Report For Booty (Kinky Chronicles, #3)

by Jodi Redford

  A clench pulled deep in her core at that provocative image. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take advantage of it.”

  His mouth tipped upward at one corner. “You and me both. Sinking inside you would have been infinitely more pleasurable than my damn hand.”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Would it make me a huge pervert if I admit I wished I’d been there to see that too?”

  He chuckled. “Not at all. Otherwise it’d make me a hypocrite, considering half the reason for my solo sessions was thinking about you playing with your new toys.”

  It took her a moment to recall the obscenely over-endowed dildos. “Sorry to kill your fantasy, but I didn’t use them. I’m more of a rabbit vibe gal.” Oh jeez, why did I tell them that?

  “Simultaneous pussy and clit stimulation.” Nash’s smoky gaze threatened to eat her alive. “Duly noted.”

  For what, exactly? Would one of them fuck her while the other rubbed her clitoris? Or maybe even lick it?

  She really needed to stop this train of thought before her panties became a soaked causality of her dirty mind. “Um, so what did you feel like doing tonight?” The sin stamped on their gorgeous features gave her a good inkling what the answer would be.

  “There’s a wine tasting at the Floating Cork starting at six-thirty, and after that a concert in the park.”

  Okay, not what she’d been expecting. “Oh, yes, both of those sound lovely.”

  A teasing spark lit Nash’s whiskey-hued irises. “And afterwards we’d like to bring you back home and give you more orgasms that you know what to do with.”

  “Mm, that sounds...incredibly lovely too.” Unable to help it, she giggled.

  Nash and Mason grinned. Chuckling, Mason hugged her to his side. “Sweetheart, are you always this adorable?”

  “If by that you’re asking if I’m usually this much of a dork, I’m afraid the answer is yes.”

  “Dork, no.” Mason caressed her cheek. “A luscious morsel of woman I can’t wait to devour? Hell yes.”

  His admission brought a flush of happiness and anticipation. “Luscious, huh? No one’s described me as that before.”

  “Fuckin’ A.” Disbelief homesteaded Nash’s face. “How many visually impaired bozos have you been hanging around with?”

  Just one. Safe to say Steven wasn’t visually impaired. But he was definitely a bozo. “You guys are going to spoil me with all of your outrageous flattery.”

  “Not outrageous. The truth.” Conviction rang in Nash’s husky baritone. “Hell, we even nicknamed you Ms. Luscious back before we knew your real name.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “Huh. I’ve never had a nickname before. Ms. Luscious.” She rolled it around on her tongue a few more times for good measure before nodding. “I like it. Makes me sound like I should be in a jazz trio. Ms. Luscious and Her Two Hunks.”

  “Hunks, eh?” The devilish sparkle returned to Nash’s gaze. “Can’t wait for you to wrap your lips around my horn.”

  That made two of them.

  ~*~

  T he enclosed garden behind the Floating Cork was packed with wall-to-wall patrons. Normally being amongst that many people would have been an anxiety attack waiting to happen, but just having Mason and Nash by her side settled her nerves. There was something about them that made her feel secure. Protected. She could have easily attributed it to their military background. Obviously it was in their blood to stand vigilant against any and all threats—even if the only current threat was the possibility of someone accidentally knocking into her and spilling her wine. But there was something more to it than that. Something in the way they constantly touched her. As if to reassure her they were there, and not going anywhere.

  She stalled and corrected that in mid-thought. Until this fling ends, anyway. She wouldn’t set herself up for a fall by sticking her head in the sand and refusing to acknowledge the inevitable end.

  The owner of the establishment approached them and exchanged handshakes with Nash and Mason before introducing himself. Obvious interest flashed across his face when he learned she was housesitting the Llewelyn’s cottage. “Do you have any openings the end of next month? Usually I board my Pyrenees whenever I’m out of town, which is fine for a day or two. Any longer than that and Angel gets mopey and depressed.”

