Dirty Princes: A Standalone MMF Romantic Comedy

by Jo Raven

  “Ah-huh.” I turn my head just enough to feel her soft skin on my stubbled jaw, and our mouths brush in a quick kiss that I feel all the way to my dick like an electric jolt.

  “Good morning,” Ryan says when she pulls back and I return to my senses, her taste still on my lips. I find him watching us with an amused glint in his eyes and that lingering smirk. “Do I get a kiss, too?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?” His eyes narrow and he leans closer, his darker scent blending with Brylee’s light one.

  I lick my lips and his gaze zeroes in instantly, another hot drop to the arousal thrumming through my body. “On whether you brought breakfast.”

  He chuckles, a trickle of fire over my senses, and pulls out a cup with a plastic lid and a paper bag. “There you go.”

  I take everything on autopilot, brain going blank. “You bought breakfast?”

  “The donuts are great,” Brylee says, her hand lingering on my shoulder. “And you should kiss him.”

  I should? I glance at her, craning my neck to get a good look at her expression, and she seems… expectant? Curious.

  Excited.

  Ryan’s hand slides over my shoulder, behind my head, cradling my skull. His breath smells of sugary donut frosting and coffee. His smile turns crooked, a bit uncertain, and then he’s kissing me, a light brush of lips and teeth.

  It leaves me more shaken than I’d like to admit when he pulls back, his breathing ragged, and grips the wheel.

  “Gosh,” Brylee says, her voice hushed. “That was hot.”

  “We aim to please,” I mutter, and Ryan’s broad shoulders shake with silent laughter. “What?”

  “Eat your donut, Rid.” He shifts the car into gear. “The weekend is only starting.”

  ***

  “Any news about my brother?” I ask him as we drive out of town. A light rain has started and it pelts against the windshield. The coffee is good. The donut is history, inhaled within the first two minutes. I barely tasted it. “From that PI of yours.”

  “He’s not mine.” Ryan’s teeth glint in a quick smile. His hands clench on the wheel. “He’s following a new lead, he said.”

  “Sounds just like on TV,” I whisper, dispirited, glancing out the window.

  “We’ll find him.” He reaches over, squeezes my leg. “You’ll see.”

  I nod, looking out the window, taking the small comfort even if I’m not so sure I should be getting my hopes up. It’s been a while. The odds of Xavier turning up, alive and well, are dropping by the day.

  “Meow,” someone says from the back.

  Meow?

  I turn around in my seat, looking back, glad for the distraction. “Was that… a cat?”

  Brylee pats a plastic pink box. A pet carrier? “We needed to balance out the numbers.”

  “Numbers?” I glance at Ryan. “Did you know about this?”

  “Why, are you allergic to cats?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Never had the chance to find out.”

  “Now it’s two boys and two girls,” Brylee says.

  Two pussies.

  My hard-on returns at the thought, and I swallow a groan, leaning back in my seat and chewing on the inside of my cheek.

  Not sure how this weekend will play out. So far nothing is going as I imagined—though not in a bad way—and we’re only half an hour in.

  Christ.

  And it keeps getting more interesting. As I’m half-dozing, the road ahead a blur, Ryan asks Brylee questions about her pussy.

  At least that’s how it sounds like to my sleep-addled brain, and I force my eyes open, intrigued.

  “How come you have a pussy named Fluff?”

  “She’s fluffy. Lots of fluff.”

  “Now, I thought women shave their pussies these days. How come yours isn’t?”

  What. The. Fuck.

  “Shave cats?” Brylee sounds horrified. “Is that a new fad? That’s so cruel.”

  Oh. Damn.

  “How would I know?” Ryan says, perfectly serious. “I don’t have a pussy. It’s not a man thing.”

  “I know men who like them,” she says.

  I shake my head and rub a hand over my face. “I’m a fan.”

  Ryan snorts. “I’ll bet.”

  “Hey, I’m an equal opportunities sort of guy. Pussies and—”

  “And?” Brylee sticks her head between us, putting her hands on our arms, and I lose my train of thought. Her soft hair tickles my cheek, her small hand strokes down my arm, and I feel it through the layers of cloth. “What else, huh?”

