by Angel Payne
“Mon dieu, minette. This is good. So fucking good. Hang on, now. We’re almost there.”
Almost there?
Before she could process the shock, Rebel sank all the way into her ass.
Pain. Pressure. Heat.
Fullness. Sinfulness. Nakedness.
Acquiescence. Acceptance. Surrender.
So many sensations layered on each other, like fine silks blowing in a gale wind, elusive and uncatchable. The gale wind of Rebel…grounded by the solid mountain that was Rhett. His body was like granite, his cock like the tree she held in the storm, keeping her safe so she could reach and embrace every electric particle brought by the wind too. She could fly without falling. Jump without shattering.
Fall apart…in the arms of the men she completely trusted.
Rhett, seeming to read that thought, beamed a smile that honored the Viking gods from whom he’d surely descended. “Oh, little girl. You’re so close, aren’t you? So fucking close. It’s written in every one of those stars in your eyes.”
His appraisal coerced Rebel to lower again. By now, he drove his cock in and out as feverishly as Rhett. His body was sweat-slicked, his breaths heavy sluices against her neck. It all only added to the erotic spell he wove with every brutal thrust. So deep. He was so deep inside the forbidden realms of her body.
“You’ve taken your punishment well, darling fille. Now it’s time to accept your reward.” He bit into the space just behind her ear. “Come for us, Brynna Cosette. Come for us hard.”
She wanted to. Oh God, she wanted to climax for them more than taking her next damn breath…
But no.
“Not yet.” She looked again over her shoulder at the pirate. Just as quickly, she swung her stare back to the Viking. Because they both already locked on her, their gazes naturally tracked to each other. A sweaty smile broke out across her face but she said nothing else, desperately hoping they’d connect the dots from there.
Rhett mirrored her grin first.
Just before Rebel erased it from his face by plunging in, fusing their mouths together.
“Ohhhh, yes.” She sighed. “You did get it.”
“So did you.” It spilled from Rhett on a growl as he ramped his thrusts into her pussy. “That really made you wetter, didn’t it?”
For a long moment, his treatment made it impossible to speak. “Yes…Sir,” she finally got out. “Oh, God. That’s so good…Sir!”
Rebel added another animalistic sound. The gritty snarl vibrated along the top of her shoulder. “Somebody has a very naughty cunt. And an even naughtier ass. And likes to have them filled by two dirty Doms with hard, pounding cocks.”
“Who adore her so much, they’ll even make out for her.”
“Oh yeah.” Rebel dropped in again, though not all the way. His tongue snaked out, laving along Rhett’s bottom lip. “There’s that.”
A new energy flashed between the men. Rhett’s eyes glowed, silver lights against the deep blue, as if Rebel had beckoned him to an arm wrestling match instead of another kiss. The competitive spark was sure as hell unexpected—or was it? And did Brynn really care? Her body was the willing recipient of the fringe bennies, fucked with greater vigor by the dueling owners of both those beautiful cocks.
Rhett lifted his head off the mattress, biting out at Rebel. “Come on. Come on.” But when Rebel lowered, he still played coy, dodging his tongue, nipping at Reb’s chin. Watching their sensual sparring had Brynn panting hard, whimpering in need.
“Take him.” She blurted it, not sure if her intent was a plea or a command—as if it really mattered. Her body throbbed so desperately. Her clit pulsed so fast. “So close,” she whispered. “So…close. Pussy…needs to…just take him. Take him.”
Rebel stabbed her with eyes full of pure cobalt sex.
While ramming his tongue down Rhett’s throat.
And growling deep as she screamed out, blasted by the explosion of her orgasm.
The shockwaves went on, wave after wave of heat and bliss, tearing her apart before bringing her back to herself, only to sweep her back into a sea of fire and fury from which she never wanted to be rescued. That was all before Rhett and Reb started pumping harder, faster, longer, transforming from wind and mountain into hurricane and earthquake, groans layering as their climaxes struck damn near in tandem.
It was one of the most incredible moments of her life.
