by Lolita Lopez
It probably shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. He’d run into women in the local BDSM scene who worked as school librarians and even church secretaries. Sexual fantasies and fetishes had a funny way of leveling the playing ground, so to speak. In his experience, it was always the stiff, uptight, prudish types who liked the dirtiest, kinkiest stuff.
Of course, Whit wasn’t exactly a prude or stiff. She was modest, reserved. With her job in fashion, she always dressed impeccably and stylishly but never too revealing. A peek at her cleavage, a little leg, but never too much skin. In a way, that made Whitney even more appealing and sexy. There was a hint of mystery about her.
Just the suggestion Whit craved the kind of gentle discipline he liked to dole out made Eddie instantly hard. He cursed under his breath and frowned at Mick. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
“Why? Because now you want her even more?” Mick wore a daring look. “You ever think maybe she wants us? I have a hard time believing she felt you up right here in our living room without any ulterior motive.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Eddie’s stomach soured with the thought. He slashed the air with his hand. “No. I’m not about to play with fire.”
His emotions jumbled, Eddie turned hard and stalked toward the dining room. He needed some space to think, to sort out his wants and needs from reality.
“Well, get out your fire extinguisher and stand on the sideline because I’m about to play.”
Eddie whipped around at Mick’s parting shot. He clipped the side of a sawhorse and caught his foot in a length of extension cord. Try as he might, there was no averting the impending fall. Like some damned knight in shining armor, Mick jumped forward to steady him but just made things worse. Mick tripped over the suddenly taut extension cord. His fumbled grab threw their combined weight against the sawhorse. In a tangle of arms and legs, they slammed into the floor. A split second later, the teetering sawhorse dumped the open gallon of paint on their twisted forms.
“For fuck’s sake,” Eddie growled, eyes shut as paint dribbled onto his head. The cool, wet liquid slithered along his forehead and followed the curve of his face. It pooled along his ear, prompting him to shake his head wildly like a wet dog.
“Hey!” Mick yelped. “You’re getting paint on my face.”
Eddie cracked an eye to survey the damage. Mick’s back, shoulders, and arms were coated in sage green. His head and face had been spared except for the spatter of Eddie’s castoff.
As the initial shock of their fall and the ensuing paint bath passed, Eddie became acutely aware of their precarious position. Mick straddled his thighs with one hand planted next to Eddie’s head for support. His sweat-slicked, naked chest looked like something off of a romance novel cover. The weight of Mick’s body pressing down on his provoked memories of their bedroom antics. In his perpetually aroused state, it didn’t take much for Eddie to regain the full stiffness of an erection.
“Well, well, well…” Mick grinned and gave his hips a rock. The loose fabric of his shorts did little to hide Mick’s raging erection. Their cocks bumped together clumsily. Mick’s second swaying movement was more controlled, more precise.
Eddie hissed at the contact and wished the fabric separating their bodies would disappear. His control wore thin. The sensation of Mick’s encouraging hip movements was too much. He grasped the back of Mick’s head and drew him down for a hard kiss. Mick played hard to get, resisting Eddie’s gentle downward tug. He nipped Eddie’s lower lip. “Shower?”
“Hell yes.”
Chapter Two
“Crap!” Whitney tried to keep the bags of Chinese takeout from sliding off the window-unit box she held in her arms. She cast a pleading glance at the door, willing it to open. Where the hell were the guys? She’d expected them to come bounding down the sidewalk to help as soon as she pulled into the driveway.
She used her body to hold the box against the wall and fumbled with her house keys. Leaving the keys dangling in the deadbolt lock, she turned the knob and gave the door a little shove with the sole of her flip-flop. She lugged the box inside the house, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of takeout bags.
“Mick? Eddie?” She listened for a reply but heard only silence. In the living room, she discovered an even bigger mess than she’d left. A paint can rested near a sawhorse. Pools of paint congealed on the exposed flooring. Flecks of green paint marred the ceiling fan.
What. The. Fuck.
