by Skye Warren
But if I keep going, I’ll have to narrow down my focus. Pick a major, a career. And I have no idea what it should be.
“Don’t feel like you have to babysit me,” West says to me. “Even though I enjoy talking to you. It…makes the reentry a little smoother to have someone I can share this shit with.”
Blue’s expression turns faintly speculative and a little proud. “Now you’re making me jealous,” he says.
His voice is mild, but it still makes me twist inside. Is that guilt? I know I’m not doing anything wrong chatting with West while Blue is gone, but maybe the guilt doesn’t have anything to do with that. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m just as much a guest here as West, except his stay is only temporary. Mine is supposed to be permanent—but how can I stay here if I can’t contribute? What can I possibly do when my only skill is taking off my clothes?
Of course Blue says I’m welcome here regardless. More than welcome. He pretty much demanded I move in, and he’s been completely generous about every aspect, from closet space to doing his share of the chores. He doesn’t want a dime from me for rent, especially since I quit stripping at the club. That’s not going to last forever though.
If there’s one thing my childhood taught me, it’s that nothing good lasts forever.
Chapter Three
“This lasagna is delicious,” West says, leaning back in his chair, his plate wiped clean.
“You’re just saying that because you’ve been eating out of a tin can the past few months.”
“Try years,” he says with a laugh. “And a tin can was too good for the army. More like bars of cardboard.”
Blue snorts. “They haven’t come up with anything better?”
“That’s what the robots are for,” West says with a wink. “Don’t need food.”
“Don’t bleed either.” Blue takes a swig of his beer.
“Amen to that.” West nods to me. “Hope you don’t mind me packing it away while I’m here. Found a few places to check out, but once I get my own place, I don’t have much skills in the kitchen.”
“Now that will involve a tin can,” Blue says.
I laugh and shake my head. West has only been here a couple of days, but I already know I’ll miss him when he leaves. “You’re always welcome to swing by for dinner. It’s easy enough to cook for three as it is for two. But I doubt you’ll need it once you start working at the Grand. The food there is pretty great.”
“Is it?” he asks, his voice mild, but even so I am acutely aware that it’s a strip club—and I just brought it up at the dinner table. My cheeks heat. I danced onstage for so long you’d think I’d have lost any modesty. Just a few months away and I’m already blushing like a virgin at the mere mention of it.
Of course, West will be working there, so it’s not like I’d expect him to get all weird about it. So far he hasn’t looked down on me or even checked me out, as far as I’ve seen. But it’s different for a man working security and a girl working the pole.
Blue nods. “Owner’s kind of old-school. Good food. Top shelf liquor, none of that watered down shit. The works.”
“Hey, man, that’s nice and all, but I’m just grateful to have a job.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re an asset, to my company and to the club.”
“I haven’t even started working there,” West says.
“Already know,” Blue says easily. He has a casual sort of confidence that’s infectious, but I can see that West is still worried.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll work my ass off, that’s for sure. You don’t have to worry about me there.”
“But?” I ask softly.
West looks down, peeling away the label on his beer bottle with long fingers, making a project out of getting it all off in one piece. “But it’s been rough being back, gotta be honest with you.”
Blue swears softly. “It’s only been a couple days. It’ll get better.”
“Will it?” West meets his eyes, and I watch something pass between the two men—a dark understanding. “Sometimes I think the only thing I know how to do is fight.”
I shiver, because I know Blue thinks the same way. Or at least, he used to. That’s why he got involved in an underground fighting ring. I wonder if West will get involved too. And I wonder if Blue is done with that, now that he wants to start a family with me.
Blue leans forward. “It does get better. And in the meantime, there’s a certain amount of fighting you gotta do at the club. There are assholes who want to push past the boundaries, who want more than what they’re willing to pay for. Assholes who don’t understand no.”
West’s eyes darken, and he glances at me. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that I was a stripper. But he does now, expression both curious and sympathetic. “You glad to be out of there?” he asks.
I like the way he asks me how I feel instead of Blue. Maybe that’s a small thing, but I spent enough time with men who will discuss a woman right in front of her, as if she doesn’t have a voice. When that happens, she really doesn’t have a voice. And I like that he isn’t beating around the bush, pretending he doesn’t know what I did or that it’s too bad to speak about.
“The Grand’s the best place to be if you’re going to strip,” I say honestly. “The building is old and falling down on the outside, well past the glory days, but Ivan keeps things safe and clean and fair on the inside.”
“But?” he asks, mimicking what I asked him.
“But that’s not what I want for myself. It never really was, except that I could make a lot of money quickly, money that I needed.” Mrs. Owens was worth it, and she never had to know what I did to keep her electricity going and her medicine paid for. “Now Blue is helping out with that.”
There is no censure in West’s face, like I half expected. Wouldn’t he think I’m taking advantage of his friend? Hell, sometimes I think that. Meanwhile my friend Candy said he’s the one taking advantage of me, pushing me to move in, to commit to him, and knowing how much the support will help. Aren’t we a pair? Taking advantage of each other. Maybe that’s what love is, in the end. If not, it’s a pretty fine substitute.
