by Jodi Redford
She listlessly reached for a rhinestone-studded clip in the shape of a large butterfly and used it to anchor her hair in a loose chignon. Recalling the anger and hint of betrayal in Griff’s expression when he’d laid into her, she flinched. “Damn it, he has no right to make me feel like I’m giving up.”
So why do I feel like I am? She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to give the annoying inner voice further attention. Besides, any rational person would devise a backup plan. It didn’t mean she was ready to chuck it all and drink poisoned Kool-Aid or something. If Griff didn’t see the logic in that, well, he truly was a bonehead.
After slipping on a pair of sandals, she trudged downstairs. The house seemed unusually quiet. Curious where everyone could be, she headed down the hallway. She spotted Logan parked outside the library, his shirtless bod blocking the closed door. He grinned, his gaze journeying over her in a lazy crawl. “I have this sudden hankerin’ for cotton candy.”
She grimaced. “This is why I seldom wear pink. I look ridiculous, don’t I?”
“No, sugar, you look good enough to eat.” He followed up his provocative statement by licking his lips with a tad too much gusto.
She shivered, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable kinship with Little Red Riding Hood. All the better to eat you with. Good Lord, she’d never look at that fairy tale the same way again. Clearing her throat, she indicated the door. “So what’s going on in there?”
Logan propped his elbow against the frame, giving her a close-up view of his barbed-wire tat. Now that she thought about it, the symbolism seemed appropriate. Tangling with the lusty werewolf was bound to leave a few scratches. “Just Clarissa taking care of some coven business. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over, darlin’.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That managed to be both evasive and sexist.”
“Damn, and here I wasn’t even tryin’.” He chuckled. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she reached around him for the doorknob. He scooted sideways, forcing her hand to smack into his abdomen instead. His bare, firm-as-marble abdomen. Her fingertips brushed the warm hollow of skin resting just above the low rise of his button fly. Sucking in a sharp breath, she yanked her arm away and shuffled back several steps.
Logan’s irises shimmered with amusement and heat. “Don’t stop now. Things were just getting interesting.”
“I, uh, just have to go and…um…yeah.” She spun and stumbled in the direction of the kitchen before she did something really stupid, like follow the silky trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of Logan’s jeans. With her tongue. That thought sent her tripping through the entry of the kitchen. She jerked to a halt when she spotted Griff in front of the stove, stirring the contents of a large stockpot. He was notably shirtless too, which put the mouthwatering expanse of his back on dazzling display. She stared at the muscles shifting beneath all that golden, velvety skin, her suspicions bubbling. It was too damn weird and convenient that both Logan and Griff were standing around half naked all of a sudden. Unless some devious shirt monster was making its rounds in the neighborhood, there was definitely something afoot.
And where was everyone else, anyway? She craned her neck, scoping the dining alcove for signs of Ms. Peach or Gloria.
“Hey, baby. You’re just in time for a taste test.”
She whipped her head around at Griff’s zippy tone. Now she knew something was up. Griff didn’t do chipper, particularly not thirty minutes after snarling at her like a pissed-off Tony the Tiger. “What the hell is going on?”
Griff tried for a guileless look. Oh yeah, he didn’t do innocent well either. “I’m getting lunch ready.”
“Without your shirt on?”
“It’s hot in here.”
Well…that was certainly true. Even without Griff’s muscle-icious torso making her girl parts all warm and tingly, there was no denying the temperature in the kitchen hovered between muggy and melt-your-panties-off miserable.
Griff dug a spoon out of the drawer and ladled some of the sauce he’d been stirring. “Tell me if this needs anything.”
Her intuition warning her to be on the lookout for any sneakiness, she hesitantly crossed to the industrial-sized, stainless-steel stove. She tried to wrestle the spoon from Griff, but he insisted on feeding her the concoction himself. Almost from the instant the tapestry of flavors met her tongue, a seductive ripple of heat unfurled inside her, tightening her nipples beneath the sundress’s snug, smocked bodice. Griff’s thumb traced the outline of her lower lip. Holding her gaze, he lifted his finger and slowly licked it clean. If the humidity didn’t melt the crotch of her panties, Griff demonstrating his perfect oral skills sure as hell would.
