Heaven walked into the bar not five days ago.
He shouldn’t have taken the job in the first place. It’d
only been a three-month fill-in stint anyway, meant to tide him over until his brother
Simon lined up all his ducks and was ready to go with the construction gig. It
was what he needed at the time, though, he supposed. A break from his old life,
a clean slate to do what he wanted.
And damn if right now he didn’t want to do these two.
When it came to something like this, his willpower was for
shit. Always had been. This wasn’t his first threesome rodeo, and he found it
nearly impossible to stop that itch from running up his spine—the one that told
him this was a bad, bad idea.
But then he looked at her, and at Garrett too, and shoved
all his niggling doubt right out the proverbial window. How could something
that felt so right last night be so wrong?
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.
“So it’s settled then. I’ll call my guy and see if we can
borrow his boat either tomorrow or Monday,” he said. The resulting groan Riley
blew out made him smile. “Until then, are you two up for some food and maybe a
little fun? I drove past a beer festival on my way in. Suds and Seafood.”
“Oooh,” Riley said. “I could go for some grouper.”
“Sounds good to me,” Garrett added. “Let’s unpack first so
we don’t have to deal with any of that later.”
“Perfect.” Evan followed them back into the house and down
the two flights of stairs to the lower level. He’d dropped his oversized
backpack just inside the doorway off the kitchen when he arrived. It was all he
had with him, all that he cared enough about to bring.
With a booted foot, he pushed his bag to the side and met
them outside by their rental car to help them unload. Riley stood at the edge
of the garage, her gaze narrowed across the driveway to where he’d parked his
Ducati Monster 1100. “That’s yours?”
“Sweet ride,” Garrett said, coming up beside the bike.
“Mind?”
“Not at all.”
Garrett swung his leg over the top of Evan’s matte
black-and-silver baby with the practiced skill of a man who’d ridden before.
Straddling the seat and gripping the handlebars, he rocked forward until the
bike tipped off the kickstand. The look on his face was one of pure respect and
admiration. Respect for the power he held between his thighs, and admiration
because the bike was one fine piece of machinery.
“It’s been years since I’ve been on one of these. Although
any of the bikes I ever rode or owned before weren’t quite as nice as this.”
“You ride?”
“Rode,” Garrett corrected. “Past tense. Laid one of these
babies down about fifteen years ago. I was young and stupid and thought the
term
crotch rocket
had something more to do with my dick than the
equipment I was riding.”
“Damn.”
Garrett huffed out a chuckle. “Yeah, well. It’s what I get
for trying to show off. Luckily my helmet and a nice set of leathers saved my
hide—and my life. Haven’t really had the itch to climb back on one since.”
“Is it horrible to say I’m glad I didn’t know you back
then?” Riley asked, tucking her arm under Evan’s and resting her head against
his biceps. “I would’ve been out of my mind with worry.”
Evan slid his hands into his front pockets and shrugged.
“It’s all about respect. Respect for the bike, for others on the road.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she said. “There’s something about
a man straddling his motorcycle that’s downright hot. Exciting, really. But
that kind of excitement often brings a healthy dose of fear along with it.”
Excitement and fear. Yeah, that pretty much covered the
exact way Evan was feeling right now. And not a damn bit of it had to do with
his motorcycle.
“Doing what I do, I’ve just heard way too many horror
stories,” she added.
Garrett reached out and stroked Riley’s cheek with the backs
of his fingers. “You don’t have anything to worry about with us, babe. Right,
Evan?”
Evan knew he should answer in agreement, knew that both of
them were waiting for him to. Instead he leaned in, kissed the top of her head
and said, “So I guess we’ll be using your rental this week?”
Garrett eyed him for a moment before lifting the bike back
onto its kickstand and hopping off. “Sure. Where’s this festival again?”
“About twenty minutes away, down in Panama City Beach.”
“Let’s get moving, then,” Garrett said, swatting Riley’s ass
on his way past her.