Whitney’s blood pressure skyrocketed. It was like living with a pair of toddlers. She’d just come back from the most stressful two weeks of her entire adult life, an impetus forcing her to take a damn hard look at her current situation, and had made a big, ballsy, and frankly terrifying decision.
And she needed her guys in her corner. She needed to sit down with them, share a bottle of wine and a few beers and talk this out. She trusted their intuition and respected their opinions. She needed them both to tell her it was going to be okay, that she wasn’t crazy to think about leaving her current job and joining a new venture.
Whit had expected to come home to her nice, cozy, if not somewhat boring, shared space, but instead she’d walked into this home-improvement disaster. As much as she’d wanted to grouch at the two of them, she simply couldn’t. She had been complaining about the need for renovations. The house was just gorgeous and so well built, but the layout lacked imagination. Too many walls made the living and dining areas feel cramped. The colors were less than inspiring. The carpet was flat-out ugly. The place had so much potential, but it needed some work.
And the guys had taken it upon themselves to do it while she was away on business. Even though their little plan had clearly gone awry, it was truly the thought that counted. The ceiling fan, paint colors, and wooden blinds were all things she’d picked out in decorating magazines. Apparently Mick and Eddie had been paying attention to the glossy pages adorned with red circles and hastily jotted notes.
Realizing they cared so much made Whitney feel so good. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt as if she was part of a family. Her parents had died when she was young. Her aunt had done her very best, but she’d struggled with her alcoholism and hadn’t been able to provide a very stable environment. Eventually Whitney had ended up in foster care and bounced around from home to home until graduating high school. A likeminded group of friends at college had temporarily filled the void, but after graduation they’d all gone their separate ways in search of careers and fulfillment. Facebook and Twitter and text messages only went so far to bridge the gap.
And then she’d found Eddie and Mick by way of a roommate ad. The upscale address and surprisingly affordable rent had caught her eye that morning in the coffee shop. She’d been desperate for a new living situation. Sharing a one-bedroom apartment with a coworker was less than ideal, especially when said coworker was an absolute slob.
She’d called the number immediately and reached Mick’s voicemail. He’d called her back around lunch, and they’d arranged an evening viewing and interview. As soon as she’d laid eyes on the Mediterranean-style house situated on a beautifully landscaped corner lot, Whitney had decided she’d do whatever it took to seal the deal. She’d have put up with just about anything to live in such a great place.
Meeting Eddie and Mick had been the icing on the cake. Sexy as sin. Funny. Sweet. Successful. One of them carried a gun and the other a stethoscope, so she always felt safe and secure. As a single woman in LA, that wasn’t a feeling she’d often enjoyed, living with her old roommate in that crummy apartment in a not-so-great neighborhood.
During that first meeting, she’d gotten a bit of a strange vibe from the pair. She’d assumed it was the fact she was a girl. They’d been totally upfront with her about their gender preferences for their new roommate but had decided to give her a chance because they felt the chemistry worked.
Later, she’d realized it wasn’t their iffiness about a female roommate but something else entirely. It hadn’t t
aken her long to pick up on the pair’s intimate level of familiarity. She’d put two and two together and realized Eddie and Mick were more than friends.
They were lovers. Well-sometimes. There was so much bed hopping going on in the house she often felt like Goldilocks. Mick in Eddie’s bed. Eddie in Mick’s bed. Some hot nurse in Mick’s bed. A girl from Eddie’s favorite bar in his. Both of them and the hot nurse in Mick’s bed. And every combination in between.
Not that Whitney was ever part of the bed hopping. She sat on the sidelines and stared on enviously as everyone else got a piece of the hot-sex pie. She’d been working sixteen-hour days for a solid year. Add in all the traveling to New York and Paris and Milan and Tokyo and, well, there wasn’t much time left for dating. Hell, meeting a straight man who wasn’t a stuck-up model was damn near impossible. Stylists, designers, buyers, publicists-the bulk of the men she met in her field had boyfriends or longtime lovers of their own.
