Chapter Thirteen
? Isla ?
I feel my phone pinging in my pocket.
The silent demands for immediate attention knot in my gut the longer I pretend to ignore the rapid pulses.
Outside the window, the wild terrain sprawls far over into the horizon.
Rigid hills rise and fall with the settling evening.
The cabin itself is a sprawling structure of logs piled together and held in place by the sheer grace of God.
Walker’s great, great, a few dozen more greats, grandfather built it with his own hands back when it was man against nature.
Over the years, it’s been touched up, modernized, but the core structure remains.
Mom hates it.
The endless expansion of yellow grass and horizon makes her feel exposed.
It doesn’t help that there are only two bedrooms. The water comes out a little brown from the well, and there is always a faint hint of mold, copper and rust that never seems to fade no matter how long she leaves the windows and doors open — which she learned the hard way to stop doing if she didn’t want to share her bed with all manner of critters.
I’ve always been indifferent. The cabin is nice enough. Cozy for the most part, when the fire is snapping in the hearth.
Dom pulls the wheel, backing us up against the front porch steps. He kills the engine and huffs.
“Well, we made it.”
It seems smaller.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t been here since I was sixteen, but I’m not wholly certain we’re going to be able to fit everyone inside. Hell, I don’t even think Nicolas and Dominic will fit.
But Nicolas has pulled open my door, and I have no choice but to slide down.
“Why don’t you head inside and open some windows?” he instructs gently, pressing the keys into my palm.
I give a nod and move to do as I’m told.
The boards creak and groan beneath my sneakers. The rotted parts sag slightly under my weight. I reach the door and let myself in.
Confined heat slams into my chest. It’s nearly the equivalent of opening the oven door. It rushes into and over me with a suffocating punch that drives me back onto my heels.
Only after I’ve coughed and braced myself do I pick up on the other notes. The rot. The musky odor of decay and dust. It all bubbles together with a ferocity that has me shielding half my face inside my coat before diving inside.
I’m working on the windows up in the loft when I hear the boys groaning and grunting below. I scoot to the edge of the barrier and peer down into the living room to the open door where they’re struggling to get the tree in.
They’ve removed their coats.
Nicolas has rolled up the sleeves of his thermal to showcase the hard, corded muscles along his forearms. Dom has both arms bared, where the sleeves of his T-shirt don’t cover his bulging biceps.
Everything on both men is so hard and powerful.
Watching them move and flex has me checking my chin for drool.
It’s a solid fifteen minutes of pure entertainment from my perfect vantage point. But it ends too fast when they get the thing set up next to the hearth. Both men dust their hands and brush off pine needles from their clothes. They look so pleased with themselves. I can’t stop from grinning.
I’ve been doing that a lot today.
Grinning.
Laughing.
Laughing so hard I was barely making a sound.
The unused section of my abdomen that has never laughed that much still hurts.
Everything from Dom’s story about the squirrel that snuck into the house with their Christmas tree to pretending to be Krampus spanking me for being naughty, he had kept me in stitches.
And I’ve never been so grateful.
For a single afternoon, I nearly forgot about that morning. I forgot about yesterday. There was nothing but the man who refused to let me remember.
“Hey, you asleep up there?” the man in question calls up. “Get your butt down here.”
Grinning to myself, I turn and scoot to the lip of the loft.
My feet dangle over the ledge, bobbing as I search for the first rung.
Up until this moment, I’d forgotten why I hated when Mom would make me sleep up here.
Getting up was never the problem. It was climbing down that had me coated in cold sweat.
The loft has a fence to keep whoever’s sleeping up here from rolling down to their death. But the ladder, a series of creaky steps that isn’t even placed at an angle, but straight up and down has no railings. No place to grip.
I jump when firm fingers clamp down on my flailing ankle and gingerly guide me to the first perch. They do the same with the other foot. When I take the first step down, he’s there to set me in the right spot. All the way to the bottom.
I turn, expecting Dominic, and blink in surprise to find Nicolas peering down at me. His gray eyes look me over carefully before he takes a careful step back.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He inclines his head and promptly turns to walk out the front door.
“I think you’re growing on him,” Dom teases, coming to stand beside me.