“What do you want to do now?” West asks.
“I’m taking some classes but…” I trail off because I don’t know how much Blue has told him. Honestly when Blue first started talking about going bareback, about filling me with his come and making me pregnant, I thought it was some kind of breeding fantasy. I still think it’s some kind of breeding fantasy, except that we’re making it real.
“We’re thinking of starting a family,” Blue says, taking my hand and pulling me onto his lap.
Surprise flashes across West’s face. He whistles. “Damn, girl. When you settle a man down, you settle a man down.”
That makes me laugh, and I curve myself into Blue’s embrace. “Don’t blame me. Blue’s the one with a ticking biological clock.”
“Nah, I don’t blame you. And I don’t blame him either. Maybe if I’d got here a year ago, I’d have been the one swooping in and take you for myself.”
The way he says it, like I’m some kind of ideal, like he’s almost jealous of what Blue has, makes me blush. For so long I thought I was worthless. I knew men liked to fuck me—and I knew exactly how much they liked to fuck me in a dollar amount. What I didn’t realize is that men would want me for more than that, that my past as both a knocked-around kid and a stripper wouldn’t stop them from wanting more.
Blue curves his hand around my ass and squeezes gently. “You might’ve been here a year ago, but you wouldn’t have swooped in and taken a damn thing.”
I expect West to laugh. They have a competitive camaraderie that is fun to be around. Except he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead his gaze drops to where Blue’s hand is on my ass. For the first time since he showed up, lust flashes across his face.
Ner
vous, I glance at Blue. He’s watching me, lids low, a dark expression on his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I think he likes it. It’s some kind of tease, an extension of their friendly competitiveness, natural and somehow intimate.
So intimate it makes me wonder if they’ve ever done more than tease.
My eyes widen. “Have you and him ever…?”
The corner of Blue’s mouth lifts. “What’s that, beautiful?”
“You know,” I stammer. “Shared a girl.”
The words come out in a rush, and I know from the sultry, smug looks on their faces that I’m right. “Not shared,” Blue says. “Not exactly. But I watched sometimes, sure. We’d get a night off and head to the bar near base. There are, what? Two men for every woman there. Maybe more.”
“Some girls like an audience,” West says, the drawl in his voice more pronounced.
The room feels twenty degrees hotter as testosterone and arousal swirl in the air. I had no idea that Blue was kinky enough to watch a couple have sex—although he’s been plenty kinky in other ways with just me and him. I imagine being some girl in a bar, being picked up by two men as big and strong and sexy as these two. It’s overwhelming…and I realize I may not have to imagine it after all.
Blue watches me from slitted eyes.
My voice is shaking. “Did you want me to—”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, beautiful. We’re just getting to know each other, after all.”
It makes me wonder if he thinks I’ll do more once I know West better. It makes me wonder if I even want to do more. Of course West is a handsome man, but being shared? “Umm.”
Blue shifts in his chair slightly, so my leg is trapped around his, and I’m slightly more exposed—facing West fully. “Maybe we could give him something to see,” he murmurs. “A nice little memory to bring to bed with him. Would he like that?”
West is completely still, lean body full of tension. “Christ, yes.” He pushes back in his chair, his expression more pain than pleasure. “Only if you’re okay, Hannah. Only if…”
“I’m okay,” I say, stronger now. God, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s to give a man a show. “I want to.”
Just like Blue and West think all they can do is fight, all I can do is dance. And this isn’t even dancing for strangers. This is dancing for the man I love—and his best friend.
Except dancing isn’t what Blue has in mind. When I move to stand up, his hold on me tightens. “Ah ah,” he says softly, his breath warm against my temple. “Stay put, beautiful. Right here.”
I shudder at the command in his low voice, the voice I’d follow anywhere. “How will I—”
His hand slides around my waist, and then I know. I know exactly what kind of show he meant, and it doesn’t involve me dancing. Not unless dancing is more of a euphemism than even at the strip club. Blue reaches around me, one hand cupping my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until it stands hard against the fabric of my shirt.
His other hand slides over my stomach and flicks the button of my shorts.
I gasp, because I wasn’t quite expecting this. Because I’m looking right at West while Blue touches me. Because I’m burning up from the inside out.
Blue’s voice is low in my ear. “Maybe I owe him something for letting me watch all those times. All those times I wouldn’t touch another girl, because the only one I wanted was you.”
My heart clenches at the reminder of our years apart. At the reminder that he didn’t have sex all that time.
West’s gaze flicks up to my face, as if assuring himself that I’m on board for this. Then he stares right at Blue’s hand, and I can feel him holding his breath, feel how much he wants this. How long has it been since he had a woman? He’s been deployed for months, and he just flew in. It looks like it’s been that long, judging from the stark need in his gaze, the way his knuckles turn pale as he grips the arms of the seat of his chair.
“Wait,” I say. When I dance, there’s music—if only in my head. When I dance, there’s a goddamn stage. Even when I’m giving a lap dance, I’m the one with control.
Of course Blue takes it away. He leaves me breathless and squirming, rubbing against the hard column of his erection through his jeans. It’s a different kind of lap dance, one where I’m trapped.
