by Taryn Quinn
She yanked open the fridge door and poked her head in. Soda? Or better yet, something with kick? She grabbed a beer and uncapped it, sighing as the cold brew slid down her throat.
While she drank, she rummaged through the packages of snacks on the counter. Pretzels, meh. No diet food near Christmas. Why bother? She grinned and eyed an unopened bright orange bag. Cheese puffs were a much better option.
Tucking them under her arm, she stepped into the back hallway that led upstairs. All quiet. Even the stray kitty Tristan liked to feed wasn’t curled up in the box he’d set up for him to stay in on cold nights. Maybe Tris hadn’t been able to round him up tonight.
She smiled. It was always so cute to hear Tristan calling, “Hey, cat!” as he walked around outside with a handful of treats.
Cait ascended the spiral staircase, then stopped at the top to listen. For what, she wasn’t sure. The guys probably weren’t home. Maybe they’d gone out to grab a pizza. Or maybe one of them had had a last-minute date. It was Friday, after all. And they were sexy single guys.
Too single. Too sexy.
She wrinkled her nose. Not that she cared that they dated eagerly and often. Their hookup with her—whichever one of them turned out to be willing to aid in her virginity search-and-destroy mission—would be a one-time thing. Then all would return to normal.
Hey, if she got an orgasm or two out of the deal, she’d consider the maneuver a rousing success.
She strolled down the hall that branched off into three sections. Matt’s was first, hers in the middle. But instead of heading straight for her set of rooms, she hesitated.
It was too quiet. Unnaturally so.
A line of sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. Slowly, she unwound her scarf. She’d forgotten to take off her outer clothes. No wonder she was hot. She had no reason to be nervous in her own house.
Did she?
Then she heard a heavy scraping sound, like furniture being moved, and she pressed her back to the wall. Oh God. She’d known something was wrong. The lights were off, so who the hell would be moving furniture? Maybe someone had broken in and overpowered the guys. They could be tied up even now or worse. Maybe the serial killer was rolling their bodies up in the rug in Tristan’s living room.
She shoved her fist into her mouth to keep from making a noise. The smart thing to do would be to run downstairs and get help. Maybe the police would arrive in time.
A groan ripped through the air, disturbing the silence so fully that the sound echoed. And it sure didn’t seem like pain. Well, not regular pain. She’d heard that particular sound before when guys—
Again. A long, low sound of pleasure.
She bit down on her knuckles, forgetting the cheese puffs she held under her arm. The bag clattered to the floor, but whoever was boinking in the bedroom couldn’t hear. Not when they were now screwing so loudly that the bed was moving.
Tristan’s bed.
That had been the noise she’d heard. They were going at it so hard that the frame kept slamming against the wall.
Creak. Creak. A pause. Slam.
Her stomach twisted, hard. The beer suddenly tasted rancid on her tongue.
Why should she be jealous? Stupid. Tris was a talented lover. Of course women wanted him. Matt too. Women wanted Matt, she amended, only half-aware that her feet were carrying her closer to the bedroom instead of away.
The door to Tristan’s section was shut. Though this level had been split equally into three distinct areas, the doors that separated them from one another were usually only closed when someone had a girlfriend or boyfriend over. Even then Matt in particular could be counted on to leave the door cracked, as if he got off on the idea of making his roommates listen to his bedroom antics. He was noisy as hell in bed, grunting and yelling with the best of them.
Honestly, she envied him. She sure hadn’t ever experienced anything to elicit sounds like he regularly made. Moans, sure. But grunts wrested from the depth of her soul?
That would be a no.
She stopped, her throat convulsing at the new groans reverberating down the hall. That wasn’t Tristan.
No way.
Matthew was in Tristan’s apartment, but why? Did they have a girl in there? Were they having a threesome?
Shit.
They’d never told her they did stuff like that, but single guys in their late twenties were apt to do any damn thing.
More than ever, her virginity felt like a giant weight pressing down on her chest. And other overstimulated parts of her body.
If they were having a threesome, why hadn’t they asked her? She was their frigging best friend. The one who cleaned them up and dumped them into bed when they’d had too much fun on Saturday night, the one who picked out presents for Matt’s mom because he hated to and sent out office Christmas cards because Tristan’s handwriting looked like a mass murderer’s.
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. Sh
it.”
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.
CHAPTER 2
Matt watched Cait spin away from the doorway, her long blonde hair flashing in the darkness. He deliberately released his grip on the sheets, one finger at a time.
Playtime was officially over.
“Let me up,” he said in an undertone, his mind whirling. He had to go to her. Alone. If Tristan got involved, he’d churn them all up until they couldn’t have a rational conversation. She’d be excitable enough on her own.
Hell, from the shock he’d seen written on her face, that was probably an understatement. She had to be perplexed. Hurt even. Betrayed that they hadn’t told her.
Christ, she probably hated them now.