She giggled a little before sobering and turning her face up
to Evan’s as Garrett headed toward the back of the SUV for their bags. The
abrupt shift from giddy to the concern riddling her eyes now tore him up more than
any wreck on his bike ever could.
“I’ll worry about you too, you know.” Even though she
whispered the words, they still struck him head-on, dead-center in his chest.
“No need to worry about me. My hot-doggin’ days are way
behind me and I won’t be going back.”
“Good,” she said, even though he knew she didn’t have a clue
what he was referring to. Hell, maybe he wasn’t so sure himself anymore.
Because the one thing he swore he’d never do again—the
only
thing he
promised himself he’d never again get caught up in—was staring him down now
with enough heat blazing in her eyes to light up a few catastrophic Florida
wildfires.
And he knew right then it was going to take every bit of
power he had inside himself to not get burned alive.
By the time they found a place to park and wormed their way
through a dozen or more booths offering up the same baskets of fried fresh fish
or battered salty pickles, or—wait, were those really deep-fried Whoopie
Pies?—Evan could practically taste the first sips of ice-cold beer sliding down
his throat.
They sidled up to the first microbrew stand they came
across, where Evan took the liberty of ordering three beer flights. Each of the
four small glasses in the sampler ranged in varietal and were set up on thick
wooden paddles in descending shade—the darkest stout being on one end and the
lightest amber on the other. The souvenir serving tray might be kitschy and
all, but there was a method to Evan’s madness. As soon as he saw the paddle,
his mind flew in fifteen different directions with possibilities. Jesus, how
he’d love to use that with Riley—minus the glasses filled with beer, of
course—just so he could see her ass turn the perfect shade of pink from a sexy
spanking.
He dug his hand in his front pocket for his money clip and
nonchalantly readjusted himself while he was in there. He caught his dick at
half-mast and willed the thing the rest of the way down. But it had a mind of
its own, especially when Riley laughed as the woman behind the counter handed
the paddle and beers over to her.
“This is so great,” she said. “Gives new meaning to the
phrase
serving up a spanking
.”
“Oh hell yeah,” Garrett said, leaning in closer to her after
being given his own sampler paddle. “I can think of a few ways to put this to
good use.”
Damn if the man wasn’t reading Evan’s mind. There was no
hope of his cock going down now, not with images of Riley bent over while he
reddened her ass running through his mind. All he could think at that point was
how thankful he was for a nice pair of loose-fitting jeans.
He followed them to a grouping of picnic tables set up next
to a small stage. According to the sign adjacent to it, a band was due to start
in a few minutes. Evan took advantage of the quiet before the group got going
and they wouldn’t be able to talk over the music. He sat next to Riley as
Garrett took the seat across from them.
Evan took a sip of his first beer when they did, set it down
and licked the foam from his lips. Tasty stuff. “So,” he began, looking more to
Riley than to Garrett. “You’re not opposed to the idea of a spanking?”
He asked the question right as she was taking another sip.
She nearly choked before her cheeks pinked up. “Wow,” she said, coughing. “Way
to get to the heart of it.”
He shrugged. “I figured there wasn’t any point to beating
around the bush.”
She glanced across to Garrett. “It’s not anything I’ve tried
before.”
“But you’re not opposed,” he pushed. It wasn’t as if Evan
was into BDSM or fetishes himself, but now that he’d latched onto the idea, he
couldn’t shake the image of her curved over his lap with her ass lifted and
poised for a little attention.
“I don’t know.” She stammered a little as she spoke and her
cheeks were still an adorable shade of red.
Garrett plucked each beer off his paddle to set the glasses
aside. When he gripped the handle and smacked his palm firmly with the wide end
not once, not twice, but three times, Riley’s breath hitched. Evan was
enthralled with the rise and fall of her breasts, the way each pant seesawed in
and out of her lungs, and the way she delicately placed her hand at the curve
of her cleavage as if she was torn between being excited and afraid.
Evan slid his gaze to Garrett and immediately caught the
interest in the other man’s stare. Evan couldn’t help but think that his own
eyes probably looked exactly the same.