  She smirks at me, her eyes laughing. I can’t even… this girl.

  She’s joking about it. She’s fine with it. She likes it. Likes the fact I’m attracted to Ryan, too. How does this make sense?

  … and yet it does. Right now, with both of them looking at me, smiling, accepting, everything makes perfect sense to me.

  ***

  Time off, Ryan had said when he invited us to this place. Vacation.

  Not even sure what the word means. Time off for me has come to mean time spent worrying for my family, looking for my brother, thinking what extra jobs I could take on to pay the rent and bills.

  Not this. Not this house—mansion?—on the shore of the tranquil lake with the trees and chirping birds.

  It’s huge, and looks like it cost a fortune. Inside there’s dark wood everywhere, and rugs, and faux-rustic furniture. There’s a big-ass stuffed fish hanging over the fireplace.

  I wander closer, swallowing a few curses and not liking how out of my depth I feel. “Did you catch this?”

  “What?” Ryan’s steps approach me. “Oh, that. No, that was my grandfather.”

  Grandfather. Generations passing through here. People with Ryan’s eyes, his face, his smile. Old money, obviously.

  “Are you sure you need your job?” I study a framed photo on the mantel. A smiling couple and a young boy. “Any job?”

  I’m half teasing, half serious, and I should have known better and kept my big mouth shut.

  “I like my job,” he says, his smile dimming. “I’m good at it.”

  What were you thinking, Rid? “Of course. Sorry. Not my place—”

  “And it’s not like the house actually belongs to me. Though at the rate I’m losing my parents, it may not be long.” He runs a hand through his short hair. “Fuck.”

  Whoa, I never expected the conversation to take this turn.

  “Stop that. Is your dad sick?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You’d know, right?”

  “Like I knew with Mom?” He gives a harsh bark of laughter. “The signs were there, it turns out, but I was young and self-absorbed, and my father, well… he says he never noticed.” He frowns. “I’m still self-absorbed. So fucking selfish.”

  Shit, shit, shit. “Hey. Nobody’s dying. Now…” I mock punch him on the arm. “You’re a terrible host. What happened to showing us the rest of the house?”

  A ghost of a smile flits over his face. “Right this way, Mr. Connors. Actually, I think Brylee is already upstairs, installing her cat.”

  “Sounds like that cat is plugged in already.”

  He laughs. “Hell. I’d plug that pussy in, all right.”

  “You think she’ll let us?”

  “Depends. Which pussy are we talking about here?”

  Chuckling at the stupid conversation, I wrap an arm around his neck and drag him toward the staircase. “Let’s go check on the girls.”

  ***

  The girls are on the carpet in a high-ceilinged bedroom with goddamn wooden beams running along the white ceiling. The carpet is wine-red and looks soft, the girl and the cat sinking in it as if in a field of red flowers.

  Something stings my heart. I wanna sink down with her, drag Ryan along and fall into the warmth of their bodies, sink into them and forget the rest of the world.

  “Fluff, meet the boys,” Brylee says, and the cat prances about, hissing and archi
ng her back like a fiend.

  I barely glance at the animal. It’s Brylee I’m looking at, her smile, her mouth, her lips, and I’m dying to kiss them again, kiss the laughter off them, fuck her mouth with my tongue until she moans.

  “See her jewel?” Brylee points at the cat’s ass, and there’s a heart-shaped crystal thing hanging there.

  Fuck, this girl’s crazy.

  Ryan is making faces behind her back, and I’m fighting an urge to laugh I haven’t felt in what feels like years, and damn, she’s pretty.

  So pretty.

  She tucks a wayward curl behind her ear where a tiny crystal sparkles, and I see Ryan’s mouth go a bit slack, his eyes heavy-lidded.

  Yeah, we both want her, no secret there.

  She clucks her tongue, and the cat charges her, then bounces away, keeping a wary eye on us. Brylee laughs that crystal laughter that bursts in my mind like a star gone supernova, and tries to catch her, her tits all but spilling out of her low-cut sweater.

