Chapter 23 - Carissa
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Carissa
I’d been wandering the halls for what felt like hours, restless and keyed up, padding barefoot through the house like some lost soul. The place was quiet, Henry was asleep. But my mind wasn’t on him. I was looking for Dawson.
Florida was the last straw.
Since we’d slept together, he’d been building walls I couldn’t climb. Polite distance. The careful avoidance in his eyes, the way he held back whenever we were alone together. Weeks of it stacked in my chest. Stones I was done carrying.
I needed to know if I’d misread it all. I needed him to stop hiding.
The sound of impact caught me first; sharp, solid, repeating.
Something alive in the rhythm of balls colliding on felt.
I slowed, following the sound to the game room.
My pulse picked up. I hesitated just long enough to notice the pool table illuminated under the retro overhead light.
Shadows from the cues stretched across the floor, pooling in corners.
The first ball rolled, hit another with a kiss that ended with one of those clacks I’d heard out in the hall. I stepped inside, carefully taking in Dawson’s stance. Cue in hand, his shoulders squared, eyes trained on the table as if the balls themselves were speaking to him. He didn’t notice me.
I circled the edge of the room, tracing a path that would put me at his side without startling him, heart hammering in sync with the echoing shots.
My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides, my thoughts a mix of frustration, longing, and impatience.
I watched him draw back for another shot, the line of his arm steady, the shift of his weight precise.
Every detail reminded me how much he valued being in control.
“Dawson.”
He didn’t so much as flinch, just followed through with another shot, perfectly lined up to sink one. The ball disappeared into the table with a hollow thunk, and Dawson moved to the new position where the cue ball came to rest.
I took a few steps in the same direction. “I wanted to talk. About us. About whether… there even is an us.”
Thwack. The cue ball sailed in a straight line, hit the rubber edge, and angled back to kiss a ball he’d set up at the center pocket.
The shot was too hard. It sent the ball dipping into the pocket, and popping right back out again.
He cursed under his breath, but moved to set up the next without looking at me.
“So we’re just going to ignore each other now?”
He took the shot, but this time I leaned over and snatched up the cue ball before it made contact with anything. His head snapped up, eyes locking with mine.
“Put it back.”
And for every ounce of his calm control, my frustration grew, chest heaving the way my breathing climbed.
“No.” I held it up, letting him see I wasn’t about to back down.
He shifted around the table, approaching me with measured steps, cue clutched in one hand, gaze unwavering. “Please, put the ball back.”
“No.” My voice didn’t waver.
He lunged for the ball, but my reflexes were sharp. I lifted it just out of reach, letting his fingers close on empty space.
“Carissa, what are you doing?”
“Getting a goddamn straight answer from you.”
His eyes narrowed, and I could see the thread of tension unraveling, the careful restraint he carried for weeks teetering on the edge. “You want a straight answer?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you want?”
A short laugh escaped me, raw and unrestrained. “Are you trying to intimidate me? Because I just told you that’s exactly what I want. Twice. You want your ball back? Then tell m—”
“Screw the ball.”
He closed the gap between us, lips crushing mine with a weight that stole the air from the room. I staggered back instinctively, toes pressing into the floor to keep my balance as the heat of him pushed into me.
I dropped the ball. Both hands went to his chest, gripping fabric, feeling the muscle under my fingers flex as he pulled me closer.
Every press of his body, every sweep of tongue demanded entry, driving a shock of awareness through me.
I arched into him, reflexively pushing my breasts into him, the pressure between us both urgent and undeniable.
I bit his bottom lip, tugging lightly, and the low, throaty sound he released vibrated through me, through my hands fisting his shirt.
He wanted me. There was no hiding it anymore.
His guttural moan carried that truth straight into my heart.
Weeks of distance evaporated under the heat of him claiming me, finally answering the questions I struggled to put into words.
“Told you.” Boone’s voice cut through the ache between my legs, and I broke the kiss.
We both looked in the direction of the doorway, Dawson’s chest pressing lightly against mine, my ass pressing into the edge of the pool table where he had me perched. Boone and Gage stood there, shadows thrown long by the overhead light, watching.
Boone’s grin widened. “Told you this is what they’re up to.”