One where I don’t want him to let go.
“No, beautiful. You’re right where I want you.” Blue pulls down the zipper of my jean shorts and slips his hand inside. He wastes no time exploring and heads straight to my sex, capturing my clit between two calloused fingers.
I rock into his touch. “No fair.”
He laughs. “Not trying to be.”
West watches us with hunger—hunger for my body and for what Blue and I have together. His erection is plain to see against the denim of his jeans, but he makes no move to take it out or touch himself. He enjoys the show like a good soldier, like a grade A patron at the club, and that tells me he’ll make a damn fine bouncer.
“How does she look from that side?” Blue asks, voice casual as his fingers work me into a frenzy.
I’m almost out of my mind as I wait for West to answer him. There are a million words I imagine for myself. Slutty. Desperate. Scared. The one he comes up with, though, I never would have guessed.
“Like a goddamn mirage,” he says between clenched teeth.
My body is already going haywire, but at his words my heart squeezes. I know he meant what he said about being worried, about not fitting in stateside. About only being good for one thing. That desert he’s in isn’t only barren of women or sex. It’s barren of hope.
It’s enough to make me reach for the hem of my shirt. I’m halfway to orgasm already, pushed faster than I even know how to handle by Blue’s talented fingers. But I still manage to give West a seductive smile as I tease him with the flash of skin. I pull it up just enough that he can see the undersides of my breasts, clad in lace.
He groans. “Woman.”
It makes me laugh, and okay, maybe I do enjoy being a tease. I don’t want to go back and strip—not that Blue would want me to—but that was one part I enjoyed. Blue slides his hand lower, dipping into the wetness there, while I lift my shirt over my head and toss it aside.
The cups of my bra are barely holding my breasts, especially with the way I’m spread open, sprawled on Blue’s lap. It only takes a shimmy and they’re spilling over, my nipples peaking just above the lace edge.
“That’s right, baby,” Blue says, the approval in his voice warming me.
He does more than praise me. He gives me a reward in the form of two fingers inside.
West can’t really see my pussy, but it’s not hard to imagine what Blue’s doing with his hand down my shorts and his forearm rippling as he moves. It’s not that hard to hear it either, over our labored breathing—the wet sounds of his fingers inside me.
Blue doesn’t even need to finger fuck me anymore, because I’m fucking his hand, my hips moving without my awareness, mindlessly seeking more of him. I want him deep inside me, where only his cock can reach. I want him slick and hard and relentless.
I’m so close it hurts, close enough that each thrust of his fingers against my inner walls, each brush of his palm on my clit feels like it will push me over, like it has to push me over or I’ll go insane. But I can only hover on the edge, held in place by some long-dormant feeling—embarrassment? Shame?
And West, bless him. He sees that. “Do you want me to go?” he asks me.
He asks me, not Blue.
“Do you want to?” I manage, still breathless, still hurting. Still humping Blue’s fingers.
“God, no,” West says, voice tight. Body tight. He looks like he’s about to snap right in half. “I want to help Blue finish that job, even if he doesn’t need it. I want to kneel down in front of you and taste that cream you’re making for him.”
I shudder. Oh God. Blue can already drive me crazy with his words. Now West is here. I
’d never survive. I’d love every second, but I’d never survive.
“But I’m not going to,” West says, and I can’t help the relief I feel. Can’t help the disappointment either. “Maybe one day you’ll invite me to taste you, and I’ll wait until then—even if that day never comes. Tonight I’m just going to sit here and watch the most gorgeous fucking sight I’ve ever seen.”
His praise washes over me, mixing with Blue’s approval. I’ve been used and groped in the Grand. I’ve even been put up on a pedestal by some poor sap with more money than sense. I’ve never been seen for what I am, never been worshipped wearing only a bra and cutoff shorts.
Never had two powerful men so intent on my pleasure.
“Come,” Blue whispers in my ear. It’s just for me, that command. I couldn’t ignore it any more than I could stop a tidal wave. It washes over me, and then I’m tumbling, long gone, adrift in the heady orgasm while I watch West through sated eyes.
He leans forward as I come—not to touch me. He just rests his elbows on his knees, gaze intent, soaking up every second of my orgasm, like he’s storing the images away for later.
That’s all he’ll have, images.
My body is still shaking from aftershocks when Blue hauls me out of the chair. He slaps my ass. “Bedroom.”
I love it when he gets all caveman, but I can barely walk. My legs are wobbly. And besides, are we going to leave West high and dry?
“Now,” Blue growls.
Apparently we are. I’m still weak, but I manage to stagger to the bedroom with Blue not far behind. He slaps my ass a couple more times to speed me up.
He shuts the door to shut us in then strides across the room.
I shift, looking at the closed door. “Is West going to be okay?”
“He’s a big boy,” Blue says, tossing a pillow on the bed. Then another, right on top of it. “Now get the rest of your clothes off.”
I comply without giving it another thought, even though I’m still stuck on the West thing. “He seemed pretty hard up. That little show might’ve been more mean than helpful.”