  Is it too early to peel that sweater off and suck on her nipples, roll on the carpet with her until one of us ends on top?

  “I love this place,” Brylee says, sitting back on her heels, laughing breathlessly as the cat sits down to lick her paws. “I can’t wait to go down to the lake.”

  “And I haven’t showed you the hot tub yet,” Ryan says, his voice low.

  I swallow hard. Getting into a hot tub, naked, with Brylee and Ryan sounds… dangerous. If you want to keep boundaries. Avoid going too far. But if you don’t…

  Yeah, then it sounds damn awesome.

  ***

  We walk in the woods around the house, and head down to the lake. I may be sleepwalking. Shouldn’t I be at work, moving heavy crates and lumber, coordinating the unloading of trucks? What am I doing here, in this place made of foliage and sky where the only sound is our footsteps and the occasional flutter of a bird overhead?

  It puts me off balance.

  “Will you light the fireplace?” Brylee asks, sidestepping a patch of snow under the trees. It’s damn cold out here, our breaths misting the air. “Can we roast marshmallows?”

  “I didn’t bring marshmallows,” he says.

  “But I did!” She grins and walks down to the lake shore. There are rocks and a small dock. A boat is moored to it.

  Adele is written on its side in a looping script.

  “Ooh a boat!” Brylee is practically dancing. “Is it yours?”

  “Belongs to my family, yes.”

  She quiets down. “And Adele?”

  “That was my mother’s name.”

  I walk on the narrow dock. Waves slosh against the old planks, the spray wetting my pants. The breeze coming over the water is like ice. “Do you take the boat out often? Fishing, like your grandfather?”

  He shrugs, kicks at a loose pebble. “Not much.”

  Brylee’s shoulders sag in what looks like relief.

  “You don’t like boating?” I ask her.

  “I’d rather stab myself with rusty nails, or listen to Metallica perform,” she says with feeling, and I laugh.

  “You don’t like rock music?” Ryan looks shocked, and I wonder why. “When you insisted so much on going to that rock concert with me months ago…?”

  She sighs. “I lied. I don’t hate rock music, but it doesn’t rock my boat, either.” A wince. “Not that rocking boats are a good thing, for the record. I get sea-sick every time.”

  I snort faintly and stare out at the lake. It’s vast, or so it seems to me on this chilly winter morning. Vast and unreadable, like a mirror held up to my life.

  “I’m sorry I lied about liking rock music,” Brylee says.

  “And I’m sorry I acted like a jerk all this time,” Ryan replies.

  I turn around to look at them. He’s standing there, hands in pockets, head bowed, his jaw tight.

  “Why did you?” she whispers, and her mouth looks unsteady, like she might cry.

  “It wasn’t fair to you. I fucked up.” He grabs her hand, tugs her to him, and… fuck, I’m outta here. I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment.

  “Hey, you guys…” A shiver catches me off guard as a gust of wind sweeps over the lake, carrying a promise of snow. “I’m gonna head back to the house.”

  “Rid.” He beckons, and for no good reason, I obey. I’m supposed to be leaving them to their moment, but instead I let him draw me to his side, his arm warm around my shoulders. “You’re cold,” he says.

  Yeah, I am that, too. Among other things.

  “Sorry I punched you the other day.”

  “You did?” Brylee slaps Ryan’s stomach. “Why?”

  “In all fairness, I punched him right back,” I mutter.

  “Why were you punching each other? I thought you liked each other.” She looks stricken.

  “No reason,” I say.

  “Fighting over you,” Ryan says at the same time.

  “I could punch you again,” I growl.

  “So what? She’s worth it.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “But…” Brylee’s eyes are round. “But…”

  She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t preen. Doesn’t seem to believe it. Maybe she thinks he’s joking. That we’re both joking.

  “Let’s go indoors,” Ryan says, and starts walking, tugging us along without waiting for an answer.

  Good idea. I can’t wait to show her this is serious business.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Man Delight with Big Nuts

  Ryan

  I need to stop talking. Every time I open my mouth I apologize for being harsh and cold to both of them in the past—as if something has changed.

  As if this weekend means something more.

