Page 57 of Craving Consequences
It’s so much like last night. Such a mirror copy that my head buzzes. My core is on fire. I’m ready to beg, but all I can dois work a semblance of spit around my dry mouth and give a shaky nod.
“Yes, sir,” I rasp, and feel the rumbling vibration from both chests scatter up my torso.
I’m not being bratty. I was raised to call anyone I refer to as mister as ‘sir’. Even Mayor Ferguson. But he has never looked on the verge of consuming me. His fingers never bit into my sides. I’ve never felt his cock burn into my ass cheek ... or my belly.
Van’s fingers slip beneath my chin. Captures my jaw in a firm clamp. Tilt my face up until he’s the center of my whole world. “Careful.”
I’m given no other explanation. No warning when I’m released from both sides and left to pick an unsteady path out of danger in the direction of the truck.
It’s a painfully stiff, almost drunken shuffle. Not a sexy thing about it when my legs are noodles and I’m so soaked I don’t think my panties can contain it all. Worse still, the fabric keeps clinging to me, rubbing against my swollen mound. Making it impossible to think of anything else.
I reach the truck, but Van is there before I can grasp the handle. His meaty fist has curled around the bar, except, instead of letting me in, I’m backed into the scalding door with him caging me.
“Mr. Weaver...” I croak, not missing the shaky plea in my voice.
His head dips. It’s so close my lips part in a gasp. My chin tilts to accept. But he stops.
“My cum is inside you. I think you can call me Van, Everly.” Scorching heat blooms beneath my skin, but he refuses to let me look away, and I can’t think to respond. “I didn’t like it.”
My heart momentarily sinks at the thought of him meaning putting his cum in me. I can feel myself tensing and it must have shown because he slips his fingers through my hair to cup the back of my head. Holding me steady. Close. Inches from his mouth.
“Don’t ever leave my bed like that again. I didn’t like waking up without you.”
Everything inside me dissolves in a messy puddle.
“Van...”
His fingers tighten, tugging at the roots just right to send a shower of tingles down my spine.
“Promise me.”
I don’t know how to tell him it will never happen again. That promising him would make no difference.
But his lips ghost mine in a hint of contact, and all my thoughts scatter.
“Promise,” I whisper without thinking.
He draws back with the same serious scowl, but his eyes gleam softly. He brushes a lock of hair back off my flushed cheek but says nothing.
He jerks the truck door open. I murmur my thanks. He says nothing. Does nothing as I reach for the handle to haul myself up. But he’s there again. Hands on my hips, lifting me up onto the seat. Nudging me deeper to the middle of the bench.
I know he can see up my skirt.
There is no way he can’t when he has me bent over the seat, my ass eyelevel with him. But he stays silent.
He doesn’t take the back like I expected. He swings himself up behind me, trapping me between him and the man sliding in behind the wheel on my other side.
I’ve been in Lachlan’s truck dozens of times. In the backseat with Bron usually and a mountain of things between us. I don’t think I’ve been this close to either of them. Ever. But I am being burned by them. Enclosed and suffocated. I am so close to both, I can’t move without bumping shoulders, pressing thighs.
No one says a word as Lachlan puts the car in reverse. I barely notice that he must have pulled my car back into the garage and closed the door until my purse drops into my lap without a word.
“Thank you.”
“Sure.” Lachlan clears his throat and shifts his weight.
I wonder if he’s thinking about last night, too. If he’s remembering holding me across the seat and lapping up my center with his tongue. I’m too acutely aware of just how confined the space is and still we somehow made it work. I took their cocks — most of it — and lost count of all the times they made me cum.
I shift unconsciously. A bad idea. Rather than unstick my panties from my lips, it bunches the fabric tighter in place.