  Another trip to the island? Her pulse kicked up a notch at the notion of seeing Mason and Nash again in the not so distant future. Another thought immediately followed it, crashing the party. This was supposed to be a temporary fling. If she started fantasizing a future she’d sink their sexy times dead in the water. “Um, let me check my calendar and get back with you.”

  “Sounds good. You can reach me here pretty much every day.” He offered a sheepish smile. “A good part of the reason the missus booked our cruise. Insisted it was the only way to get me away from the restaurant and off my phone for longer than two minutes.”

  “Wise woman,” Mason pointed out before awarding the man a departing pat on his shoulder.

  Once they were alone—or as alone as they possibly could be with this throng surrounding them—her men led her to a quieter spot in the corner.

  Her men? Get a grip. Slipups like that would do her no favors.

  “Everything okay?”

  Relaxing her chokehold on the wine glass’s delicate stem, she glanced up at Mason. “Yes. Why?”

  “You looked a little pensive back there. And just now.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you starting to have second thoughts about tonight?”

  “No. I-I guess the crowd is starting to get to me a bit. Occasionally I suffer from social anxiety.” Now they’d know she wasn’t only boring, but neurotic to boot.

  Concern snapped Mason’s eyebrows into a low V over the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you say something sooner? Jesus, and here we dragged you—”

  She shook her head furiously before he could continue. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I wanted to come. Besides, I’m not that bad. I’ve handled bigger crowds than this.” If she managed Comic Con two years in a row without cracking under the pressure, she certainly could tackle fifty or so slightly tipsy wine swillers.

  “Still, perhaps it’s best if we skip the concert.”

  “Boy, you’ll do anything to get me naked sooner.” Hell, just because she was neurotic didn’t mean she couldn’t keep her sense of humor about it.

  Mason’s chuckle washed over her like the smoothest whiskey. “That goes without saying. But not entirely my motive.”

  “I’d still really like to go to the concert. Please.”

  A resigned exhalation slipped from Mason. “I have a bad feeling I can’t say no to you about anything.” He pinned her with a stern look. “But you will inform us of it at the first sign of a panic attack, understood? No playing around with it, baby.”

  “I promise to let you know.”

  With that settled, they escorted her to their Hummer. She settled into the backseat, muscles relaxing already. “I feel a million times better.”

  “Good,” Nash shot back. “But you’re still not off the hook. I mean it. If I have to, I’ll toss your ass over my shoulder and hustle you out of there if I even suspect you’re lying about being okay.”

  “Jeez. Are you always this bossy?”

  “Darlin’, you have no idea.”

  His silky words made her shiver. And not in a bad way.

  They pulled into the small lot adjacent the park. After grabbing a thick wool blanket and a lighter-weight throw from the hatch, Nash led their small entourage toward the grassy knoll. She fully expected him to pitch their blankets up by the other spectators fronting the bandstand. Instead he chose a spot way in the back, near the bushes.

  She inspected the vacant thirty-
foot radius surrounding them. “I’m not that anti-social. Really.”

  “Maybe we are,” Mason piped up.

  “I highly doubt that.”

  Rather than respond, he tossed her a wink and unfolded the big blanket before spreading it out on the lawn and motioning for her to take a seat. She obliged the request and started to tuck her legs beneath her the same instant Mason settled behind her. Stretching his long legs out so they bracketed her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest.

  She melted into him with a sigh. “So long as this isn’t your evil plan for keeping an eye on me, I’ll admit this seat is extra nice.”

  He nuzzled the top of her head. “Nah. Only ensuring your utmost comfort, m’lady.”

  Nash dropped down next to them, his expression dry. “Now I see why you insisted on being the one to spread out the blanket. Conniving motherfucker.”

  “Mm. Don’t worry, grumpy pants. I’ll share. Later.”

