Page 15 of Misadventures of a Curvy Girl
But me—I was an excellent soldier. Staying alive in the Korengal meant expecting no one to play by football rules. It me
ant knowing exits and potential cover. It meant knowing where people were hiding and why they were hiding. Five years hasn’t been enough to break me of it—I don’t know how many years it will take—and mostly I don’t mind the ways the army’s changed me. It makes it easy to keep my bar free of brawls and assholes, and right now, it’s netted me a gorgeous woman currently staring at me with a bitten lip and wind-mussed hair.
She hesitantly steps out of the stall, a flush high on her cheeks—one I know will be matched on Caleb’s face. Thirty-three years old, and he still blushes like he did in grade school when a teacher would call on him and he didn’t know the answer.
He tucks himself away, zipping up with an embarrassed rush of breath. “Ireland,” he says but stops after only her name. Which I understand, because really what can you say when a woman you like has just seen you beat off? In front of his best friend, no less? I’m not sure how much Caleb has told her about how we operate, but this is a much more dramatic introduction to our dynamic than usual.
However, dramatic or not, I was willing to take the risk. When I walked in and sensed her presence, glancing over to see her completely enraptured by Caleb’s unintentional display of lust, I sensed she might be into whatever else I threw her way. And sure enough, I can see the evidence on her body plain as day as she comes closer—nipples like little bullets under her camisole, jeans unbuttoned, a certain breathlessness over and beyond the shock of getting caught.
And immediately, I know. I just do. Even without Caleb already wanting her, even without seeing the real and throbbing evidence of that want, I know this Ireland could be her. The one.
The one to break the spell of one-night stands and empty nights. The one to see us as more than just a fun joyride or a novelty.
The one to stay.
It’s not just her looks, which are gorgeous, or her body, which is perfect, lush and soft and jiggly in all the places we like. But there’s something about her gaze, her bitten lip, that suggests an adventuresomeness under the surface. A wildness that’s been pinned down and glossed over but that’s ready to break free. I’m fascinated. Hooked. I want to crack that glossy surface and tumble down into wild delights together.
Ireland stops a few paces away and tugs on her hair. “Um, hey. I was just…”
She’s about to lie. I can see it in her eyes, which are all tensed up around the corners and refusing to meet mine. But I’m not going to let her lie. The stakes are too real, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything other than tired and lonely, and I’ve learned the hard way that being a three takes much more honesty than being a two. Even when it comes to the little things.
So I step forward, grab her hand, and gently lick at her fingertips.
“Oh,” she mumbles, her eyelashes fluttering closed. “Oh fuck.”
Responsive too. I smile to myself as I give the pad of her finger a little scrape with my teeth and watch her shudder. I can already imagine having her and Caleb in bed with me, both of them following my orders…
She realizes too late why I’m licking her fingers and yanks her hand back. Her cheeks go redder than ever.
I run my tongue over my lower lip, tasting the lingering sweetness of her in my mouth. “You were ‘just’ nothing, Ireland. You were touching yourself. You had those pretty fingers in that sweet little cunt, didn’t you? Watching Caleb and me?”
She swallows, blinking fast, but her stare doesn’t leave mine, which I like.
“I—yes,” she admits in a rush. “I was doing…that. What you said.” And then she lets out a little snort of shocked laughter, as if she can’t believe she just uttered such a thing out loud.
I’ll have her more than simply talking about dirty things before I’m through with her, but I take this as a sign she’s ready for something different. Ready for us.
“You were going to lie about it,” I murmur. I reach up, wind one of her damp tresses around my finger, and give it a tug. Nothing too hard, not yet, but enough for her to know that when I’m here, I’m in charge. The other side of Caleb’s sunny, happy coin. The daddy to our fucked-up little family.
She opens her mouth, and I tug on her hair again. “No lies to us, Ireland. Not now, not ever. Got it?”
“Got it,” she whispers.
“Good.” My hand still in her hair, I walk her back until her ass hits the edge of Caleb’s desk. “Did you come?”
“Wh-What?”
“When you were playing with your pussy. Did you come? Did seeing Caleb jerk that cock make you clench around your fingers, wishing one of us were inside you instead?”
Another swallow. I’m beginning to grow addicted to the sight of them—how they move through her beautiful neck, how nervousness flits across her face right before she decides to be bold. “I didn’t come,” she says. She bites her lip for bravery and then adds, “But I did wish what you said. That one of you was inside me.”
“Or both?”
She lets out a breath. “Or both.”
Caleb steps up to her, his own face still flushed but his dick growing hard against his jeans again. “Can we touch you? For real touch you?”
“Oh God, please touch me,” she half laughs, half begs. Then another small laugh of shock at her own boldness. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