Dawson pulled back, and I tried to find solid ground through the trembling in my legs. But he’d barely shifted off me when Boone was by our side, his hand on each of our shoulders.
“Please, don’t stop on our account,” Boone said, and my mouth went dry.
“Boone, don’t,” Dawson warned.
But his brother wasn’t looking at him. His attention was entirely on me, the heat in his eyes pinning me harder than Dawson just had.
He moved closer, fingers curling around mine, guiding my hand toward the bulge in Dawson’s pants. My body reacted before my mind did, and I bit back a moan as desire surged through me with a jolt.
“Unless you want to stop, that is?” Boone’s tone carried a challenge.
I looked at Dawson, who hadn’t protested since I laid my hand on him. He stood there, hard and ready, letting me feel him fully. My gaze flicked to Gage in the doorway, frozen. And then back to Boone, his dark eyes on fire. Waiting.
This was insane. I wanted all of them, true.
But the thought of having them here, now, this way…
it sent a thrill through me that I couldn’t have imagined.
Every worry about making a choice, every agonizing debate I’d tortured myself with over what was possible, dissolved into the background with all my fears of doing the wrong thing.
I glanced at Dawson again, my hand moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm, up and down over the ridge of his cock, feeling the tremor of his restraint break into shaky moans. His jaw tightened, but he gave himself to the sensation, to me, and it sparked a flame deeper inside me.
Boone’s voice broke the spell, low and teasing, pushing further. “Is that a yes?”
Gage started forward, finally stepping into the room, and I could feel the heat of anticipation radiating from him. Instantly wet, my pussy throbbing.
I met Boone’s gaze. “Take off your clothes.” Then, looking at Dawson and Gage, my chest rising and falling with the pulse of my newfound confidence, I added, “All of you.”
They fumbled with urgency, tossing their clothes aside.
I did the same, my shirt going first, slipping over my head and somewhere into the shadows of the game room.
Then shorts, discarded in one motion, until only my underwear remained.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, ready to shed the last layer, but a strong grip caught my wrists.
“No,” Gage said. “Leave them on.”
The same commanding tone he wielded in the gym, the one that had made me follow orders without a second thought. The shock of it went straight to my core, coiling tight around my pulsing clit. I obeyed instantly, letting my fingers fall away, heart hammering.
The stage was set, the hunger mutual.
We were really doing this.
“Are we really doing this?” I asked, breathless, my gaze sweeping their faces.
Boone took hold of his hard cock, stroking firmly. “We’re already doing this.”
The clamor of balls smacking made me glance over my shoulder, and I saw Gage dragging his arm over the table to brush the balls aside.
“Come here.”
God, I loved it when he told me what to do.
I jumped onto the pool table, my bare ass scraping along the felt.
Gage pushed me down until I was all the way back, propped on my elbows.
One hand in my hair gave a tug, and he positioned my mouth to receive his leaking cock.
My tongue came out to taste him, swirling his tip before kissing my way along his veiny shaft.
Boone came to stand in front of me at the other end of the table, his hands pushing my knees up and open. “Look at her. Just fucking look.”
A groan of approval fluttered out of Dawson, and he stepped forward to get a closer look.
It was him who moved first, sliding his fingers between my dripping folds to play with my clit.
I moaned, long and deep, and Gage’s grip on my hair softened to a tender threading as he thrust his dick into my mouth.
He was holding back, allowing me to swallow him in without forcing it.
I took his dick like the good girl he wanted me to be, all the way, until his tip hit the back of my throat.
Tears sprung into my eyes, and my body shuddered as Dawson sank two fingers into my pussy at the same time.
It was easy, given how soaked I was, and he pumped into me over and over, matching the pace Gage set with his thrusts.
One hand cradling the back of my head, the other coming to wrap his strong fingers around my throat, pinning me to the pool table.
Somewhere close by, I heard the distinct sound of wet flesh as Boone furiously stroked himself.
Then his touch, on my hand again. This time he was guiding me to take over. I couldn’t see it, but definitely felt his need when I took hold of his throbbing cock.
“Give it a kiss,” Gage rasped, and removed his dick from my mouth with a wince. He turned my head to face Boone, and with a determined nudge, pushed me toward his teammate’s flushed hard-on.