  His words stirred a naughty heatwave inside her. Before any further provocative double talk could flow between them, the small orchestra up on the stage began tuning their instruments. She couldn’t resist shooting a glance over her shoulder at Mason and then to Nash. “I wasn’t expecting classical.”

  “We wanted to impress you with our refined tastes.” Nash crooked his finger, earning her laugh.

  “The concerts alternate during the summer.” Mason’s chin settled on the crown of her head. “I believe next week it’s a jazz group called Smooth Chordigans.”

  “Bet they don’t hold a candle to Ms. Luscious and Her Two Hunks.”

  Mason’s rumbling chuckle vibrated from her head all the way down her spine. “Undoubtedly not.”

  The discordant mishmash of tuning instruments faded, gradually quieting completely. In the brief lull, the violinists positioned their bows. Their first achingly beautiful notes wove through the air, spinning a melody of enchantment.

  She snuggled into Mason, his warmth and yummy woodsy scent intoxicating. I could get used to this if I’m not careful. Studiously pushing aside the reminder, she immersed herself in the music.

  Roughly five minutes into the concert, her body reminded her of the inherent distraction of being cuddled up with a sex-on-a-stick man. He made the situation infinitely harder on her with his continual strokes along her ribcage. Every time his knuckles brushed the lower swell of her breasts she practically leapt out of her skin.

  His faintly whiskered jaw nudged her temple. “Everything still okay?”

  She was tempted to lie just so they could rush back to their place and tear each other’s clothes off. “Y-yes.”

  “Are you sure? You sound a little breathless.” There was no mistaking the teasing lilt in his voice.

  The bastard knew she was turned on. Could he read her that easily? She peered down and instantly realized her nipples were standing at attention. Okay, mystery solved. “Guess it’s a good thing we sat back here.”

  “Absolutely.” Mason grabbed the throw and pulled it around her. She started to pull her arms out but he tucked her back in.

  “I’m not that cold.”

  “That isn’t why I put it on you.”

  “Then why—” She broke off when he slipped his hands beneath her halter top. His fingers massaged her breasts before seeking out her nipples. She stifled a moan as he gently pinched the pebbled tips through the satin of her bra.

  “You enjoy having your breasts played with.” He stated it as fact. No doubt the way she squirmed against him told him all he needed to know. “Is your clit equally sensitive?”

  Although he’d whispered the word near her ear so no one could possibly have overheard but Nash, her cheeks still overheated.

  “You didn’t answer me, Regan.”

  The commanding way he said her name cranked up the thermostat firing her blood. “Yes.”

  “I’m going to find out for myself.”

  Her pulse jumped as his free hand ghosted down her belly. He popped the tab on her capris and lowered the zipper. “Prop your legs over mine.”

  Oh my Lord. They shouldn’t be doing this. They were in the middle of a public place. If any of those people turned around...they’d see a blanket-swaddled woman sitting in front of a man. Stop being a ninny. Body trembling, she followed Mason’s implicit directions.

  His hand slid inside her pants. Down her bikini. With a little maneuvering, he cupped her mound. His hand was big. Strong and oh so bold. Two fingers roamed over her clit and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She managed to contain that noise, but there was nothing she could do about the faint slick sound her wetness made when Mason glossed through it.

  “Jesus. How wet is she?”

  Nash’s gravely whisper drew her gaze to his. His face was ruddy with desire, verifying that he’d been watching them for a while. Had he known what Mason was up to? Maybe this was something they routinely did with their women. Get them hot and juiced up in the park before banging them and their headboards all night long.

  She would not let her doubts and insecurities ruin this night.

  “She’s absolutely soaked.” There was a distinct note of wonder in Mason’s tone. He nuzzled her earlobe. “Baby, how close are you to coming?”

  Closer than usual with this minimal amount of foreplay. Amazing. For the first time in her life, it almost felt like a guarantee that she would have a climax with a man. And with him barely having to lift a finger. Although, what he was doing with said finger definitely propelled the situation along. “I-I think...close. Definitely.” She gasped the last word as he swirled his fingertip in precisely the right way.