Or they wanted short flings. Casual sex that meant nothing. Whitney couldn’t do that. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination. She enjoyed rather-naughty erotica and even amateur porn on occasion. She’d had a handful of sexual relationships but never a one-night stand. She simply wasn’t programmed for no-strings-attached sex.
In many ways, Whitney was an old-fashioned gal. She wanted the stable relationship, the kids, and the white picket fence. She wanted a man who took charge but was sensitive and caring. She wanted someone well-read and rugged. A man who was just as at ease schmoozing at society galas as he was pitching a tent in a woodsy clearing and hiking a mountain.
Of course, the older Whitney got, the more she realized that maybe that perfect man didn’t exist. Maybe, just maybe, she was looking for two men. Two drop-dead-sexy, sweet-as-pie, perfectly compatible men who just happened to share her living space.
Speaking of said twosome, Whitney called out their names again and heard nothing. Annoyed, she carefully lowered the air conditioner box to the ground and rearranged the bags of takeout. She grabbed her keys from the deadbolt and locked the door behind her. Dropping her keys and purse next to the window-unit box, she went in search of Mick and Eddie.
Her eyes widened at the messes she discovered in the dining room and kitchen. They hadn’t been kidding. The place was wrecked. This was exactly the kind of bullshit that happened without a detailed plan and work schedule. Fail to plan, plan to fail.
Shaking her head, Whitney poked her head into the office she shared with Mick, and then her bedroom. Eddie’s man cave proved empty, too. As she neared the two bedrooms at the end of the hallway, Whitney caught the sound of running water. Why the hell were they showering when there was still a huge mess to clean up out in the living room?
She raised her hand to knock but stopped when her knuckles were mere centimeters from the door. The unmistakable sound of a groan met her ears. Whitney went perfectly still as her ears perked to the noises coming from within the bathroom. Her belly quivered as deliciously dirty visions inspired by the moans and groans filled her head. There was no doubt in her mind that Eddie and Mick were fucking. Just who was giving it to whom was anyone’s guess.
Although, if Whitney were a betting woman, she’d put money on Eddie being the top. He had a definite dominant air about him. Sometimes he’d look at her in that serious, no-nonsense way, and she’d go weak in the knees. He had no qualms about taking charge or being firm. She’d found Eddie a bit overbearing in those early days, but she’d warmed to his particular style after a few weeks. He wasn’t rude or condescending or a control freak. He simply had a big heart and liked to take care of the people who were important to him.
“Oh, god, Eddie.” Mick’s lust-filled voice penetrated the door. “Yeah. Yeah. Like that. Fuck me hard. Harder.”
“Take it! Take my cock!”
“Eddie! Ahh, ahh, unnnhh!”
“Touch your cock,” Eddie ordered. “Make yourself come.”
Whitney’s stomach trembled wildly. She placed a hand to the door and pressed her ear to the wood. It was naughty and wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to hear what was going on in there. Her thighs clenched, and her clit throbbed. She put her hand between her legs, cupping her fabric-covered mound. She had no doubt that if she slipped a finger inside her panties she’d find her slick juices coating her entrance.
The urge to strum her clit was too powerful to fight. Whitney’s hand moved under her skirt and dipped into her undies. She opened her thighs, widening her stance, and let her fingers drift over her stiff clit. Engorged with arousal, the nub pulsed with need. Whitney rubbed hard and fast, taking a different approach to her usual slow and easy pace. This tryst between the guys wouldn’t last long. She wanted to make the best of it.
“Do you like it when I fuck your ass like this?” Eddie’s voice was tight and low, almost a growl. The noisy slap of flesh against flesh echoed in the bathroom. Whitney’s head spun as she imagined the coupling. They were in the shower, their bodies wet and glistening. Maybe they were standing, Eddie behind Mick, Mick with his hands on the tile.
“Give it to me,” Mick begged. “Fuck my ass hard.”
“Jerk your cock,” Eddie ordered. “I want to come with my dick in your ass.”
The groans and grunts from inside grew louder and more frantic. Whitney’s entire body vibrated as she flicked her clit with her fingertips. Her eyes closed as she chased her orgasm. Her fingertips curled against the door. The muscles in her legs flexed and relaxed.