Followed by one of the most devastating.
How would they move on from this? How would she? How would she get up from this bed, cover herself, and even step outside the door again, when everything in her soul was still stripped naked, exposed as never before?
And why did she never want to cover it back up again?
So much that she’d never dreamed of or hoped for.
So much of exactly what she’d feared.
Ecstasy. Vulnerability. Pain. Pleasure.
Weakness.
The guys fell into equally thick silence. She could almost hear the thoughts in their heads, hopping on the same dismal track as hers. This was all never meant to be more than simple stress relief, enjoyed by three mature adults who needed the shit in light of the grim circumstances that had brought them together.
But something happened on the way to rescuing Zoe. Now, Brynna wondered if she needed the liberation—only from what, she still didn’t know or understand. And wasn’t sure she wanted to.
It was a disgusting, confusing tangle—in a love life that seemed doomed to possess them. And like the idiot she always was, she kept attacking the thing with an emotional comb, hoping that if she looked at it from another angle or tore into it with more resolve, the strands would work themselves out.
Because that had worked before?
She pushed out a determined breath. This was different. They were different. Still pressed between their huge bodies, feeling the cadence of their hearts and warmth of their embraces, she was certain of it in every cell of her body—and was damn sure they were, too.
Right. Okay. So the three of you will live happily ever after now? Maybe buy some cute little Craftsman in the Seattle suburbs, settle down into your routine jobs and enjoy your routine life? The showgirl, the bomb guy, and the top-level security specialist, just one big happy, normal family?
“Sweetheart?” Rhett’s murmur made her painfully aware of the tiny sob she’d let out, despite battling otherwise. “You okay?”
“Fine.” It was too hasty to fool either of them, but she gritted a smile at their scowls anyway. “I’m…better than fine. God, that was…”
“Yeah.” Rhett didn’t bother with the phony ease. “Yeah, it was.”
Silence crawled between the three of them again. It wouldn’t last long. She waited, along with Rhett, for the filthy Cajun one-liner that would snap them all back to normal, at least for a little while.
Wasn’t happening.
Instead, without a word, Rebel carefully slipped out of her then disposed of his condom. As Rhett did the same, Reb walked to the little vanity in the corner and dampened a washcloth. He returned bearing that, along with a larger towel off the rack. Nodded toward the center of the bed. “Reste là, s’il vous plait, minette.”
It wasn’t a command but resonated with so much solemnity, she obeyed it like one. After scooting in obedience, she watched him walk back over and lower to one side of the bed. Rhett circled around and positioned himself on the other side. He looked on as Rebel dipped a soft kiss to her lips.
“What a gift you are, Brynna Monet.” He gently ran the damp cloth between her legs and over her thighs, which were still coated in the sweat all three of them had shed. “Merci, ma belle.”
She attempted a flippant laugh. The formality of his tone, teamed with the intimacy of his care, was like psychoanalyzing a priest and a hooker at the same time. Maybe humor would diffuse the discomfort. “It was a team effort.”
She didn’t expect huge guffaws—but nor did she anticipate them looking like she’d just talked referenced c
rawling over glass instead of three mind-on-the-moon orgasms. Of course, glass seemed to be in abundance already—since the two of them also erected an invisible pane of it between themselves. They damn near pretended they didn’t know each other, much less had been devouring each other’s tongues fifteen minutes ago.
Not. Acceptable.
Even if the three of them would never be a possibility, at least they could continue on with each other—or try to. The strength they gave each other, and the connection they shared…it was good; damn good—too rare and awesome to be ignored, even for a day. As early as next week, they could be airlifted to a battle zone from which one or both of them would never return…
There was a heartening thought for the moment.
“So…you’re all for the team effort now, huh?”
She shot her narrowed stare toward Rhett. “You still want to make cracks about that, Sir? I’ve got a throbbing ass that states I’ve just learned my lesson about that point. Can we move on?”
“Okay, okay.” Rebel’s placation came along with his hand on her knee, gentle but quelling. “Everyone dial it back.”
