by Ruby Dixon
He arches an eyebrow at me, then looks over at Locke. He nods at his partner. “I dare you to kiss him. Right on the mouth.”
My jaw drops, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Locke stiffen. I look over, and Epic just crosses his arms over his chest, a challenging expression on his face. He doesn’t think I’m going to do it. He’s trying to push me into the ‘truth’ portion of the game.
And suddenly I’m tired of being pushed around. I’m tired of letting others control my life. This might be a stupid, drunk thing to get all riled up over, but I’m not going to back down. I uncurl my legs and get up from the bed.
“What are you doing?” Locke says, his voice a warning.
I hand my cup to Epic and then run the back of my hand over my mouth. “I’m going to kiss you, just like he dared me to.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I know, but my lips still work.” I sound more confident than I feel. That’s good. I need to sound totally in control, no big deal, just kissing on older, sexier bikers all the time. That’s what we wild and crazy chemistry nerds do. As I approach Locke, I half expect him to call things off. To say that the game’s gone far enough and we need to just sit down and chill out.
But he doesn’t, and as I get nearer to him, I see the amused expression on his face and realize…he doesn’t think I’ll go through with this either. No need to make a fuss, because I’ll wimp out and nothing more needs to be done.
Ha. Shows what he knows. I move forward, and since he’s not getting up, boldly fling one leg over him and slide into his lap so we’re facing each other.
The neutral, amused expression is wiped off his face in an instant. Ha.
Of course, now that I’m saddled up in his lap, I’m not sure I’m bold enough to seal the deal. I study his face—broader than mine, rugged, his skin a gorgeous sun-kissed shade of brown. His dark hair’s a bit too long and shaggy, as if he needs a haircut, and there’s the barest hint of a five o’clock shadow along his jaw. His mouth is fascinating to me, and I find myself twitching with the urge to see what it’d feel like against mine.
So…why not close the distance? You’ve kissed guys, Becka. You know a kiss doesn’t mean anything. A kiss is just a flirtation with lips involved.
Convinced, I lean forward and press my mouth to his.
It feels, well, firm. Warm. There’s a slight rasp of bristle on his chin that rubs against my skin. He smells good, but he’s not moving, and so it’s just me pushing my mouth against his. All right, it’s nothing spectacular.
I’m about to pull away when his lips part, and he kisses me back. It’s just a small movement of his mouth, but it’s enough to make all my senses flare in response. I remain utterly still against him, my hands pressing on his chest. I’m waiting to see if he does more.
And he does. His mouth opens a bit wider. His tongue brushes against mine, and then he’s kissing me again, soft, slow, and utterly sweet. The breath is stolen right out of my lungs with every caress of his lips against mine. It’s like he’s nibbling on my mouth and I’m the tastiest thing he’s ever had. It’s making me prickle with need, and Drunk Becka is definitely a fan of more kissing. My arms slide around his neck, and I moan into his mouth when his tongue slicks against mine once more.
“Goddamn,” Epic breathes, off to one side. “What’s she taste like?”
I pull away, startled. I’d forgotten Epic was in the room—my drunk brain isn’t capable of processing both men at once, it seems. My lips tingle and feel wet and swollen from his kiss, and I resist the urge to press my fingertips to them. I’ve kissed a fair amount of guys, but I have to admit that no one’s kissed me quite so…expertly as that. It’s not that he’s a maestro of lip-locking inasmuch as he knows just how to kiss me, like he can guess exactly what I want and can provide it. And he hasn’t grabbed me or mauled me in any way. It was as if he was just showing what he could offer me.
And I’m more aroused than I could even imagine.
Locke gazes at me, dark eyes hooded with need. “Might wanna get off my lap, Rebecca.”
Oh. I realize I’m straddling him rather intimately, my breasts pressed against his chest, and there’s a hard bulge pressing against my belly that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. Right. I’m invading his space in a major way, and unless I want more, I should get up. I climb off of him, wobbly. His hands grip my elbows, helping steady me without being intrusive.
