by Lana Hartley
I look at Dylan, who might be one step away from bursting open with pride just by the way his eyes sparkle when he talks about his respective field.
“You guys aren’t just fucking with me?” I just have to ask.
“What do you mean?” Simon frowns.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Why are you so willing to help me?”
“Are you kidding? We live for this stuff!” Dylan exclaims.
God, he’s so cute. If I could run over to him and squeeze him, I would, but I’m not sure that would be appropriate on—or off—school grounds.
“Well, then, by all means, please lead the way.”
I gesture for the guys to head out in front of me as I gaze at them. My eye wanders to their juicy, tight asses as I follow them through the hallways and rooms they take me to.
“So, how long have you guys worked here?” I ask as we stop in front of a laboratory that Dylan mentions I might use on a weekly basis.
“I’ve been here six years,” Simon answers.
“Me, well, I have four years under my belt,” King nods.
“As for me, I’ve been here the longest. Eight crazy years.” Dylan says and then tips his head down.
“How old are you guys?” I blurt out, although I’m instantly embarrassed. What kind of person asks another person a question like that?
“We should be asking you the same thing,” King grins with playfulness.
“I’m twenty-four,” I state nonchalantly.
I’m not afraid or ashamed of my age.
“Ah, a young one,” Simon laughs.
“Okay, well you guys can’t be forty yet,” I say defensively, even though I know they’re just toying with me.
“We’re all fraternity brothers,” King admits. “We graduated from this university, just as you hope to do in a couple of short years.”
“You still aren’t answering my question,” I tease him back.
“We’re all thirty-four,” Simon finally admits.
“Oh,” I state with an anticlimactic flare. “That’s not old at all.”
King erupts into laughter. “Good to know you won’t be trying to shove us into a retirement home anytime soon.”
“Don’t be silly.”
I playfully slap his arm.
“Let’s keep walking.” Simon points directly ahead. “There’s so much ground to cover.”
“I appreciate your efforts to get me acclimated to my new environment,” I confess to the three of them. “All three of you are total lifesavers for me.”
“It’s really nothing.” Dylan waves his hand dismissively. “We’re happy to help. Besides, the university is extremely supportive of your research. They want us to come to your aid as much as possible.”
“Really?” I turn to face him, surprised.
As if reading my mind, Dylan chuckles. “Don’t react with so much cynicism. We’re telling the truth.”
“Well, that gives me a boost of confidence, for sure,” I admit. “I’m proud of this research field. I know I can do great things with it.”
“We’re excited to see what you can build from the ground up,” Simon offers.
I’m bonding with them, taking notes on each of their unique qualities that make them special as individuals, the qualities that keep the glue binding them together as a trio.
I’m beginning to crave more and more time with them, and I’m scared of the impact this might have on my ability to stay focused on school and work.
“Let’s end the tour in the library,” Simon suggests. “That way, we can collect materials vital to the research.”
“That sounds like a great plan to me,” I beam. “I’ll follow you.”
When we arrive in the library a few minutes later, Dylan points to a table in the back. “We can have privacy if we sit there.”
“Okay.” I nod.
We sit down together, and I smile at the guys, waiting to see what they will come up with next. I’m always guessing with these three, and that’s part of the fun.
They stare at me, ogling with hungry eyes as if they were feasting on a platter of delicious food.
“What?” I chuckle, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have something in my teeth?”
“No,” Simon continues to grin foolishly, meeting my gaze, which, of course, makes me tingle from the inside out.
“Then why are you guys staring at me like that?” I cut to the chase and try to keep my voice to library-approved decibels.
“I can’t speak for these guys,” Simon nods at his partners, Dylan and King. “But I just can’t stop thinking about the other night. You’re just so profoundly beautiful…I don’t think you realize just how deep it goes.”
“I’ll have to concur with my friend here,” King quips. “You are so tantalizing and sexy and…well, perfect if I’m being honest.”
“Stop it,” I blush. “Really, you guys are too kind. I’m hardly perfect.”
King takes my hand and cradles it in his. He’s warm and masculine, especially with his brooding muscles.
I jerk it away instinctively but then I try to recover.
“I’m sorry,” I say, glancing around. “It’s just…”
I lick my lips and cast suspicious eyes around the room. “Well, to be honest, I’m petrified of the university finding out about us and taking everything I’ve worked so hard for away from me.”
“That won’t happen. We’ll be careful,” King tries to reassure me, but I remain unconvinced.
I continue to glance around the room, noticing a certain man who has rounded our table at least several times. It’s almost as if he’s trying to eavesdrop on my conversation with the guys.
“Do you know him?” I point to the perpetrator as soon as he turns his back to us.
All three guys curiously crane their necks to look over my shoulder.
“I don’t think so.” Dylan is the first to speak and shakes his head.
“Hmm,” I begin. “Something’s eerie about him.”
“Want us to punch him in the face for you?” King grins.
