by Helena Maeve
It would’ve been harder to walk away if her mother claimed otherwise. Hazel would’ve crumbled, like she had done last night, at Rhonda’s. But one panic attack per family reunion was more than enough. Hazel hooked a hand around the strap of her rucksack and pulled it over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Ma.”
“Hazel.”
Mrs. Whitley would never stoop to admitting wrong-doing. Hazel knew that. The best her mother could do was a thin, defeated, “Take care.”
Hazel brushed past on the way out of her room without any part of her body touching her mother’s. She couldn’t hold back a gasp when she nearly ran into her father on the landing. The early morning light slanting through the skylight over the stairs cast shadows under his brow and deepened the dip of his chin.
Their eyes met and held for a long beat.
“I’m going,” Hazel said, uselessly.
Her father’s gaze flashed to the backpack slung over one arm. “I heard.”
You heard everything. It was written in the crease of his frown, a near-seamless copy of the expression he’d worn for every funeral they had ever attended as a family.
“Is it true?” he asked abruptly. “Everything you told your mother…is it?”
“Just you asking me that is—”
Mr. Whitley was a mountain of a man. Hazel had inherited his bone structure. When he drew himself up to full height and puffed up his chest, he was impossible to ignore. “You have to understand, Hazel. When you keep us in the dark and you make accusations like that, it’s hard to know what to believe.”
“Enough, Walter.” Her mother’s voice was rough with use, as though she’d been shouting for a long time without anyone hearing a peep.
Hazel felt a flash of kinship, there and gone in an instant.
“She has a flight to catch.”
After a moment’s hesitation, her father stepped aside, clearing the way for Hazel to troop down the stairs and out of his house. She didn’t look back.
* * * *
“You going to be okay?” Buddy asked in a whisper, looping an arm around her neck.
Up ahead on the sun-baked tarmac, Dylan was loading up their luggage while Ward fiddled with the controls in the cockpit of the Cessna. Hazel tried not to think too much about putting her life in his hands. She didn’t have much choice. Her return ticket had expired yesterday.
She sighed. “You know I can’t stay…” Not after the things she’d said to their parents, not with Malcolm Pryce putting down roots in Dunby.
With the toe of his snakeskin boot, Buddy kicked a loose pebble off the blacktop and watched it roll away. “I know. I’m not saying you should. It’s just… Me and Rhonda were talking last night, and I don’t know these guys. ”
“They’re the rare, not-creepy type,” Hazel promised.
Buddy frowned. “You sure about that?”
The engines of the Cessna sputtered to life, wings juddering for a few seconds before Ward powered down again. He gave her a thumbs up through the windshield. It was good, Hazel figured, that he felt confident. Surely nothing bad could happen if he thought he knew what he was doing.
Slowly, she disentangled herself from Buddy’s arms. He still had her backpack, but even if he hadn’t, she still couldn’t have turned her back to him. “What did Rhonda tell you?”
“To mind my own business.”
“Good advice.”
“Yeah,” Buddy snorted, “but it ain’t that easy. You’re my kid sister.”
The truth of that easy admission struck her like a cudgel. No matter how many times that foul recording surfaced, no matter how the still frames were edited and reposted, she would always be Buddy’s sister and Sadie’s friend—and, yes, even Mrs. Whitley’s only daughter. She could be the black sheep of the family, but she was still a part of it.
On impulse, Hazel rose up on tiptoes and pecked her brother soundly on the cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked, reddening, before remembering to add a childish, “Other than spreading your girl-cooties.”
Hazel shrugged and liberated her backpack from his shoulder. He relinquished it easily.
“I’ll let Rhonda know when we’ve touched down in LA.”
“Okay,” Buddy said, slightly bemused.
“Maybe you can bring the girls over sometime. I’m sure I’ll be a terrible tour guide, but—”
“Think they’d like that.”
“Yeah?”
Buddy nodded. “Figure at least one of us should make it to Hollywood…”
“My money’s on Rhonda,” Hazel called back over her shoulder, each step taking her farther and farther from her brother. They weren’t a hugging family. They didn’t believe in showing affection when a brisk nod would do.
