Page 49 of Craving Consequences

“Oh my God,” I whimper from my dark cocoon of misery.

One of the boulders shifts. Hard muscles press harder against my softer ones. Warm, taut flesh brushes down my side. It’s definitely alive.

My eyes spring open. Violently and with little regard to my throbbing brain. It does register somewhere at the very bottom of all the pain that I am a lightweight. A pathetic one, given the high school marching band putting on a show after only two ... maybe three drinks.

Maybe four.

It was hard to keep track after the first, initial burn cut a path down my throat to fill my empty gut.

But never again.

Still, that doesn’t explain why my weighted blanket is tightening around me with the strength of a boa constrictor.

Struggling against the urge to remain immobile, I tip my face down to the dark head nestled against my chest. Thick arms band across my middle, overlapping the second arm hooked in from behind. There are too many legs twisted through mine and at least two erections digging into me.

I’m partially on my side with a beating heart pattering lightly against my shoulder blade. The owner breathes lightly into the back of my neck. Their hand cups possessively over my breast despite the second face tucked deep between them. One thick thigh is wedged between my knees from behind.

I lay frozen, the numbing pain in my skull forgotten. Overshadowed by this new plot twist.

Vaguely, I know I’m in Lachlan’s guestroom. I recognize the oil painting of a blue sky over a cliffside lighthouse. Even without it, I know their scents. I would recognize them anywhere. I would know Van’s broad shoulders encircled by my arms and the inked mural down Lachlan’s forearm.

What I’m having trouble sifting through is the how. How did I get here?

I remember — with cruel clarity — the events that drove me to find them at their favorite bar in the first place. Iremember scanning the sea of oily, sticky bodies for signs of them, and throwing back drinks to calm my nerves.

The drinks hadn’t been the plan. I’ve never been much for alcohol. Never saw the need for it, but the situation called for it. My willpower was crumbling and I knew I wouldn’t make it.

The rest...

My brain fights to pull up the blur of faces. The smudges of sounds and motion. I remember Van’s arms. Lachlan’s mouth. I remember Van’s husky taunt in my ear, goading me to take his finger.

“Oh my God!” I squeak.

Horror and humiliation ... and arousal rise up in my belly as bits and pieces of the car ride make me vividly aware of the tenderness between my legs ... and the moisture.

So. Much. Moisture.

And begging them to fill me up ... and them obliging.

Stifling the choked sound threatening to expel into the silence, I attempt to shift. To wiggle free. To escape. Neither even budges. They are locked around me, pinning me to them and the mattress.

I can’t stay here. I can’t have that conversation when I have no idea what to say.

Maybe it’s my futile wiggling or the escalation of my heart thundering in my chest, but Van nuzzles the place between my breasts. It’s so sweet and gentle, so like a lost kitten seekingwarmth that the gesture kicks me in the chest. It warms me in places it shouldn’t. Lures my arms around him as if in protection.

No! Stop that!the voice hisses, panicked when my fingers slip through his hair. Skims, Eliciting a low groan from him.

It hurts how badly I have always wanted this. How often I fantasized about having them curled around me like this. To wake up with them already there, especially when my dreams feel so real that reality is a burdan to return to.

But this cannot last. What happened last night can never happen again. Can never be mentioned. Somehow, I need to resume my life without them in it. Return to the days when I would yearn for them from afar.

I can’t.

I can never go back to that. I can’t pretend last night wasn’t the best night of my life, even if it’s a bit fuzzy around the edges.

Heart breaking, I lower my chin and brush a kiss to the top of Van’s head. I let my fingers skim the stubble on his face. For a second, a traitorous, dangerous second, I sink into the moment. Into them. I allow myself the illusion that I can have this even as hot tears well up behind my eyes.

The man in question sighs, soft and content. He nestles deeper into the curve of my body like he belongs there.

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