For some reason, I’m disappointed that all he’s grabbing are my elbows. My breasts are aching, my nipples hard little points, and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if the next dare went to an even edgier place. I’m practically panting at the thought. It’s a game, and I need to just play along…right?
I’m so turned on at the prospect.
I straighten and move back to the bed on trembling legs. It feels weird to sit down and curl my legs up like nothing happened. Everything feels different already, like the world just crystallized. Locke is no longer just ‘that guy who rescued me.’ He’s now Locke, incredible kisser and sexy beast and man that I should probably stay far, far away from until my head is sorted. Epic hands me back my cup without a word, and I take a massive gulp. The liquor burns through me in a rush, my head spinning. It’s just a drunk kiss. Means nothing.
It’s probably the alcohol, but I feel better after establishing that. So I smile and hug my cup to my breasts. “Where were we?”
“I was asking what you tasted like,” Epic says, still fixated on the wrong things. He’s staring at me hard, and hasn’t moved from his spot in the middle of the room.
“Probably like alcohol,” I say, and give another drunken giggle. “I meant where in our game.” I snap my fingers—well, try to anyhow. “Catch up.”
Epic throws back his head and laughs, and his reaction makes me burst into a fresh round of laughter, too.
“You two are drunk as fuck,” Locke comments, amused.
“’S’all good fun,” I reply, but my words sound slurred even to me. “I think it’s your turn, Locke.”
“It is,” Locke says. “Or are you two too plastered to play?”
Epic shakes his head. “I’m good.”
“All right, then, you want another dare?” At Epic’s nod, Locke rubs his mouth, thinking. He looks over at me, and I feel a flush of heat trickle through my body.
I know in the next moment what’s coming, and I press my thighs together in excitement. I know Locke is hesitating because he thinks it’s too much, but it’s not. It’s not too much at all.
“Dare you to…tell us about when you lost your virginity.”
I’m deflated. I wanted so much more than that. Locke’s gazing at me, and I know he thinks he needs to pull back to protect me. But I’m safe with these guys. I know this. And I want more, now that I’ve had that kiss. Epic’s talking, pacing the room with idle energy as he tells the story about a girl down the street, some hidden time in her closet, and I bet it’s a really fun story, but I’m not listening to a word. I’m too focused on my question next.
“Becka, truth or dare?”
I don’t miss the way he says my name—I’m no longer Rebecca to him. We’re closer than that now. We’ve kissed, swapped spit, touched tongues. Another drunken giggle escapes me at the mental image. “Dare.”
“I dare you to…”
Say it! Say it!
He glances around the room. “Dare you to drink what’s left in Epic’s cup.”
Seriously? I frown at Locke. If that isn’t the most babyish dare ever, I don’t know what is. Here I am, primed and turned on at the thought of more kisses and all I get is another drink? Grumpy, I go and grab Epic’s cup. It doesn’t matter that it’s almost empty and that what’s in it tastes like garbage. I chug it down, hand Epic his cup and make sure our fingers brush, and then sashay back to my seat.
The next dare better be a good one, because I’m practically squirming for the next level.
“Your turn,” Epic calls out.
“Me? Oh
.” That’s disappointing. I wanted someone to dare me to do something. “Truth or Dare, Epic?”
“Dare, of course. When have I taken a single ‘truth’ tonight?”
A new idea pops into my head, and I sit up straighter on the end of the bed. I cross my legs, feeling slinky and proud of myself, and declare, “I dare you to come and kiss me.”
Epic freezes in place. “Really?”
I nod.
He looks over at Locke, as if making sure he doesn’t mind. Locke’s the one in charge, even though they’re partners. He’s more experienced, and far more sober at the moment.
Locke just studies me, and I wiggle on the end of the bed. Heck, I’ll take my top off if it gets their attention, but I suspect that’s the alcohol making me choose bad things. He shrugs after a long moment. “If Becka’s okay with it.”
“Very okay,” I announce, and pat the side of the bed. Because really, I’m attracted to Epic, too. I’d have to be blind not to.
He flings himself down on the bed next to me, and before I can react, pulls my legs across his lap. I’m not quite straddling him, but I’m definitely tucked against his side. He’s all hard muscle, too, and it’s fascinating to feel them move against me as he pulls me close.
