Chapter Twenty-Seven – Fawn
I’m woken by Shakira’s loud vocals blasting ‘Whenever, Wherever’ like the beginning of judgment day. My heart jumps into my throat, and I sit up, clutching the blanket like it’s going to shield me against the wave of melodies.
“Morning, princess,” Dylan chirps like a bird singing.
He’s at the foot of the bed, brushing his mussed hair as if he’s prepping for a photoshoot at seven in the morning. “Sorry about the alarm. I, uh . . . haven’t slept.”
No shit.
His eyes are wide and wet-looking, like he’s been thinking too much and hasn’t slept in days.
I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to corral the spilled fragments of my soul.
Next to me, Torin growls out this vicious grunt like a bear stirring from hibernation. And then, without even opening both eyes, he scoops up the nearest pillow and throws it at Dylan with precision.
“Jackass. I’ve just brushed my hair!” Dylan yelps, dodging it like the pillow is a live grenade.
I let out a slow breath as everything comes rushing back.
Last night.
Them.
Me.
All of it.
The aftercare, the carrying me into bed, putting me in an oversized shirt.
So I didn’t dream any of that. Well, crap, there goes my one-year rule. I surrender to the pillow and turn my gaze on the ceiling. At last, Dylan manages to get Shakira to shut up. He looks like he’s too proud of himself to be waking up to this kind of mayhem.
“So, what do you want for breakfast?” he asks, bouncing on his toes like a golden retriever that’s just discovered caffeine. “I can make you anything. Literally anything — apart from poached eggs.”
He’s glowing. Like . . . Christmas-morning child levels of glowing. It’s ridiculously cute.
“Coffee will do, please.” My voice croaks, still half asleep.
He leans in, puckering his lips, and I whack my hand over my mouth.
“Hang on. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”
“Like I give a crap,” he says and proceeds to kiss me before I can argue with him.
He draws back and grins. “I’ll make you some pancakes.
See you in the kitchen, princess.” The minute he’s out the door, Torin wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into him.
“Morning,” he mumbles in that gruff and annoyingly sexy voice of his.
“Morning. Is he always this lively in the morning?”
Torin snorts into the pillow. “You have no fucking idea.”
I laugh quietly and lay my head in the nook of his chest, the warmth of his embrace closing around me like the gentlest of traps I would never want to escape from. He squeezes his arm tighter around me, and I melt further.
Everything feels different, impossible in the most terrifyingly wonderful way.
Two men who are interested in me and are okay with sharing me. Me. Like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not weird or anything. I can just enjoy it.
I’ve never done anything like this before, but being here, nestling in Torin’s warmth with Dylan crashing around in the kitchen, I find that, yes, I am a little scared, but I’m mostly excited.
A contented sigh escapes me as I get more comfortable curling into Torin, when I feel something.
This is no shy erection; it’s hot, even through his thin boxers and the oversized shirt I’m wearing.
This is a commanding presence, thick and rigid with meaning.
Torin might be sleepy, but his body is wide awake and making its intentions very, very clear.
My body responds instantaneously. A familiar spasm of achiness begins in my stomach and spreads; simultaneously, I notice the slickness gathering down below.
“Uhh, Torin. I think you have a—”
His eyes shoot open, and his grip tightens around my waist. His voice is a raspy, sleepy growl deep in my ear. “Morning wood. Fuck.”
The words spark arousal in me. I bite my lip, and my pussy contracts around nothing, empty and needy. I want that. I want him.
I feel an urge to guide him into my pussy, fill the void he just reminded me that exists, but the rational and insecure part of my brain chimes in. “I would say I’d help you out, but I probably look rough and have morning breath.”
A lazy smile spreads across his face. He pulls me on top of him with ease, nuzzling my hair and inhaling deeply.
“You smell like my sweat and my soap, Fawn. You smell like you’re ours.
” His hand moves from my waist down over my thigh in a possessive motion.
I hold my breath. “And that’s okay,” he says, his voice turning deeper.
“We’ve got all the time in the world to fuck you and to show you how beautiful you are. To show you how much you mean to us.”
All the time in the world. The promise packs more punch than dirty talk ever can.
He grinds his hips forward, a slow, deliberate roll that rubs the hard length of him against my pelvis. My head falls against his shoulder on a soft moan.
He presses into that sweet spot just beneath my ear. “Your body knows what it wants. It doesn’t care about morning breath.” He nuzzles that spot with his kiss before nibbling gently with his teeth. “It just wants my cock.”
