Page 64 of My Brother's Teammates

God help me, but I want her to want us together. On paper, I’m a jealous hothead who’s been pining for this girl since I saw her in that damn bikini back in high school. This shouldn’t work.

But Mateo and Roman? These guys are my brothers, and they want her as badly as I do. Sharing her with them feels right. Together, I know we can take care of her—physically, emotionally, mentally. I know we can help her live out any and every fantasy she has. And I can guarantee she’s never been with more than one man at a time.

Actually, knowing her dick of an ex, she’s probably never had an orgasm that wasn’t by her own hand.

Charlotte’s eyes dart between us. Her fingers twist around each other. Her bottom lip’s still trapped between her teeth.

Roman sits rigid beside me, intensity rolling off him in waves. The amount of control he has is staggering, but he’s seconds from erupting. I’m not doing much better. I’m barely hanging on, but I need to hear her say the words.

I need her to tell us what she wants.

“Remember when I told you not to be ashamed of who or what you want?” At her nod, Mateo places a finger under her chin and forces her to meet his eyes. “Do you want to date us all separately? Or do you want us together?”

She sucks in a breath, her cheeks darkening, but she doesn’t look away from him. “I want… I want to be with you.” She pauses again, her eyes moving between us. “Together.”

Fuck.

“Is that okay?”

In my mind, I’m already tossing Charlotte over my shoulder, signaling to the guys and stomping off to the nearest bedroom, completely ready to defile her in the best way possible. But fuck. I guess we need to get a few questions out of the way before I can have my way. Being an adult sucks ass.

“Have you done that before?” Roman asks, pitching forward to look around me.

Charlotte shakes her head, sinking down a little on the couch. “No. I’ve never wanted to, but with you guys, things feel different. Have you?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, covering her hand with mine. “But this is different for us, too. You’re not a random girl in a bar. Let me be clear when I say this is not a one-night thing.” I run my hand across my chest, my stomach flopping. There’s still one problem. “We’re going to have to talk to Harrison.”

“Maybe we don’t tell him or announce publicly that I’m sleeping with all of you. Not only would he murder you guys, but the media would eat me alive. I don’t want to be known as the Slut of the New Orleans Phantoms.”

Mateo chuckles, his grin growing as he rakes a hand along his jaw. “You could only be a slut if you asked us to call you one.” He pauses. “And we will do everything we can to protect you.”

“And if you want to be called a slut, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Roman adds.

I lean toward her, burying my nose in her hair and tracing the shell of her ear with my tongue. “We keep this a secret for now. But no more dates. The only men you see will be us. Do you understand, Charlotte?”

As soon as the word ‘yes’ spills from her lips, I’m on my feet and have her tossed over my shoulder. I’m around the couch when Mateo calls out, “Take her to my room. I have plenty of lube.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Charlotte

Wanting to be fucked in all holes by three gorgeous NHL players, and actually facing the prospect, is not at all the same thing.

I’m a well-read woman. I’ve seen gangbangs on porn sites. I know the physics of how it all happens.

But lying here, ass-fucking-naked, aching to my core, it’s not at all how I imagined it.

Instead of being cool, calm, and collected, I’m fucking terrified.

What if they don’t fit?

As though he senses my anxiety—fine, sheer terror—Roman drops onto the bed beside me and strokes my head. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, right?”

Jace and Mateo stand on either side of the bed. Jace is wearing only his boxers, and Mateo’s shirtless, his jeans hanging low on his hips.

Jace tenderly strokes my shin, his fingers trailing to my knee. “He’s right, Charlotte. We can take this as fast or slow as you’d like.”

I should probably be self-conscious, stuck in a web of my own doubts, inadequacies, and self-image. But I’m not.

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