Seduced: Den of Sin Boxed Set 1

by Mel Blue

  Brent pulled her back against him and pinched her nipples between his large fingers to make her stay put. He whispered something into her hair Remy couldn’t hear, and after a sharp inhale, a swallow, and a nod, she relaxed against his chest.

  Whatever Brent said to her had suddenly turned up the heat in Eve, because she was dripping wet as he probed her cunt, while making his index finger’s transition to her anus slick and short on resistance.

  She did, however, try to arch her back up again, but Brent wisely teased her back.

  “It’s just a finger, Eve,” Remy said. “Just one. Maybe two later, when you’re ready. Then more.”

  “I’m not taking both of you at once.” Her voice was a bit panicked, even as her toes curled against the bedspread because of Brent’s careful assault of her nipples.

  Given the combined sizes of the two men, Remy wouldn’t be the one to suggest it, though if she begged, he didn’t know for certain what his answer would be. He’d never done that before, either. He’d always taken his lovers one at a time, just like Eve.

  Remy grabbed her ankles and pulled her down a bit, so her back was at a forty-five degree angle against Brent, and wrapped her legs around his waist as he leaned in close.

  Still in his teasing mood, he stretched past Eve’s face to Brent’s, and lapped the tip of his tongue around Brent’s flattened lips.

  What was Brent going to do with Eve on his lap? He certainly wouldn’t risk removing his hands from her body. That had been a too hard-won thing.

  Remy settled his cock against Eve’s wet cunt. Then he laughed, and she tilted her head back.

  She looked at Brent, then to Remy.

  “What did you do, Remy?”

  “Just having a little fun with your husband. You mind?”

  “Not if he doesn’t.”

  He probably does.

  Remy slipped into her, slow and easy, and clamped his teeth together. She was so fucking tight, and he was glad for it. He’d dreamed she’d rock his world.

  Brent bent his knees, and as Remy had his hands pressed onto the bed next to Eve’s hips for balance, he didn’t really have a choice but to touch Brent.

  With every thrust, every time he eased his body low and seized Eve’s lips, he was reminded of his audience.

  And when that audience of one settled his hands to Eve’s hips and maneuvered her so his lubed cock ground against her back, Remy shuddered.

  They were throwing off his rhythm, yes, but her swirls and clenches combined with his thrusts made blood rush away from critical body parts and flowed south to a cock that was already too attentive.

  Dear lord, he was going to fucking burst, and they’d barely gotten started.

  Fortunately, he wasn’t the first one to the finish line. Brent didn’t have the latex barrier, so he came first while pressing Eve’s body more tightly against him and spewing a stream of profanity at the ceiling that contained far more syllables than the man had probably said all day.

  “Tell me what you need, Eve,” Remy whispered, breathily. Usually, he exhibited legendary control, but this was a fantasy he’d never really expected to come to fruition. A fantasy plus one. Seeing the pleasure-pain on Brent’s face as his body quaked beneath Eve had thrown some switch in Remy. Made him want to be the one causing that reaction from Brent, and not just because of a secondary interaction.

  God, his head was fucked up. He couldn’t want Eve and this interloper at the same time.

  Brent was easy on the eyes and ran dangerously close to being Remy’s type. That’s all it was.

  “Harder,” she said into the ear he put close to her lips.

  Harder.

  So, he eased up closer on his knees, and brought Eve’s legs up to his shoulders, which brought his eyes that much closer to Brent’s.

  Brent’s expression was a cool blank as Remy pounded into her, and briefly Remy forgot all about his tightening balls and aching cock, because Brent leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth. Not a teasing flick of his tongue, but a commanding, dominating kiss that established who was who and who’d be doing what.

  Remy came hard in the midst of that kiss, his nails digging into the sheets beside Brent’s thighs, and his moan muffled by the other’s man’s mouth.

  Eve shouted out her climax, sandwiched between them, and Brent drew back where he leaned against the headboard. His dark eyes bore a twinkle of amusement as he laughed.

  Remy rolled off them and draped his arm across his eyes while struggling to catch his breath.

