Chapter 18 Violet
VIOLET
The days pass quickly with the three Sullivan brothers living in my house, and the house feels like it’s getting smaller and smaller every day.
Between memories of that night with Lennox, my encounter with Sawyer at the bakery, and the way Rhett looks at me, I feel like I’m going out of my mind.
They’re all so attractive, and so fucking present that’s it’s impossible to get away from it. I keep getting these little tastes of them when they touch me or kiss me in public, but it’s never enough to quench the desire burning inside me.
I come home and they’re there, draped over the couch or in the kitchen. Rhett builds fires and chops more wood, and I have to turn away from the window when he strips his shirt off one afternoon when the weather turns unseasonably warm.
I have a dream about Sawyer one night, about what might have happened if he hadn’t left the bakery that day, and I wake up and have to touch myself, burying my fingers deep inside me, wishing it was something else.
To put it plainly, I’m going insane.
Traffic at the bakery has picked up with the holiday season getting closer, but I still go straight to the kitchen when I get home, needing to do something with my hands to destress.
The only thing that really works is more baking.
Something about trying new recipes, low stakes and just for fun, always helps when I have a lot on my mind. It’s just always been that way for me.
Luckily, the objects of my stress, my “boyfriends” are all out this afternoon, doing their own things. They probably needed some space from each other, or to be somewhere that’s less cramped than this house.
Either way, I have the place to myself, but there are still small hints of their presence all throughout the house and even in the kitchen.
Lennox has a mug he favors for coffee in the morning, and I’ve noticed it’s one of the lighter ones, so it’s probably easier on his injured hand. It’s on the side of the sink, with remnants of his coffee in it.
One of Sawyer’s leather jackets is draped over a dining room chair, and my eyes keep straying to it while I gather the ingredients I want.
The ever present pile of firewood in the living room is all Rhett, and he takes it upon himself to refill it and light fires without being asked, making the house cozier than it’s been all season.
It’s impossible to get them out of my head like this, so I give in to it as I start mixing things together, sifting dry ingredients into a large mixing bowl.
It’s crazy to fantasize about them. Even with my history with Lennox and the things Sawyer said in the bakery that day, this is all a lie. When the wedding is over, they’re going to go back to their lives and I’ll still be here.
Whatever they feel for me, whatever want might be there, it’s not enough to change that.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Sawyer bending me over the work top at the bakery, or Lennox delving between my legs with his eager mouth, or Rhett coming in from splitting wood, smelling like pine and snow, pressing his warm body against mine.
I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about all three of them touching me at once, hands roaming over my body, fingers in my mouth, in my hair, in my pussy. My body burns with arousal though, and I have to swallow hard and refocus my attention on what I’m doing.
It goes on like that for a while, me rolling out pastries and scooping cookie dough, rotating things in and out of the oven and using the dining table as counter space. Underneath it all is that undercurrent of desire and the thought of the three men who are dominating my mind these days.
Nothing I bake comes out quite right, and that’s definitely my fault for being so distracted.
Some things are undermixed or overworked, and the last tray comes out more than a little burnt around the edges.
That’s my signal that this isn’t helping.
I’m just making a mess and not paying attention to my timers at this point.
I set the tray down on the counter with more force than necessary and mutter a curse under my breath.
Baking usually helps. It usually focuses me when nothing else can. But this isn’t a problem I’ve really had before. There have never been three men in all their sexiness living in my house, taking up space in my life and driving me crazy with wanting them.
It’s going to take more than this, and I’m starting to realize that I’m not going to be able to get rid of these feelings by willing them away.
So that leaves the question of what the hell is going to help?
Because ignoring it isn’t an option, and it’s wreaking havoc on my baking right now, so something has to give.
I lean on the counter, biting my lip as my thoughts go back to the other morning when I indulged in touching myself to thoughts of Lennox.
Maybe sometimes the answer isn’t trying to outrun the feelings. Maybe the thing that has to give is me, in this case.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, turning the oven off for good. I throw everything cold back in the fridge and march to my bedroom. I have the house to myself, so why shouldn’t I take the edge off a little?
I grab a dildo from my drawer, selecting a nice thick one with a suction cup on the base. I need a shower anyway, so two birds, one stone and all that.
I shuck off my clothes in the bathroom, closing the door before starting up the shower. Once the water is hot, I put the dildo on the wall, laughing a little at the way the sparkly pink silicone bobs there in the humid air.
