Chapter 49 Trouble
Trouble
Three months later
As soon as I step into the living room, I’m alerted to the fact something untoward is afoot.
Two sexy dude-bros are lounging on the sofa.
They’re stretched out like lions, lazily nuzzling against one another.
Mat’s lips quirk as soon as he sees me. He tries to correct it, but he’s too late.
A single dimple cleaves a deep dent into his cheek.
Will arranges his face into an overly bright smile, mouth slashed open in the perfect shape of a half moon, eyes glinting with menace.
I know them well enough now to know all too well what those looks mean.
There’s no doubt about it. This pretty boy is about to get railed.
I start to react instantly. The first flush of arousal snakes its way into my veins.
I feel a slight tremor, a subtle shudder, as my body starts bracing for impact.
Mat gets to his feet and saunters over to me, walking slowly. Calmly. Nothing but the slight raggedness of his breathing confirming my suspicion I’m about to become prey.
He takes hold of me and spins me around wordlessly, giving me a second or two to appreciate the feeling of turning my back on two horned-up bi guys with nothing but lustful intent in their eyes.
“I like your sweatpants,” he says pleasantly.
As if I’d stoop to sweatpants! “Um. It’s called loungewear, Mat. Look it up.”
“Hmm. Don’t really care what they’re called, Trouble.
Just like them. Like how they cling to this ass…
like how soft they feel…but mainly”—his voice changes from soft and sweet to sex—“I like how easy they make it to do this.” With that, he whips my pants down to my knees in a single, quick movement.
I gasp despite the fact most of me was expecting it. There’s just something about suddenly finding yourself bare-assed in the living room in broad daylight while your partners maul you with their eyes that has a way of bringing one down a peg or two, you know?
Mat has both hands on my hips, holding me firmly in case I get any ideas about trying to turn the tables on him.
Swoon.
He knows me so well.
I hear Will’s footsteps behind me, but I keep my eyes forward so as not to give them the satisfaction of seeing how thoroughly I’ve already started to unravel.
I tense and give an undignified little squawk as something cold and unyielding makes contact with my ass.
“Easy,” says Will as if he’s talking to a wild horse.
Cool, well-lubricated steel probes my hole, nudging it open a little and then sliding out. Again and again, they tease me, inching it in a little deeper each time until my hole chomps down on it and sucks it in.
Will exhales louder than usual, and Mat pulls my pants up again, carefully arranging the waistband so the elastic is flat and not twisted anywhere on my skin. They both move away from me, leaving a slight chill in their wake.
“What now?” I flick my hair and try my best to hide how much they’ve affected me.
“Oh.” Mat smiles nonchalantly. “I think it might be your turn to unload the dishwasher.”
I drop my gaze and see that the dishwasher door has been left open, staged as surely as if it were a prop for a show.
I glower at them. “Unload the dishwasher? Now? Are you serious?”
“But, Trouble,” Will says reasonably, “weren’t you the one who was so caught up in rules and jobs and who does what around the house?”
“Will’s right, Trouble. I do seem to recall that being the case.”
Ugh. Honestly, there’s nothing worse than having two sexy partners who gang up on you.
“Fine,” I say with only the slightest of huffs.
I take the few steps required for me to get to the dishwasher, moving with the grace of a professional dancer. Or I at least try to. I’m not entirely sure I’m successful.
The plug isn’t all that big. That’s not the problem. It’s less girthy than either of my blunt instruments, but damn, it’s heavy. Each step I take drives that point home. As I move, it weighs down on my muscle, tugging gently to remind me it’s there.
I eye the dishwasher. The top drawer has been strategically unloaded.
Only a few plates remain neatly stacked in the bottom drawer.
I’ll have to bend over to reach them. I manage to resist the urge to throw a filthy look back at Will and Mat, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel their eyes boring into the back of me as I lean down cautiously to reach for a plate.
“Hmm,” breathes Will.
The timbre of his voice is so low it seems to ripple through me, reverberating softly, heightening my awareness of the solid steel inside me.
I move gingerly, carefully, overly aware of every action I make until the last plate is safely back where it belongs.
I cast a vicious glare at Mat and Will. If my heat vision was working, they’d be scorched.