  …the fuck?

  Brent was a man who knew how to kiss men. There was a difference. Remy, of all people, would know.

  The bed shifted, and Remy moved his arm to watch Eve’s glorious naked backside move toward the bathroom.

  Water drummed, and now it was Remy’s turn to cast a speculative look at Brent.

  Brent leaned against the headboard with his right knee still bent, hiding his cock from sight. If he was put off by what had just happened, he didn’t show it. In fact, he picked up the remote control and looked over Remy’s head toward the television.

  Remy sat up and eased off his condom.

  “She’s on birth control, you know,” Brent said. He set the remote on the nightstand and furrowed his brow at the Rose Bowl.

  Shitty score for the Heels, but they hadn’t won a major bowl in years.

  “No, I didn’t know. Thanks for the late notice,” Remy said. He eased off the edge of the bed and walked his spent condom to the bathroom.

  Eve handed him a warm, wet washcloth as he entered. Her cheeks were as red as her car.

  Ah. There was the discomfort he’d expected from her earlier.

  He’d swooped in without warning and fucked her senseless in front of the husband she’d flown to New Orleans to bond with. He’d most certainly gotten in the way of that, which was his plan, but why was he feeling ashamed all of a sudden?

  She left him to the bathroom, and he cleaned up, listening to the quiet, respectful acknowledgment between the newlyweds in the bedroom.

  Remy may have known Eve longer, but maybe that was a strike against him. Maybe he was the one who had ground to make up and not the stranger in the other room—the stranger who’d kissed him like he knew exactly what he was doing and what Remy was doing, too.

  “Fuck.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Brent wasn’t surprised Remy didn’t remember him. Well, in his mind, Remy was Edward. That’s what people called him back then. Brent remembered that and other things about the now-surgeon. Even as a student of eighteen, Remy had managed to convey an attitude of insouciance. He’d seemed interested in nothing in particular but was almost always in the middle of a female huddle.

  The girls would flock to wherever he was in a classroom, and he’d smile and chat. He’d never seemed particularly enthusiastic, though Brent may have just missed it. Because of Brent’s football travel schedule and grueling morning practices, his class attendance was erratic. When he did manage to drag himself to class, he’d sat in the back, too exhausted to participate beyond passing his homework down the aisle when it was collected.

  Eventually, he’d dropped out. Sure, he was smart, but an academic he was not. Folks assumed he’d quit because he was going to enter the NFL draft, but his heart hadn’t been in it. Football had just been a fun diversion in high school. He never actually thought he was elite, as they’d called him.

  He wasn’t a public man, and what better way to have a life laid bare for all to see and dissect than to play professional sports? With his luck, he would have torn his ACL his first game off the bench. He didn’t want that kind of pressure. He wanted routine. Day-to-day tedium.

  He’d found good, steady work at the imports repair shop near his mother’s home in Mebane and started out doing oil changes. Got certified on brakes and transmissions, then more. Engines made sense to him in a way people didn’t, and the work made him happy.

  He’d saved up his money and eventually opened his own gar
age. That’s how he’d met Eve. She’d driven up and stepped out of her Audi wearing a look of defeat. No one else wanted to fix it, and neither did Brent, truth be told. But she’d been so dejected, and he thought maybe if he’d at least try to fix her car, she’d reward him with a smile.

  That first smile cost him about four hundred dollars in parts and labor. The second cost him even more. Eventually, he’d stop keeping count. Every penny had been worth it, though. As far as flirting went, his methods were clumsy when it came to her. He’d never had to be so creative, but in his mind, she was a queen he needed permission to approach and bow down to. He wasn’t sure how to go about getting that permission. That’s why they’d come to New Orleans.

  Now, his queen lie with her head on Remy’s lap, half asleep, while Remy checked messages on his phone. At least he’d put his sweatpants back on. He was that same woman magnet from college, but unlike back then, Remy seemed to have a genuine affection for the one on his lap. And from the wingback chair in the corner, Brent wondered why Eve hadn’t asked Remy to marry her instead of Brent.