“Like a fungus, maybe,” I think out loud.
Rather than answer, Dom takes my fingers and guides me to the tree. We stand beneath its towering height. The fresh pine scent sweeps around us, tangling with all the other fun smells still lingering.
“How long do you think we get you to ourselves before the others arrive?”
The question is asked so softly, I almost miss it.
My face tips to his, and I find him staring at the very tip of the tree.
It hadn’t wholly occurred to me that I would be alone and isolated with the two for several days.
Perhaps it should have. But it’s all I can think as I study the firm line of his jaw, the heavy fans of his lashes.
His head is angled enough that I could nuzzle the arch of his throat. I’d have to go up on my tiptoes, but…
His chin lowers and I’m caught in the dark vacuums of his eyes. The not so subtle hunger burning in their depths.
“A day?” I guess. “Maybe two.”
Dom gives a little humming grunt. “I say an hour.”
I blink. “Why?”
His entire body shifts until we’re facing each other.
“Because your mom knows exactly what we want to do to you.”
Despite the hot rush of excitement that rolls through me, I chuckle. “I don’t think she’d save me.”
Long, strong fingers curl around my exposed throat with enough pressure to flood my brain and panties before I’m pulled to him. His nose bumps mine and I know he feels the struggle of my swallow beneath his palm.
“No one can save you, my pretty whore.”
I have no feeling in my knees. All the blood has rushed to my head and I’m dizzy beneath the waves of arousal flooding my core. It’s fanned by the hot whispers of his breath stroking my lips.
“Don’t want to be saved,” I rasp.
The corner of his mouth quirks. His fingers tighten just enough to send tingles through me.
“I know you don’t.” He brushes a kiss to my nose. “Where are the Christmas ornaments?”
Nicolas takes that moment to return with all of our bags hooked on his fingers. I expect Dom to release me and step away, but he waits for my answer.
“Basement,” I croak.
It’s a crawl space, but he gets what I’m saying.
Unfazed by our nearness, Dom’s face inches from mine, Nicolas drops the bags down on the sofa and kicks the door shut with the heel of his boot.
“Let’s clean before we do anything else,” he remarks, eyeing the thick layer of dust now streaked by our feet. “I’ll check the generator. We might have to make a run for supplies.”
It’s pure luck we have a tiny gas station and convenience store ten miles down the road. It saves on hauling a bunch of things down.
But the plan has been made.
We set to work dusting and sweeping. I do an inventory of the pantry and icebox for the grocery run while the boys haul boxes from the cellar.
They’re piled against the wall by the tree.
Dom leaves Nicolas to finish as he moves to strip the mattress.
Sheets are tossed over the railings from the loft to form white puddles across the floor.
“This mattress is finished,” he calls down. “Must have gotten wet. It’s covered in mold.”
Nicolas drops the final box with the others and straightens. His fingers settle on his hips as he tips his head up to where his boyfriend is climbing down the ladder.
“How’s the other bed?”
“Fine.” He hits the bottom landing. “A little musty, but we won’t die from it. I’ll stick it outside for an hour or so to breathe out.”
Nicolas says nothing, but I can see him turning this over in his head from where I’m standing in the tiny square of the kitchen. But he must have come to the same conclusion I do, because he suddenly looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and yet loud with barely controlled panic.
“There’s only one bed,” he muses at long last.
Dom rocks back on his heels. “Seems that way.”
I don’t say anything, but my heart slams in my chest. A jittery, wild clap of thunder that makes my fingers tremble.
“I’m going to toss these into the wash and run out for the supplies,” Dom goes on. “You stay with Isla.”
That’s a terrible idea but Nicolas makes no comment and I don’t know what I’m supposed to say so I stay in my bubble and eye a rusted can of corn.
I understand that this situation isn’t ideal. I didn’t ask to come. I hadn’t even wanted to. But I’m here and we just need to make the best of it.
You just want to be in bed with them, the voice that sounds a lot like Mom hisses.
And it’s not wrong.
I do want that. Want them.
But after yesterday and Dom teasing me all morning, I don’t think I can be blamed for the raw fire begging to be fanned. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Dom.
