Page 32 of Two Canes, One Cup
It’s the truth.
His jaw tics, but then something shifts in him making his features relax.
“I like that.” Her fingers work under the fleece to tuck into the gap of my shirt.
The burn of her touch on my skin makes blood rush to my crotch.
Then she wiggles.
She knows what she’s doing.
Dean rises, pouring himself another cup, and pulling down one for her. “Reece? Top off?” He holds up the decanter and shakes it lightly. “Stacy? Want a little something extra to warm up?” With a slight smirk, he gestures to the half-full bottle of brandy.
“That sounds delicious.” She raises her head from under my chin as he hands her the steaming mug.
But as he starts to turn away, she reaches out to his wrist, pulling his palm to her lips. “Thank you.”
His fingers linger on her cheek, yet his gaze immediately flicks to me, as if he’s gauging my reaction.
Why does that do somethingfunnyto me?
Can I actually like this?
Dean and I have been best friends our whole lives. We’ve shared all of the ups and downs, finding more comfort and peace in our own company than we ever had with anyone else.
I just never expected that we could enjoythis.
But seeing the absolute adoration in his eyes when he watches her and I, it makes me start to wonder if maybe she was the missing piece to both of us?
Chapter 15 - Dean
She does have a system.
Every night,she switches which room she sleeps in.
Well, “sleep” being the questionable term.
How she can function by living wholly on orgasms is incredible.
The even larger surprise is how easy it was for Reece and I to adapt to it.
Any tinge of jealousy seems to have fled by the first day.
She doesn’t show any sign of favoritism, but brings us both to her, engaging our strengths effortlessly.
It’s strange how it has almost brought him and I closer.
With a tiny sigh, her lashes flutter across her cheek as she turns to me in her sleep.
Today is Christmas. A bittersweet reminder that this tryst is nearing its end.
I don’t want to get out of bed.
Sweeping a lock of her silken hair from her temple, I pull her closer without waking her. It’s desperation, a need to memorize every dimple and freckle, so I can harbor these fleeting images long after she’s gone.
Time can stop now. Let us off the spinning globe to float in blissful stasis for eternity.
Her breathing changes as her arm drapes over my ribs.