Lack of precedent didn’t stop Hazel from tossing her backpack into the cabin and saying, “One second.”
Dylan started to say something, then seemed to abort the attempt.
“Hey, meathead!” Hazel cried.
Buddy whirled around in time to catch her in his arms. He was a big guy. He didn’t as much as totter with the force of impact.
Hazel held him as tight as she could, squeezing him around the waist for a long breath before pulling away. If Dylan and Ward noticed the sheen in her eyes as she climbed into the Cessna and strapped in, they were kind enough not to mention it.
Within a handful of minutes, they were lifting off, the small plane juddering around them as the airstrip grew smaller and smaller in their wake.
Dylan reached between their seats and caught Hazel’s hand in his. Somehow, without being told, he seemed to know she needed it.
Yes, Hazel thought. I’m sure.
Chapter Seventeen
Though unaired for a few days and sticky with the afternoon heat, the loft smelled like home. Hazel dropped her rucksack by the door and half hurled herself, half toppled to the brown leather sofa that dominated the center of the living room. The upholstery clung to her bare forearms, squeaking as she stretched into a yawn.
Ward had offered to drive her to her place once they landed, but he was overruled. Dylan wanted her here. And Hazel had been all too happy to go along with his wishes.
She forced her eyes open to slits when something cold traced down the back of her neck. Dylan was standing over her. The chill spreading over her back was just his fingertips, fast lengthening to the flat expanse of his palm drifting lower and lower until he cupped her ass through wash-softened denim.
“Tired?” he asked.
His voice was soft, his touch gentle, but Hazel knew she wasn’t imagining that vaguely tendentious crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Depends what you’re really asking.” She doubted she could stay awake through a Real Housewives marathon, but there was a chance she could stomach a late lunch—another, after the burgers they’d stopped for on the way back to the loft.
“Sex,” Ward supplied, plopping down into the Eames chair and letting his arms hang off the sides. “He wants sex. He has a one-track mind—”
“Oh, like you’re not just as bad,” Hazel snickered, her pulse skipping beats in her throat.
“I’m too tired to be salacious.”
In no better shape, Hazel pushed herself upright and smirked at Dylan. “Maybe we can change his mind?”
It was usually Hazel who was left to bite her lip in anticipation as Dylan and Ward advanced on her. It was Hazel who most often found herself swallowing deep, fortifying breaths she parted her legs under their hands. Tired as she was, the thought of turning the tables on Ward filled her with glee. Knowing that Dylan was watching only sweetened the moment.
She hit the ground a little hard, impact ricocheting through her knees into her thighs, but the ache dulled by the sensation of Ward’s hands on hers, pulling her hands up his thighs. His linen pant leg wrinkled beneath her fingertips, bunching at the crease of his hip. She didn’t bother smoothing it down as she settled more comfortably between Ward’s splayed knees.
His breaths hitched when she ra
n her palm down the swell of his cock.
Hazel grinned. “I think it goes without saying that he can’t take much teasing,” she mused, tossing her long, unbound hair over a shoulder as she turned to grin at Dylan.
“Probably not,” he agreed.
“Don’t you start,” Ward muttered, rocking his hips into her hand. “Wasn’t kidding when I said I was tired.”
Hazel pouted. “Poor baby.”
“Careful,” he warned. “You’re walking a very fine line. And we both know Dylan won’t cover for you if you slip.” His threat wasn’t meaningless, but if it was meant to intimidate Hazel into abandoning her leisurely strokes, then it struck far off the mark.
By way of reply, she lowered his zipper and reached inside his slacks to fondle his erection.
Ward’s heated gaze held her prisoner. She couldn’t—and didn’t want to—look away as he hardened in her fist, the heat of him ratcheting up the dull throb of her heartbeat. There was something so intensely erotic about putting herself into his power and knowing he’d see her true that she had a hard time keeping to a plan.
