ lane! Although it was hard to imagine Aunt Mimsey and Uncle Walter making out. Riley suspected she looked horrified.
Aunt Mimsey went on. “I never knew why the garden existed—I assumed Winifred just wanted a pretty place to stroll—but when Walter and I went there . . . well, let’s just say I spent a lot more time on my back than my feet.” Then she winked.
And Riley grew even more aghast. Ugh. “You’re not saying you and Uncle Walter . . . did the deed there?”
Aunt Mimsey narrowed her brow, her expression a bit befuddled. “Why, dear, I’m not sure what deed you’re talking about, but we had sex there many, many times, right on the grass under the pear trees.”
Riley and Sloane exchanged looks of rank disgust. “How . . . romantic,” Riley said dryly.
“Oh yes, it was,” Aunt Mimsey fluttered on, and before Riley could stop her, she regaled them with the tale of a particularly steamy August afternoon when she’d nearly swooned from the heat in the garden, but Walter had caught her—and made her “forget all about the weather,” she concluded with a girlish titter.
Between Aunt Mimsey’s continued stories of sex in the garden and further accusations of a relationship between Riley and Sloane, the next half hour was excruciating. When finally the teapot was drained and Riley managed to make their excuses, she and Sloane practically sprinted toward the arbor gate that would provide their escape from the yard.
“From now on,” Sloane said once they were free, “when we go to the garden, we’re taking a blanket.”
“Maybe two,” Riley concurred.
Although—even dismayed to find that apparently everyone they knew had indulged their sexual appetites in the garden before them—Riley never once thought about not returning there with Sloane. In fact, all this talk about it had her thinking she could use a little release right this very minute. “Want to go now?” she asked, tilting her head hopefully.
He didn’t even blink. “Wait here. I’ll find the blankets.”
And it was only when Sloane left her standing in the lush green grass behind the Dorchesters’ house that her mind cleared enough to realize a potentially frightening truth: if Aunt Mimsey knew about the garden, that meant, technically, she was a suspect, too!
Braden padded down the stairs, listening to the sound of Laura’s fingers dancing across the keyboard. He couldn’t believe anyone could type that fast and felt bad knowing he was about to interrupt her when her work was clearly flowing well.
Selfish son of a bitch, he thought. You can’t even wait a couple of hours, until the sun sets, to talk to her?
But no, he couldn’t. And as for being selfish . . .
All along, from the moment he’d seen Laura through the webcam, every move he’d made had been for both of them. Bringing her pleasure brought him pleasure. And this was no different. The only selfish part was the interruption, but he had a feeling she’d forget all about that very soon.
“Hey snowflake, take a break for a few minutes?”
The typing ceased as she looked over her shoulder. She wore another one of those skimpy tops he liked so much and had shoved her hair behind her ears. “You’re really pushing your luck today,” she told him, but teasing filled her voice. She rose to her feet as he plopped on the couch, patting the spot beside him.
As soon as she sat down, he eased his arms around her delectable curves and lowered a kiss high on her chest. From there, he lifted his mouth to hers—and damn, no matter how hot things got, he still got off on just kissing her.
“Well,” she said, a bit breathless, “this is the kind of break I like.”
He grinned but grew more serious as he lay her back on the sofa, still in a loose embrace, stretching his body out alongside hers. “You know what I’ve been thinking about all day?”
She shook her head.
“Last night,” he informed her, his voice going deep at the memory—and the knowledge of where he was taking this.
“What about last night? Pizza with Tommy?”
He lowered his chin, gazing down on her as he ran one palm over her tummy, up under her top. “Yes and no.”
She peered up expectantly, clearly waiting for him to go on.
“I was also thinking about how much you loved being filled with two cocks last night in bed.”
A pretty—and predictable—pink blush stained her cheeks. She’d mostly gotten over her shyness about discussing their sex, but he’d known such a statement would bring it back out. “Don’t go all nervous on me, honey. We both know it excited you—a lot.”
She swallowed visibly. “You could tell?”
She thought she’d hidden it somehow? He couldn’t hold in his smile. “Yeah, I could tell, and it got me really hot.” He’d seen Laura in a high state of arousal many times now, but something about last night had been different. Perhaps a deeper surrender? Something he’d felt more than seen? He wasn’t sure how, but he’d known it inst
antly.
“Well . . . okay. Yeah, it felt . . .” She swallowed again, a testament to her nervousness on the topic.
“Tell me.”
“It felt like . . . I was being consumed, taken, from all directions. Just . . . an incredible fullness I can’t put into words. Almost overwhelming. I . . . couldn’t control my response.”
He grinned, liking her answer, especially the last part. Then proceeded with what he’d come down here to say, lifting one hand to her cheek. “I want to give you the real thing now.”
“Huh?” she asked, peering up at him, beautifully wide-eyed.
He let his voice drop an octave to tell her, “I want to give you two cocks, baby. Two men—at the same time. I want you to be with me and Tommy. Tonight.”
Chapter Thirteen
Laura let out the breath she’d been holding. “Braden.” She couldn’t fathom what he’d just suggested. “Are you . . . are you serious?”
His hand skimmed up her side until the tip of his thumb brushed over her nipple, through her top. The pleasure bit through her as he replied, “I’m very serious.”
She sucked in another deep breath, her mind whirling. She couldn’t deny that she’d suffered hints of the same inconceivable desire when Tommy had been there last night. Yet . . . she couldn’t possibly do something so very hedonistic. “God, Braden, I . . . don’t know.”
“Because the idea doesn’t appeal to you? Or just because it sounds forbidden?”
An image flashed in her head—her, between the two men, their hands roaming her body, their straining cocks rubbing against her. Her pussy spasmed at the very thought, and she quietly admitted, “The second.”
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