The man in question scoops up the discarded sheets and carts them to the mudroom where the washer and dryer are stacked. We can hear him start the load, neither me nor Nicolas making any sort of eye contact.
By the time Dom returns with a mattress that he hauls out onto the porch, there’s a weighted tension in the air that I can feel on my skin.
He moves to Nicolas and the two kiss. Long and hard.
The kind of aggressive lip locking that makes me press my thighs together.
Dom has his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair.
The other... the other is wrapped around Nicolas’s cock through the soft fabric of his slacks.
He’s rubbing and stroking and nibbling on his lip.
Nicolas’s expression is tense, dark with a thick cloud of desire.
“Come here, Isla.”
My heart jumps at the sound of my name, but I hurry over.
Dom doesn’t break the kiss, doesn’t unleash his choking hold on Nicolas’s cock. He releases the other man’s hair and threads those fingers through my strands.
I’m pulled into their circle. My back is lined with Nicolas’s chest. My waist is captured by his hands, I think to steady us.
“Both of you, be good for Daddy.” Dom prompts, freeing my hair to capture my chin. My face is tipped. “Take care of your brother, Isla.”
Nicolas groans behind me. His fingers tighten. Slips beneath my sweater. Grazes the skin of my waist.
Dom strokes him faster, eyes on my face.
“Will you do that for Daddy?”
I nod, already reaching to replace his hand around Nicolas’s stiff erection.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Dom growls deep in his throat. “Such a good girl. Take your top off. I want to see your pretty tits before I leave.”
I do, eagerly. Ripping the material up over my head. I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples sharpen through the fabric of the tank top underneath. I pull the straps down my arms, spilling my breasts free for him.
Both men make the same sound of such pleasure my toes curl in my sneakers.
“Turn.”
I do and find myself facing my stepbrother. His attention is on my chest. His chest rises and falls sharply as Dom cages me between his arms and reaches to undo Nicolas’s pants. Free his cock.
“Make him happy, baby,” he murmurs into my ear while stroking the full, leaking length. “I want to hear every detail when I get back.”
He pulls my hands up to join his around the heavy slab of meat and Nicolas swears. His fingers ball into fists.
“What’s my baby going to do while Daddy’s gone?”
I swallow and stare into the icy inferno of Nicolas’s eyes.
“Take care of my big brother while you’re gone and do whatever he says.”
Nicolas’s nostrils flare, because Dom hadn’t said that last part.
“That’s right. He’s in charge, Isla. You’ll do whatever he tells you like the good little whore you are.” He strokes Nicolas harder with my hands trapped in between. “Watch over your sister, Nicky. Take good care of her.”
He gets a glower and bared teeth for his efforts.
Dom is unfazed when he releases his hold and steps back. With a final glance at us, he leaves and it’s just me and the man growing thicker, harder between my palms.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, not slowing.
Nicolas’s jaw tightens and that’s all the warning I get before his fingers fist in my hair. I’m yanked into him. My cry is ignored.
“Is that what Daddy said?”
I try to shake my head, but he’s holding so tight.
“What are you supposed to do, Isla?”
I pant as I answer weakly, “Take care of you.”
There’s cruelty and pleasure in his eyes. In his scowl.
“What if I want to be inside you again?” He drags me back a step.
Then another in the direction of the sofa.
Hand still twisted in my hair. “What if I want to bend you over and dump inside you over and over again until Daddy comes home to find his little girl swollen and fat, ass up, dripping all down her legs?”
I’m already leaking. My underwear is soaked through, rubbing against me. My nipples are exposed points begging for attention, and all I want is to feel everything he’s promising.
“No.”
Nicolas blinks, visibly startled. “What?”
“I said no.”
He releases me like I’ve caught on fire. His entire body jerks back to give me space and he stares at me with wide eyes devoid of hunger.
“Did I—?”
I stop his question with a shake of my head. My hands twist my top back into place, covering my breasts.
“I won’t degrade myself to a man who thinks I’m just a good fuck but worthless otherwise.” I stalk to where I dropped my sweater and I drag it on. “I may not have anything going for me, but I have enough pride not to be anyone’s rejected toy.”
Without looking at him, I march in the direction of the bathroom.