Chapter Twenty – Fawn
Finally, I’m home.
As soon as the wooden door snaps shut behind me, every muscle in my body surrenders. I am literally spent — to my bones. I don’t know if I can muster up enough energy to rip off my clothes and get in the shower or face-plant into bed.
First, I need a glass of ice-cold water so badly, it’s all I can focus on. Then, I’ll brush my teeth, work on my book, and . . . well, I’ll figure out how to function as a human again, I guess. I head into the kitchen, already picturing the condensation on the glass, but I hesitate for a second.
Delilah is there, propped against the counter, shoulders back, a grin pulling at her mouth that says she’s been waiting for me.
“Well, hello . . .” she says cheerfully, brightening to the point that my tired eye starts to twitch.
One part of me doesn’t have energy for all the questions she is about to bombard me with, but I owe her. And, well, I wouldn’t be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what happened between her and Cal.
“You okay? What happened with you last night?” Delilah asks, her eyes wide and already shining with that sparkle she always reserves for me.
I don’t answer right away. My body is in survival mode. I head directly to the fridge to grab the jug of water and pour myself a glass.
“I’m . . . I’m fine. Just frail,” I stutter, realizing how pathetic I must sound but not caring. “I don’t even know where to start . . .”
The water helps enough that the conversation doesn’t feel like sandpaper.
“Well, want me to go first?” she asks, vibrating with so much energy.
I nod. Sure, I’ll let her explode now rather than later. And she does. She starts hopping in one spot, as if she is trying to hold her soul inside her body.
“Oh. My. God, Fawn,” she begins, tightening her ponytail.
“All night, Cal was at the bar just . . . Ugh, he was so funny. You know how the funny guys do something to me.” She dramatically says.
“I let him stay while I was locking up, and then next thing I know, I’m on top of the bar, legs spread, and he’s between them, kissing me. ”
Of course, she pauses at this point. For dramatic effect. For torture. And then she bites her lip as she remembers — slow, indulgent, almost smug.
“But you know the bar has security cameras, and I don’t want my brothers to see .
. .” she continues, her voice lowered, as though she thinks she could be overheard.
“So naturally, I invited him back here, and he—” She beams. “He proceeded to fuck me all night long.” Oh, she was most definitely hooking up all night.
I can see it — every telling element. The relaxed, contented body language.
The smug aura that clings to her skin like spent glitter.
The slightly too-disheveled hair that isn’t always this way.
It’s as if she’s broadcasting I am thoroughly ruined in the best way.
“I didn’t think my legs could get that high, and the way his hips moved—” She giggles.
Knowing he’s a hockey player, I flash back to when Dylan and Torin were warming up on the ice, their hips practically grinding. It sends a flutter through my whole body, and I can feel a pool of warmth in my panties.
I’m getting hot and bothered here.
I swiftly take another sip of my water then clear my throat. “Sounds like you had a very good night.” The words come out measured, even if the rest of me isn’t.
Honestly, I’m impressed. She has always had this confidence — a kind of power she isn’t afraid to wield. “Does this mean you’ll be seeing more of him, or was it just a one-night thing?”
She bites the tip of her thumb. That’s sufficient for me to know she will give a very disorganized answer.
“Well,” she says, drawing it out for maximum effect. “I swiped his T-shirt, and I made him walk home shirtless. And he just texted me to see if I can bring it to his place. He wants to chill.”
I blink, taking it all in. So she had some tantric sex last night and made poor Cal walk home shirtless. I guess it’s something to remember her by. Damn.
I laugh, even though it makes my throat hurt. “You sent him home without a shirt?”
She waves a hand. “Oh, it’s summer. He was fine.”
Of course she’d say that.
“So . . .” She leans in, eyes sparkling like she’s about to hear some juicy gossip. “I told you my dirt. Now, what’s the dirt on you?” Her voice softens just a little, but she’s already bracing herself for the drama she thinks I’m hiding.
“Right. Brace yourself.” I suck in a ragged breath. “We ended up at the next bar, and that’s where I saw Jason. And, well, Torin had the bright idea that he’d need to kiss my neck to get Jason off my back . . .”
Delilah’s eyebrows shoot up so fast, I swear, I feel a breeze.
“I know, I know,” I say, holding up my hand. “It was nuts. I went to the bathroom, came back, and, get this, my underwear was totally out there for everyone to see.” Even now, just thinking about it, I cringe. My soul wanting to leave my body.