His hand skims up my jeans-clad leg before he gives me an impish grin and then kisses me. No pretense, no working up to it, just in the next moment, Epic’s mouth is on mine and we’re kissing. His tongue thrusts into my mouth and then he’s claiming me with deep, alcoholic kisses that taste like booze and man. He kisses completely differently than Locke, too, because of course he does. There’s intensity in his kiss, in the sheer speed of his tongue as it darts against mine, in the deep kisses that devour me and make my brain go foggy with delight. His hands move over my back and my side, and I feel his fingers graze against the side of my boob—
“That’s enough,” Locke warns from his spot by the window.
“Fuck, she tastes so sweet,” Epic groans between kisses. “Shoulda told me.” His tongue flicks against my lower lip, and I whimper, clinging to the front of his shirt. More kisses. More.
“You’re drunk,” Locke says. “She wants it because she’s drunk. Let her make that decision sober, all right?”
I sigh as Epic pulls his mouth from mine, gives me a reluctant look, and then gets to his feet again. He adjusts himself as he stands, and it gives me a weird, buzzy excitement to see that small movement. Two guys, two kisses, two hard-ons.
God, I’m having fun.
Locke watches Epic as he moves back across the room and pours himself another drink. His gaze lingers on him, and I wonder about the two of them. Locke watches Epic a lot, but I think Epic is pretty clueless. Though now that I think about it, Locke watches Epic in the same sort of protective, affectionate way he watches me…and he kissed the crap out of me. “Truth or dare, Locke?” I ask, suddenly eager to see what he picks.
He looks at me, that carefully blank expression on his face again. “Dare.”
Oooh. He’s playing along. I run a finger over my swollen lips, wondering if I should dare him to kiss me again. I’m pretty sure that’s why he picked dare. Even though he knows he should be good, he secretly wants to be bad. So bad. I shiver, because right now, being bad is so much fun. But I want to see him be bad with someone else. “I dare you to kiss Epic like you kissed me.”
Both men go still.
I can’t help it; I giggle. Stupid alcohol. Stupid giggles.
“Becka?” Locke looks at me, his brows furrowed like he’s trying to figure me out.
I make a nudging motion with a finger, indicating that he should now make out with Epic. Will the kiss be soft and tender like the one Locke gave me? Or will it be rougher because it’s two guys? Why does that thought turn me on so much?
Locke stares at Epic for a long moment, and I can practically see his body vibrating with longing. But after a moment, he shakes his head. “Game’s gone too far for me. I’m out.”
“Oh, fuck it,” Epic says. “It’s just a dare.” And he moves forward and puts a hand on the back of Locke’s neck and pulls him in for a quick kiss.
Locke stiffens, and I hold my breath, shocked. Of course Epic would close the distance between them. He’s not scared of anything. He doesn’t think—he just does.
But when Epic starts to pull away, Locke grabs his shoulders and mashes his mouth against Epic’s. As I watch, Epic stiffens up…and then grabs Locke back just as fiercely. For a moment there’s nothing but fierce, angry kissing, and I can hear their lips and their tongues as they make out. It sounds wet and angry…and so incredibly sexy. I kind of want to put my hand down the front of my pants and start touching myself as I watch. Locke’s mouth is ravenous on Epic’s, and Epic? He’s responding with all the usual enthusiasm with which he approaches the world, and that means he’s giving Locke as much as he’s getting.
It’s…amazing. I’ve never seen two guys go at it before, and now that I have, I need to see this more often. Daily, even.
Then Epic pulls back, eyes glassy and his expression confused. He wipes his mouth and staggers backward, and Locke lets his arms fall.
Moment broken.
“I think I need to kiss Becka again,” Epic says. He staggers over to the bed and thumps down next to me, and I can’t help but stare at the hard ridge of his cock outlined against the front of his jeans. Whatever just happened between them wasn’t a turn-off to him. The look in his eyes is glazed with arousal, and he reaches for my body, pulling me against him for another hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss.
