Party of Three: A H.O.T. Cops Novel

by Lacey Alexander

  But then he’d let the curtain fall back into place and lay down again, closing his eyes and feeling, weirdly, a little glum. He’d had no idea why. He’d already seen Ethan and Mira fucking last night, after all.

  Yet maybe it was different watching the two of them when they thought they were alone, when he wasn’t involved in the sex. Maybe it had reminded him a little more that he was just a temporary addition to their relationship—that she really belonged to Ethan in a deep-down way.

  And she’d been on top this morning. He’d always liked her that way, on top. For a guy who liked to be in control, he’d always taken a surprising amount of pleasure lying beneath her, watching the way her body moved on his, the sway of her breasts, the way she grinded that hot cunt on him. Probably he’d liked that a woman on top had to be the aggressor, at least a little.

  And this morning he’d seen the same liquid rhythm she always took on in that position, the circular movement of her hips, and she’d looked fucking beautiful like that—but maybe, even if he wanted her to let loose and be aggressive … well, maybe it wasn’t quite as fun to observe when he wasn’t involved. He liked watching—the visual aspect of sex was big for him—but somehow, studying her out the window while she rode Ethan to orgasm had just made him feel like some twisted peeping Tom or something. So he’d even pretended to be asleep when they finally finished and came inside.

  On the boat had been better. And then on the beach—hell, even better than that. Something had happened to that girl overnight, something inside her had truly opened her up to her darker, dirtier side—and whatever it was, he liked it. A lot.

  Now he stood on the trail, watching her. Because he’d followed her. Not in a creepy way, but he’d just been coming around the corner of the cabin, ready to head down to the dock, when he’d spotted her hiking back into the woods. He’d wondered where the hell she was going and if it was even safe. Soon he’d realized she was simply meandering, exploring, and he’d thought about calling out to her, but somehow he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Only he hadn’t wanted to turn back, either. He’d wanted to keep going.

  She got more beautiful to him every moment. Nope, he wasn’t sure what had happened, but finally, finally, the animal inside Mira had been set free.

  He’d known it was there all along; back when they’d been together, he’d coaxed it from its tight little cage, at least in ways. But now … this was the Mira he’d longed to see, to experience. Hell, if he’d known a threesome would be the thing to turn her nastier side loose, maybe he’d have even considered that back then.

  But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the realization coursing through his veins. It had been coming on throughout the day, and now it was hitting him in the face, hard, leaving him drawn inextricably like a moth to a flame as he followed her deeper into the forest. Damn.

  He wanted Mira.

  In a big way. For keeps.

  She was his perfect woman.

  She’d just become his perfect woman—she’d just become everything he could possibly want.

  Which pretty much sucked at this point.

  Fucking timing. Timing was everything in life.

  Five years ago, he’d loved her without fully appreciating her. And she’d been a little timid for his taste, too. He’d loved bringing out her naughtier side in bed, but at the same time, maybe he hadn’t liked having to work so hard for it. Maybe he’d wondered, If I have to work so hard to bring it out of her, is it real? Is it right?

  He’d worried that maybe she just didn’t love sex the way he did. For him, being down and dirty with a woman he cared for was about as good as it got; when a woman he loved let herself go completely with him, it not only turned him on but also made him fall in love with her a little bit deeper. Since sex was such a big part of who he was as a person, that was—for him—the ultimate connection.

  And so to find out now that Mira could be that, could let herself go that much—shit, it just amped up his emotions that much more.

  Goddamn it, dude, this isn’t right. This isn’t what was supposed to happen here. She’s with Ethan. They’re happy. The guy invited you here trusting you, as a friend. And even if he and Ethan had never been especially close, they had gone through that first hostage situation together, and to betray one of his H.O.T. brothers—because that’s how he thought of them, as brothers—was fucking unthinkable.

  Except that’s exactly what you’re doing. At least in your head.

  And the truth was, he didn’t want to just keep it in his head anymore.

  But you have to. No other choice, dude.

  Still watching her as she stood over that old well, everything about her beckoning to him, he ran his hand back through his hair. As wrong as it was to want to wrest her away from Ethan right now, he knew it was equally as wrong to be spying on her like this. Despite himself, maybe he was following her in a creepy way now. Shit.

  But in another way, he felt … powerful. Because of the chemistry that still existed between them, because he could feel it when they fucked. Because she wanted him, too, even if on her part it was still only sex. His groin tightened just remembering today, and just thinking about … well, about what he wished could be.

  But she belongs to someone else. And standing there so silent, so still, he began to feel a little like a hunter, like she was prey. But he didn’t want her to be prey. Not really. He only wanted her to be … his. Just his.

  And hell, he didn’t want to be a stalker; not letting her know he was there was pretty damn ridiculous. So without quite weighing the move or having a plan, he walked forward on the path. He even purposely brushed up against a tree branch sticking out over the trail to make a little noise.

  She swung around abruptly, spotting him—but then appeared relieved. “Oh, hey. You startled me a little.”

  He tried for a smile, but wasn’t sure it worked. “Sorry, babe.”

