16 Everleigh White Horse—Chris Stapleton
Everleigh
White Horse—Chris Stapleton
“How did you manage to burn spaghetti sauce?”
Jabbing the wooden spoon at Leo’s smirk, I briefly contemplate whacking him around the head with it. He’s enjoying my terrible cooking skills far too much. I can’t help it if I’m no master chef in the kitchen.
“It stuck to the bottom of the saucepan,” I defend.
“Right. It’s the pan’s fault.”
“It is!”
“And here I was thinking stirring the sauce was a safe job to give you.”
Replacing the spoon with my half-finished beer, I hop up on the counter to watch Leo buttering fresh ciabatta for homemade garlic bread. Maverick dropped it off a few hours ago along with a birthday cheesecake.
“It’s Sterling’s birthday, does he even want to eat at home?”
“You’ve met my brother, right?” Leo chuckles.
“Once or twice.”
“Does he strike you as the kind of person to enjoy a big, lavish birthday dinner surrounded by strangers in a restaurant?”
“Okay, fine. Point taken.”
“Last year we weren’t allowed to celebrate at all so this is a massive win.” He covers the bread, ready to be cooked later. “He agreed on the one condition that we don’t make a big fuss.”
“But you ordered a cake?” I arch an eyebrow.
“As far as Sterling is concerned, Maverick made that all on his own.” He winks at me. “And I told him not to.”
Smiling, I take another sip of beer. Like Sterling is going to believe that. I’ll be surprised if he even comes home from work—he was up and out at the crack of dawn to avoid any early celebrations for his thirty-fourth birthday.
“Want to try your hand at Caesar salad? Doubt you’ll be able to burn that.”
“Hilarious,” I quip. “You got a chopping board?”
“Sure, I think it’s here. Fletch keeps moving things.”
Leo roots in a drawer, still complaining under his breath. From what I’ve observed while living here for the past few weeks, Fletcher’s a stickler for keeping the house militarily precise. Both Sterling and Leo seem determined to trash it with their sloppiness.
“Grab the lettuce from the fridge, will you?” he calls up to me.
“Do you have dressing and parmesan?”
“Should be in there too.”
“Gotcha.”
We work comfortably in tandem, pulling together a basic meal. A sense of belonging takes root inside me as I slice lettuce and rinse it under the tap, listening to Leo hum along to the music playing from his wireless speaker.
It feels normal. Natural, even.
Like I could belong here.
I can’t remember a time I ever felt so at ease. Let alone in someone else’s clothes, hair messy and feet bare, not an ounce of makeup in sight. There are no rules here. No expectations. Nothing but freedom and belonging.
“Ouch.” The knife slips, nipping my cuticle.
“Fucking hell, Eden. You’re lethal in the kitchen.”
“It’s just a small cut.”
“Let me take a look.” Leo sighs.
When he steps closer, I’m enveloped in the scent of citrus sunshine and fresh, salt-whipped wind rolling down a steep mountain face. Warmth emanates where his arms wrap around me from behind to lift my hand for inspection.
“Like I said. Nothing.”
“You’re bleeding,” he points out.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Well, it is to me.”
Placing a hand on my hip, Leo uses it to turn me around, his pelvis pressing me into the kitchen cabinets. I watch in fascination as he moves my hand to his mouth, then sucks my bleeding finger between his lips.
The feel of his tongue tracing over my skin causes a shiver to lazily roll down my spine. He holds eye contact, swirling his tongue over the digit for far longer than a tiny cut warrants, then surrenders it.
“All better,” he purrs.
“Ahem. Thank you.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
Trapped between solid wood and his body aligning with mine, I have no desire to escape Leo’s entrapment. The live replay of him feasting between my thighs still dominates my dreams, minute by agonising minute.
The things he did to my body . . . hell, I didn’t even know it was possible to come apart so spectacularly. It’s not something I’ve experienced before, with or without a partner.
Taking the time to kiss each of my fingertips, Leo’s tongue flicks out when it reaches my wrist, leaving a warm trail over my pulse point. I hold my breath, watching him travel up the length of my arm until his mouth crashes on mine.
Stars erupt over my vision, bursting in time to the beat of his lips and tongue. My hips surge forwards to press our bodies together. Leo responds in kind, rubbing his thickening length into me.
“The . . . food,” I gasp between kisses.
“I’d rather have you for dinner,” he grunts.
“How long until Sterling will be back?”
“I don’t know or care.”
“Leo . . . he . . . We can’t do this here.”
“Why not?”
“What if someone sees us?”
He grinds into the heat gathering at my centre. “I meant what I said. I want to give you everything you’ve never had. If you want them, too, then I’m not going to hold you back.”
“What are you talking about?” I moan.
