Theirs to Take

by Laura Kaye

  Inside her living room, Hartley turned on a lamp and sat on the edge of the couch. Her mind reeled. Could Scarlett be right? Her belly went on a loop-to-loop at the thought that the men were interested enough in her that they’d stopped…doing whatever it was they did at Blasphemy.

  She shrugged off her hoody, suddenly warm. What did they do at Blasphemy?

  A sudden flash of half-formed, shadowy images rushed through her brain. Hands and mouths and bodies.

  And it amplified the attraction she’d been feeling for them—both of them—by a factor of about a thousand. Because the week had been one long tease of being around their strong bodies, getting drawn in by their friendly banter and obvious expertise around boats, and seeing their toned abs when they’d use the hem of their shirt to wipe sweat from their faces in the cramped heat of the boat’s cabin. Not to mention the way they looked at and flirted with her.

  But what was she supposed to do about any of that? “Oh, God,” she said, not really meaning to say it out loud.

  “What?” Scarlett asked. “Oh, honey, I thought you’d like this news.”

  “I do. It’s just…Scarlett, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the fact that I’m maybe attracted to two men at the same time who are maybe attracted to me, too!” she exclaimed in a fast rush.

  “Well…I think you just…go for it,” she said.

  On a groan, Hartley flopped against the back of the couch. “Sometimes, damnit…sometimes I just wish they’d make a move so that all I had to do was surrender to it. I don’t want to make the decision or figure out what to do. I don’t know how to just go for it, you know?”

  A long pause, and then Scarlett’s voice was gentle. “Hart, do you remember at lunch when you asked about how you’d know if you were submissive?”

  “Yeah,” she said, feeling like a limp noodle against the soft chenille.

  “What you just said, that was something a submissive would feel. That desire to have someone else make the decisions and be in control, that wish to have someone else dictate what will happen and when and how. That’s part of what it means to be submissive sexually. It doesn’t mean that a person is weak or meek or lets others walk all over them. It’s about wanting to yield control in the bedroom because that’s what most gets them off.”

  Scarlett’s words fell over Hartley like a waterfall, powerful and unavoidable. That…that was what she wanted. That was what she wanted with Jonathan and Cruz. God help her, she couldn’t believe she was admitting that, even to herself.

  But could she really let herself have it?

  ***

  Hartley had walked through the door to A&R every one of the last eight days, though she hadn’t yet walked through the door she suspected the men had been hinting at the day they’d just barely broached the three-legged elephant in the room. The door that led to…something with them. Her and the two of them.

  An idea that still made her belly flip. And still aroused her. And still scared her, even after the epiphany she’d had during that phone call with Scarlett the night before last.

  Yesterday when she’d worked with them, she’d allowed herself to really consider it. And it was clear from how turned on she’d been all damn day that it was an idea that became more and more tantalizing the more time she spent with them. Because she genuinely liked them. Both of them.

  Jonathan’s easy-going attitude, always so quick to laugh or offer a kind word. Cruz’s intensity, an utter turn-on whether he applied it to the work on her boat, making her laugh, or even just looking at her. And her like wasn’t of the which of them do I like more? variety. It seemed to her that they were a package deal—and her libido was interested in the whole package.

  It was her brain she had to get on board. The brain that wanted to tell her it was crazy and reckless (and maybe even slutty) to want two men at once.

  All of which was why she’d determined to stay focused on the thing that was keeping her up at night even more than her hormones—whether the repairs on the Far ‘n Away would be done before the sailboat show. The sailboat show scheduled to start in just four days.

  So as Hartley walked into A&R on Monday morning, shoulders knotted with tension, a stress headache threatening, she let out an audible little “aw” to find Jonathan and Cruz already working, despite the fact that their shop hadn’t officially opened yet. These guys were totally going above and beyond, and it made her feel like she had someone on her side again after so very long of going it alone.

  Well, two someones. Twice as special.