Sadly, it seems to be on the blink because they’re wholly unscathed despite my very worst intentions.
If anything, they seem highly focused and very, very pleased with themselves.
They’ve sprawled out on the sofa again. Mat’s leaning heavily against Will, head tilted toward him, as Will rakes his fingers through Mat’s hair, seemingly without any conscious decision to do so. Their eyes don’t leave mine. They don’t even blink.
After a while, Will gets up and saunters over to me, taking long strides that make my dick throb in anticipation.
He circles my wrists in his hands and lifts them over my head, stretching me just enough to make me feel extra aware of every joint in my body.
He’s so calm and assertive when he does it that it leaves me feeling frozen, almost paralyzed, totally unable to refuse him anything.
His next action is hard and fast. He pulls my top off over my head and yanks my pants down to my ankles so fast that my head spins for a second as I try to work out how I came to find myself stark naked in the kitchen, anus gently splayed open by solid metal.
Will doesn’t leave me wondering for long.
That’s not his style. He spins me around and places my hands firmly on the kitchen counter, spreading my fingers evenly, giving me time to warm the cold surface before he moves on.
Then he reaches down and eases the toy out of me, sighing contentedly as I let out a tiny squeal of protest.
No sooner have I adjusted to being free of the toy than Will shows me a quick glint of teeth and a bigger toy. I feel my eyes widen. This one is serious. This is no starter toy. It’s definitely not a beginner butt plug. It’s easily as girthy as either of my guys.
“Ready?” asks Will.
I quickly adjust my posture, widening my stance, bending my knees, and arching my spine.
Will uses steady, continual pressure, letting me rock back and forth until it slides in.
He steps back and murmurs happily as he admires his handy work.
Arousal, heat, and intense longing wind up my legs and down my chest. They meet in the middle and try to clench.
No luck there. This plug is thick and rounded.
It tapers, but even so, it holds me open wide enough to make it impossible to think of anything else.
Mat joins us, standing close and petting my hair, trailing a hand lightly across my shoulders, making a series of appreciative sounds that go straight to my head, rendering me unsteady and increasingly senseless.
“Bedroom,” he says with a giant shithead grin plastered all over his gorgeous face.
“After you,” I reply sweetly.
They both speak at once. “Not a chance.”
I turn on my heel with a flourish and sail to the bedroom with as much dignity as a man with a large silicone toy wedged up his ass can possibly muster.
Every step I take serves as a stark reminder of the situation I’m in.
I feel their eyes on me again. They feel hot, almost sticky, as they trickle down my body.
I feel them glide down my back, pausing as they roam my cheeks slowly and then burn a trail down my crack as they come to rest on their target.
For once, I find myself exceedingly grateful that we live in an apartment, not my dream house—a derelict mansion with secret passageways on the windswept moors of olden-day England—because even this short walk is a lot more challenging than I consider ideal.
“What now?” I ask, trying my best to ignore the unpleasantly elevated notes I hit with each word.
“Don’t you worry about that, Baby,” croons Will. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ve got you.”
His words are comforting. Soothing. Reassuring in the extreme. His intentions are anything but.
They move me across the room, hands on my hips, my neck, my face.
It’s more of a waltz than a manhandling, but still, I feel exceptionally handled by the time we come to a stop.
I feel the familiar pressure of the pole at my back.
Cold. Steel. Will raises my wrists above my head, pinning them firmly, while Mat searches the drawers of our bedside tables for something.
He rifles through the drawers on the right side of the bed and then the drawers on the left.
“Where the hell are the cuffs?”
“Bottom drawer,” says Will.
“They’re not here.”
“They are.”
“They aren’t!”
“Shit. Maybe we put them somewhere else after the renovation. Try the closet, near where I keep my ties.”
Mat searches wildly, swearing under his breath and tossing a travel pillow, a sleep mask, a tape measure, and several pairs of mismatched gloves onto the floor in his frenzy. “Think this might be the best we can do.” He lifts a thick roll of tape up to show Will.
Ah, bless.
My bi guys are a little chaotic, after all.
Will growls in approval. His eyes are coffee black, hoods heavy and lidded. He looks dangerous as fuck right now, and holy hell, I’m here for it.