Page 96 of Reckless Hearts

And even more. I know what it means that they’re reaching for each other now.

Not because of me.

But because of them.

Because maybe, somewhere deep down, we’ve always wanted this.

Their hands move in tandem now, trailing higher, deeper. My head tips back as their pinkies sweep up, grazing the sensitive seam of my shorts pressing into me.

I choke on a breath. My eyes dart to the crowded room. No one’s looking, not really, but we’re far from alone. Marco’slaughing with someone two tables over. Luke’s still shouting victory songs at the bar.

But under the table?

They’re ruining me.

I squeeze my legs together, trying to contain it to hide the frantic pulse building between my thighs, but it only makes it worse. Their hands bump again, this time fully pressed against either side of my heat. The pressure, the contact, the heat of their fingers so close to each other. It’s unbearable.Intoxicating.

Then Maverick presses in, deliberate, certain, sliding his thumb down the line of my core.

Colt follows suit.

When their thumbs meet over my clit, pressing lightly, dragging together in unison, I break.

A quiet gasp escapes before I can stop it, too soft to carry but loud enough to draw Marco’s eyes.

I still. Colt’s hand stops. Maverick’s too, their gazes hot on the sides of my face.

I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles go white. I should stop this. I should push them away. I should say something. Anything.

“Let’s dance!” Luke yells, slamming his empty glass down on the table like a gavel, his face flushed with alcohol and triumph. The sound snaps through our little bubble, shattering the spell with all the grace of a car crash.

Reality hits hard.

The bar comes rushing back, laughter, music, the crush of bodies. A dozen pairs of eyes that could turn this secret into something public.

I’d been so lost in their touch, so caught up in the slow, torturous buildup, I forgot where we were. Who was watching.

Forgot I was two strokes away from a full-blown orgasm in the middle of a goddamn pub.

“Yes!” My voice shoots up an octave, loud and too bright. I lunge at the opening, desperate for a reset. “Dancing. Great idea.”

I shove Colt’s shoulder, nudging him out of the booth, my hands shaking just slightly. He lets me, thank God, because there’s no way I could’ve moved him otherwise. Maverick slides out right behind us, gaze heavy on my back.

I don’t dare look at either of them.

Because if I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight.

And I really, really need to.

I break for the dance floor, escaping the booth like it might catch fire behind me, because if I stayed even one second longer, I’d have climbed into their laps and begged.

Colt’s on me in an instant, catching my hand and pulling me into the pulsing crowd. The beat drops, some twangy remix that shouldn’t work but absolutely does, and I throw my head back on a laugh as he spins me around.

My skin’s already flushed, my limbs loose. I’m warm and drunk and dizzy in the best way. The alcohol has pulled all the tension from my muscles, and I let myself fall into the rhythm.

I glance over, and sure enough, Maverick stands off to the side, arms crossed, half-shadowed. I can’t read his expression, but the weight of his stare hits me like a body shot. It slinks across my skin, electric and hot, and makes me stumble right over the next step.

Colt catches me. His fingers tighten at my side, one hand skimming under the hem of my shirt like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.

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