by Sadie May
But all the same, when he looks at me right now, I relax. Because he gets it. He’s not pressuring me, and that makes me want him that much more.
“I didn’t come here to get an answer from you or to put you on the spot,” he says, the back of his hand stroking my cheek like I’m something priceless and breakable.
Being touched like that is heady and erotic in a way I never knew existed.
“I was just jealous,” he admits with a rueful grin.
I widen my eyes in surprise. “Jealous?”
Instantly my mind flashes back to the night before when it was Dyce in my doorway, making me so hot I ended up humping him like some horny teenager. I can feel my face flush at the memory and the fact that Axle not only knows all about it, but he’s… jealous?
Maybe Jane had it all wrong. Maybe they don’t want to share me, maybe I’m just caught in the middle of some competition.
Ugh. That thought makes my stomach plummet and my heart hurt.
Axle loosens his hold on me long enough to bring his hands up and cup my face between his palms so I can’t look away. “Don’t look so worried, sweetheart. I was jealous because Dyce got to make out with you first. It was killing me knowing that he’s had a taste of your sweet lips already.”
I blink up at him, mesmerized by his voice, his accent, his touch, his gaze.
“You see, sweetheart, Dyce and I share… everything.” His voice lowers meaningfully and my pussy clenches in response. “We’re both possessive and greedy by nature,” he says, “And we found out a long time ago that our partnership works best if we share.” He drops a light kiss on my lips that makes me want to beg for more.
“Now that I’ve evened the score,” he says, grinning at my lips, “From here on out we share and share alike.” He raises his brows and gives me a meaningful look. “You understand what I’m saying?”
I lick my lips which have gone dry now that this conversation is out in the open. It’s not some hypothetical scenario that Jane and I are discussing, it’s an honest to God proposition. “I think I understand,” I say. And then, because it needs to be said and I need to say it, “You want to share me.”
“That’s right,” he says. “Nothing comes between me and Dyce except for you.”
I draw in some much needed air. I feel lightheaded from his words. I don’t know if he intends for it but they sound intense. Like we’re talking about so much more than sex.
He studies my eyes, my expression, and then his grin brightens. “You ever been with two men, sweetheart?”
I shake my head quickly. I’ve barely been with one.
He seems satisfied with my answer. Pleased in a purely male, possessive kind of way. He’s happy that he and Dyce will be my first, and so am I.
And that’s when I realize that I’m not thinking in if’s but when’s. I want this. Holy shit, do I want this.
Not only that, I need it. My body is craving both of them like a drug and there’s nothing to stop me. No boyfriend, no prudish morals… no strings.
At least, I don’t think there are.
Yet again, Axle seems able to read my mind. “You look worried, sweetheart.”
I shrug as I search for the right words. “How would this work?” I ask, feeling just as naïve as they must think I am. “I mean, what are you guys looking for?”
His smile falters slightly and his expression grows hooded and unreadable. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. We’re not asking for a commitment. We just want to make you feel adored, the way you should.”
I nod, not sure what I feel at that. Relief is mixed with disappointment. Which is stupid, I’m not looking for a commitment either, and certainly not with two guys I barely know. I chalk that reaction up to pride—it was only natural to want to be wanted, right? And not just for my body.
One day, maybe not with these guys, but with someone, I do want to be wanted… for all of it. Body, yes, but also my mind and my personality, my sense of humor and just… me. All of me.
I swallow down that yearning feeling to analyze at another time. That’s not what he and Dyce were offering, and that’s just fine by me. I want whatever it is they can give me.
He tilts my chin up so I’m meeting his gaze again and the tenderness I see there is nearly my undoing. Take me now, in my hallway, I want to say.
But I don’t. Because he’s right. I need time to think even though I already know my decision. When I do this, I don’t want there to be any doubts. I want to come to their bed with my issues resolved and my head on straight.
“Tomorrow night,” I say. “If you guys pick me up from my work outing, we can…” My voice fades out. I’ve lost my nerve. We can… what? Fuck? That sounds too crass. Make love? That sounds too intimate, and not at all what they’re offering.
Axle grins at my inability to put it into words. He presses another soft, hot kiss to my lips before pulling away. “Tomorrow night,” he confirms. “Text us the time and address and we’ll see you there.”
I nod, holding the door open as he heads out.
He takes a few steps away before turning back with that shit-eating grin that makes me want to leap right back into his arms. “Oh, and Charlotte…”
“Yes?”
He winks. “Don’t bother wearing panties.”
Chapter Seven
Dyce
Maybe I should be pissed at Axle’s methods, but when those methods work? Fuck, it’s hard to be pissed.
He didn’t tell me he was going to go see her until after he’d done it. Typical Axle. Act first, think later. But I trust my partner’s instincts and yet again he was right.
How do I know?
She texted us last night, not long after Axle got back to our loft. She sent me the details of where to pick her up after work tonight. She said she’d find a ride in to work—cab, most likely. Normally I’d fight her on that.