“So Dylan,” I pause, milking the moment, because she totally deserves it. “He hopped up on the bar. Shirt off, started dancing to Shakira. Just to steal my spotlight.”
Her mouth falls open, but I’m not finished yet. “Oh, and then I got super wasted and spent the whole night puking at their place.”
A moment of quiet. Her eyes get huge, like cartoon eyes. Then she claps her hands together, all excited.
“SO!” she yells. “Spill it! Which one did you hook up with?”
I stare at her, unflinching. “Neither,” I confirm, my voice flat. “They were respectful and scared of you.”
She gasps like I’d just accused her of some killer crime. Which, let’s be real, with her? Not exactly out of the question.
Delilah rolls her eyes. “Alright, forget that whole ‘one-year rule’ thing,” she says. “If you absolutely had to pick one, you know, which would it be? Sounds like they’d practically do anything for you.”
It’s a question that lands like a slap I wasn’t prepared for.
And she’s right. As much as I want to tell myself otherwise, the realization weighs heavily on my chest. Because let’s face it — I don’t really know them, and they’ve already done so much for me.
The image of Torin’s lips on my neck flicker through my mind.
Then, Dylan’s monumentally heroic and shirtless event.
They’re so different from each other. They have both opened up to me in some way, making me see them in a different light.
They’re both hot. Both are — fuck! My brain short-circuits.
“Hey, shouldn’t you be taking a shirt to Cal?” I blurt, smooth as a politician dodging a gotcha question.
That smirk of Delilah’s spreads slowly, and suddenly I feel like every secret I have is written on my face.
Then, with a sway of her hips and a flip of her ponytail, she turns and strolls down the hall like she’d just caught me in the act of having feelings.
“Bye, Fawn . . .” she purrs, wickedness alive in every note.
“Bye! And hey, be safe!” I call out, only half serious.
She lets out a laugh that’s a little mischievous and happy. The door clicks behind her and my chest opens up, the tightness unraveling all at once. The kitchen turns silent. Her crazy, fun energy is gone, and suddenly, my head’s swimming with all sorts of thoughts.
I plant my hands on the counter, letting my head sink low.
Everything starts moving too fast in my head, and threading through it all is the image of Dylan in the parking lot.
Guilt settles in. I had trusted them after all the events from last night, but for a moment, it seemed like my trust had been shattered. Thank God — that wasn’t the case.
Dylan spilled his guts to me, and for some reason, I did the same thing. I guess you could say I poured out to him, and I’m sure it wasn’t expected, but it happened, nonetheless. Now, I find myself wandering back to parts when he was talking about being adopted, how his voice softened.
But Torin? Lord. Behind that rough exterior, he’s much more sensitive than he appears. They both are, actually. A long breath leaves me and my shoulders give with it. They’re total opposites, but they also manage to give me a sense of security, even in the middle of a drunken disaster.
My head’s throbbing; my body’s screaming for sleep. Like, a full day of it. But first, I need to wash last night’s bar stink, the sweat, the mortification — and the panty situation.
“Shower,” I mutter, pushing away from the counter. “Yeah, shower first.”
****
The bathroom is almost black, save for the faint glow of my cell phone flashlight resting on the edge of the sink.
It has been this way, ever since I gained stretch marks.
Since then, my skin no longer felt like something I could look at directly.
As I stand in the shower, the hot water sends a shiver coursing through me.
Without sight, my other senses are heightened — the sound of water echoing, the heat encompassing me, and even the smell of my coconut conditioner drifting up into the steam.
My hair’s washed, deep conditioned, and clipped up and ready to go. Now comes my least favorite part, the bit I always try to hurry through. I grab the silicon mitt, squirt some cherry-scented soap, and work it into a lather. I breathe slowly as I rub the mitt over my arms, my ribs, my stomach.
My hand stills the moment it reaches my upper thigh.
It’s not the normal awkwardness. It’s not the instinct to avoid looking, touching, or acknowledging.
It’s them. They come to mind once again. It’s like they don’t ever leave it.
Dylan’s voice was so soothing and reassuring, but it affected me in ways I wasn’t expecting. And then Torin — his mouth on my neck as though he’d done it a million times, as though he knew exactly how it affected me. Heat flares at the nape of my neck and my heartbeat hammers up into my throat.
I lean against the cool tiles, breathing in the steamy air, trying to get a grip. But my thoughts . . . they are stuck on repeat, circling around me like gnats, refusing to budge.