I lather myself up, washing my hair and my body quickly. The feeling of my hands gliding over me, slick from my body wash, just makes the heat between my legs grow even hotter.
The spray feels good as it beats down on me, washing me clean, leaving me naked, wet, and turned on.
My nipples are pebbled, and I trace them with my fingers, gasping at the zing of sensation that the touch sends down to my pussy.
It clenches around nothing, so I let my hand wander along with my thoughts.
I think about Lennox, closing my eyes and giving in to it.
I think about the way he touched me and I mimic the touch, setting my stance wider so I can spread my legs more and have more room to work with.
I can imagine he’s here right now, his body tight behind mine, one arm holding me to the firm planes of his chest while his hand delves between my legs, seeking out my clit with precision.
He already knows my body to some extent, and I bet there would be confidence there as he navigated it again, relearning all my curves and the way I like to be touched.
Sawyer flits into my mind next. My head is filled with the memory of the way his breath brushed my lips when he spoke to me at the bakery.
It’s not hard to carry that thought further, to what it would have been like if he’d kissed me with all that pent up desire.
Earlier I entertained the idea of him bending me over the worktop at the bakery, and I sink into that fantasy for a while, imagining him putting a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet while he made me feel so good.
A low, desperate moan spills out of my mouth, echoing in the shower around me
I press the heel of my hand against my clit, giving myself something to grind against while my fingers tease at my entrance. I’m already soaked, the slick, slippery feeling of my arousal just amplifying everything.
My hips buck forward as the thoughts in my head shift to Rhett. He’s touched me the least, but I remember the way he looked at me when he admitted me sitting in his lap got him hard.
I think about him chopping wood, muscles rippling in the sun.
He makes it look so effortless. The swing of the axe keeping time with the pulse of my body.
His hands are strong and probably rough from working outside, and I imagine callouses sliding over my skin, those big hands cupping my breasts, my hips, my ass.
My clit pulses, spikes of pleasure and desire shooting through me. My inner walls clench again, wanting something inside. I swallow hard and line myself up with the dildo on the shower wall.
I have to bend over a little, and when I feel the thick, blunt head of it probing at me, my stomach swoops with need. It’s so close to what I want right now, so close to how I remember Lennox’s cock being, and I spread my legs wider, working my hips back so it can start sliding into me.
The first press makes my breath catch, all thoughts flying out of my head as everything winnows down to just this. Just the stretch of my body as I push back more, seating the dildo inside me until I’m stuffed full.
I’m out of breath, panting and groaning. My body clenches around the heavy silicone, and that feels fucking amazing. It’s not quite close to the real thing, smooth where most cocks have veins and variations in the shaft, but when I start moving, it still feels fucking good.
I work my hips, fucking myself on the dildo without caring how it looks or what it sounds like. There’s a wet, slapping noise that echoes over the shower, and I moan, reaching up to play with my nipples.
Heat surges, every pinch and pull on the sensitive buds just taking me higher and higher.
I think about other hands on me, working me up, finding out the places to touch me that will get me even closer to that white hot pleasure I crave. I think about careful hands, rough hands, restless hands, pinching my nipple harder than I anticipated and reveling in the pulse of want that follows.
Lennox was a little rough with me that night, even while being so gentle and good. And I bet his brothers would follow that example, making sure I felt every bit of what they were doing to me.
I play with my clit with one hand, thumbing at it while I fuck the dildo deeper into me.
It’s so easy to lose track of time and what’s happening outside this room.
Here, there’s just pleasure in the humid wetness of the shower.
Just my moans echoing off the tiles, the desperate buck of my hips as I try to take the toy even deeper over and over again.
It feels so fucking good. My head is spinning and sensation dances through me until even the trickle of water down my thighs and over my chest is enough to have me wanting more.
And still with all that, it’s not quite enough.
It’s maddeningly close to scratching that itch fully, but it comes just short of it, leaving me even more desperate for it.
“Fuck,” I groan. “Come on, please. I’m so close, come on.” I start to move faster, harder, needing more fullness, more intensity. My ass hits the shower wall with a wet slap, and something promising rocks through me.
I chase that feeling, doing it again and again. The dildo hits a spot deep inside me, and I nearly scream out loud—definitely louder than I meant to.
All of a sudden, the bathroom door bursts open. My eyes fly open in shock, and I look up to see Rhett standing there in the door way. He has full view of what I’m doing, bent over and stuffed full, breasts hanging and swaying with my panting.
Our gazes lock, and my heart stutters in my chest.