Chapter 19
Teague
I get the idea at two in the morning and I'm thorough about executing it by four.
Every piece of clothing Ash Dunne has worn since he arrived at this ranch is locked in the bed of my truck, including the shirt Ledger put on him two nights ago, which I had to peel off his sleeping body while he was curled against my father's chest.
Ash mumbled and pressed closer to Dad and neither of them woke up. I added the shirt to the bag and locked the tailgate, made coffee and sat at the kitchen table to wait.
Ledger appears first, pours coffee, reads my face, and sits down.
"What did you do?" he asks.
"Took every piece of clothing Ash has in this house."
He looks at me over his mug, taking a sip before his brows furrow a little. "Including my shirt."
"Including your shirt."
"I want it back."
"You'll get it back. Eventually."
Cass comes in half-asleep, pours enough coffee to fill a small pond, and then leans against the counter. He looks at me with bleary suspicion. "Why?" he says.
"Free use day." I take a sip and let that land. "Ash stays bare. Plug stays in. Anytime one of us wants him, wherever he is, whatever he's doing, we take him. No buildup, no asking, no warning."
Cass sets his mug down with the careful control of a man who just received the best news of his life. "I'm in." A wild smile spreads across his lips, all of this banking on the fact that Ash says yes.
"Ledger?"
"I didn't say I was out."
Boone arrives twenty minutes later and I explain it while he pours coffee. He's quiet for a moment, running his calculations. "Colors and safeword stay active," Boone states. "Somebody checks on him between rounds. Water, food, rest."
"Of course." I throw my father a thumbs up.
He just stares at me. "I mean it, Teague."
"I know you do. We'll take care of him."
We hear Ash about thirty minutes later. Bare feet in the hallway reaches my ears, then drawers opening and closing, a closet, the bathroom, more drawers.
The systematic sounds of a man running out of options one empty drawer at a time makes me giddy as I school my face into something that isn't a grin and fail.
Ash appears in the doorway wrapped in the sheet from Boone's bed, clutching it around his chest with both fists, his hair wrecked, his face already going pink.
"Where are my clothes?" he asks.
Cass takes a bite of toast. Ledger doesn't look up.
Boone turns a page of his newspaper. I push my chair back and stand.
"Morning, Sunshine." I cross the kitchen and his eyes track me the whole way, and when I reach him I don't stop.
I step right into his space and hook a finger into the top of the sheet where he's gripping it against his chest. His breath catches.
I can feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton and the rapid flutter of his pulse under my knuckle.
"Teague, where are my—"
"Shh." I tug the sheet gently, not pulling it away, just testing his grip, and lean down until my mouth is close to his ear. "I'm going to tell you how today works and I want you to listen to the whole thing before you decide."
He swallows as my free hand settles on his hip through the sheet and I feel him lean into the contact, that involuntary tilt his body does before his brain has weighed in.
"Today, you stay bare," I say against his ear, low enough that it's just for him even though every man at the table can hear me.
"No clothes. All day. And anytime one of us wants you, Sunshine, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, we take you.
" I press my thumb in a slow circle against his hipbone through the cotton.
"You could be washing dishes. Grooming Mabel.
Sitting on the porch drinking water. Doesn't matter.
If one of us walks up behind you and puts his hands on your hips, you know what's happening. "
His breathing has gone fast and shallow against my collarbone. The flush has spread from his face to his neck.
"The plug stays in between rounds," I continue, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.
"So you're ready for whoever comes next.
You're open and full and available all day.
And at the end of it, I will personally make sure you get the best orgasm of your life.
" I pull back enough to see his face. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are parted, the sheet the only thing between his body and the entire kitchen.
"Colors and safeword work the same as always.
Anytime you want out, you're out and I go get your clothes from my truck. No pressure, no judgment."
"And if I'm green?" His voice is thin and breathless as his gaze moves to my mouth.
"Then you let go of that sheet and let us have you."
The kitchen falls silent for several seconds before the sheet drops and pools at his feet on the tile.
He's bare in the kitchen doorway, every inch of him exposed, the bruises on his hips, the marks on his throat, his hands open at his sides.
His face is crimson but his chin is lifted with defiance, Ash is so beautiful it takes effort not to put my mouth on him right there.