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, tilting her head to one side, smiling even as she looked perplexed. He supposed it seemed a little too coincidental.

  So he just avoided the question, saying, “Could ask you the same thing.”

  “I saw the trail and wondered where it led. And look, a well.” She motioned to the old stone structure topped with a slanting roof. “Like a wishing well. But I don’t have any coins.”

  He liked that about her, her childlike fascination with things. It never would have occurred to him to do something so silly as to make a wish—but he liked that she made him think about things like that: wishes, dreams. In response, he dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and found a quarter. “Here,” he said. “Make your wish.”

  She smiled as she took the coin, leaving him glad he’d had one. Then he watched as she peered down into the well’s darkness, seeming to concentrate very hard, then tossed the coin in. He never heard it hit bottom.

  “So what’d you wish?”

  She flashed him a look like he must be crazy. “If I tell you the wish, it won’t come true, silly.” Then she pushed her long hair—still a little damp and getting curly—over her shoulder, giving him an alluring glimpse of her long, slender neck. He wanted to kiss it. “Are you going to make one?”

  He tried to look sad as he said, “You took my only coin.”

  She punched him in the arm, laughing.

  “I don’t really believe in stuff like that anyway,” he told her. “I believe you make your own fate, ya know?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. Maybe.”

  “You impressed the hell out of me today, Mira,” he said boldly then. He just needed her to know. And the longer he stood there next to her, the more difficult it became to ignore his newly revived feelings for her. If she looked down to where that quarter had come from, she’d see the bulge behind his zipper starting to grow.

  She met his gaze and said, “What do you mean?”

  But she knew good and well what he meant. It showed in the slight blush coloring her cheeks even pinker than the sun had
. It showed in the eyes that stayed more confident and sure of herself than they would have if he’d said the same thing just yesterday.

  Still, he tried to think how to answer, tried to distill all the thoughts and feelings swirling through his brain down to what was most important. And he kept his gaze on her as he spoke, his voice low. “You’ve always turned me on. Always. In bed and out. But today … damn, babe.” His dick grew harder still. “Today you turned me on more than I knew was possible. You turned me on more than any woman ever has.”

  And shit—that wasn’t the most important part. It just felt like the most important part at this moment, with his prick aching in his blue jeans, with the woods closing around them dark and shady and lush. And it was the part he could tell her. He was allowed to lust for her this weekend, after all. But saying he wanted her again, in a real, lasting way, that he wanted her back—that he just couldn’t do.

  Yet maybe he didn’t have to say it—maybe she could read it in his eyes. She’d certainly read something there—because that’s when her expression turned serious, her mouth gone slack, her eyes glassy, and she looked like a woman who was as ready to be fucked as he was ready to fuck her. They froze that way, like statues in the forest, the only sound that of a bird emitting one lone tweet somewhere in the distance.

  His heart beat harder as his chest tightened; his dick pulsed with need. His fingers itched with the urge to touch her.

  And that’s when she pointed vaguely back in the direction from which they’d come and said, “Ethan’s grilling the steaks. We should probably get back.” Then she turned to start on her way up the path.

  He never made the decision to reach out and grab her wrist, to stop her—he just did it.

  She looked up at him, then down at where he touched her. And he knew she felt it, too, just from that. Electricity. Heat. Whatever other problems they’d had, that had never been one of them.

  When she peered up at him again, he stepped closer to her, lifted his other hand to skim his knuckles across her cheek, then curl his palm around her neck.

  He could hear her breathing; he felt it in his cock.

  “Rogan, we can’t do this.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

  “Why not?”

  “Because … because Ethan’s not here. And … and … I just don’t think …”

  Yeah, he knew that. He’d been invited here to have sex with them, not just with her. But he wanted to break the rules so damn bad in that moment that it was easier to pretend there weren’t any, that nothing about this was wrong. “That’s a good idea,” he replied. “Don’t think. Just stop thinking.” He could hear the low lust in his own voice, his words coming slower than usual. “You always did think too much, Mira. You never just let yourself go and let things happen.”

  She blinked up at him. “Didn’t I? Don’t I?”

  He nodded. Kept it simple. His mouth was no more than an inch from hers now. “Let this happen. Let me fuck you. Let me bend you over this well and fuck your pretty little brains out.”

  She never said yes. She never said yes as he circled one arm around her waist and pulled her to him, the crux of her thighs molding to his erection through his jeans. She never said yes before he kissed her, pressing his tongue into her mouth. She never said yes when his free hand rose to cup her breast fully, kneading, caressing, his thumb playing over the taut nipple he could feel even through her top and bra.

  But she never said no, either.

  Chapter 11

  Mira wanted to pull away. She wanted to go running up the path back to Ethan. Because this was … this was like cheating on him in a way. Wasn’t it? Even if he’d brought Rogan here to have sex with her, he hadn’t meant for it to be like this, just the two of them, off by themselves in the woods. So yes, this was definitely like cheating. And she couldn’t quite believe she was letting it happen. Who am I? What’s happening to me? I have to put a stop to this right now.

  And yet Rogan’s kisses threatened to consume her. So did his touch. And—oh Lord—she truly ached for that incredibly hard column of flesh she felt trapped behind his zipper.

