She and Ethan wordlessly attempted the disco move that involved him spinning her into his arms, then out again, and though it turned out sloppy, they giggled along the way. Mira didn’t resist acting a little silly as she moved to the music, letting the pumping beat guide her motions, and she even laughed out loud, feeling just a bit dizzy, a bit giddy during the spins that brought both guys subsequently into view. They were both smiling at her, both thought she was cute, fun—she could feel that. She sang along with Rod without even thinking about it; she still knew the words by heart.
On one rotation out of Ethan’s grasp, she lost her balance and whirled right into Rogan, who opened his arms to steady her—and she found her back firmly against his front. Or, more notably, her ass against … oh, wow … his erection.
She sucked in her breath, her body still plastered to Rogan’s as the sexy, upbeat song played on. Again, heat rose to her cheeks, but for a different reason this time. She bit her lip and absorbed the sensation of that hot, glorious hardness pressing against her when she’d least expected it.
Her gaze met Ethan’s—he stood just a few feet away—and she knew instantly that he could read her face, see the fresh passion suddenly etched there. And she understood without looking that Rogan sensed it, too—that he knew why she’d suddenly gone so still. He held her hips, yet she could easily dance away from him if she wanted. Only she didn’t; she stayed exactly where she was.
And in that moment, the fun-loving mood transformed into something slightly darker—and more profound.
Ethan moved his lips to mouth the words,
I love you. I want this.
And she felt them in her chest—they were real, he loved her, and this would be okay. If any doubt still remained, somehow this wiped it all away.
She let out a sigh, more like a heavy breath. And she became aware that Rogan’s right hand was leaving her hip and coming up to smoothly pull her hair back off her shoulder, away from her neck, his fingers grazing the tender skin there—even as his other hand snaked farther around her body, his palm coming to rest low on her belly, holding her there, steady and tight against the stiff column behind his zipper.
Still, she reminded herself,
You can stop this. You can stop it right now. You can just spin playfully out of his hold, laugh, make it fun. Then take a little more time to ease into it.
But she didn’t.
Oh God.
This is going to happen. This is going to happen and I’m going to let it.
Or at least she thought she was. Maybe when it really began, she’d panic, change her mind, and go running away from it all like a little girl. But for the moment, she was more excited than afraid.
When Rogan’s mouth brushed across the tender skin of her neck, she trembled—and pleasure rolled through her. She shut her eyes briefly, trying to absorb it—and oh Lord, it was strange to open them and see Ethan, watching, looking as aroused as if it were just the two of them. At first she felt uncomfortable, like things were colliding here that shouldn’t—but then she found herself enmeshed in Ethan’s gaze, in that undeniably sexy look in his eyes.
Rogan kissed her neck again, again—each one seeming to explode through her like a starburst. And she suffered urges of her own, the urge to respond, to react, more than she’d let herself so far. Though now that they were doing this, she began to quickly grow more nervous, her emotions ping-ponging back and forth, wild and uncontrollable. Her head swam with alcohol and lust and fear and the last remaining vestiges of the good little girl she’d once been, not giving up her virginity until her twenty-first birthday to her first true love.
That’s who I was. A girl who needed sex to come with emotion, who needed to feel deeply close to a guy in order to be that open, that honest, that real.
She’d never understood casual sex—she’d never grasped how her girlfriends in college had managed to be naked and writhing and panting with guys they barely knew. But she’d also always known she was in the minority on that. And Rogan was no stranger. Far from it.
So it’s now or never. Either you do this or you don’t. You can’t have it both ways; you can’t be in it halfway. All or nothing. What’s it gonna be?
And then the hand that had been in her hair drifted to her shoulder, his fingers curling into the fabric of her tank top and the bra strap beneath—and though the touch landed high above her breast, that’s where she felt it anyway.
Okay, I’m in it. Completely.
And besides, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to stop things now even if she’d wanted to.