“No.” I laugh a little too loudly and cover my mouth with my hand. “Oops.”
The guys are bringing out a playful, liberating side of myself that I don’t recognize but now fully embrace. I want to be outgoing, charismatic, and brave…all while living on the edge.
I want to not only teeter on the edge of wild and reckless endangerment; I also want to shatter it into a million pieces.
I may not recognize my new personality quite yet, but I’m well on the way to conquering every single fear I’ve ever had in my entire life.
“Are you guys sure you didn’t know who I was when you invited me into the supply closet in the bar?” I stare at each of them individually, trying to gauge their reactions in case they’re bluffing.
“Absolutely not,” Simon flat out denies involvement. I can tell by his expression that he’s being honest with me.
“Good.” I nod and breath a sigh of relief.
“Don’t be paranoid,” King offers. “Everything will work out.”
“I hope so,” I trail off and stare straight ahead as the strange man continues to walk laps around the perimeter where I sit with the guys.
We’re speaking softly, so there’s a very favorable chance that the man can’t hear our entire conversation.
I glance back at the guys. “Shall we get to work?”
“You bet.” Simon winks at me.
As I follow them to the computer research area, I know I’m in trouble—emotionally. These guys are going to take my whole heart.
But do I even care at this point?
It’s already been stomped on by Brandon, so no real stretch there. I don’t have the guts to mention to the guys that I’m afraid to ease into a comfortable relationship with them because I want to focus on my career and research.
Plus, it’s a huge risk for me to let anything happen again with them, no matter how much I might want it.
But if I’m bein
g honest, I can’t help but wonder what it might be like to just relish in how they pamper me with attention—and shower me with physical pleasure behind closed doors.
Chapter 8
Krista
As the morning sun spills into my apartment in jagged blocks from the partially drawn blinds, I grin and stretch.
Today is going to be a fucking fantastic day.
How am I sure? I can just predict these types of things in advance.
I know, I know, it’s a true born gift.
Anyway, I climb out of bed, rolling right along as I make my coffee and prepare for another stimulating day at the university.
Have you ever come across anyone more annoyingly enthusiastic about their job as myself? It’s borderline obnoxious, isn’t it?
I don’t care, though; I am beyond thrilled to be a part of this team, and knowing that I get to spend ample amounts of time with Dylan, Simon, and King has me waking each day with a smile automatically adorning my bright, beaming face.
Okay, fine. I’ll shut the hell up now…I promise.
My phone buzzes on my kitchen counter as I pour creamer into my lifeline—otherwise known as coffee. I pick it up and glance at the screen, then immediately toss the phone back down on the counter again.
Shit. There are two missed calls and three text messages from Brandon on my notification screen.
I can either face it and look at them or burn my phone in the fireplace. So, two equally great options, but I opt to just look at the messages.
Why the hell should I care what he has to say? I might even get my morning laugh out of the way already. I don’t have to necessarily respond to his messages if I don’t want to.
It’s going to take a hell of a lot of willpower to ignore him, though. It’s too bad that it’s still morning. I can’t really unscrew a bottle of wine at this hour to cope with his insane bullshit.
I open the first message.
It reads: Why won’t you call me back?
I roll my eyes and glance at the next little bubble text below it.
Stop being a bitch and talk to me.
Okay, so it’s clear he’s not going to take the high road if we’re resorting to name-calling.
I’m sorry, Krista, please forgive me. I need to talk to you, it’s urgent.
Classic Brandon approach. He erupts with anger and spills a bile of menacing words directly at me, then he comes to his senses and does a personality shift.
Begging for forgiveness is his trademark. I mean, he probably should have it patented, because I know exactly what to expect from him each time this happens.
I delete all three messages so that I won’t be tempted to respond to any of them.
I’m moving on, feeling relief wash over me as I gain my closure.
Yeah, right, like this will be the last time Brandon will try to contact me. He’s not going to give up without a fight.
Suddenly, I have a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s not the coffee—it’s delicious.
No, I’m sick of Brandon, and I want to forget about him. He’s my ex-boyfriend, a guy who gets off by constantly telling me how worthless I am.
No, fuck him, I’m not going to waste a single more second worrying about him or his antics. That relationship is toxic—with a side of confidence-killing despair.
I finish getting ready for school and press on for my day of classes and research.
* * *
That afternoon, I’m waiting for the guys at the research facility, just as we planned the night before.
“Well, hello there.”
I spin around and smile from ear to ear. Dylan stands in front of me, walking into the room, carrying a back pack.
Just at that same moment, my phone dings, alerting me of yet another message from Brandon.
“Something important?” He grins.
Fuck, he’s sexy.
“No.” I shake my head adamantly and shove my phone in my purse—but not before muting the notifications. “What’s in the backpack?”
I point to it, desperate to change the subject.
“This,” Dylan pats it eagerly, “is our brain power.”
I giggle and lean against a desk. “Brain power?”