“What do you think? A pinch more salt and pepper?”
She stared into Griff’s dark-as-sin pupils. Clearly he was waiting for her to answer, but damn if she could concentrate on anything beyond the flush of arousal making her dizzy with hunger. Only it wasn’t food she was lusting for at the moment. Knees wobbling, she clutched the counter. “W—what’s in that sauce?”
“Butter, egg, milk. The usual Béchamel ingredients.”
Sure, and a liberal dash of horny goat weed and Viagra thrown in for good measure. She had no idea why Griff was trying to get her juiced up for sex. He knew damn well that all he had to do was breathe and she’d gladly tackle him to the floor and ride him until they were both properly yippee-ki-yayed out. Which left only one possibility.
He was about to spring some hellaciously scary sexual request on her. If a midget and a monkey strolled in right now, she was so out of th—
“Looks like the party is revving into high gear.” Logan ambled into the kitchen, his expression wicked and wolfish.
Her focus shifted between the two gorgeous specimens of male flesh on decadent display, and the puzzle pieces began locking together. Oh, sweet Jesus. Her heart frantically tap dancing, she snatched the embroidered dishtowel resting on the counter and blotted her perspiring forehead. Either the heat and the sauce were getting to her, or Griff and Logan. More than likely, all four.
She shot Griff an accusing glare. “Now I get it. You think the three of us having sex will fix everything, and I won’t have to worry about Nettie luring me to the dark side. Did it even occur to you to give me a say in this decision?”
Griff thunked the spoon on the stovetop before giving her his full attention. “Christ, do you honestly think you wouldn’t get a say? Damn it, you know I’d never force you into doing anything you don’t want.”
She plunked one hand on her hip and waved the other hand at the stockpot. “But you weren’t averse to a little cheating, courtesy of your pasta à la sex sauce.”
“I just wanted you to feel more comfortable. Relaxed.”
“Turned on,” she added, arching a brow.
A guilty flush spread from Griff’s jaw to his cheeks. Chuffing a laugh, Logan joined them at the stove. “Catman had good intentions, sugar. The potion in the sauce is designed to loosen inhibitions and supersensitize erogenous zones you didn’t even know you had.” He flicked a glance in Griff’s direction. “Maybe you better give her a demonstration.”
She snorted. “Trust me, he already did.”
Logan’s mouth curled in wicked devilment. “You only got a small taste of the potion’s capabilities. To truly appreciate its gift to the fullest, you need to ingest it in a more…intimate manner.” Before she knew what he was up to, Logan unlaced the ties securing the sundress to her shoulders and pushed the bodice down, exposing her breasts. Gasping, she shot him a startled look. He awarded her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna enjoy this.”
Something warm and sticky stroked her nipples. She jumped at the unexpected sensation, her gaze shooting to Griff’s sauce-coated fingers as they painted her areolas with the creamy substance. He lowered his head and followed the path of his fingers with his tongue, sparking a new conflagration of fire inside her. She shivered and Griff peered up at her, his eyes blazi
ng. Curving an arm around her waist, he stood and claimed her mouth in a hot, devouring kiss. He tasted of Béchamel and exotic spice. Of magic and sex. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, ravenous for more. Their tongues rasped in a mating dance and she wiggled against him, her nipples aching for the sumptuous devotion of Griff’s mouth.
Logan’s knuckles skated the length of her spine. “Noticing the effects yet?” She mewled a response and he chuckled. “Excellent.” He worked the dress over her hips and the garment floated to her feet. His feather-light touch skimmed above the elastic of her bikini, teasing the dimples near her tailbone. She arched against Logan’s hand, her knees turning to jelly when he palmed her ass and gave it a good squeeze. He snuggled close behind her, so close she easily detected the hard ridge of his erection suggestively rubbing into her. “I’ve got something for ya, darlin’.”
Oh yeah. No mistaking that.
Griff’s mouth trailed to the crook of her neck, and something soft and silky caressed her cheek. She reached for the fabric, but Logan swept it behind her head.
“Not yet. First I want something in return.”
She licked her lips, a hot liquid rush of excitement pulsing low in her belly. “What?”