“You know I walked in on Fletcher tongue fucking you not so long ago.”
“Heat of the moment.”
“I doubt he’d agree.”
His cock nudges my belly, a hard promise that begs to be fulfilled. My thighs compress, seeking relief only he can provide, but I know there will be no coming back from crossing that line.
“When Sterling pulls his head out of his ass, he’ll admit he’s head over heels for you too,” Leo says matter-of-factly. “He sure looked ready to kill me and take my place when he found us in bed.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Now who’s fooling themself?” he chortles.
“But Sterling . . . He told me that he wants you to be happy.”
“Am I not allowed to want the same thing for him?”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Oh, Eden. It has everything to do with you.”
As he tilts my head to attack my throat with tiny, biting pecks, I’m lost to the riot of sensation. None of what he’s proposing makes sense. But neither does the way all three men make me feel in completely different ways.
“It would never work.”
“Says who?” Leo licks behind my earlobe.
“Normal functioning society.”
“Ugh. Overrated.”
“Leo! I’m serious.”
“I am too. I fucking want you.”
Grabbing my ass, he smoothly plucks me off my feet. I’m plonked on the edge of the kitchen surface, legging-clad thighs splayed to let him step between them and recapture my lips.
His kiss is frenetic, coaxing. A mind-numbing assault that obliterates all the logical reasons why what he’s proposing would never work. Instead, foolish hope finds a home in my centre. After all, Sterling said it himself.
This house belongs to him.
And everyone in it.
Mouth covering where my nipple strains against the tank top that was in the pile Cassidy gifted to me, Leo leaves a wet patch where he nibbles the bud. My back arches of its own accord.
“Leo,” I whine, half pain and half pleasure.
“Yes? What’s this perfect body crying out for?”
He bites my nipple again through saturated fabric, making my nerves sing.
“Agh . . . more. Relief. I need . . . something . . .”
“Thought you were shy?” he combats.
At this rate, I’d be inclined to let him bend me over the kitchen table and show me exactly how good it can get. What once felt impossible—letting a man get even remotely close, let alone physical—has become irresistible.
Just for a moment, a brief, impossible second, I want to know what belonging to them would be like. To be owned and shared by men who vow to protect me with their lives. Who love and cherish me even when I cannot fathom why.
“What if I told you that I’ve been dreaming about tossing you across my bed, stripping that beautifully wet cunt bare, and filling it with my cock?” Leo murmurs into my clavicle.
Squirming on the counter-top, the need to hop down and let him do exactly as he pleases is overwhelming.
“I’d spread your legs wide and drive into you over and over until all these silly doubts are long gone.”
His tongue laves over the base of my throat, leaving a tattoo.
“You can’t deny what’s between us with my cum running down your thighs for the whole world to see.”
“Oh, God,” I curse gutturally. “Leo . . . Stop.”
“Stop?”
“Stop teasing me!”
“This isn’t a tease,” he corrects. “It’s a promise.”
At the sound of the front door opening, Leo braces a hand on either side of my waist, creating a prison. I recognise Sterling’s heavy steps, and it has the effect of an ice bucket being tipped atop my head.
Bracing for his reaction, he stomps into the kitchen, work bag in tow. Pulling up short, Sterling blinks several times at the sight of us.
“Hey,” Leo greets triumphantly. “Welcome home.”
Sterling scans our tangled limbs, his hard stare lingering on the wet patch over my nipple. Heat gathers in my cheeks at the darkness unfurling in his stare.
“Are you making dinner or stirring up trouble?” he deadpans.
“Multitasking,” Leo quips.
“Efficient as always.”
“I know, I have many talents. Good day?”
“Not as good as yours, clearly.”
Meeting my gaze, Sterling’s forehead creases, lined with obvious conflict. I don’t know if he’s debating turning around to walk out or playing along with Leo’s mind game.
“Happy birthday.” I try for normality.
“Thanks, Eden. Is my brother causing havoc?”
“No more than usual. I might’ve burned your birthday dinner though.”
“The dinner I didn’t want to have?”
“Um, that’s the one.”
“Too bad.”
Dumping his work bag, Sterling strips off the grass-stained jacket he wears on jobs. He’s rumpled today, an odd streak of mud on his skin, caramel hair sticking up in all directions when he removes his baseball cap.
My core tightens, flooding with need.
God, he is ruggedly gorgeous.
Leo steps out from my legs to face his adoptive brother. A silent conversation seems to ripple between them, feeding tension into the electrified air that makes me bristle.
“We were just talking about you.” Leo folds his tattooed arms. “And us.”
“Us?” Sterling hums.
“The four of us.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“I think you do, brother mine. Perhaps you’d like to own up to a couple of things. No more beating around the bush.”
“Yeah, I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sterling denies.