Chapter Thirty #2
Fumbling with my phone to shut off the music, I toss it onto the bed before flopping on it myself. It’s Clay who switches me back to the mic app, unable to stand the unknown any longer.
“How are you feeling, Beautiful?” He strokes my wet hair.
In direct competition, Rhys grabs a second towel and starts to dry my legs.
Through all of the self-pity and turmoil, I cringe.
I haven’t shaved in a while, becoming all too familiar with these men who call me pet names and treat me like their queen.
Spoiled, that’s what I am. And spoiled soon becomes lazy.
Batting the pair of them off, I wriggle up the bed and tuck myself beneath the covers before removing the towel.
I know Clay would have looked away, respecting my privacy, whereas Rhys would have probably started dry-humping my leg.
The hound in question doesn’t hesitate to strip off and climb into bed next to me, despite it being morning.
The material of his boxers presses against my ass, his warmth too inviting to deny.
A sigh sounds through my phone’s receiver from where it now sits on the bedside table. I watch Clay’s shoulders sag as he takes a step back, heading towards the door.
“I’ll give you two some space,” he says quietly, eyes flicking to mine for only a second. Rhys doesn’t move, his chest rising and falling in evenly. He’s locked in for ultimate snuggles and no fucks. Clay lowers his head, preparing to leave when my hand snaps out.
“Wait!” I shout, ignoring the grumble behind me. The last thing I want is for Clay to feel like a third wheel. He’s a part of this as much as we are, whatever this is.
In my current state, I don’t have the strength to turf them both out, preferring to be alone rather than be seen favoring one over the other.
Nor do I want to let either of them out of my sight.
Whether I intended to or not, I’ve grown attached, gifting them both a piece of my heart.
And now I’m faced with the real possibility someone out there won’t stop until one of us is hurt, I can’t bear to let a moment pass without them by my side.
“Look, I know it’s unorthodox, not to mention selfish and fucking insane.
But I could have died last night and all I want is to have both of you close.
Please?” I’ve turned my head to plead with Rhys.
He’s the one who refuses to bend, who won’t accommodate anyone around him unless it’s convenient.
Those blue eyes watch me intensely, the skeletal forms inked on his chest, arms and neck seeming to reach for me.
Tears swim in my vision, the vulnerability I tried so hard to trap inside a little box in my mind rising to the surface.
Reaching up, Rhys strokes my bottom lip with his thumb as it wobbles. His gaze flicks to Clay over my shoulder and back again, the cogs in his brain visually turning.
“If that’s what you want.” His breath fans my face and the first real smile of the morning stretches across my face. It doesn’t quite meet my eyes, but it’s a start.
Placing a kiss on my forehead, Rhys turns me back around, his body curving along the length of my back.
Clay’s onyx eyes are fixed on me, uncertainty etched into his features.
I wait a moment, pressing my lips together.
If he leaves now, I won’t stop him, although I’ll understand.
As long as that’s his choice. As long as he knew he was welcome.
Stalling long enough for my heart to start thrashing, Clay’s limbs fall limp.
“Fuck it,” he breathes harshly. I watch him undress slowly, as if hoping he’ll come to his senses with each piece of clothing that is removed.
I know he won’t. There’s no such thing as sense and logic between the three of us anymore.
Slipping beneath the cover, Clay’s front presses against my own, any hint of tentativeness vanishing as the thickness of his thigh settles between my legs.
This is the Clay I ache to see, the one who throws caution to the wind and grips my hips to pull me against his groin.
My gasp is swallowed, his tongue combating mine with a desperation I know all too well.
Usually, Clay’s touches and kisses are unhurried and gentle, but this is something else.
It’s pure and raw, the depths of his emotion being poured into me by the hand gripping my face.
The other squeezing my hip does not belong to him.
I shuffle to be closer, our chests crushing against one another’s, and inadvertently wriggle my ass against Rhys’ dick.
“Stop that right now,” Rhys grunts almost painfully. I fall still but Clay doesn’t, his mouth consuming mine. Skilled hands with long, slender fingers glide over my waist and spread over my stomach. Rhys holds me there, simply waiting for Clay to settle.
Sex is out of the question, no matter how much my brain screams for it. My body isn’t ready. I’m not in the right head space, and when both Rhys and Clay take me, I want to be completely lucid. Yes, it’s a when, not an if anymore. That’s for damn sure.