Page 54 of Kitty Season
Probably a good thing.
It seems Troye has no such problem. Snorting a laugh he stretches his arm out and slides it behind my neck, gripping my shoulder so tight it’s almost painful. “You’ve got about ninety seconds left before she turns back into a pumpkin, so for fuck’s sake, Skip. Be a good boy for me, and sit.”
I’m mixing my fairy tale metaphors here, butgood boy, spoken as it was, so low and deep it rattled my bones, are the words that slay the giant. Brady’s eyes fall closed, his legs give way and he drops, the bottom curve of his sweet hockey ass landing on the sofa only inches from my lap.
“There. Was that so difficult?” Troye’s voice drops again, and the fingertips that were gripping me, relax and spread, just enough to caress the edge of Brady’s shoulder. He flinches, and makes a tiny, breathy gasp I wish I had caught on film. “If we want at least one true birthday kiss, you better make a move, big fella. Or, maybe we should leave it up to you, Quinny?”
“What?” I splutter, my brain frying from the proximity of these two beautiful men. What will it be like when we actually do this? “Me? You want me … too … start?”
“Don’t be shy, Kitty. We’re both here for you. This is your night. Your time to shine.”
“Kitty Season.” Comes from my left, and I feel the heat of Brady’s blush burn into my skin along with the gentle caress of his breath. The desire I’ve tried to crush, ignore, and resist from the first time I saw him swells. Becoming an insurmountable wave my weakened dams can no longer contain. Twisting my body to face him, I reach out, cupping his chin and pulling his mouth down to mine. The gasp released seconds ago is repeated, growing into a hum as he softens his lips and kisses me back. “Quinn.”
“Fuck that’s so hot.” Shifting closer, Troye weaves his fingers through my hair, gentle at first before clenching and pressing me harder against Brady, growling at the sight of us fusing together. The rumbling from his chest startles Brady who retreats like he’s been slapped. Instead of slowing down, I kiss him again, then turn to Troye, fisting his hair and tugging him to me just the way he likes.
Where Brady’s lips were soft and submissive, Troye’s are dominant, his tongue almost aggressive in its quest to taste every inch of my mouth.
My beautiful hockey boys.
Night and day.
Black and white.
Sun and moon.
Troye and Brady. Truly the antithesis to the other. Together, they make me feel whole.
Together, the only cream this kitty wants to taste.
Brady shifts behind me, the press of his thigh against my hip, his lips against the tender flesh of my neck see me unglue myself from Troye, and collapse against the sofa, the giddy spread in this hockey boy sandwich. “Quinn, I … Are you sure about this?” Normally sky blue eyes, gray like the ocean during a storm, are trained on my lips.
I want to tell him how wet I am. That I’ve never wanted anything so bad. That I’ve dreamed of this very thing for months.
So I do.
“Yes, I want this. I want you both inside me. I want to watch you inside each other. I want us.”
Brady
Kitty.
Knowing Troye, I figured it was a play on … pussy. Lord, I’m so lame I can hardly think the word, let alone say it. But now that I’ve kissed Quinn, and felt her warm body press against me, I get it.
She hums when she kisses, so lightly and delicately it flitters across my lips like the wings of a butterfly.
A gentle buzz. A purr.
On the very best of days, the grip I hold on reality is tentative. After that, it’s a comet hurtling through space at the speed of light and I am just along for the ride, a virginal fool barely clinging on.
“Yes, I’m sure. I want this,” she again purrs. “I want you both inside me. I want to watch you inside each other. I want us.”
Nodding, I lean forward just enough to see a sliver of Troye’s face, all but that damn nose ring barely visible in the dim lighting. “I … I think I want that too.”
“Me too,” he says.
For the splitest of seconds, I wonder if I should tell them this is my first … everything. But the fear of his smirk, and her being all Quinny and kind and understanding and insisting we stop what I so desperately want, has me lock it inside.
I’m tired of waiting.