“I think you know,” Evan tossed out, reaching for her wrist
and discreetly covering his crotch with her hand. “You can tell what just
thinking about it is doing to me.”
Through his pants, she gripped the spike his dick had become
and he wanted to groan.
“I’m not opposed,” she whispered.
Holy fuck, he wanted to kiss her. Right here, right now and
right in front of her husband for everyone to see. But he knew if he did, he
wouldn’t want to stop. He’d want to pick her up and lay her across the top of
the table, he’d want to dip to his knees in front of her and bring her this
close to a killer orgasm using only his tongue before flipping her over and
spanking the tight globes of her ass until the pleasure and pain of it all made
her fall apart.
“Later, then,” he forced himself to say as he let go of her
wrist. She returned her hand to the rise of her breasts, her fingers dancing
lightly there, and he wanted to moan all over again.
“Keep this up and you two will get us arrested for public
indecency,” Garrett said, still gripping the paddle and leaning in across the
table closer to them. Riley slid her hand over her husband’s and smiled, but
she didn’t say anything.
“I think we need a distraction.” Hell, Evan didn’t just
think it, he
knew
it, and once again he wondered what the fuck he’d
gotten himself into. But he couldn’t walk away, not now. She’d gotten to him
too much. They’d
both
gotten to him too much for him not to see this
week through. “Food. We need food. What was it you said you wanted?”
Potentially loaded question, but she responded without the
smart-alecky answer she could’ve given.
“Grouper. Any kind. Oh, and fries.”
He turned to Garrett, feeling a little as if he was back in
the bar taking orders. But he needed the few minutes it would take to get their
food for him to regroup and get his body under some semblance of control.
“You?”
“That sounds good to me. I’ll have the same, thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll be right back.”
He headed toward the nearest food booth and placed an order
for three fried grouper sandwiches on French bread along with three orders of
fries. The band started to play as he waited for the food and he leaned against
the counter to watch them. Country music really wasn’t his thing, but at this
point he’d grab whatever opportunity he could to get his mind off fucking Riley
and Garrett right here in the middle of this damn festival.
Just thinking about the two of them had his gaze shifting in
the direction of their table. Only it never made it all the way there. It
stopped on two people working their way through the crowd toward him—the only
two people in the world he didn’t ever want to see again.
They hadn’t caught sight of him yet, and hell, he wanted to
move. Goddamn it, he wanted to fucking disappear. But he couldn’t. He was
frozen in place. So he did what he did best. He sucked it up, stiffened his
spine and held his ground.
His gaze shot over to Riley and Garrett, who were sipping
their beers and watching the band, and then back to Shannon and Brad, who were
still making their way toward him. He prepared himself for the suffocating
pain, for the ache to spear his chest as if his heart was being ripped in two.
The same ache that had been there for the better part of the last six months.
Seeing his ex-lovers like this wasn’t something he thought
he’d ever be ready for. It hadn’t so much been the fact they’d fallen in love
with each other and left him out in the cold, but more the shitty way they’d
handled the entire situation. Sneaking around behind his back to be together
hurt worse than them being upfront and telling him the truth—their ménage a
trois relationship was over. Shannon and Brad were going to be together, just
the two of them.
Every threesome held its own risk, Evan knew that. But he
was drawn to them, and to the people who wanted them, so much that he wasn’t
sure a traditional relationship would ever give him the satisfaction he
craved—his ridiculous promise to himself that he’d never get involved in
another ménage again be damned.
For so long he thought he’d found what he wanted with
Shannon and Brad. But as he watched them come nearer, as he waited for the hurt
to once again rear its ugly head and claim him, he realized the signs were
there all along—there was no way they could’ve given him what he needed. In the
end, he’d simply been a toy to them. Nothing more.
Instead of any sort of pain consuming him, all he felt now
was used and sad. He hated the combination. Hated how it brought him down,
especially when such promise awaited him. Promise in the form of two beautiful
people at the picnic table not fifty feet away.