Dylan’s voice washed over her at a gravelly whisper, “Is that the best you can do?”
Hazel shook her head. She was well aware that she could speak—if they wanted her quiet, they could always gag her—but she chose silence. She chose to make herself small and obedient for this, however long it lasted.
“Prove it,” Ward ordered.
He could have pulled her down to him and worked his cock into her mouth the way he had before. Her jaw would ache and he’d groan, and it would be so fucking good for a little while. Instead, head tilted back against the upper edge of the seat, he waited for Hazel to do his bidding.
Desire thrumming in her veins, Hazel bent to her task. Ward seemed to realize it at the same time, judging by his hiss of breath when she tongued the slit.
“Good, isn’t she?” Dylan asked from somewhere behind Hazel. “And it’s so much more intense without a rubber…”
Ward moaned, flexing his fingers into the armrests. “Can’t believe you’re letting me expose her like that.”
“Oh, come off it. Your last test was what, two months ago? You haven’t been with anyone but her since.”
Hazel shivered when she felt Dylan slide his hands into her hair.
“And she hasn’t been with anyone but me… So be good and try to enjoy yourself,” he murmured, his shadow blanketing her and Ward both. “She’s got such a lovely mouth.”
“Mm,” Ward agreed, “made for sucking cock.”
Under different circumstances, that low growl might have been a slur. Here, now, Hazel did her best to prove him right as she ran her tongue down the length of his erection, pressing kisses into the soft, silky column of flesh on her way back up. She tried to remember what he liked best, but her mind always seemed to go blank when she was given too many options. Was it Ward who liked her to suckle his balls into her mouth or was that Dylan? Did Ward prefer her to deep throat or would he rather she focused on the sensitive cockhead?
Nerves suddenly on edge, Hazel all but wept with relief as soon as Dylan told her to open wide. He guided her down Ward’s cock without force, making her take him all. The first couple of inches were a breeze. It was the rest, her lips stretched around his thick shaft, that would’ve given her pause if she were the one in charge.
“That’s it,” Dylan murmured, gently encouraging. “That’s my girl.” He stood behind her, her hair gathered in his fist like the silver link chain they sometimes used for a lead. “You love it, don’t you?”
“Look at her,” Ward choked out, “she gets off on this.”
Hazel moaned around his length—not to tease but to agree. The effect was the same. Ward swore, hitching his hips up and out of the armchair as if it was too much, too good to resist. The head of his erection jabbed the back of her throat. Hazel pulled off, coughing.
“Sorry, sorry… Shit, let me try again—”
“Quiet,” Dylan muttered, a soft note of reprimand in his voice.
One word was enough to abort the apologies she felt compelled to offer.
I screwed up. Hazel wiped the back of a hand over her mouth, cheeks flaming. She worried, however briefly, that Dylan wouldn’t let her get back to it. He’d never denied her before and Ward certainly looked as if he wasn’t ready to stop, but maybe—maybe they had changed their minds, given the new information they’d brought home with them from Missouri.
“Again,” Dylan said, rubbing the tense muscle where Hazel’s shoulder and neck met. “And you,” he added, pitching the comment at Ward, “try not to damage her too much.”
“Oh, is that what I was doing?” Ward laughed. The strangled sound trailed off on a gasp as Hazel took him down again, this time sucking in earnest, if not as deeply as she might have liked.
Dylan’s hold on her hair tensed if she tried to take more than a few millimeters at a time, her scalp prickling. Making me work for it. That was fine. She could stand to prove her worth again and again until they believed her when she said she knew what she was doing. The weight of Ward’s cock on her tongue alone was reason enough to try. He moaned her name as if it was a prayer, or the kind of invocation spoken in moments of great suffering.
“Better,” Dylan murmured, guiding her while Ward squirmed and shook beneath her ministrations. He slid his free hand down the column of her neck to lower one of the straps of her sleeveless top.
Hazel found herself moving her arm to help before she understood what was happening. The tight clasp of fingers around her breast came as a welcome surprise. He wasn’t gentle about it, squeezing and fondling her, pinching at a hard nipple until Hazel had to pull off for fear of biting.