  She climbed aboard the cat, made her way into the salon, and called out. “Hey, good morning. I brought breakfast.” Hartley slid the cardboard tray of coffee cups and an accompanying pastry box filled to the brim with donuts, muffins, and croissants onto the table.

  Cruz was the first to emerge from the companionway, wearing a form-fitting black T-shirt and a pair of jeans that hugged his hips and thighs like a glove. A glove she was maybe jealous of. Because, damn. “You’re an angel, Hartley,” he said, grabbing a cup of coffee with his initial on the side. “Good morning.”

  “An angel of mercy,” Jonathan said, joining them with a big smile on his face. In a gray T-shirt and jeans, his jaw sported a sexy scruff and his dark blond hair was up in a messy knot on the back of his head the way he sometimes did when he wanted to keep his hair out of his face. She hadn’t thought she loved man buns until she saw him wear one, but now she was a true convert! He popped the lid off his cup and froze. Then he sipped it.

  “What? Did I do something wrong?” Jonathan took his with one cream and one sugar, while Cruz liked his with two creams and three Splenda. Or, at least, she thought that was right. This morning wasn’t the first day she’d brought food with her, but today she’d taken the liberty of preparing the coffee for them. As hard as the men were working for her, she figured breakfast and a little TLC was the least she could do.

  Cruz peaked under his lid, smiled, and put it right back on. “No, Hartley,” he said, nailing her with a darkly pleased stare. “You’re perfect.”

  Annnd there went her belly again, turning over as those butterflies did their thing for the millionth time.

  Jonathan sipped his coffee again and nodded, his brown eyes glued to her. “Truer words...”

  Was it warm in there? Or was it just her dying of need and a dash of embarrassment from the way they were devouring her with their gazes? Finally, she rolled her eyes. “I’m hardy perfect. And I’m not fishing for compliments, either. But no one’s perfect.”

  Jonathan stepped closer, close enough that he could’ve reached out and touched her. And part of her, God, part of her wished he would, that he or Cruz would just start something, something that would sweep her away and suck her in. “Fair enough. But there is such a thing as being perfect for us.”

  Heat roared over Hartley. Her pulse quickened. Her nipples hardened. Her skin tingled. Perfect for us.

  It wasn’t the first time the men’s flirting had gone a little further than was purely friendly. Nor did she think it hurt anything to flirt back, which she did, just a little, and just for fun. But it was the first time either of them had blatantly framed that around the idea of us. The first time they’d said it out loud, like it was normal.

  Maybe it was? Maybe she was overthinking this whole thing?

  He winked at her and smiled, letting her off the hook, at least for the moment. Though she had the distinct feeling that it was a temporary reprieve. “Grab a donut and come see,” he said, nodding toward the passageway to the cabin.

  “Who could resist an offer like that,” she said, grasping a chocolate-frosted donut from the box.

  Cruz gave her a wicked smile as he gestured for her to go first. One that seemed to say, Apparently you can resist our offer, Hartley. Or maybe those were her own thoughts she was hearing. Because except for the fear that people didn’t just go around sleeping with two men at once (did they?), more and more she found herself wondering why she was resisting this
attraction to them.

  Just go for it. Scarlett’s words played on a loop in her head.

  Stepping into the doorway to the cabin, Hartley gasped. “How late did you two work last night?” Her tone reflected the awe she felt. Because when she’d left, they’d gotten as far as installing the new platform bed and cabinetry, but none of the finishing woodwork that made it all appear one smooth, seamless piece. Now, that work was done. Along with the painting of the cabin wall where the hole had been.

  Leaning against a cabinet, his arms crossed in a way that made the lean muscles of his biceps bulge, Jonathan gave her a look so sexy that it nearly stole her breath. “We worked as long as it took.”

  Damn if that didn’t reach right into her chest. Because they’d done it for her. Again and again and again, they’d done so much for her.

  “You must’ve been up all night. It looks fantastic,” she said, her gaze darting around the space as she took it all in. “Almost like nothing ever happened. I’d never be able to tell if I didn’t know what to look for.”