"Green," he says.
"That's my Sunshine." I cup his jaw and kiss him once, because he earned it. Then I look at Cass. "Plug him."
Cass moves fast for a man his size. He's out of his chair, across the kitchen, and spinning Ash around before Ash has finished processing the command.
My brother walks him over to the counter where I left a new bottle of lube and a plug, Cass quickly slicking up his fingers.
Then he works them into Ash with the focused efficiency of a man who's been told he can touch and is done waiting.
"Cass, oh my god, that's so fast—"
"Relax for me, gorgeous." Cass's voice is low and warm despite the pace of his fingers, his free hand rubbing the small of Ash's back in slow circles that contrast with the purposeful stretch. "Open up. There you go."
Ash groans against the counter as his fingers curl against the wood. Cass pulls his fingers out and picks up the plug before working it in slowly, watching Ash's body open for it. He pumps the silicone in once, twice, three times, each push pulling a sound from Ash that rattles the silverware.
"Perfect," Cass says, holding the base and giving it one more slow thrust that makes Ash's hips jerk. "You're all set."
He pats Ash's ass and steps back, Ash pushing himself upright on shaking arms. He turns around, flushed from his chest to his hairline, hard against his stomach, gripping the edge of the counter behind him with both hands.
"This is insane," he says.
"This is Tuesday," I tell him. "Go do something useful, Sunshine. The day is long."
Ash doesn't go outside for the first hour.
He hovers in the house, uncertain, padding from room to room on bare feet with the plug shifting inside him at every step.
Eventually he gravitates to the kitchen sink and starts washing the breakfast dishes because that's Ash's default when he doesn't know what to do with himself, find a task and earn his keep.
He's at the sink with his back to the room, bare from head to foot, suds on his hands, and every few seconds his hips shift and his breath catches as the plug reminds him it's there.
I'm in the doorway watching when Cass comes in from outside, boots muddy, shirt damp with sweat. He sees Ash at the sink and doesn't slow down or announce himself. He just walks up behind him and puts both hands on his hips.
Ash yelps, the plate he's holding clattering into the water. "Cass, what are you—"
"Told you how this works." Cass is already reaching between Ash's legs, finding the base of the plug and pulling it out slowly.
Ash gasps at the loss and braces his hands on the edge of the sink.
I hear Cass's zipper and then the sound of him slicking himself, before his hips press forward and he sinks into Ash in one long stroke that pushes Ash up onto his toes against the counter.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, Cass—"
"Pick up the plate, Ash."
"What?"
"Pick up the plate." Cass pulls back and thrusts in deep, Ash's whole body jolting forward. "You were washing dishes. Keep washing."
"You're not serious."
"Do I sound like I'm joking?" Another thrust that shoves Ash against the counter hard enough to slosh water over the rim. "Pick up the plate and wash it. If you stop washing, I stop fucking you."
Ash picks up the plate. His hands are shaking so badly the plate is vibrating between his fingers and he's trying to scrub it while Cass fucks into him from behind with deep, measured strokes that rock him forward against the sink on every push.
Water splashes onto the counter, onto Ash's stomach.
The sponge keeps slipping from his grip.
The sounds coming out of him are somewhere between moans and helpless laughter because the absurdity has caught up to the arousal.
"I can't, Cass, I can't concentrate when you're—"
"Not my problem, gorgeous." Cass shifts the angle and drives deeper, Ash crying out as the plate slips from his fingers and clatters into the sink.
"You stopped washing." Cass goes still inside him and Ash whines at the loss of movement. "What did I say?"
"That you'd stop if I stopped." Ash pants, gripping the counter, trying to reach the plate in the soapy water while Cass is fully buried in him and motionless. "This is cruel, Cass. This is genuinely cruel."
"Find the plate, Ash."
Ash fishes the plate out of the water with trembling hands and starts scrubbing it again as Cass resumes his rhythm, rewarding him, each thrust deep enough to make the suds jump in the sink.
Ash is making sounds that are going to haunt me in the best way, broken moans that climb in pitch every time Cass changes the angle, his body caught between the cold porcelain of the sink and the heat of the man behind him.
"Cass, I'm going to come, I can't hold it—"
"Then come. But don't drop the plate."