Chapter Twenty-One
Sean
A whimper.
That’s what woke me. A small, broken sound that sparked me awake.
I kept my eyes closed, because years of waking up in strange beds had taught me to figure out where I was before I moved. Only this time, there was no guessing. I knew exactly where I was.
In bed with a beautiful woman I liked, and a brooding man I was already half in love with.
The shots I’d downed before knocking on the hotel door hadn’t dulled the memory of what we’d done. And I was afraid nothing ever would.
The unmistakable wet rhythm of Dylan’s fingers working between Chantel’s legs filled the room. I rolled my head toward them and cracked one eye open to watch.
Even in the low light, they were breathtaking. The outline of his gorgeous body curled around her, his mouth at her neck, her body strung tight in his grasp.
And there I was, right beside them, pretending to be asleep like a fucking pervert.
She was close. He knew it. And he wasn’t letting up.
I raised up on one elbow to get the full view. “Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Dylan’s mouth quirked. The bastard knew I’d been watching, and fucking liked it.
He really did like causing me pain.
He bit down on the back of her neck, and she came with a muffled sob, her release shooting out around his fingers, drenching her thighs and the sheets beneath her.
I smoothed my hand down Dylan’s arm, to where his fingers were still buried inside her. “I can’t believe the two of you started without me again.”
“Quit complaining.” He ran his mouth over her neck and shoulder.
“Are you kidding?” I laughed. “I’ll happily play dead over here if I get to watch you make her squirt again.”
His gaze shot to mine. Then he was shifting toward me, pulling his fingers away from her and bringing them to my mouth.
I opened without hesitation. The taste of her flooded my tongue and I closed my eyes, hoping like hell he couldn’t read how desperate I was for his attention.
“Good boy.”
Two words. And my chest cracked wide open.
His hand closed around my throat, holding me in place as he kissed me hard and dirty. I gripped his arm and held on.
When he pulled back, I almost cried out in protest.
Instead, I collapsed, breathing hard and watching as he turned and kissed Chantel. Slow and fucking tender. Like she was someone he treasured.
And there it was. The awful twist I’d been ignoring all night.
He’d already fallen for her. She was falling for him. And I was the third wheel they’d been good enough to bring along for the ride.
That fucking hurt. More than all the other hurts before it.
Not that I’d ever admit it.
He turned back toward me. “On your knees. Now.”
And despite the pain, I did exactly as I was told. “Yes, sir.”
On all fours, I lowered my head, submitting myself to whatever he was willing to give.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over my ass. “So fucking pretty when you’re not running your mouth.”
A broken sound came out of me that I couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried. Pretty. Nobody had ever called me that. Loud, sure. Reckless, definitely. Too damn much, always.
I dropped my forehead to the mattress.
“Chantel wants to watch me fuck you.”
Those words should’ve been the ones to undo me. Except, I was already falling apart from just a few words of praise.
I felt him move. Heard the rip of a foil packet, his tight breath as he rolled the condom on.
Then his palms were on my ass, spreading me open. “You ready for this?”
“I’ve been ready since I crawled into that fucking tent.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. It was a low, surprised sound that lit me up just like the first time I’d heard it.
A smile pulled at my mouth, my chest shaking. Until something wet dripped down the crack of my ass.
I groaned into the mattress, fucking done-for.
His invasion was slow and delicious. First, a finger. Then, a second. He worked me open with the same patient, methodical control he held over everything.
“Dylan, please—” My thighs were already shaking, and my cock was leaking onto the sheets. “Please.”
“Please what?” he growled, his voice so low it was almost cruel.
“Please fuck me,” I rasped. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
He groaned, his fingers sliding free. And then his cock was there, pushing in—slow, relentless, perfect.
The burn of him stretching me open made my eyes water and my whole body lock up around him. He gave me a second to adjust. Just one. Then his hands were framing my ass and he started to move.
“Fuck—”
“That’s it.” He punched his hips forward, rocking into me. “Take it. Take all of it.”
I did. I took every fucking inch.
I could feel Chantel beside us, her breath growing ragged as she watched. She made a small needy sound, and Dylan’s rhythm faltered before catching himself and slamming back into me harder.
He wanted her. Even buried inside me, he wanted her.
Fuck, I should’ve hated that.
But I didn’t. Because the truth—the awful, humiliating truth—was that I wanted whatever piece of him I could get.
“Look at her.” His hand gripped my shoulder. “Look at what you’re giving her.”
I turned my head, forcing my gaze to Chantel.
She was on her side facing us, one hand between her legs, her dark eyes glittering in the dim light. She was watching me get fucked like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Mon dieu,” she whispered. “You two look incredible.”
And that was it. I was gone.
Dylan slammed into me again and my orgasm tore through me without warning. I spilled, untouched, all over the sheets, my body convulsing around him.
“Fuck, Sean.” His hips stuttered and he came inside me with a shout that wasn’t half as restrained as Chantel’s had been, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise.
For a second, the world was just sensation. His weight as he collapsed against my back. Her hand finding mine on the mattress. The rough drag of his breath on my skin.
Then he pulled out, slow and careful, and the loss of him hit me harder than I expected.
I rolled, falling onto my back. Chantel was already curling against me, her fingers stroking through my hair, her mouth pressing soft kisses to my cheek.
Dylan dealt with the condom and then dropped down on my other side, his arm wrapping around both of us.
I lay there, still catching my breath, letting the quiet settle.
He’d said my name when he came. Not hers. Not enchanté. Not even good boy, or any of the dirty things he could’ve called me. Just Sean. Like for one second I’d been the only thing in his head.
Training camp was in three weeks. Montreal was waiting. I had a new team to learn, a coach to impress, and what was probably my last real shot at making my career mean something before my body decided it had given enough.
None of that felt as immediate as the man breathing steadily on my left and the woman who’d fallen asleep on my right.
So, I guess that’s that.
I wasn’t walking away from this clean. I’d known it since that parking lot on New Year’s Eve. I’d just been too busy arguing with myself about it to realize it was too fucking late.
I turned my head and looked at Dylan. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable.
I should’ve said something. Something easy, something that would fill the silence and erase my doubts.
Instead, I reached over and put my hand on his chest, right over his heart. I felt it beating under my palm and said nothing at all.
He closed his eyes and covered my hand with his. And that was enough. It had to be.
For now, it was everything.