  “Your team is garbage this year, Evie,” Remy murmured in reference to the television.

  Eve opened one eye wider and said, “Mm-hmm,” before letting the lid droop again.

  It’d been a long day, and Brent was also feeling the exhaustion. But he did feel somewhat aggrieved about her current choice of pillow.

  Having her naked body pressed against his had been amazing, even with the proximity of the smirking jackass, but he would have preferred it to be just the two of them.

  “Did you have plans for dinner?” Remy asked.

  No answer came from Eve, so Brent looked over at Remy to find he was looking to him, not his wife.

  Brent understood why Eve would be so easily seduced by Remy. He was sort of pretty without being effeminate. Articulate. Well-employed. Undeniable magnetism.

  Hell, Remy had come onto Brent’s radar screen pretty fucking strong, too, and that never happened. The last time it had, he’d lost a good chunk of change repairing a forty-year-old Audi 100.

  “I don’t imagine there’s much open,” Brent said as they locked eyes.

  “It’s New Orleans.” Remy set his phone on the nightstand and drew up a section of Eve’s curly hair that he twirled seemingly absentmindedly. He’d probably done that a lot in the past five years. “Usually can find a Chinese buffet or Indian place open during US holidays. Room service is delivering, too. Menu looks impressive, though I would expect that from Henri. There’s also a mixer down in the ballroom and atrium later.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that.”

  Remy bobbed his shoulders against the headboard and leaned his head against the wood. He sighed and closed his eyes. “It’s all in the literature the front desk handed out at check-in.”

  “I’ll pass on the Indian. Don’t have the gut for it.”

  “That leaves Chinese and room service, and I suspect Eve would prefer the latter.”

  “Good thing one of us knows that.”

  Remy did that gallant shrug again. “You learn a lot about a person working very long shifts with them.”

  “That why you’re single?”

  “No. I’m single because I’m picky.”

  Brent pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed.

  “What’s that look for?” Remy asked, his eyes now open.

  It was Brent’s turn to shrug. “Well, you kissed me, so already your credibility has gone to pot.”

  “Pretty sure it was the other way around. I licked. You kissed.”

  “I just finished what you seemed eager to start.”

  “Oh, but you didn’t finish. Your mouth would need to be much, much lower for that.”

  Brent’s cock stirred in his jeans, and he said a silent prayer of thanks that his legs were crossed in a manner that Remy couldn’t see it. He wouldn’t want the guy to get the wrong idea…whatever that was.

  “Give me the menu.” Brent extended his hand toward the bed’s edge.

  Somehow, Remy managed to flick the elegant binder closer to Brent without dislodging Eve from his lap.

  Flipping through the pages, Brent thought over the selections. He was really a meat and potatoes guy, and all this fancy stuff, like étouffee and bouillabaisse, wasn’t going to do it for him. If he were going to eat just to be hungry again in an hour, he’d just as soon have Chinese.

  “You can order off-menu,” Remy said while spinning the remote control around his fingers. “I don’t think it’d be a problem for anyone in the kitchen to make you a turkey sandwich, if that’s what you want.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  While still staring at the television screen, Remy flipped through the channels. He didn’t respond until he landed on some old black-and-white Christmas movie. Seemed some stations just couldn’t let go of the Christmas spirit after the twenty-fifth. At least it was Gene Kelly. Couldn’t go wrong with Gene Kelly.

  “I wouldn’t say transparent. I imagine most men like their meals to have less than ten ingredients, as well as be able to pronounce them.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m fickle. Some days I’m peanut butter and jelly. Others, I’m red pepper and goat cheese panini.”

  “What are you today?”

  Remy smoothed the hair behind Eve’s right ear and turned toward Brent. “I usually know what I want when I see it.”

  Brent didn’t know whether he meant Eve or the menu, but all the same, he closed the binder and passed it back on the bed, along with the phone. “How about you order for all three of us, then? Keep in mind, I’m a turkey sandwich kind of guy.”

  “Fine.” Remy crooked his fingers under the phone and dragged it closer. As he lifted the receiver, Brent stood and strode toward his bags.