“Somebody sounds cranky.” Grinning, Tristan did as Matt had asked. He cleaned up with a tissue, then searched out his abandoned condom and disposed of both with former Boy Scout zeal. “Next time you can take a turn at bat. If you’re good.”
Matt rolled his eyes, so not in the mood it wasn’t even funny. Of course if Tris knew why, he wouldn’t be jovial either. But Matt wasn’t about to deal with both him and Cait at once.
His best friends were like two lit matches, each encouraging the other to burn. As much as he loved them, putting out one fire at a time was plenty.
“I’ll put it on my list for Santa.” Matt sat up and reached for his boxers, determined to ignore the wetness drying on his back. He needed a shower, but that would have to wait.
“Santa came early.”
“Ugh, mental pictures are forming I don’t need, bro.” With effort, Matt made his tone light as he got dressed. Fast. “Thank God you stopped dressing up like him for Cait’s nieces and nephews, or I’d be scarred for life.”
Tristan snagged his dress shirt off the back of a chair and shrugged into it, leaving the crisp fabric unbuttoned over the trousers he tugged up with annoying efficiency. He always skipped underwear, claiming it saved time. Matt’s hands were still shaking—though that might have been for more than one reason—but Tris’s grip appeared rock steady.
As usual. Unflappable Tris. Except when he wasn’t. Then heaven and hell both needed to watch out.
“What’s your rush?” he asked, his tone mild. “You forget to DVR SportsCenter?”
“No. I just have a…phone call to make. To, uh, my mom.”
Smooth. Matt shook his head. Finish sex with a hot guy, and hurry out of the room to call Mommy.
Not that he really intended to do that, but still. He caught Tris’s sexy smirk and turned away to tuck in his T-shirt. Much more of that and Matt would be on his stomach on the bed again in no time.
“Right. Well, have fun. I’m going to grab some quality laptop time. Want to use the phone in here?”
“No,” Matt said, a little too quickly judging from Tris’s raised eyebrows. “Think I’ll get a beer.” Maybe a couple.
“I’ll be down in a while,” Tris said, already heading into the living room.
“Take your time.” Again he got the raised eyebrow look. “I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve talked to Mom and—”
“Knock yourself out. I’ve got plenty to do up here. Besides, Caity’ll be back anytime.”
Matt plastered a bland smile on his face as he ran a hand over his hair. Tris was a hair puller, so it was a freaking mess as expected. Damn shame he was overdue for a cut. He pulled a rubber band out of his pocket and yanked it back into a short ponytail, wincing at the scrape along the back of his neck.
Stubble. Had felt damn good at the time, not so much now.
He rubbed his own bristly jaw. How could women stand that sensation on their thighs? He’d have to be more mindful of shaving, since he normally considered it a hit-or-miss activity.
Being with Tris had made him more mindful of a lot of things. Personal grooming. How much fun it was falling for your best friend, even if no one else could know. Exactly how deliciously vulnerable it felt to be at your lover’s mercy when you knew he’d show you none.
And now Matt was mindful that their other best friend was about to rip into his ass in an entirely new way.
“See ya,” he said, already reaching for the doorknob. He didn’t hear Tris’s reply.
Halfway down the hall, he picked up an unopened bag of cheese puffs.
> Cait’s favorite.
He sighed. Dear God, what was he going to say?
He found her in the kitchenette. She had a perfectly good kitchen upstairs in her own apartment, but he’d rightly guessed she’d be downstairs.
Anything to get away, if not very far.
Tea whistled mournfully on the stove. She ignored it, staring off into the distance while she pressed dents into the dials with her white-knuckled fingers.
“Cait.”
She whipped her head around at his voice. Her blazing blue eyes drilled into his. “I don’t want to speak to you.”
“Too bad.” He tried to ignore that she was trembling, so faintly he doubted she even realized. “I’m here, and we’re talking.”
“There isn’t anything to say.”
“Bullshit.”
She pressed her lips together and faced the cheerful rooster-patterned wallpaper above the burners. “I would tell you to go fuck yourself, but Tris already had that honor.”
“Jealous?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “We both know how much you’ve wanted that particular piece of ass since college.”
She glared at him. If he wasn’t mistaken, her trembling had become straight fury. Good. If she started to cry, he’d lose it. He could handle anything but that.
“Are you jealous?” she countered. “Since if I want his ass, I must not want yours.”
“Oooh, I’m crushed.” He rubbed his palm over his heart, his gaze measuring hers. This conversation had taken a turn he hadn’t expected, but he’d ride it out. “I expected you to deny it,” he said, hoping like hell his voice stayed even. “To tell me I was wrong.”
Cait shrugged jerkily and yanked her teapot off the stove. She glowered again when he came up beside her to turn off the burner. “I can handle that myself, thank you very much. Don’t you have a bed to be bent over? So sorry I interrupted your private time.” She turned away, but he shot out his hand and grabbed her arm. “Let me go, dammit.”
“Not bloody likely.” He tugged her closer, noting the flare of her nostrils and the way her irises darkened like storm clouds.