by Tate James
“Ari, are you thinking dirty thoughts right now?” George grinned, snapping my attention back to his face. My own heated a little at getting caught out like that, but I just shrugged and held up the picture.
“Warden, huh?” Yes, good work, Arizona—change the subject.
“Yup.” George sat on the edge of the bed beside me and took the picture from my hands. “I take it you recognize him then?”
“Max Cornwall is what he said his name was. We were best friends in college. Max, Britt, and I were practically joined at the hip. We did everything together until we all got really damn hammered one night.” I could hear the bitterness in my voice as I said it. It wasn't Max that I was mad at after all these years—it was myself.
“And what happened?” George prompted, not pushing me for answers but just … softly suggesting that it was okay to confide in him. And I wanted to. George got me. Or at least he got this part of me. The messed up, closet-introvert, commitment-phobe that ran from her first love.
“After Britt passed out in the bathroom—probably the only time she's ever passed out—Max and I kept drinking and one thing led to another … He told me he loved me and I just panicked. The second he fell asleep I grabbed my shit and ran.” Rubbing my eyes, I groaned and lay back on Max's bed. Warden's, I mean. Warden's bed. “I took a semester off school and went to stay with my mum in Australia. When I came back, he was gone.”
“So I take it you must have …” George paused, raising his eyebrows suggestively and I grinned.
“Fucked bareback? Yeah, Woody, we did. I guess that's how I got these powers, huh?” George was still sitting on the end of the bed, looking down at me where I was lying on my back, and for a moment I got a bit distracted in the calm of his tree bark eyes.
“I imagine so …” he murmured, shifting to straddle my legs. He leaned his weight on palms planted on either side of me, so his face was directly above mine. “So what now, Arizona Smoke? Are you going to run from us, too? When we tell you that we love you, will we find your shit gone in the morning?”
“When?” I squeaked, a little breathlessly. This wasn't fair, asking me questions like this when I was already in shock with the whole bio parents news and then the Max-is-Warden dumped on top of that! Not to mention with George's delicious body so close to mine I could practically feel his body heat warming me from the inside out. My skimpy pleather outfit was still soggy, and an involuntary shiver raced through me.
“Yes, Blossom. When. What do we have to do before then, to convince you to stay?” George moved his weight onto one elbow, picking up the other hand and trailing it ever so gently down my bare arm.
“Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves here?” I laughed nervously, my skin pebbling under his fingers and sending flutters to my belly.
“Are we?” He raised an eyebrow over one rich oak eye. “Sorry, Blossom, I didn't mean to come on too strong …” Abruptly he pushed up off the bed and stepped away from me. His sudden absence was filled with a rush of cool air and I mentally kicked myself for being such a fucking scaredy cat. What the hell was so wrong with me that even the idea of love from these guys sent me into a tailspin?
“I didn't mean …” I trailed off in a huff of frustration, because that's exactly what I did mean. Ugh, why couldn't I get my shit together? These four incredible, gods of men wanted to be with me. Britt would have been out ring shopping to seal the deal already, but here I was agonizing over the prospect of them using the L word.
“Don't worry about it, sweetheart.” George smiled and the expression lit up his face, like sunshine on flower petals or some shit. “We aren't going anywhere; we'll wear you down sooner or later.”
“I shouldn't need wearing down,” I muttered, mostly to myself, but sat up and grabbed his hand to tug him back to me. George was like valium to my anxiety. Something about touching his skin just calmed me like nothing I'd ever experienced before.
“Come on back to Reg's room, Blossom. You're exhausted and probably dying to get out of that outfit …” He raised an eyebrow at me in a teasing way, running a single palm down the smooth, bronze perfection of his belly. Basically, it was impossible to look away. “Which I have no issues assisting you in, but I'll understand if you need some space.” George paused with his fingers teasing the waistband on his borrowed shorts before slipping them inside and running his tongue over his lower lip in pleasure. “I wouldn't ever want to pressure you.”
“Fucking Christ, I can't decide if you're a nice guy or a perv …” I grinned, letting George pull me to my feet with the hand he removed from his shorts. As I regained my balance in the stupid boots that I couldn't wait to take off, I braced my other hand against the smooth expanse of his chest.
“Maybe a little bit of both?” He smirked, dipping his head just the fraction of space between us and pressing his lips to mine. It wasn't a demanding kiss, or even a particularly passionate kiss. It was more of an invitation kiss … and it was an invitation I badly wanted to accept.
Sliding my hand up from his chest, I gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer and answering his unspoken question with a parting of my lips. A small, surprised noise slipped from him as he clearly hadn't expected me to reciprocate, but as his mouth slanted over mine and his tongue slipped inside, I felt a tingling rush all over and knew my runes had just lit up.
“Damn, Blossom,” George chuckled, pulling away after a moment, “we're going to need sunglasses if this keeps happening.”
I snorted a laugh. Fuck, he was right. My skin was all kinds of lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, but now that I knew about Max—Warden—I could see the now obvious gaps in between the other four swirling patterns. Bloody hell. Max really was an elemental, wasn't he?
Guess I had a type and it wasn't as simple as dark or light hair—it was a species thing.