Brynn squirmed. The message was right but the messenger was wrong. Rhett, with urbanity in his veins and the North Sea in his eyes, was always their calm under pressure. Rebel was the Caribbean savage, as willing to tread hot coals as he was to deactivate an IED. Had they swapped more than spit during those kisses?
“Double-Oh’s trying to make a point.” Rebel patted her dry, taking extra care with the tissues that were sensitive from use in the last twenty-four hours. “He’s just not making it very well.”
Rhett snorted. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
Rebel side-eyed him. “Because you planned on throwing me any?”
“Hello?” She grabbed enough of the towel to whack out at him. “Dialing it back? Remember?” She gave herself an inner five, at least for staying on message. Wasn’t the easiest task, considering neither of them had opted to tuck themselves back into their jeans. On any two other men, the whole drained cock/unzipped jeans look would’ve been justification for the squeebs—but damn it if these two men didn’t have a pair of the most incredible penises on the planet. Her blessing—and curse.
“She’s right.” Rhett tossed a look that ventured toward an apology. “We have to bury the awkward—for now.”
His shot clearly addressed some kind of elephant in the room for them. Part of Brynn ached for them, yearning to jump on the pachyderm’s back, help them wrestle it down, then get the damn thing digested, bite by painful bite. The other half was pissed at them both. Fate had given them something remarkable, and they were choosing to throw the treasure back like it was rotten fish.
She’d show them rotten fish. His name was Master Peter, and he’d broken her sister’s heart into a thousand pieces.
Rebel straightened. Set the washcloth on the far nightstand before dropping a decisive nod. “Double-Oh brought up the teamwork thing because…on the way here, we had the chance to discuss your game plan.” He let out a breath through flared nostrils. “Given better logistics, it might be the best option we’ve got. I said, given better logistics.” His addendum shot out in response to her gloating grin.
Rhett dipped his head, underlining the command in Reb’s tone. “We’re going to talk this through before making another move on it, Brynna. You’re not even going to sneeze inside that complex without us giving you clearance first.” His shoulders squared as he settled on both haunches. As he raised his hands back to his hips, a dry swallow grabbed at Brynn’s throat. He looked just as foreboding as the moment she’d first walked in here—except for the unzipped jeans and the exposed cock part.
“This isn’t us trying to be dickwads,” Rebel adjoined. “This is us, acting as the eyes and ears you won’t have.” He turned toward Rhett. “Did you connect with El yet?”
Rhett nodded. “While you were outside.” He really could’ve been a Viking fighter, with the afternoon sun streaming through a crack in the paisley curtains, painting patterns of forest green and coral pink over his corded shoulders. “She’s standing by for our go in a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours?” Brynn jackknifed up so fast, her breasts wiggled a little—but her joy was so consuming, she didn’t even mind the guys’ roaming eyes. “Seriously?”
Rebel grumbled a few sentences in gutter French before rolling off the bed and gawking into her overnight bag. “This is a damn good time for everyone to rethink wardrobe choices.” After tossing her a pair of shorts and a baggy T-shirt imprinted with the Braneff Brothers logo, he palmed the shaft that wasn’t so soft at the V of his crotch, and forced it beneath his briefs. With a matching wince, Rhett did the same.
They all sat back down on the bed—cross-legged this time, a triangle-shaped pow-wow. Brynn’s pulse raced with excitement while her heart sang in hope—a mood not matched by the men on either side of her, their faces stamped with grim resignation. Well, shit. She hadn’t seen this kind of tension from them in nearly a week, since they’d stood in the Bommers’ living room ruling out the horrible possibilities of what could’ve happened to Zoe. No. This was even worse. Deeper. Perhaps she needed to understand that too. None of this was conjecture anymore. They were formulating a real plan, going down with real logistics, in two hours. For some reason, it felt even more dangerous than before, when she was flying solo.
Perhaps because you were flying totally blind?