  With each seductive kiss, she was reminded more and more of what they’d shared, how strong it had been once upon a time. There had been a period during which they couldn’t even look at each other without wanting to fall into bed—or do it wherever they happened to be. They didn’t always, because sometimes they were in public or maybe they were supposed to be somewhere, but on the occasions they’d fought off the urges, the decision had always been hers. And right now … right now, despite herself, despite how much she knew she loved Ethan, despite the utter wrongness of it, she just wasn’t sure she had the strength to stop.

  And … Lord, he’d brought Rogan here. He’d … dangled her old love in front of her, telling her she could have him, that he wanted her to have him. And she knew he hadn’t meant like this, but still … it suddenly seemed all too confusing, and what had felt extremely black and white just yesterday had now become a dark and intense shade of gray.

  Rogan said nothing more, so she stayed quiet, too.

  Because somehow … somehow that made surrender easier.

  Since, no matter how horrible it was, that’s what she felt herself doing—giving in.

  But again—oh God, what about Ethan? He’s making your birthday dinner right now! How can you possibly …

  Yet that’s when Rogan’s hands closed over her ass, firm, and began to knead. And each stretch of his fingers seemed to vibrate all through her. She felt it in her pussy. And she felt it in the tiny orifice up above, in her ass. Where he’d always wanted to fuck her but she’d never let him.

  And mmm, God, she couldn’t believe how good it felt right now—the sensation expanded like a rubber band being pulled in all directions, and she felt weak, like the clichéd putty in his hands. All rational thought left her then. All she knew was that her body wanted more, a deeper connection. And that he could give it to her. He could give her everything she wanted right now.

  After he nipped at her neck, then ran his teeth down one earlobe, making her shiver, he murmured in her ear. “Goddamn, babe, I need that sweet little pussy wrapped around my hard cock before I lose my fucking mind.”

  And still she said nothing, nothing at all. You can still stop this. And you know deep down that you should. But she’d begun to feel drunk on him, like the world was swirling a little and like the only thing that could save her was being pleasured, fucked, by the man who held her. She’d been brought here for sex, she’d been totally immersed in sex, and now here was more sex put before her, pulling her in to its pleasures, and her body remained crazily hungry for it in a way that defied her senses, her ability to reason.

  But she knew it wasn’t just sex itself luring her. It was Rogan. Rogan had always turned her on, always. And maybe he didn’t know this if he thought she’d held back in bed—or who knew, maybe he did—but he’d possessed the power to seduce her almost from the moment they’d met. And he still seemed to possess that power now.

  When he reached beneath the hem of her top for the drawstring on her shorts, she looked down, knew still that she should say no. But instead she simply found herself observing, taking it in, like watching a movie where you have no control over what happens on the screen in front of you. Except you do have control. You can change this. It’s just that you want it. You want it to happen now. You need it to happen as badly as you need to breathe.

  She banished that thought, though, as quickly as it came. And she focused on the way her body felt and the things she saw around her—anything to keep from thinking about what was right … or about what was wrong. She studied the tattoo on Rogan’s arm, which seemed to dance a little as the muscles beneath it shifted. His dark T-shirt stretching across his broad chest, his hands at the waistband of her shorts. Greenery and old leaves on the ground around their shoes. A bruise she’d picked up on her thigh.

  And then her hands, working at his waistband. Undoing the button, pulling d
own the zipper. Her palm, pressing over the hard ridge just barely contained in another pair of black boxer briefs.

  Rogan’s low groan bit through the air. She felt it in her gut as it mingled with the sound of her own slow, labored breathing. Her entire body hummed, as if being touched by some sort of electrical prod—until she was reaching out, forcing her fingers inside the front opening on his underwear, wrapping her hand firm and rough around his cock. Oh God, so big in her hand. Like holding on to some kind of power … like holding a lightning bolt.

  He used one bent finger to lift her chin, make her look at him. “Tell me you want it,” he rasped.

  She nodded. She could hardly deny it, after all.

  But that wasn’t good enough. “Tell me,” he insisted.

  It struck her as cruel in a way—she was trying so hard not to speak, so that maybe later she could talk herself into believing his seductive charms were so great that she hadn’t really had a choice, that it had happened before she could stop it. And yet he was forcing her to verbally submit. “I want it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  His answer was little more than a low growl. But good. At least he isn’t asking any more of me.

  No, instead of asking, he simply maneuvered her shorts down to her thighs.

  Then he turned her around to face away from him and said, “Brace yourself on the well.”

  As she pressed her palms into the old stone, she smelled moss and cool brown earth. She waited as he tugged her shorts farther, until they dropped around her ankles, then she instinctively lifted one foot out so she could part her legs a little.

  And she was sure he’d plunge his thick cock into her then—she was dying for it, in fact—but that’s when a feather-soft touch came, starting high on the center of her ass and grazing downward—Rogan’s fingertip. She sucked in her breath, trying to withstand the almost tickling pleasure.

  Only, when he reached her asshole, he lingered. Just like earlier on the little beach. She was forced to bite her lip.