  He wanted to wash the travel off and figured he had a half hour at most to freshen up before room service banged on the door. Maybe by then, Eve would have rolled off Remy’s lap and be ready for a shower herself. And maybe then, he could have a little talk with the interloper. Find out what he was up to. What he wanted. Eve’s money?

  No, Remy seemed to have enough of his own. Men who were running short on cash generally didn’t make last-minute trips to New Orleans to poach other peoples’ wives.

  Brent stood under the shower a long while, unmoving, just letting the hot jets drum against his sore back. Dear fuck, whatever it cost, they’d need to upgrade their seats for their flights back to North Carolina. At six-four and over two hundred pounds, he just wasn’t built to fit in those puny economy-class seats. The flight attendant had offered during one leg to move him into an exit row, but that would have meant giving some stranger the treat of sitting next to his wife.

  He was through with other people being closer to Eve than he was.

  The shower curtain blew inward and stuck to Brent’s leg as the bathroom door opened. He opened the curtain, hoping it was Eve being spontaneous and using this trip for what they’d intended. Instead, he found Remy leaning his ass against the vanity counter with arms crossed over his chest.

  “Food here already?” Brent asked as he let the curtain fall back into place. He reached for the shampoo and sighed.

  “No. Eve’s dead to the world. She always sleeps like that, right? I think she’s gotten used to it from working those overnight shifts at the hospital. You catch a few Z’s here and there when you can, and you train yourself to make it count.”

  Actually, Brent didn’t know how Eve slept. They shared a house, but that’d been a recent thing. His mother had asked if he needed help moving his shit. Wanted to know why he was keeping his apartment. He’d moved into Eve’s family home, but she spent far more nights at the hospital than under the farmhouse roof. On the rare occasion they were both home at night, he’d stay up until she’d said goodnight and slept on the sofa. He wondered now if a couple of those nights when she’d kept looking back, if she’d been waiting on him to follow her.

  He should have followed her


  “So, let me guess.” Brent said as he ducked beneath the stream and wet his head. “Since she’s currently asleep, you’re in here to further infuriate me. Is that what it is? Wanna poke me with a stick and see how long it takes me to bite?”

  “Furious? Really?”

  “Close enough, dude.”

  “Care to share why?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Brent nudged the shower curtain back to see if the guy was laughing but nope. His expression was perfectly neutral. A bit hostile, even. “Are we in some kind of twisted alternate reality where these kinds of conversations really happen?”

  “Humor me. I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “All right. I’ll humor you.” Brent dropped the curtain, and tipped his head back to rinse the suds from his hair. “I let you fuck Eve, because she seemed to want it, and I want her to get it out of her system. You two obviously have some history. I’m a pretty generous guy, but even I have limits. I’m keeping her. May be an unusual circumstance in your opinion, but we’re going to make it work. I’m going to figure out how to make it work.”

  Brent felt a draft and turned to see Remy holding the curtain open.

  “Why bother?” Remy asked. “Why work so hard when you could find some woman who’d fall head over heels for you? Are you some kind of masochist?”

  “Are you so averse to hard work, Remy?” He took a step toward the far end of the shower and held out the soap. “Edward? And if you’re going to intrude, at least make yourself useful. My back hasn’t had a good scrub in a while.” He grinned, fully expecting Remy to roll his eyes and strut away, but no.

  Wearing the same neutral expression, Remy wrapped his fingers around the soap and made a little turn around gesture with his other hand.

  Well, fuck.

  Brent turned, and Remy leaned into the shower to glide the bar over Brent’s back.

  “So, you do remember me. Well, no one calls me Edward anymore. That was the name I went by in school, because it seemed much less ethnic. People always want to delve into your family tree when it isn’t properly English. Anyhow, I stopped caring. And to answer your question…” Remy rubbed small circles at the base of Brent’s spine with the soap before resting his other hand on Brent’s hip. “I’m no stranger to hard work. I put myself through college in three years while working forty hours per week waiting tables at a little cockroach-infested dive in the French Quarter.”