So there was something to be said for the blind thing. While she’d been racing around with the “Save Zoe” banner, shields thrown up and rose-colored glasses on, there was no possibility of confronting the truth: that Adler and his gang were very real, very dangerous, shoot-to-kill sons of bitches. Staring at Rhett and Rebel now, as they pulled out a smart pad with the schematic to the Verge building on it, all the Rambo gung-ho and Beetlejuice sarcasm had been ditched in favor of just one element, overriding all others.
Respect.
It spoke more volumes to her than anything else. The men might’ve hated the bastard with every drop of blood in their bodies, but they still respected the living shit out of him—a lesson she had to soak up as fast as she could, and remember with every step she took into that complex as his cute, redheaded bait.
Because God help her—and Zoe—if she took just one wrong step in front of that man.
Chapter Seventeen
‡
REBEL SCOWLED. “YOU think she’s okay in there?”
Rhett shrugged, going for a vibe of half-asleep nonchalance. Who the fuck did the ass think he was kidding? Rebel would’ve called him on the act with a boot in the side of his chiseled jaw, but battling the lust to kiss him again was proving a huger challenge at the moment.
Damn. Those kisses.
Those kisses with that man.
Few things had ever felt so fucking right to Rebel, in a life where so much had gone so piss-poor wrong. He fought the urge to let his eyes slide shut, to let those perfect moments consume his memory again. Those full, forceful lips beneath his. The heat of the mouth beneath. The power that burst in that wet, hard tongue, meeting every thrust he delivered, as if they both knew it was the closest thing to a real fuck they’d ever get.
Now who the hell was he kidding? He didn’t have to shut his eyes. The torture was just as vivid with his eyes wide open, glaring across the bustling parking lot of a typical suburban Texas strip mall.
He grunted hard. Groaned low. Readjusted himself in the driver’s seat of the SUV. Even the hot little MILF walking by, so cute in a flowery top, tight capris and come-fuck-me heels that should’ve been on a porn goddess instead, didn’t detract from the erection that again swelled for the man just three feet away from him.
Rhett rolled his head from right to left against the passenger’s side headrest. Didn’t bother to drop his Oakleys, though Rebel detected the eye roll under them. As he’d just catalogued in silent but excruciating detail, the man’s mouth alone was very expressive.
“Y
ou need to relax.” Now Rhett let the sunglasses drop—just by a fraction, so he could lock a visual on the we-sell-everything fashion store they’d found for Brynna to run into. If she appeared at the front gate of the Verge building in her clothes from earlier, Adler’s goons would be taking bets on how many pharma offices she’d fucked her way through already. The woman herself had forced them to recognize the fact, something along the lines of Homer Adler preferring to think his dick would be the first inside a woman for the day. After he and Rhett had choked back enough nausea to speak again, they’d reluctantly agreed.
“Relax?” he countered. “So that’s the right call for the moment. Sorry; guess I was incapable of figuring that out on my own. Should’ve observed your stellar example, pal.”
Rhett didn’t say anything. Just pushed his lips together—an action that obviously, immediately reminded him of how kiss-stung they still were. Though he released the pressure right away, the damage was already dealt to Rebel’s dick. He grunted and shifted again.
“Goddammit, Moon. What’s your problem?”
“Nothing.” He thrust out a pout, too. Complete pussy move—but did he care? Just as he’d known that Rhett would rise to his wanker-ific best and find the biggest carpet under which to shove this afternoon’s magic, the ass should’ve expected the finest quality Cajun brood from him. “Not a damn thing. Everything tidy and clear now? Good. Let’s just drop that mike while things are good.”
“Just drop that mike.” Stunningly, the guy actually punched a snarl beneath the echo—and whoa kids, alert the press—whipped off his sunglasses all the way. The blade of his steel-dark glare impaled Reb’s chest with an implacable chill. “That’s how you want to handle whatever bullshit this is, when we’re about to send Brynna into the lion’s den?”
Insult to injury flashed instantly to mind and stuck there. Was the douche actually going there? The king of head-in-the-sand about everything that had happened this week—was now attacking him about trying move on?