  It doesn’t. It can’t mean anything.

  So I drag them both full speed back to the house and set about building a fire, keeping busy and zipping up my big mouth.

  Brylee is exploring the house, the damn cat at her heels, giving me the occasional questioning look.

  Brylee, not the cat. The only glances the cat shoots me are murderous.

  Meanwhile, Riddick sits on the long sofa, staring out the sliding doors at the lake. He seems to like the view. I can sense his presence behind me without looking.

  I also sense when Brylee enters the room, although she makes no noise on the plush carpets. My body is somehow attuned to them both.

  The cat wanders up to me, sniffs at the fire and backs away with the hiss, running out of the room. I thought cats like fires.

  Or is it me she hates?

  “I have the marshmallows,” Brylee whispers.

  “I’ll grab some sticks for them and make some hot chocolate. How does that sound?” I say, but something in her voice makes me turn around where I’m kneeling on the rug.

  The fire leaps, flames dancing across the big room. She’s cast in gold, her eyes burning amber, her expression closed off.

  Damn. I scared her. Or confused her. Whatever.

  You suck, Ryan.

  Getting to my feet, I walk over to where she’s standing and draw her to me. Fuck the marshmallows. I want her.

  I brush my mouth over hers, and her hands grip my forearms tightly, her lashes fluttering. Oh yeah, baby. Forget about sugar. She’s sweeter.

  “We could warm up first.” I glance at Riddick who’s watching us openly. “Warm each other up. Come here, man.”

  “If you want me,” he says, arching a dark brow, “come and get me.”

  I growl. Brylee squeals as I tear across the room to answer the challenge.

  “Get him!” I tell her, and she laughs as we each grab his arms and drag him up. He huffs, eyes sparkling, as we pull him toward the fire. “You have the right to remain silent.”

  “Or to be loud,” Brylee says.

  He laughs, red tingeing his cheekbones. “Loud, huh?”

  Hot arousal rushes through me at the thought of either of them getting loud. “Yeah, forget about remaining silent.”

&nb
sp; He’s laughing again, and shit, I really like that sound. I let go of him in order to drag the big cushions stacked by the wall for this precise purpose in front of the fireplace.

  Plopping the cushions down, I push Brylee down on one of them, and Riddick on the other.

  He lands awkwardly, with a grimace, and groans softly.

  I stop in my tracks. “Is it your back?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I exchange a look with Brylee over his head. “I got an idea.”

  “More ideas. Wow.” Snarky, but when he shifts on the cushion, turning on his side, his face contorts again.

  Not exactly an idea. I thought his back might hurt sooner or later, and came prepared.

  My bag is still standing inside the hallway where I dropped it when we arrived. I go and carry it back into the living room, then rummage inside for the warming gel.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he grumbles, then starts when Brylee strokes his face and brushes dark hair off his forehead. “Huh?”

  She lies down beside him and kisses him, long and sweet.

  Shit, my pants are getting smaller. And tighter. And damn uncomfortable.

  But that’s a good idea. Relax him first. At least that’s what I tell myself as I settle down behind him and slip my hand under his sweater to stroke his flat stomach and his sides. His skin is so warm. Smooth.

  “Ryan.” He tenses, jerking his head around to see me, and tries to roll over.

  Then he stiffens, but the sound he makes doesn’t sound like pleasure.

  In fact, it sounds more like “motherfucking hell.”

  Shit.

  “Sweater and T-shirt off,” I tell him, grabbing the gel tube. “Back rub time.”

  His gaze widens. “What?”

  “Oh yes.” Brylee’s eyes light up and she claps her hands together. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Riddick grunts, but one side of his mouth quirks up.

  The warmth from the fire licks at my back as I help Riddick out of his sweater. He really seems uncomfortable, and I don’t like how my chest tightens at the thought. Then his T-shirt comes off, too, and I help him lie on his stomach, while Brylee uncaps the tube.

  She stills, staring down at Riddick, her eyes dark with desire, her face flushed, and I take a moment to look my fill, too. His dark hair curls a little at his nape and over his ears, giving him a boyish air.