“Oh God…”
“I’m not distracting you, am I?” Dylan teased, his touch spreading fire over her skin.
Hazel started to shake her head, but he only wrenched her back by the hair, arresting the attempt.
“Are you lying to me?”
“Now who’s damaging whom?” Ward snorted.
Hazel had forgotten that she’d placed her hands on his knees for support until he clasped her wrists and pulled her up from the floor. Dylan allowed it, seemingly content to lower her other strap down while he was at it.
“Not sure the chair can hold us both,” Hazel blurted out in a rush.
Ward clucked his tongue before Dylan could react. “What did we say about you being quiet?”
“She’s fishing for a spanking,” Dylan agreed, but when he touched her, it was only to clasp her shoulders. He pressed his thumbs into her nape, loosening the tension she’d amassed there. His strokes were almost innocent compared to what they’d done so far.
Hazel blushed with need, pathetically responsive to even the most innocent petting.
“Is that it?” Ward asked, his breath hot on her lips. “You want me to bend you over the couch and take a belt to that gorgeous ass?” He palmed her breasts as he spoke, kneading them with rough hands.
“Anything,” Hazel gasped. “Anything you want.” She couldn’t resist wriggling a little in his lap, the inseam of her jeans pressed snug against her pussy.
Ward arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I think we both know what you want…” He cupped her through soft denim, curving his fingers around her pubic mound. “My, my…is that all it takes? My cock in your mouth and you’ll soak your panties?”
Hazel couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. The urge to rut against his fingers was embarrassingly strong. She barely held back, immobilized beneath Dylan’s broad hands.
For a beat, she forgot that he wasn’t on her side.
“Maybe you should test that theory,” Dylan mused and reached down to pop her fly open.
Hazel clenched her fists in the fabric of Ward’s shirt, barely biting back a plea. She didn’t know if she wanted to beg him to touch her or beg him not to, both avenues equal parts desirable and not. It was just as well that Ward took the call entirely out of her hands by working his fingers und
er the waistband of her panties and turning his wrist.
A soft, startled sound escaped Hazel’s lips at the first stroke of his palm. But Ward knew her by now. He read that cry for what it was—please, please, give me more. He set a merciless rhythm, grinding the heel of his palm into the throbbing, pebbled nub of her clit and filling her with two fingers. The stretch was nothing, even after a few days of abstinence. Hazel tossed her head back, riding down on his hand. She’d never been one to mind a little sharp pain, a small reminder that she could take everything they asked of her.
Dylan cupped the back of her skull and bent down to kiss her hard on the lips. It was a sloppy mess, but Hazel loved it, tasting coffee in Dylan’s mouth and knowing that he tasted Ward’s salty flavor in her.
Not to be outdone, Ward tipped forward with Hazel in his arms and kissed a hot, wet path between her breasts as he stroked her. Sensory overload was fast becoming the norm in this relationship, but Hazel still found herself surprised every time they figured out the ways to unravel the last surviving scraps of her self-control. It didn’t even take them that long. Dylan clasped her throat in a sure fist and plundered her mouth as Ward bit and teased and caressed her to the brink of orgasm.
“Dylan,” Hazel panted against his lips, “Christ, oh—”
His smug laugh rippled through her bloodstream like a caress.
Hazel tried to hold off, to resist, but it was like trying to fight off a flood with her bare hands. Pleasure mounted with every burst of delicious friction against her clit, until she could take no more.
“Oh, shit!” Hazel tore her mouth away from Dylan’s, breath snagging in her chest as she came, squeezing tight around Ward’s fingers.
“Jesus…” She thought she heard Ward gasp, but the awe in his voice might have been her imagination. He might have been laughing from the moment she cried out to the moment she started writhing and whimpering, bliss sliding off into tiny pinpricks of discomfort working their way through her body.
Dylan smirked as he straightened. “I don’t recall giving you permission.”