Our girl shouldn’t have to hail taxis or pay for a shitty ride when we’ve got a fucking limo just sitting in the garage waiting to be used. But I let it go, because Axle makes a good point. Our Charlotte is going to need some time to come around. We’d pushed as much as we could—and by ‘we,’ I obviously mean Axle.
So I let it go and tell her we’ll pick her up at her office at four that afternoon. I hate the fact that she’s working all day on a Saturday—don’t they ever let her relax? But again, it’s not my place to say anything. She’s not our girlfriend. Hell, she’s not even our lover—not yet.
We’re both resigned to the fact that she’ll never be our girlfriend—guys like us don’t end up with women like her—but unless she has a total change of heart, she’s going to be in our bed tonight.
Fuck, knowing that makes the time crawl by. This is like Christmas and birthdays and vacation all wrapped up in one. I’ve never longed for anything the way I’m pining away for our girl.
Shit. Grown men don’t pine. But maybe other grown men just haven’t had an opportunity like this, the chance to fuck their dream woman.
So I’m waiting. Axle’s waiting. We’re trying to focus on customers and cars, and working on that fucking website for our new side gig driving the limo. But neither of us loves computers so it’s a terrible way to try and pass time.
And then, just as we’re getting ready to get in the limo to pick up our girl, something weird happens. She texts to say ‘change of plans.’ She has to work later.
It fucking sucks but it is what it is. But then she says the address has changed too. Now we’re supposed to pick her up at a restaurant near her office.
Fine, whatever, we can do that. But something in my gut is telling me that this is not okay. I want to say that it’s her texts, but that doesn’t make sense. We haven’t been communicating with her for long but she’s always been direct and efficient, a bit of abruptness shouldn’t set off alarm bells. But they do. Or maybe it’s something more than that. A gut feeling is hard to dismiss just like it’s hard to explain. All I know is, something’s wrong—even though I don’t know
what. I keep it to myself for a while because I know sometimes I get paranoid, especially about people I care about.
But then I see Axle’s foot tapping as he checks the clock for the millionth time.
He feels it too. Something is not right with our girl.
“Man, we’ve got to go make sure she’s all right,” I say.
She’s pushed the time back again but I don’t care. I’ll take the blame if I have to. I’ll risk her anger or annoyance if it means knowing she’s safe. Axle hesitates for less than a heartbeat before shoving himself away from the desk and coming to his feet.
“What are you waiting for, brother?” He grabs a jacket from the back of a seat and leads the way to our ride.
I drive. I’ve always been better under pressure. We have a funny dynamic like that. Axle is all laid-back on the surface, but underneath it all he’s wound pretty tight. But only about things that matter, and I know without having to talk about it that Charlotte matters to him, just like she means everything to me.
Me, on the other hand. I’ve got some issues, and I’m the first to admit it. Nightmares, anxiety, paranoia. Check, check, and check. I’m not the only vet to go through it and I won’t be the last. The thing is though, when shit hits the fan, all that goes away for me. I wouldn’t say I become laid back—shit, I’ve never been laid back, not even as a kid—but I do get focused. Adrenaline cuts through all the shit in my brain and steadies my nerves.
So yeah, I drive. And I’m the one who comes up with the plan, as flimsy as that might be. Axle attracts less notice, in general. I mean, the ladies always turn his way but people don’t stare in fear when he walks in a room. So he’ll go in first and check out the scene. If he’s not back out in exactly one minute I’m coming in after him and I’m going to get our girl.
Fine, so it’s not much of a plan but I never claimed to be some mastermind. All I know is that she needs us and we’ll be there.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte
This couldn’t be happening. It was so much worse than I’d feared. The day started of normally enough. Clint and I exchanged a few awkward pleasantries in the office conference room before getting down to work. The hours in my office are so erratic that they have people there around the clock—a security guy and an assistant, usually.
They left us alone while we worked but knowing they were there made me feel better. And knowing that Axle and Dyce were coming to pick me up at the end of our work day? Well, that was the light at the end of the tunnel.
It also gave me something to obsess over other than Clint’s bad breath or the slightly creepy vibe he gave out. It’s always been that way with him. He’s all smiling and normal, but then every once in a while I’ll glance up from whatever document I’m reading and see him watching me with this gross look.
Again, not enough to say “fuck off, creeper” and definitely not enough to go to human resources or my immediate boss and cry foul.
But it’s enough to make my skin crawl.
For the first time in my life I can’t lose myself in my work. It’s a weird feeling, being all distracted like this. Normally I can get in the work zone—time flies and the rest of the world ceases to exist.
Jane calls it my superpower. She jokes that if I were a comic book hero my power would be to focus so hard that the walls crumble around me and I wouldn’t notice. Get it? I’d be so focused I wouldn’t even noticed that the building collapsed.
I know, ha ha. Jane’s a comedian.
As I sit there in the conference room stealing glances at the clock, I kind of want to call her and tell her that for once my superpower failed me. I can’t concentrate for the life of me. All I can think about is what’s to come when this awkward, unpleasant enforced one-on-one time finally ends.
And Clint’s bad breath. That’s the other distraction from my work but it’s not nearly as pleasant a diversion as imagining what’s going to happen when they pick me up.