So with a last fleeting glance toward the man she lived with, she followed her instincts—she shut her eyes and leaned her head to one side so the
other
man in the room could kiss her neck more easily. She absorbed each single, solitary kiss, feeling it fully, accepting the pleasure that dripped all the way down to her pussy like a gift. And then she remembered, it
was
a gift. Her birthday gift from Ethan.
She bit her lip, pressed her ass more firmly against the hard erection she remembered so well. She hissed in her breath at all the sensations, drank in the soft groan from Rogan that came with the shift in her thinking, the shift in her feeling—he clearly understood now, too, that this was going to happen, that she’d started moving past her hesitation.
And then she followed further impulses. To turn, slowly, gently, in his arms. To flatten her palms against his broad chest through the dark T-shirt he wore, the
CPD
insignia on the front stretching across contoured muscle. She looked up into his eyes. Remembered another relationship, with him, which suddenly felt at once closer in time and farther away than it had really been. He kissed good. He kissed great. She hadn’t forgotten that. She wanted him to kiss her.
He must have read the want in her eyes, or on her parted lips, or maybe he was just working on instinct and desire, too—because he lowered his mouth to hers, warm and moist and powerful, the kiss moving all through her like an engulfing wave. For a moment she even forgot Ethan stood behind her watching; for a moment she knew only Rogan’s presence, Rogan’s heat. Oh Lord, this was going to be more complicated than any of them had probably bargained on.
But that doesn’t matter. Stop thinking so much. Just let yourself feel this
—
two men you trust wanting to bring you pleasure.
That was the only way this would work.
Rogan’s strong hands molded to the curve of her waist as she sank into him, now letting that hard bulge press against her zipper, right in the spot where she wanted to feel it most. She ground against him without thought, without plan, as they kissed. She wanted him. She wanted all of this.
And that’s when new hands closed over her hips, ass, from behind. Ethan. Ending the kiss with Rogan, she instinctively turned her head to look. And he was right there, his eyes meeting hers and twinkling like blue flames. She leaned to kiss him, too.
She couldn’t have envisioned how electrifying this would feel, being between these two male bodies, having both their hands on her. She finally ceased thinking, worrying, wondering—now she wanted only to experience this.
She found herself turning fully back again, this time into Ethan’s arms, but still cozily tucked in between the two men. Rogan’s hands didn’t leave her as he lowered a fresh kiss to her shoulder. Lord, she wished she could kiss them both at once—but she had to be content with this, and
this
wasn’t bad; no, it wasn’t bad at all.
As she continued kissing her boyfriend, his hands rose sensually up her sides until they cupped the outer curves of her breasts, then closed firmly over them. And part of her wanted to suffer some old sort of embarrassment at having him touching her someplace intimate in the presence of someone else—but it just didn’t happen, just didn’t make sense all things considered. She liked that Rogan was there; she liked the feeling of openness, freedom, beginning to come over her now. And she knew that Ethan had—at least in some ways—been smart to invite Rogan into this situation, because these were the only two men on the planet she could
be
so open and free with.
When Ethan stopped kissing her and took a step back, she instantly missed the nearness, the sense of being so snugly sandwiched between them, but she knew there was more to come. And Ethan wasted not even a second before reaching for the hem of her tank top, beginning to slowly push it upward.
She flashed back to earlier, in the hammock, when she’d so boldly removed it over her head only to have her seduction attempts halted. She couldn’t have dreamed that the next time her top came off it would be like this.
Now Rogan had pulled back her hair and resumed raining kisses across her sensitive neck, and she again bent her head to one side to better feel them. She shut her eyes, also drinking in the sensation of Ethan raising her top higher, higher, until she felt the fabric being lifted over her breasts.
That made her reopen them, though, glance down. The two globes of flesh looked pretty to her, plump, the lush inner curves rising from the cups of her pastel bra. And it struck her in that moment that she wasn’t afraid anymore of what was happening here. It wasn’t that she felt bold or aggressive at all—hints of nervousness still swam within her, but actual fear was gone now.
And that was good.