His cock starts rubbing up against my bare pussy, the thick head of him hitting my clit just right. I open my legs so he can fuck me, but he doesn’t push. He simply leaves it resting there; a hot, heavy sensation pressing against my skin. The intimacy is extraordinary.
“Oh, Fawn, I can feel you’re getting all worked up for me already,” he growls in my ear. “Just from me holding you and whispering in your ear. You’re so responsive. So perfect.”
His praise penetrates me, warming me from the inside out — something I want his cock to be doing. All my cares about my appearance or my smell melt away under the warmth of his praise. There’s only this burning need.
He delivers a kiss on my cheek, the kind that zaps straight through me. “Don’t get too excited, though. Dylan’s making you breakfast,” he says, “and you don’t wanna miss that now.”
Just like that, the moment between us fades. My body tenses in protest because, Sir, excuse me, I was enjoying that, and I want your cock in me.
The urge to scream into his chest is very real. My teeth clench. I breathe in through my nose, making sure he knows it. “Unbelievable,” I mumble.
He knows what he’s doing to me, because he lets out a deep chuckle.
“I hate you right now,” I tell him, shoving lightly at his chest.
“We both know that’s a lie, Fawn. Now go on . . .” he encourages me, prodding me toward the edge of the bed, as if he’s got the right to tell me what to do. “Before Dylan decides to make experimental pancakes or explode the kitchen.”
“Yes, boss.” I let out a giggle and wink at him over my shoulder.
Before I actually peel myself out of bed, I lean back into him — just to feel him. I trace my hand over his jawline, my fingertips grazing his stubble.
“You know, I’ve broken my jaw like three times. Taken some good punches,” he explains, looking too proud.
“Well,” I reply softly, tracing the line of his jaw with my thumb, “considering you’ve broken it multiple times, you still have the most ridiculously handsome smile.”
I can’t help myself. I brush my lips along the angle of his jaw, a whisper of a touch.
“Think you can sweet-talk your way into me fucking you? No chance, missy.”
Before I can process anything from that statement, his hands are all over me.
“TORIN! STOP!” I squeal as he starts tickling me, completely ruthless.
I thrash, laughing and trying very hard to escape the world’s strongest man. “Alright! ALRIGHT! I’m going!”
“Go save the kitchen from Dylan,” he reminds me, nodding toward the door like he didn’t just wage war on my ribs.
Breathless, I get up, my hair’s a frizzy mess, heart racing, and Torin looks entirely too proud of himself.
****
The pancakes are . . . well, blackened on one side.
But Dylan’s beaming with such satisfaction over his cooking that I can’t crush him, so I take a bite, put on my sweet smile, and follow that up with a chug of coffee to wash down the taste of burnt despair.
Considering he only made a stack of pancakes, the sink is full of pans.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Dylan asks, eyes warm. “We didn’t overdo it last night, did we? You were amazing.”
He stands in front of me, shirtless, leaning on the counter in black joggers that accentuate his bulge. Looking at it makes me remember the taste of his cum. My pussy starts fluttering. Oh, sugar! I’ve already been flustered this morning.
“No, no, you didn’t overdo anything,” I say quickly, readjusting on the stool. “I feel great. It’s just . . . it’s been a while since I’ve had sex, that’s all.”
He grins like he’s been waiting for that. “So I guess your one-year rule is out the window.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
My eyes drift over to the coffee table. The white roses are sitting in . . . Oh my God.
A giant, empty whiskey bottle. I can’t help giggling. My gift bag is sitting next to it, neatly arranged, as if Dylan tried very hard to be gentle with it.
“You didn’t look in the bag, did you?” I ask.
Dylan shakes his head immediately. “Nope, but it was so fucking hard not to.”
“Good. Because after last night, I’m taking it back and getting you two something better.”
He steps closer with his coffee and leans on the breakfast bar I’m sitting at. “Oh, princess, the best gift we have is you.”
Warmth pools in my chest, and I bite down on my cheek to keep myself from dissolving.
The heat here today is crazy — I can feel the sun pouring through the windows. No wonder I nearly passed out last night. It’s a hot oven in here.
Dylan tosses back a large gulp of coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“So,” he says cautiously. “At stupid o’clock this morning, I realized we made you squirt, fucked you within an inch of your life.
Have you done that before? Because it was so sexy.
Anyway, we haven’t taken you out on dates.
” His hand goes to the back of his neck, buying himself time he doesn’t have.
“So, if you’re free, we’d like to take you out tonight? ”