  “That was the idea,” Cruz said, his sexy mouth sliding into a satisfied smile. “And the look on your face right now makes it all worthwhile.”

  She met his gaze, and her heart tripped a little. Because there was something that looked a lot like affection there. Affection and want. “You guys are amazing. Seriously.”

  “Well, we’re not done yet,” Jonathan said. “So eat up, because now we need to paint the bottom so you can have your baby back.” He winked playfully. “Then she’ll be shipshape again.”

  It was a big job yet to do, with just a few days left until the show. But she felt hopeful for the first time since this whole nightmare started. Hopeful…and not alone. “Then let’s do it,” she said.

  Fueled by caffeine and sugar, the three of them worked side by side on the hull’s exterior. Every so often, one or the other of the men had to step away to consult with one of their employees about the other projects they had underway. More proof of all that they were doing—and sacrificing—for her.

  Nine o’clock came again, and she looked over her sailboat, gleaming bright with a second coat of paint. Now they just needed to apply sealant, and she’d be done.

  “You guys did it,” Hartley said, taking it all in. Then she turned to where they were standing, just behind her. “Thank you,” she said, hugging Cruz first. “It’s not enough, but thank you.”

  His arms came around her, warm and strong. “Of course it’s enough, Hartley. You’re welcome.” He squeezed her tighter, tight enough that they were molded together from face to hips. And, Jesus, he felt good against her. All strong, hard muscles. She didn’t want to let him go. But she did.

  When she turned, Jonathan’s brown eyes were blazing. And it set her body on fire as she approached him to show her gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, peering up at him. Why did this embrace feel so much more weighted than the one she’d given Cruz? She put her arms around Jonathan’s neck.

  And he pulled her in like he was nearly desperate to hold her. “Damn, Hartley,” he rasped. “You’re welcome.”

  There was something in the grittiness of his tone, in the firmness of his grip, in the fact that the lateness of the hour meant that it was just the three of them in the workshop now, that set her body on fire. Suddenly, she trembled against him, arousal spiking her adrenaline.

  “Ssh, we’ve got you,” he said. We. Not I.

  She unleashed an unbidden little moan and buried her face in his neck. He smelled of freshly cut wood, a hint of sweat, and something that was all masculine, all him.

  Just go for it.

  Hartley pressed a kiss to his throat.

  “Fuck,” he bit out. Against her lower belly, he hardened immediately, emboldening her as desire lanced through her veins.

  So she kissed him again.

  Jonathan pulled back until he could look her in the eye. And his were on fire. “Christ, Hartley, we want you. Both of us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Chapter Seven

  Somehow, Hartley managed to pull her gaze away from the intensity of Jonathan’s, because something inside her disliked the idea that Cruz might be feeling left out of this moment. She looked at the other man, and found him standing stock still, as if he were restraining himself from moving.

  As if he were restraining himself from joining them. And she hated that.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice a little shaky, the room threatening to spin around her. “I understand. I won’t lie, it scares me, but I want you, too. Both of you.” She aimed her last words right at Cruz.

  He was at her side in an instant, his hand on her lower back, his shoulder touching Jonathan’s. “No reason to be scared, Hartley. We only want to treat you good, to take care of you.”

  She looked from one man to the other. “But I don’t know what…or how…” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m…submissive.”

  Threading a hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, Cruz’s voice dropped when he spoke. “Hartley, close your eyes and keep them closed.”

  She did. God help her, she did. Even though not being able to see what they might do to her made her tremble even harder. But that wasn’t the only reaction her body had. Because she was suddenly wet between her legs.

  “Open your mouth.” That was Jonathan speaking now, a sterner, grittier tone to his voice, too. Swallowing hard, she dropped her jaw, ovaling her mouth. His cock hardener even more against her belly.

  And then a finger traced the oval. Jesus, not knowing whose finger was an utter freaking turn on. Her hips jerked, and Jonathan’s hold tightened around her back.