“A taste.” Logan’s teeth scraped her earlobe, making her breath stutter. He moved lower and tongued the pulse point beneath her ear. “Same as you gave Catman.”
A whimper escaped her and Logan tilted her head, his fingers tunneling in her hair as his lips glided along hers. Sucking her tongue into his mouth, he gave her a sneak peek at the devastation he could wreak on her body. If she let him. The question was, would she?
As if they’d intuited her hesitation, Logan and Griff straightened, almost in unison. Griff’s hand slid up along her rib cage and cupped her breast, its fullness overflowing his palm. “It’s okay, baby. Please let us give you your fantasy.”
My fantasy? Before she could ponder that completely, Logan slipped the fabric back over her face. He folded it over her eyes, and she panicked at the sudden sense of vulnerability that washed over her.
“Shhh, the blindfold’s only for a second.” Logan kissed her lightly before securing the fabric with a firm knot.
“Then why put it on me?” The tremor in her voice ruined the defiant vibe she’d been shooting for.
“You’ll see in a moment. But right now, we want you to concentrate on your raunchiest fantasy. Think you can do that for us?”
“But—”
Someone nipped her ear and she yelped. She lashed out toward the culprit but encountered nothing but empty space. “When I find out which one of you did that, you are so getting a nipple twister.”
“You mean like this?” A thumb and forefinger tweaked her right nipple. Though Logan had asked the question, she couldn’t say for certain that his fingers were the ones doing the plucking. The fact that she didn’t know added a naughty, forbidden thrill to the experience. Her breath quickened.
“I think you’re starting to enjoy our little game, sugar. Are you concentrating like I told you to?”
A palm splayed on her mound. Broad, blunt fingers made slow circles over the silk covering her clit, and she gasped. The positioning of the hands were at odd angles from each other, leaving her to assume that both Logan and Griff were touching her. But who was where?
“You haven’t answered my question.”
It took a few seconds to even remember what Logan had asked. “I can barely recall my own name at this point, much less concentrate on a fantasy.”
“Guess we’ll have to give you some inspiration.” In perfect synchronization, a pair of tongues replaced both hands. Her knees buckled. Hands steadied her at her hips and beneath her armpits. Soft whiskers brushed the side of her breast before the mouth returned to feast on the tightened bud. There goes one mystery solved. No mistaking Logan’s goatee. Griff slid her panties down her legs and burrowed his tongue into her slit, lapping up her juices before flickering back toward her clit. Groaning, she undulated against him.
The mouth at her breast eased off. “That’s it, sugar. Ride Catman’s tongue. You gonna do that for me when I’m eating your sweet pussy?”
She whimpered, her mind instantly conjuring a vivid tableau. The fantasy wasn’t exactly new, only this time it featured an additional player. “Oh God.” She shuddered, nearly on the cusp of orgasm. Aggravatingly enough, Griff’s licking stopped and a disbelieving grunt fell from Logan. The blindfold was suddenly loosened and whipped off. She blinked, dazzled by the unexpected flood of fluorescent light.
Wait…fluorescent light? The kitchen didn’t have—
Her eyes widening, she gaped at her surroundings. Where the stainless-steel stove and work island used to be, there was now a checkout line and a cash register. Holy shit, she was standing in the middle of Finnegan Hardware. She whirled, almost falling over in shock when she spotted Griff and Logan standing there in nothing but matching tool belts.
“This is your fantasy?”
She blinked at Griff’s incredulous expression. It took a moment for his words to sink in. Once they did, she took another look around and her mouth dropped. “Oh wow, it is my fantasy.” She inched forward and ran an experimental hand over the cash register. Bemused, she punched the Cash Out button. The drawer popped open with a ding and she jumped back. “How?”
“Clarissa put a summoning spell on the blindfold. It read your fantasy and gave it to you. Power tools and all.” Logan grinned and patted his leather tool belt. Her mouth went dry when she noticed the staggering state of his arousal.
“How long have you had this fantasy?”