Will they take me out on a date? No. Don’t be stupid, Charlotte. This is not a date. No one had used that word. They were grown men with basic needs and desires just like I was a grown woman who could be fucked by two guys whenever she wanted.
Damn straight.
Anyways, I sit there passing the time by working, pretending to work, and daydreaming about how hot their kisses were until Clint starts to speak up. “Let’s stay a little longer, I think we’re making progress,” he says.
Or, after the assistant comes in to tell us she’s heading out for the evening, “Why don’t you move your chair a little closer so I can read over your shoulder?”
That’s how it starts. That’s how it always starts.
And then he puts on the hard press for dinner. This is not the first time he’s pulled something like this, so I’m prepared with my ‘no.’ But then he pulls the client card, giving me this look of disapproval as he asks me if I have other plans. And do those other plans take precedence over our case? If so, maybe we should look elsewhere for a firm that makes us a priority and blah, blah, blah.
I’d roll my eyes if I didn’t know it would just make things worse.
I hate myself for caving, just like every other time. But it’s so hard to see another way out of this. I remind myself that though he might be a creep, we’re going out in public and for all his longing looks and shitty manipulations, he’s never laid a hand on me.
So I give in with a sigh, not even trying to hide my annoyance. He suggests we order in but I’m firm on this one. We’re going out. I make up excuses that are lame even to me, but I don’t care. There’s no way in hell I’m going to put myself in the position of being alone in our office with this guy.
One security guy is on hand but I haven’t seen him in ages and for all I know he’s either asleep in the break room or Clint paid him off to head out.
I grab my purse and lead the way to an old-school Italian joint around the corner. I barely speak on the way. I don’t need to. Clint is chatty enough for both of us, apparently pleased as punch now that he’s gotten his way.
And me? Well my night is looking pretty fucking bleak, excuse my French. I’d already had to put off my two guys several times. If I do it again, they’ll probably think I’m bailing.
But dinner drags on as Clint insists on ordering drinks, and appetizers, and then more drinks, and then dessert, and then dessert drinks… Fucking hell, this night is never going to end. And all the while he’s getting sloppier with his smiles and his gazes. He’s losing sight of that line between professional and personal and then it happens. Clint places a hand on my thigh under the table and Axle walks up to our table.
In the moment I am so shocked and disgusted by Clint’s hand that I don’t think, I don’t use reason or logic which would tell me that this is a client. I throw his hand off and jump up out of my seat. “Get your hands off me.”
I don’t notice the eyes of the other patrons or the waitstaff as fury overrides every ounce of decorum that had given me patience to deal with this douchebag up until now.
In my defense, up until now he’s never actually had the nerve to touch me. I’m about to lay into him but I don’t get the chance. Seemingly out of nowhere I see Axle fly between us and the next thing I know he has Clint on the ground and is beating the shit out of him.
All I can do is gawk at the spectacle before me. Where had he even come from? Later I’d learn that he’d walked in right as Clint made his move but at this moment I’m completely shocked… and so fucking turned on.
I know, I know. This is so not the time or place to turn into some horny teenager. But I seriously can’t help myself. I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself but to see someone get so angry on my behalf—to know that there is someone on my side who will risk everything to protect my honor…
It’s fucking hot as hell.
The shocked stupor lasts for a heartbeat and then all at once we all move into action like someone just hit the “play” button on this surreal movie. The waitstaff and t
he manager come rushing towards us.
Clint struggles back but his weak attempts are feeble and pathetic compared to Axle’s unbridled fury. His fists fly until a group of men restrain him.
And it takes a fucking group of men to restrain this one wild, savage man.
My man.
Wait, what? Where had that come from. I shake off the thought and try to focus but my brain feels like mush. I hadn’t had too much to drink but I’d had some. That combined with my shock and the sudden change in my situation… my whole body felt sluggish and my brain took a temporary vacation.
Then arms are around me—strong, gentle, warm arms. I know who it is without even looking up.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Dyce’s voice in my ear is soothing and low. It sends a jolt of heat through me even though I’m dimly aware that now is so not the time.
I wrap my arms around his waist as we both watch Axle pull himself out of the grip of the men who were restraining him. He gives us a quick wink and a fucking sexy as hell grin as he hold his hands up in all innocence. “No worries, guys. I’m through here.”
Clint is bleeding and blubbering on the ground.
Axle is right. He’s through here. This guy couldn’t stand anymore of Axle’s brutal retribution physically or emotionally. The pathetic piece of garbage is sniveling and crying like a baby as a waitress helps him to sit upright.
Dyce tightens one arm around my shoulders as he starts to guide me in Axle’s footsteps. We’re getting out here, thank God.
I lean against Dyce, letting him half-carry me out of the restaurant, but Clint’s voice brings me to a hard stop.
“I’ll have your job for this, bitch.”
The entire restaurant goes quiet as anger and bile and resentment build up in my throat. But Goddamn it, I’m a fucking smart as hell attorney. I’m smarter than this man could ever hope to be—that’s one thing I know for certain after all our friendly “work” sessions. Not only that, I’m made of much stronger stuff.
