Page 50 of Craving Consequences

In a different world, he does. In that world, they both belong with me, and the world is a different place and people areaccepting and what we have won’t ruin so many lives. In that world, I can wake up with them twisted around me and kiss them and hold them without consequences.

But that world isn’t real, and I can’t let my selfishness hurt them. I can’t let my bad decisions ruin their lives.

I glance over my shoulder and can just make out Lachan’s slumbering features. Like Van, his jaw is a dark carpet of stubble dusted ever so slightly with gray that makes my heart melt. The prickles tickle the fingertips I ghost over his cheek. Careful not tickle or wake him.

I want to stay.

Maybe I can. Maybe we can just live together in this cozy knot, locked up in this room forever.

Not in Jefferson we can’t. People will come looking. They won’t even bother to knock. They’d storm in with their judgment and disgust. They’d tear down Lachlan’s business. Remove Van from his position. They’d lose everything because of me.

Good feeling gone, I reach down and gently drag Lachlan’s hand off my breast. The man grunts his annoyance and drops his palm on my naked hip. His fingers curl possessively, holding me in place and I’m reminded of him holding my thighs wide to the cock I milked inside me. His thick, beautiful cock now wedged into the small of my back.

Focus!

Body flushed and leaking what they took turns putting inside me, I slide my hand beneath Lachlan’s. I lift just enough to slip my torso out from under the weight. My shoulder drags against his chest as I shimmy onto my back.

Next, I peel away from Van. I untangle our legs and unhook his arm from across me. I do all this without elbowing Lachlan, or kneeing Van. It’s an art form that has my stiff limbs tingling when blood rushes back through them.

Stifling my whimper, I finally detach myself. I twist up on my hands and knees and crawl backwards in the direction of the footboard. Keeping an eye on the pair the entire time for any signs of consciousness.

Free at last, I slip over the mattress and stand. Lachlan’s shirt slides down my body to hang nearly to my knees. I stupidly raise the collar to inhale his scent mixed with Van’s.

I’m keeping the shirt.

I don’t think I have much choice when I spot my wrinkled and stretched dress puddled on the floor. I don’t remember us arriving at the house or undressing. I wonder which of them did it. More importantly if we did anything else. It’s hard to tell when the muscles of my thighs throb like I ran a marathon without stretching and my vagina feels sore and ... and wet.

Weirdly amused, I peek at the two. At Lachlan’s face soft and calm in sleep. His jaw slack. The knot that lives between his eyes is gone. Van’s lips are parted. The fingers on the hand he’dheld me with fists in the sheets like he’s trying to hold on to something.

All humor vanishes with the violent pang of my heart. My palm trembles, pressing over the shattered muscle like I can somehow keep it together. Hot tears blur their sleeping silhouettes, but I tell myself it has to be this way. Lachlan understands. He’s lived in Jefferson long enough to understand the rules. He’ll help Van understand. They’ll be okay.

Insides raw with emotions I need to keep in check until I get home, I creep to the door and pause. Ears strain for sounds of movement, for even a crack to alert me to Bron lurking somewhere below.

Carefully, I pry the door open and poke my head out. I recognize the hallway. The bland walls with a single oil painting of a man in a rowboat in the middle of a lake with his fishing rod extended. I recognize the door at the end of the hall, the one I’d fantasized more often than I’m willing to admit about sneaking through — Lachlan’s bedroom.

My gaze flicks to the second door at the end, a bit wild with panic at the thought of it flying open and Bron strolling through.

But there’s silence.

No footsteps. No murmured voices.

I tiptoe barefoot through the hall, down the stairs, praying the old wood doesn’t betray me. When I reach the frontdoor, I hesitate only a second before twisting the knob and slipping out like a ghost.

My regret is immediate with the brutal punch of sunlight straight to the face. I shield my eyes with a cry of agony as my corneas sizzle out of their sockets. My brain bleeds into my skull and I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up.

Lord, I will never drink again. I have learned my lesson. Please just kill me already.

My prayers go ignored only for a fresh wave of panic to set in — how am I supposed to get home?

I drove to Mayfield. My car is still most likely at the bar with my purse and keys.

“Darn it!” I whine.

This has to be my punishment. The walk of shame through Jefferson. I may as well walk back into the house and face Lachlan and beg him to drive me. Neither option is welcome. But I can’t just stand half naked and dying on his porch. All it would take is one nosy neighbor to jog past and spot me. I can already hear the gossip mill churning.

“Little Everly Cavanaugh, naked as the day she was born leaving the Shaw house in the wee hours of morning.”

“I wonder who she was leaving that early, not even dressed.”

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