“That’s for running out on us,” Maddox rumbles. But my eyes are locked on Riggs because he’s watching me closely, making sure his friend isn’t going too far for me. He’s not. He’s going just far enough. Or hell, maybe not far enough? I haven’t decided.
Smack. Rub. Smack. Rub.
“That’s for the two months you tormented us.”
Smack. There’s no soothing rub this time, and my cheeks—both sets—feel heated. I sway my hips, begging for the tender touch that followed the previous spankings, and feel my body’s juices run down my thighs. I should be embarrassed by that, but I’m not. I can’t be when I feel this good.
“And that’s for rejecting us when we tracked you down,” he growls. “I know you felt what this was, that you feel what it could be.” His voice is deep, heavy with meaning, and I realize that I hurt them. No, he’s not speaking for Riggs, but rather, for himself. I hurt Maddox, Mr. Easy Going, Happy Go Lucky.
The pain I feel at that realization has nothing to do with the sting on my ass, and though he finally gently rubs the globe of my butt, it does nothing to quiet the pain in my chest. Especially when I see that Riggs’s eyes have ticked up to check on Maddox too.
“I did,” I admit mindlessly, nodding against the comforter. “I do.” I think I would say or do anything at this point. I just want him, or Riggs, to take away this ache inside me.
Like he understands this is Maddox’s way of communicating with me, Riggs scoots back to the pillows at the head of the bed, his legs outstretched and dick half-erect, letting Maddox have me. But he keeps his eyes focused on the action, watching closely and caring for us from inches away. Maddox lunges for Riggs’s nightstand, coming back with a condom that he quickly sheathes himself in.
With no mercy, he takes my tender ass in a clawed grip and slams into me, balls-deep, in one stroke. The spanking must be some sort of witchcraft, because I’mabsolutely soaked, my body ready for him, even if my mind hasn’t fully gotten on board.
I cry out, not from pain but from pleasure. I don’t know how that’s possible when his fingertips are bruisingly tight and he’s instantly savagely fucking me, not giving me a chance to adjust to his invasion. But it is possible, because it’s happening. My whole body is alight with building desire for more, more, more as I writhe from his onslaught.
In contrast to Maddox’s ferocity, I feel Riggs’s tender touch brushing my hair out of my face. I pry my eyes open to find his lips lifted in a pleased smirk. “You’re so fucking perfect, pretty girl. Taking him like that.”
God, his sweetness only makes Maddox’s crudeness hotter. Calling me pretty and perfect while Maddox rails me like a rutting animal highlights his own twisted thinking, but with the way he’s staring at me, I believe him. I do feel pretty, though perfect is a harder target for me to find.
I hear Maddox spit and then feel pressure at my asshole. I make a noise—of rejection? of acceptance? I don’t know—and I think I look to Riggs for an answer—but somehow, Maddox already knows. His thumb presses in the slightest bit and my body goes up in flames.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp. “I’m coming.” I don’t know if I’m telling them or just in shock that it’s happening again.
“Yes,” Maddox hisses. “I can feel you, Princess.” He adjusts his grip on my flesh and the fresh bite of his touch sends me spiraling more. Or again. I don’t know at this point.
My body goes wild, spasming like I’m fighting Maddox, but I’m not. I want it all. There’s a bite at myscalp as Riggs pulls my hair, pinning me in place for his friend, and darkness overtakes my vision as I plunge into bliss.
Maddox roars, and though there’s a condom between us, I swear I can feel the heat of his cum filling me as he slams into me over and over. It’s probably just a filthy fantasy, but it’s still sexy as hell and I squeeze my inner muscles, wanting every drop.
When Maddox pulls out me, carefully taking the condom with him, I collapse to the bed on my stomach, spent but still vibrating on a seemingly cellular level. Riggs runs his palm over my head, essentially petting me. I crack an eye, peering up at him, and find him smiling at me softly, his eyes searching my face like he might find the answers to the universe written in my smeared makeup. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I answer.
It feels like a deeply meaningful conversation, maybe because of what just happened or maybe because of everything that’s happened tonight. No, everything that’s happened since he walked up to that bar two months ago.
You felt what that was. You feel what this could be.
The words ring out in my mind, along with my confession that I do feel it. That doesn’t mean I know what to do about it, though. As good and right as this feels when it’s just the three of us, there’s a whole world outside those doors. I can’t seriously expect to waltz into a family dinner with two men, no matter how normal Riggs and Maddox are trying to make it seem. Nor can I go to hockey games as their plus-one, sitting on the sidelines and cheering for both of them. As Samantha reminded me, I’m Kayla Harrington and I have an entirelife built around my last name. I can’t risk it all for this. Can I?
Maddox reappears with a towel and gently cleans between my legs, temporarily washing away my impending panic in the process. Then, he says the most magical words I’ve ever heard. “We have a hot tub out back if you want to ease any sore muscles.”
My whole body feels numb and overstretched in a good way. It’s my heart—and probably my mind—that mostly needs some attention, and I don’t think a hot tub is going to help that. But I still smile and push up from the bed. “That sounds divine.”
MADDOX
Iknew she’d stay for dinner. I hoped she’d stay for more after, and she did, which lifted me inside more than she could ever guess. And after the hot tub, we stay up for hours, doing nothing that seems particularly important. We watch a movie, throwing popcorn at the television when the bad guys come on-screen. We talk about hockey a lot, and Kayla seems genuinely interested in hearing our tales from the ice, though it’s obvious she isn’t really a fan… yet. We sleep, all together in my oversized bed because Riggs’s sheets need a toss in the washing machine.
But the devil is in the details, and every minute of that time together is forging something between us—strands of connection between me and Kayla, Riggs and Kayla, and surprisingly, even between me and Riggs in a new and different way.
Early on, I thought I could help Riggs find happiness again, and if that meant my stepping out once I’d greased the way, I could do that.For him. Maybe even for her. But as I wake up in the morning, I know that changed last night. Fuck, maybe I was lying to myself all along? I’m not sure when it happened. But I’m one hundred percent in this thing with Kayla and Riggs. I don’t know what we’re doing, but it’ll be fun to figure it out.
I slept with one eye open, half-expecting Kayla to disappear again, so finding her still sandwiched between me and Riggs feels like major progress. “Breakfast?” I ask Kayla, enjoying the sight of her freshly woken up and sleepy-eyed, hair a bit messy, and face bare.
On the other side of Kayla, Riggs rumbles, “I already ordered it. ETA fifteen minutes.”