“Unhh. Unhh. Ahh. Eddie. Eddie.” Mick groaned loudly, and there was no doubt in Whitney’s mind that he was coming hard. Seconds later, Eddie growled, setting off Whitney’s explosion, pleasure bursting inside her overheated body.
When it was all over, Whitney inhaled a ragged breath and let her forehead touch the door. She pressed her wet fingertips to her still-throbbing clit and tried to catch her breath. The sound of low murmuring voices met her ears. She didn’t want to be caught with her hands in her panties, so she quietly and quickly stepped away from the door and returned to the living room.
She managed to squeeze by all the boxes of crap and home-improvement equipment in the kitchen to reach the sink and wash her hands. She took a second to inhale a steadying breath and hoped her body would calm down before the guys left the bathroom. Had she really just done that? Masturbated in the hallway as her roommates went at it in the shower?
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. There was no doubt in her mind that if Mick or Eddie saw her at that very moment they’d have known what happened. Best to get a hold on herself before the guys left the bathroom. Otherwise they would all be so embarrassed.
Hoping to avoid an awkward scene, Whitney grabbed a roll of paper towels and headed into the living room to attack the paint mess. She kicked off her flip-flops and wiped down the sawhorse and ladder. She moved the cleaned equipment to one side of the plastic-covered floor and looked around for a razor knife.
Blade extended, she knelt down and cut a wide swath of plastic around the paint puddle. She set aside the knife and carefully pulled together the four corners of the plastic. She spotted the nearby roll of duct tape and used it to secure the top. With the paint contained in the makeshift plastic bag, Whitney carried the whole mess to the garbage can on the other side of the room and dropped it in the bin.
She found the roll of plastic in the dining room and dragged it out to the living room to cut a new piece for the living room floor. She made sure to cut it much bigger than necessary so the overlap would offer extra protection. She used masking tape to secure the new piece in place and tested its hold with her toes.
The big roll of plastic went back into the dining room, and Whitney squeezed back into the kitchen for plates, cups, and iced tea. She ducked into the dining room and dug around in the side table until she found the happy yellow tablecloth she loved so much. She placed it in the center of the living room. Just because they had to eat on the floor didn’t mean they couldn’t do it in style.
> “Whit?” Eddie called out her name as he came down the hall. “You home?”
A tremor of nervousness shook her core. Visions of Eddie and Mick in a sweaty embrace, their hard bodies rocking and bucking, filled her mind. She quickly cleared away the naughty image and tried to focus.
“Yep.” She surveyed her little floor table-scape. “Hey, would you grab those floor pillows from the office closet?”
“Sure.” He returned a few minutes later with the pillows in his big, muscled arms. Whitney tried not to stare at his naked torso or the towel tucked around his trim waist. His relaxed features went rigid as he frowned. “You cleaned up our mess.”
She took the pillows from him. “I’m hungry. I didn’t want to wait.”
“Yeah, but-”
“No buts,” she said, shaking her head. “Go get dressed before the food gets cold and gross.”
Eddie glanced toward the takeout bags. “Szechuan Palace?”
“Of course! Now shoo!” She snuck a glance at Eddie’s bare back and taut backside as he padded out of the living room and disappeared down the hall. She made quick work of setting out the containers of soup, noodles, and entrees. She placed the pitcher of iced tea Eddie made every morning in the center and ran back into the kitchen for utensils. Eddie’s chopstick skills were less than stellar, and he preferred a fork.
“Is that string-bean chicken I smell?” Mick rubbed his hands together as he strode into the living room.
“Yes, but you can’t have any because you didn’t clean up your mess.” She shot him a teasing smile. “You get to sit there and watch me eat all this yummy food.”
Mick pouted as he plopped down on a pillow. “Not fair.”
“Neither was me cleaning up a gallon of paint that I didn’t spill.”
He made an apologetic face. “Sorry about that. Eddie fell and knocked over the paint. We were both covered in the stuff, so we hit the shower.”