Two guys I hardly know. Two guys who have no business taking up so much brain space.
My hand stays exactly where it stopped, the soaked mitten dripping.
I close my eyes, and there are Torin’s hands, big and rough, resting on my hips, holding me tight, like he doesn’t want to let go. I can feel Dylan right behind me, his chest close to my back, his breath tickling my neck. They are, both of them, refusing to blur at the edges.
The mitten slips from my hand. Slowly, a soft touch leads me to my pussy. My fingers find my clit and begin to trace slow circles, the pressure a building tease.
Yes.
Dylan’s voice, smooth as velvet, wraps around my head. “Show us how you please yourself, princess.”
I picture his lips and tongue trailing along the curve of my ear as he speaks, but this sparks a moment from earlier — the way he slowly licked the sugar from his fingertips then looked right at me, getting me bothered before I tore my gaze away, pretending it hadn’t done a thing.
Even with the water running hot, a shiver tears through my entire body.
A moan catches in my throat, swallowed by the spray of the water. I can almost see Torin’s dark, intense eyes following my hand, seeing the pleasure light up my face. My fingers move faster and my whole body reacts, a tremor rolling through me.
“Good girl . . .” Torin breathes, his thumb tracing circles on my hip. “Do you like putting on a show for us?”
“She loves it,” Dylan answers for me, his hands moving up from my waist to my chest. His thumbs play over my rosy nipples, which makes them pucker and become sensitive right away.
The fantasy plays so strongly, I can almost feel their ghostly touch. My free hand rises, cupping my own breast, pinching and playing with my own nipples as though it’s Dylan’s hands. Pleasure tears at me in waves, my knees threatening to give. A moan raggedly escapes.
In my mind, Torin drops to his knees, his face level with my pussy. That look in his eyes — great intensity, hunger, no question in his expression, just action. His mouth latches on to the flesh of my thigh in a kiss that is possessive.
Now, my fingers are dancing all over my clit, giving it some much-needed attention.
Every nerve ending is on edge. Water is rushing over my body, mingling with sweat droplets oozing from my head.
It feels as though I am in the middle of a torrent — a hot shower, this throbbing sensation, and a burning fantasy.
Torin’s tongue is in no rush, leaving nothing untouched as he makes his way up to my slit.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
My head jolts, and I helplessly writhe against the tiles. Dylan’s arms wrap around me, steadying me as my legs try to give out. A gentle scrape of his teeth moves across my shoulder.
My clit is getting sensitive, hardening under my fingertips.
The image of Torin’s tongue isn’t soft; it’s insistent. He explores my pussy, tasting, staking his claim. He licks and sucks until I’m a mess of sobs. My hands bury in his damp, lush hair, not trying to stop him but pulling him nearer, silently pleading for more.
The pressure inside me is like a spring being wound tighter and tighter — it’s too much, but in a way, it’s incredible. I’m right at the breaking point, about to fall over, the thoughts of Dylan and Torin all-consuming.
Dylan’s voice enters my head again, his breath tickling my skin. “Come for us, princess.” It’s like he’s casting a spell. I buck my hips, matching the speed of my fingers.
“Now . . .” Torin rumbles, the sound erupting deep inside.
That order breaks me. A cry tears from my throat, lost in the shower’s noise as the orgasm consumes me. It’s a white-hot burst, waves of electric pleasure that leave me shaking and weak. My fingers keep up with a fast pace, drawing out the spasms until I’m raw and shuddering.
Out of breath, I lean my whole body against the glass. The water is doing its job, washing away the remnants of what just happened in my head. Reluctantly, I remove my fingers as the wave of euphoria fades. My heart is still going a mile a minute as my clit throbs.
Did I just . . . over them?
“Crap,” I breathe, feeling weak.
Mortification washes over me — way hotter than the shower. Seriously? I hardly know them, and they are affecting me this much. I wonder how good it would be if I got to know them more . . .
I gasp. “Oh God.”
It wasn’t real . . . just mental images. It totally doesn’t break my one-year rule. I mean, not really. Not even a little. I feel like I’ve crossed some kind of boundary I didn’t even know existed until then. Two men at the same time. Fuck.
The water runs over me and I move through it slowly.
My palm finds the cool tile while the pounding in my chest does whatever it wants.
I am a disaster, completely scattered. I must get out of this shower before my mind spins even further out of control.
Maybe a nap will save me. Maybe I should just keep my mind off all this and make an outline for my story instead.