  Rather than speed up like she’d expected him to do after hearing her assessment, he did the opposite, slowing his questing strokes to a lazy figure-eight, each teasing pass fueling the ache building in the bundle of nerves he tormented. Her body tightened and she balled her fists, bunching the blanket between her clenched fingers.

  “Don’t fight it, baby. Let me give you this. Come for me.” He continued his persuasive massage, drawing her nearer the beckoning peak. The initial crest hit her nerve endings—a precursor of what was to come. Her , namely. Right now.

  So.

  Fucking.

  Hard.

  A sharp breath lodged in her throat, seconds before Mason’s palm slid over her mouth, muffling her cry as every cell in her body exploded into a million shuddery pieces of bliss. He never stopped rubbing her clit. No, his determination was relentless as he sent her buffeting on one wave of pleasure after another.

  By the time he finally slipped his hand from her panties, every bone in her body felt liquefied.

  Cocooned in a warm post orgasmic glow, she slumped against him, certain she had to be wearing the dopiest smile in existence. “You weren’t exaggerating about giving me more orgasms that I know what to do with.”

  “Sweetheart, that was only the appetizer.”

  Oh my God. If that was the case, dinner was going to blow her damn mind into the next week.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  H e’d never needed to bury himself inside a woman this badly in his life.

  With that certainty straining inside him like a raging beast, Mason slammed the gear into park and jumped from the vehicle. He yanked open the rear passenger door and swept Regan into his arms when she tried to climb out. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he kneed the door shut. Hiking her tight to him, he returned her eager kisses, growling his plans for her pussy in between his sucking nibbles on her bottom lip. “Must. Eat. You. Now.”

  A grunt fell from Nash across the opposite end of the hood. “At least wait until you get inside. Besides, I need to get myself parked for prime viewing.”

  Mason carried Regan to the house, his concern for her privacy and comfort egging him more than Nash’s voyeuristic requ
ests. Nash grabbed the door and flipped on the lights, proving himself the perfect wingman. No doubt he was hungry as Mason to get Regan naked and spread-eagled for them.

  Nash led the way into Mason’s bedroom and clicked on the lamp resting on the nightstand before tugging off his shirt and tee. Mason lowered Regan onto the king-size bed and slipped her sandals free. He traced the delicate rise of her arch before traveling lower, gliding his fingers over her ankle bone. She stared up at him, her glossy locks fanned around her flushed face.

  “ Goddamn .”

  She swallowed, uncertainty lurking in her eyes. “What?”

  “You.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “You are so goddamn beautiful.”

  She didn’t respond, but the clouds dissipated from her gaze. He untied her halter top and she automatically lifted her arms, assisting him with the garment’s removal. One-handed, he unfasted the back clasp on her strapless bra and disposed of that item too. He gazed at her breasts, lust punching him square in the gut.

  Touching those knockout tits beneath her clothes hadn’t prepared him for the magnificence of them bared. Holy hell. Groaning, he cupped the mounds in both hands, gently squeezing them together as he sucked on their distended tips.

  She gasped his name, her fingers sifting through his hair. He tested her tolerance, sucking her nipple firm between his teeth and tugging slightly until she arched into him, quivering. He released her and returned to her mouth, delving his tongue inside. She submitted with a sweet moan, the clutch of her fingers on his scalp becoming desperate.

  Time to kick the heat up a notch.

  He unsnapped her capris and hooked the elastic of her panties with his thumbs, dragging both garments down her legs. Nash moved in for a better view. Not that Mason blamed his buddy in the least. The treasure trove between Regan’s spread thighs was more irresistible than any siren song. Mason eyed the neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair pointing the way to the Promised Land. Wetness glistened on her pussy lips. He’d already snuck a taste of her from his fingers earlier. He couldn’t wait to get another helping. A bigger one this time.