Page 30 of Triple Tidings
The mention of him leaving makes my heart sink, and in the corner of my eye, I see Wells’ expression harden.
Objectively, I know I shouldn’t be getting upset. This is still so new, and none of us really know each other. It’s been a verylong time since the guys were together, and from how they’ve both made it sound, neither was really ready for a relationship back then. I should be enjoying it while it lasts and looking back on this weekend fondly, with orgasm-colored glasses.
Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened… that’s what people say, right?
Besides, when August leaves, there’s no reason that Wells and I can’t see each other. We live and work in the same town. It wouldn’t be such a leap for us to continue hooking up, or even date. Except the fact it feels like he’s in a tug-of-war with himself and keeping both August and me at arm’s length until the winner is decided.
He hasn’t mentioned anything about what happens next, and I can’t bring myself to either.
We’re all quiet for the drive back to The Chestnut, lost in our respective thoughts. I spend the time mulling the whole business over, probing my own feelings for hints as to why I’m so glum about this, and still haven’t arrived at any concrete conclusions by the time we arrive back.
The headlights from Wells’ truck shine against the side of the snow-covered, darkened building, yet none of us moves to get out.
A familiar tension has filled the enclosed space, and I find myself shifting restlessly in my seat, looking back and forth between the two men.
“Should we…” August poses, the not-quite-question trailing off as he cranes his neck to see us both.
Should we do it again?
Should we say goodnight?
I have no idea what he was going to say, and I keep my lips pressed together, hoping someone else will fill the suddenly oppressive silence.
Wells, of course, can always be trusted to call August on his shit. He sighs. “Are you asking if we want to fuck again?”
A slightly hysterical giggle bubbles from between my lips as both men focus on me, wearing identical, tentative but hopeful expressions. This is so different than the combustion of lust that occurred in August’s room last night. This is deliberate and calculated, and somehowsomuch hotter.
If we do this, I can’t blame anything other than my desire for my two guests outweighing my good sense.
Outside, a gust of wintery wind sprays snow against the side of the car, and despite the fact the engine is still running, and heat is blowing from the vents, I find myself shivering. It’s not from the cold, though.
“Okay,” I tell them, muscles in my abdomen tightening.
August lifts his eyebrows, looking pleasantly surprised. “Okay?” He glances at Wells, who also nods.
“Okay.”
No further discussion is made as Wells turns off the truck and all three of us get out, hurrying toward the door as another gust of wind finds its way through the material of my coat, chilling me to the bone.
“The forecast called for snow tonight and subzero temperatures,” I tell the two men as I close the door behind them, locking it. When I turn, intending to throw a few more logs in the fire before it goes cold, I find that Wells has already done it. Along the far wall, August is closing the curtains.
Both grin when they find me staring, but there’s a palpable shift of energy as I lower my gaze and take the first step toward the stairs. My stomach is twisted in knots by the time my foot finds the bottom step, and I’m intensely aware of their eyes on my back as I ascend toward the upper floor.
I pause only when I’ve reached the top, and when I look down, I let out a nervous giggle at the sight of the two grown menstanding at the base of the staircase. Both of whom appear to be debating the best method in which to eat me alive.
It’s a bit of a stretch to say I feel like their prey, though. I’m pretty sure, when this sort of thing goes down in nature, the hunted does not strip down before the hunters, flop down on the ground, and spread their legs, begging for them to finish the job.
My smile must spark something in both of them. Nearly simultaneously, they’re barreling up the stairs, and I take off toward August’s room with a squeal. He didn’t bother locking it before we left this morning, but my hand has barely found the handle before a large, male body collides with me from behind, its owner banding a thick, corded arm around my waist and dragging me back into his chest.
“Little tease,” Wells growls in my ear, his beard rough on my skin, as we watch August lead the way inside. “Don’t pretend you aren’t desperate for us.”
He keeps my body pressed tight against his as he shuffles me forward, kicking the door closed behind us.
Inside, the fire has gone dark, but the room is warm and lit by the lamp on the bedside table. Evidence of how we spent last night is clear in the jumble of snack wrappers in the bin beside the desk and the crumpled blankets on the unmade bed.
My lips part, and I’m panting as Wells hands unbutton my coat, pushing it off my shoulders and onto the floor, as August advances on us, his darkened gaze burning right through me. “You’re going to be sore in the morning, Lacey baby,” he murmurs, watching Wells free the button on my jeans.
The words settle in my core, twisting in anticipation, and I gasp as August draws forward, fisting the material of my sweater. In seconds, it’s gone, and my pants follow. The two men undress me with a kind of hungry efficiency, working together in their shared mission of stripping every article of clothing from my body.