  “Suck.” Cruz, again. That finger slid onto her tongue, just a little, just enough for her to close her lips around. Was it Cruz invading her mouth? Or Cruz giving the command to suck Jonathan’s finger? She wasn’t sure which was sexier. And then the finger, wet with her saliva, slid in and out as she sucked.

  When it finally pulled free, she felt bereft and couldn’t restrain the whimper that spilled from her lips.

  “Hartley, open your eyes,” Jonathan said. It was a tone that was almost a growl.

  She obeyed, and found them both staring at them her with such intense expressions that it made her knees go soft.

  “God, you’re fucking beautiful,” Cruz bit out.

  Jonathan gave a single nod. “That, Hartley. That was submission. The beautiful way you just gave into what we asked of you. That’s what we enjoy. Commanding a woman to do things that will please all of us, that will make all of us feel good. Deciding how to give her pleasure, and asking for her willingness to receive that pleasure.”

  She unleashed a shaky breath, because his words seemed to lick over her skin. “I don’t know the rules,” she managed, her brain still holding her back, still holding onto one last strand of sanity.

  Cruz crowded in closer. “Whatever you want to learn, we can teach you. But the rules don’t matter right now. Except this one—say yes and you’ll have our permission to come as often as you like tonight.

  As her heart tripped into a sprint, Hartley knew she was done fighting her curiosity, her attraction, her desire. For them. So she surrendered, and it was as easy as uttering a single word. “Yes.”

  ***

  Yes.

  The word hit Jonathan in a blast of heat. He threaded his hand into her hair, his fingers overlapping Cruz’s where the other man had grasped her moments before. Linking the three of them in an irresistible connection.

  Slowly, Jonathan lowered his face to Hartley’s. His eyes locked with hers, burning darkly bright with need. And then his mouth claimed her mouth, soft at first, exploring. Then harder, deeper, until his tongue penetrated her sweetness and she moaned.

  “Fuck, yeah,” Cruz whispered, nuzzling Hartley’s ear. Kissing and nibbling there.

  Jonathan pulled away. “Taste her, Cruz.”

  “Oh, God,” Hartley whispered, turning toward him of her own volition.

 
; Cruz took her face in his big hands. And then he devoured her in a hungry, dominating kiss. And the picture of it had Jonathan aching hard, deep satisfaction flooding through his gut. This was right. This was so damn right.

  Under Jonathan’s touch, Hartley was trembling. No doubt a mix of nerves and adrenaline. Which just made him appreciate her bravery all the more—and her honesty in telling them she was scared. Jonathan was going to do everything he could to make sure she never regretted venturing down this path with them.

  Because this was a path he wanted the three of them to walk for a long damn time. He forced the thoughts away. Now was time to feel, not think.

  When Cruz pulled back, Jonathan was right there again, kissing her, claiming her. Their three faces close together, their breaths coming harder, faster. But he needed more than this. They all did. So Jonathan walked her backwards, one slow step after another, until they were able to step up onto Hartley’s catamaran.

  “Are we christening my boat?” she asked a little shyly, but with a growing smile on her pretty face.

  Jonathan chuckled and guided her into the salon. “You better believe it.” He arched a brow and nodded toward the starboard companionway, the one on the opposite side from where they’d been working. “Aft cabin.”

  Standing in the space before another of the boat’s three full-sized platform beds, Cruz took control. He came right up to her and grasped her by the hips. “This only goes as far as you want it to go. Something you may not know about a relationship between a submissive and her Dominant is that the submissive has ultimate control—all she has to do is say she’s uncomfortable or doesn’t want something to happen, and everything stops.”

  Jonathan nodded. “In BDSM, it’s called a safeword. But all you have to say is stop or slow down, Hartley, and we will.”

  “Okay,” she said. “And if…if I want it to keep going?”

  Brave fucking girl. Jonathan grinned and winked. “Then we’re all yours.”