She shifted her gaze from Logan’s cock to Griff’s face. He was staring at her, disbelief stamped all over his features. Ah damn. Obviously he recognized where they were. Crap, she was so busted. No way around it. “Eight years, give or take.” Jeez, did that ever sound pathetic. “Look, can you blame me? Every time I go in there and see you in that tool belt, I just want you to…” She blushed, unable to say it.
“Drill you?” Logan offered with a waggle of his brows.
She sighed and tweaked the bridge of her nose. “This is more embarrassing than the time I walked around all day with my skirt tucked in my pantyhose.”
Snapping out of his stupor, Griff strode forward and swept her into his arms. Before she could even blink, he sat her on the checkout counter and kissed the daylights out of her. She twined her arms around his shoulders, luxuriating in the delicious glide of his chest rubbing against her breasts. She tried to wrap her legs around his waist but discovered the tool belt was in the way. “Hmm, we have a little glitch in my fantasy.”
With an expert tug that came from years of practice, Griff released the belt. It clunked to the cement floor and she tucked her thighs around his hips. Giving a rumble of satisfaction, he nibbled on her mouth. “You’ve wanted this—me—all that time?”
“Duh, like you didn’t know.”
He leaned back, his eyes reflecting some unknown emotion. His fingertips traced her lips with a slow reverence. “I didn’t. I thought I was the only one torturing myself.”
“Speakin’ of torture, how do you get this damn thing off?” Fumbling with his tool belt, Logan sidled to the counter.
She glanced at Griff and he grunted. “Baby, these hands aren’t getting within a one-foot radius of that dick.”
Rolling her eyes, she reached for the metal clasp on the tool belt. She spied the grin sliding across Logan’s face and mentally groaned at her culpability. “Crafty bastard. You totally just played me.”
“Sugar, you wound me.”
“Not yet. But keep it up.”
“Don’t think that’ll be a problem.” Logan gave his shaft an indulgent stroke. An illicit thrill raced through her at the sight. Almost unconscious of what she was doing, she slipped her fingers around Griff’s cock and mimicked Logan’s motion. A strangled noise came from the back of Griff’s throat, and he white-knuckled the counter.
His smil
e stretching wider, Logan fisted his cock tighter, not the least bit shy about jacking himself in front of an audience. “You’ve got him by the balls, darlin’. Well, not literally. Though you might try—”
“Shut the fuck up before she kills me.” Half growling, half groaning, Griff rested his forehead against hers. “Baby, we’re supposed to be giving you a fantasy.”
“You are.”
His soft laugh feathered against her lips. “Giving me a hand job at the register while that damn werewolf watches is your fantasy?”
“Actually…” She gnawed on her bottom lip. “Usually I’m blowing you.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“What? You asked.” Now that the cat was out of the bag—so to speak—she was almost delirious with the need to taste Griff. She pushed against his chest and started to wiggle down from the checkout stand. Logan’s palm curved around her hip, stalling her.
“Got a better idea. Why don’t you lay back on the counter?” Logan gave her an encouraging squeeze. Sliding him an uncertain look, she stretched out on her side. Griff’s delectable cock bobbed near her face, and she licked her lips in anticipation.
Griff’s agonized moan floated overhead. “I’m never going to survive this.”
She grazed the silky-steel length of his shaft with her fingertips. “Close your eyes and picture my cousin Jimmy naked.” Visualizing that hairy spectacle would keep anyone from popping too soon. She took Griff into her mouth. Her tongue swirled over the taut, glistening head of his cock, the divine flavor of him making her greedy for more.
Something wet and rasping traveled the inner slope of her thigh. Logan’s tongue. Oh God, that’s why he’d wanted her to stay on the counter. So he could—
She gasped around Griff’s turgid flesh as Logan drew a lazy figure eight on her slit with his tongue. Her hips bucked.
“Mm, Catman, easy to see why you’re so territorial about this sweet pussy.” Spreading her legs wider, Logan suckled on her clit. Ignoring the desperate noises purling from her throat, he insinuated a finger inside her and rubbed unerringly over her G spot. The desperate noises turned to frantic pleas. Logan eased back and blew a stream of air across her throbbing flesh, making her arch. “What do you say, sugar? Should we offer Catman another taste? Wouldn’t want him to accuse me of being selfish and hogging your orgasm all to m’self.”