“That’s right,” he nods, grinning. “We can’t let our minds get heavy from malnourishment. We need fuel to bring out our endurance.”
“Well, isn’t that hospitable of you,” I tell him and slowly approach him as sexual tension slices through the room.
“I aim to please.” He shrugs humbly with a chuckle.
“Where are the other guys?” I ask and breathe in the scent of Dylan’s aftershave.
He’s wearing a suit and tie, and my mind runs wild as I imagine ripping that tie from his neck and dry humping him right here on the desk.
I take a deep breath and remind myself to pace.
“They should be along shortly,” Dylan explains and places the backpack on top of the desk.
“Cool,” I nod and smile.
I bite my lip, feeling the raw magnetism of attraction hit me like a ton of bricks. I instinctively check out his package as it bulges through his pants.
I’m not being subtle, but I don’t care. We’re flirting with each other through our eyes. No harm there.
“Seriously. What a kind gesture to bring us food.”
I make eye contact with Dylan and gently touch his arm. Electric volts of pleasure rip me apart, and Brandon is all but forgotten.
“Hey, guys!”
King pounces into the room, interrupting the private moment between Dylan and me, but I’m equally excited to see him as my anxieties fade away.
“Hi,” Simon files in behind King and casts us a wave.
“Alright! The gang is all here.”
Dylan claps his hands together approvingly.
It does feel like when I’m with all of them that the missing puzzle pieces just…I don’t know how to explain it really…shall I say, click?
Yes, that’s a good word for it. Something is missing until we’re all reunited.
Maybe I’m enjoying the way they shower me with compliments. They certainly know how to swell a woman’s head…and in my case, also my clit.
We all sit down to formulate ideas, and Dylan whips out…some snacks.
You’re thinking I was going to say his cock, weren’t you?
Well, maybe at some point, but for now, I just nibble on some pretzel sticks and toy with the guys’ emotions by taking deliberately slow bites to tease them and drive them through the roof with desire.
“So, Krista, where are you from? None of us actually come from this melting pot, do we?”
Simon fires away with the first round of questioning that I already expect from the guys, but I don’t mind chatting about my personal life or background. I have nothing to feel ashamed of or hide from.
“Well,” I grin and cross my legs, “I am from New York.”
“City?” Dylan says with surprise.
“No,” I shake my head. “Upstate. It should still count for something, though.”
I wink at them.
“Absolutely.” King nods with approval.
“So, does that mean you grew up on farmland?” Simon asks.
“Yep.” I nod and take a sip of my sprite.
“My father was a coal miner,” I admit.
“Oh, is that why you want to conduct this research?” King asks inquisitively.
“It is,” I say softly. “My father died in a mining accident. There was…an explosion.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Simon places a tender hand on my shoulder. “That must be painful for you to talk about.”
“It’s been ten years,” I confess. “The wounds have been healing. It gets easier to discuss every day.”
I don’t want to get all sappy on these guys. I just want to have a great time with them and get as many orgasms under my belt—pun intended—as I possibly can.
After breaking up with Brandon, I want to live each moment as they come
—and to the fullest, too.
“You are so strong,” Dylan admits.
“I’m okay guys…really.” I chuckle and glance down at the research program highlight points that I want to hit. “Shall we get down to business?”
“Absolutely,” they say in unison and lean in closer to me.
My heart beats with desire, and my eyes cloud over with lust. I need to snap the fuck out of it. Focusing on my research and studies is the sole purpose of me coming to New York University.
I can’t blow my chances of success, even though the only thing I can think about right now is blowing all three of the guys in a row.
Fuck, what is wrong with me?
Talk about insecurities.
Why do I find myself so obsessed with seeking their approval?
We begin working on our outline of issues to cover, then Simon stops to reflect, staring at me profoundly with his intensely and insanely gorgeous blue eyes.
His eyes…they’re like the color of the Caribbean or something. And his eyelashes are so long I would kill for them.
Not really, but I would need actual mascara for that shit. Simon apparently doesn’t need any effort to grow his.
I’ll just sit here and swoon over Simon and the other two guys while I try to prevent my jaw from hanging to the floor.
“You’re so pretty,” he croons.
“Really?” I say.
I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear as my heart begins to pound in my chest.
I can feel the rise of sexual arousal consuming me, taking shape by flushing my cheeks a hot, crimson shade of red.
“Are you kidding? She’s gorgeous,” Dylan raises Simon’s comment.
“I, for one, can’t stop thinking about the other night at the bar with you,” King interjects.
“You guys are too much with the flattery,” I wave my hand dismissively, but secretly, I’m relishing in every moment of their positive attention.
Honestly, the three of them have boosted my self-confidence more in the few days I’ve known them than Brandon did in our entire five-year relationship.
I don’t know why I subjected myself to that many years of misery with such a gross prick.
“We mean it,” King whispers softly.
“You can trust us,” Simon adds with swagger. “We’re genuine.”