I moan, because there’s a slightly different flavor to his mouth in this kiss…and I’m pretty sure that’s Locke. And the taste of him on Epic’s lips? Sexy as hell.
But then Epic reaches a hand to the back of my neck. White-hot agony shoots through me as his hand presses on my still-raw brand, and I give a little scream of pain.
6
LOCKE
My mind’s spinning.
I just kissed my ride partner. Full on the mouth. With tongue.
Technically, he kissed me first, but it was more just a mashing of his mouth to mine. No, I had to go and take it one step further. I grabbed at him and showed him just how turned on I am—not only because of Becka’s drunken flirtiness but my own unrequited lust for him. I shouldn’t have done it.
I didn’t expect him to kiss back. I didn’t expect it to be so good that it’d make my dick instantly hard. Nor did I expect Becka to make these gaspy, excited little noises like it was the hottest thing she’d ever seen, which only fueled the fire. Between her voyeurism, the tension in the room, and my attraction to Epic, I took things too far.
I realize my mistake when Epic pulls back from me, a frown of concentration on his face. And then he immediately goes to kiss Becka, like he has to get the taste of me out of his mouth, which just makes me feel like shit.
But then Becka jerks back and makes a cry of pain, pulling me out of my self-loathing. She’s pulling away from Epic, shoving his hand off her neck, and tears are pouring down her face. She races to the bathroom, sobbing, and slams the door behind her.
Epic turns to me, utterly bewildered. “Shit, man, I barely touched her.” He looks wounded. “You…you think I bit her or something? I didn’t think I was that drunk.”
“You’re not,” I reassure him. Something else is going on. Becka was into that kiss, and then everything changed in a blink. Is it too much for her? Is she suffering from PTSD from her kidnapping? I hesitate, then head to the bathroom after her. She might want privacy right now, but she’s also drunk as hell and I’m worried she’s going to crawl into the shower and hurt herself. So I knock on the door. “Let me in, Becka.”
“I’m fine,” she says, but she’s clearly drunk and still crying.
“Let me rephrase. I’m coming in, so tell me if you’re on the can or not.”
She doesn’t respond, so I test the door handle. Not locked. Cautious, I push the door open and hear the sound of running water.
&n
bsp; Becka’s at the sink, crying, and as I watch, she takes a wet towel and presses it to the back of her neck.
“What’s wrong?” I take a step forward, waiting for her to tell me. To let me know what caused her mood to flip so abruptly. She was having fun five minutes ago. Hell, I was being all careful with her because she’s a virgin and young, and she just shoved those boundaries aside right and left.
She looks over at me, her face wet with tears, her hand clamped over the back of her neck. “It’s nothing.”
There’s shame in her voice, and that I don’t get. She has nothing to be ashamed of. “What’s wrong with your neck?”
“Nothing!” But her lower lip quivers, and then her face crumples again.
Epic crowds in the door behind me, and I can feel his chest pressing against my back. I hate how good he feels there. “What’s wrong?” Epic asks.
“Just leave me alone,” Becka tells us both.
Leave her alone? Not likely. My protective instincts are going crazy right now. I hold a hand out and wait.
She stares at me with big, wounded eyes, and after a moment, stretches out a trembling hand and places the wet towel on my fingers. It’s pink with blood in certain spots.
“Turn around,” I growl. I sound gruffer than I want to, but I’m starting to get pissed. Actually, I’m beyond pissed. Someone hurt Becka and she’s been hiding it all this time. I’m enraged, and I’m also a little frantic that she’s been hurt in worse ways. Here I was congratulating myself that we saved her before she got raped, but there’re a million things that can happen to a girl that don’t involve a penis going near a vagina, and she can be scarred by any of them.
She sniffs and begins to cry again. “Please don’t touch it, okay?” But she turns around obediently, her small shoulders shaking as more sobs threaten.
“Aw, fuck,” Epic says. “It’s gonna be all right, Becka. I promise.”
I step aside and nod at Epic. “Get in there and hold her.”
“Like, hold her down?” His eyes widen, and I remind myself that I’m dealing with a drunk.