Because that was when Ethan hooked his fingertips into both cups of her bra and pulled downward on the fabric—and her breasts tumbled out, fully bared.
A soft gasp escaped her as a breeze wafting through an open window passed cool and light over her nipples, turning them harder than they already were.
And it felt to Mira as if … well, as if they’d reached a point of no return.
Chapter 4
“S
it,” Ethan whispered then.
She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Rogan, but it didn’t matter because Rogan’s hands closed firmly around her bared torso to begin drawing her back—back against him, and then back into the same chair she’d vacated a few minutes before. She’d left it pulled out and at an angle perpendicular to the small kitchen table in her rush to dance to the Rod Stewart song that had long since ended and been replaced by another fast and wild disco song. Rogan sat in the padded chair, thighs spread wide to let her fit in between. And still that glorious erection pressed insistently against her rear.
As Ethan knelt in front of her, the alcohol, the heady music, the unfamiliar surroundings—and, of course, the fact that she was fooling around with two men—all made her feel as if she floated in a dream. A damn sexy dream. A dream she wanted to continue.
When Ethan’s hands closed over her exposed breasts, she sighed, watched, liked that Rogan was watching, too. And then Ethan leaned in, flicking his tongue over one turgid mauve nipple to make her gasp again.
“Such pretty tits,” Rogan murmured deeply, and something in the simple observation made her breasts swell further against the cups that now framed them so tightly. That’s when Ethan moved to the other, licking across the beaded peak, then swirling his tongue around it in circles. A slight, high-pitched moan echoed from her throat as the soft yet intense pleasure radiated through her whole being.
And as Ethan began to suckle her, firm and rhythmic, kneeling between her parted legs, she felt it more than she thought she ever had before. Because of the other hard male body behind her. Because Rogan’s presence amplified and multiplied even this one simple sensual affection to wild proportions. Because now that she knew this feeling, nothing inside her would ever be quite the same again.
And when Rogan resumed kissing her neck, her shoulder, she was simply … lost to it all. Two male mouths on her flesh at one time—it was like being delivered to a naughty version of heaven. She shut her eyes, drank in the pleasure, felt it pulsating through her veins, as if heating her very blood—felt it flowing thick and heavy down to the needy spot between her thighs like a second heartbeat.
She didn’t look at Ethan now, not because she didn’t want to, but because her eyes had once more dropped shut in surrender. Yet at some point she remembered she wanted to see this, witness it; she wanted to again watch him kissing and sucking her breasts and at the same time take in the sight of Rogan’s touch—now one large hand splayed across her stomach, as if holding her in place for Ethan’s ministrations. And when she looked past Ethan’s head, past the fingers cupping the side of her breast, she could spy Rogan’s forearm anchored around her.
It was when Ethan began to undo her blue jeans that he finally lifted his gaze back to hers, their eyes locking. And she thought he might ask if she was okay, if she was ready for more—but instead all he said was, “Lift up,” so he could tug her jeans down. He clearly
knew
she was okay. He clearly
knew
she was ready for more.
So she lifted her ass slightly and let him pull at the denim, watching through the dreamlike haze as her peach-colored cotton panties came down in a tangle along with the jeans. She bit her lip, watching them go,
feeling
them go, feeling exactly how naked she was becoming while still in Rogan’s embrace.
And then the song on the radio ended, and for a long second until the next began she heard nothing but her own labored breathing filling the room, filling all their ears. She hadn’t realized until now that she was making any noise.
As Bad Company launched into “Feel Like Makin’ Love,” Rogan’s hands boldly gripped her bare thighs, lifting them, spreading them farther, until each of her legs were stretched across his own, his knees holding her that way, open and exposed. Even more exposed than she would
usually
be if in the same position, she realized, because she’d shaved away most of her pubic hair for the weekend, leaving just a pale brown thatch extending upward from her slit, which she knew turned Ethan on. And yes, Ethan had seen her with her legs opened to him like this countless times, but this was different.
Very
different.