“Come on, let's get out of this room. It feels like Warden's watching us in here …” George murmured, taking my hand and leading me out of my former best friend's, first love's, and missing husband's bedroom.
Back in Reg's room, stretched out underneath the pornographic ceiling mirror, Shane was waiting for us. His tattoos danced in a wicked splash down both arms, across his hands, his chest … his junk.
“Where are the others?” I asked, looking around for Reg and Billy, and seeing no one else in there. Shane was still gloriously naked, his ink demanding attention; it would have been rude of me not to look… right?
“They're speaking with COCS, Honey Doll,” Shane drawled, raking his eyes all over me where I stood at the foot of the bed in all my drowned rat glory. Maybe they were into this look? They were plumbers, after all. Drowned rat might be right up their pipe?
“Hmm, well maybe the two of you might help me out of this wet outfit?” I suggested. Fuck it. Maybe all I needed to break through my emotional hang-ups was some seriously good pipe cleaning.
“Well, shoot,” Shane said, letting his mouth turn up at the edges in a good ol' boy grin. “That just dills my pickle, seein' you all excited like that.”
“Don't let your pickle get … too dilled,” I said, even though I had no fucking clue what that expression meant. It sounded dirty though, right? Like way dirty. “Because this doesn't mean anything—it's just sex.”
I turned around and scooped some soggy, muddy blonde hair over one shoulder.
Heh.
Glancing down I could see some dried blood and bits of leaves between my tits. Not the most attractive look in the world … As George's fingers found my zipper, I let out a deep, long exhale that sounded a little desperate—even to me.
Damn. Guess almost getting murdered sort of … wet my plumbing, so to speak.
“Any chance I, uh, might be able to take a shower first?” I asked as George took all of, you know, two seconds to pull my zipper down. I was basically wearing a top made for a fucking doll; there wasn't exactly a lot of fabric involved.
“Shower?” Shane said with a small sigh. I didn't say anything, but
you know, he had sort of climbed into bed right after being down in the sewers … At least he was naked, so hopefully he hadn't tracked shit in there. “Sounds like a plum fine idea.”
Swinging out of bed, I could very clearly see the full, er, erect length of his wrench, covered from base to head in ink. Musta hurt like a bitch, getting his Johnson tatted and all that.
Before I could even muster up a single logical thing to say, George's hands were on my skirt, pulling the zipper down … pushing the fabric over my hips. And since I was no longer wearing underwear, that basically left me … nude and in stiletto boots.
I spun around quickly enough that I smacked George in the face with my hair. Didn't look like he cared though. In fact, he didn't quite look like such a nice guy anymore either. There was this primal male energy about him, this desire that was palpable. I could taste it on the back of my tongue.
George wanted to fuck me.
Like, now.
“Shower?” I said, raising a brow and moving around him, circling the foot of the bed and pausing on the other side to take off my boots. I wasn't sure if it was an earth magic thing or what, but something about George made me feel primal too (me? primal? I was a barista not a wildcat). But still … There was this answering feminine heat inside of me that wanted George to take me, claim me … and that wanted to take him and claim him, too. Eww. “My women's studies professor would so kick my ass right now …” I murmured as I chucked the boots and watched George push his boxers—they had to be borrowed from Reg, they were just too stupid—down his muscular hips.
My breath caught, and I turned away, feeling the already semi-soreness between my legs throb with more want, need, desire. Greedy bitch.
Moving over to the half-open door where Shane had disappeared, I pushed aside the elaborately carved wood and just … sort of stood there gaping.
“There are some perks to living in a family of professional plumbers,” George whispered from behind me, coming up close and putting his hands on my shoulders. He kneaded my sore flesh with firm fingers, untangling about a million knots that I didn't even know I had.
“This isn't a … bathroom,” I whispered, licking my lips and feeling steam from the running water kiss across my face. Wait … hadn't I done something pretty similar to this with Reg the other day? Shane in the shower … another man standing beside me …
Uh-oh.
“This is a palace,” I finally finished, groaning as George crowded in even closer, teasing my lower back and ass with the hardened length of his shaft. If he were to push me over and just get to it, well, I wouldn't exactly complain.
“Shall we get in?” George whispered, replacing his cock with his hand and putting just enough pressure on my lower back to guide me across the seamless marble floor beneath my bare feet. It was heated. That was sort of a thing for me, heated floors. I'd once read an article that my favorite rock band of all time—Beauty in Lies—had heated floors in their tour bus. I'd become obsessed.
One entire wall of the massive bathroom (it was larger than Gram's living room, kitchen, and dining room combined) was a gorgeous polished soapstone counter, the jade color reminding me disturbingly of Max's … Warden's … eyes. There were six fucking sinks there, too. Six. Six sinks.
“Talk about prepared,” I whispered, but it was sort of hard to care about the twenty foot ceilings, stained glass windows, massive soaker tub and … never mind. I no longer blamed the boys for refusing to move out of their parents' house. Shit, I was selling Gram's place and moving in. “You knew I was coming, huh?”
I gestured lamely at the row of sinks.
“We hoped for it,” George whispered, voice low and sultry, almost a growl. A growl. But not like a bad boy Billy asshole growl, but … something bestial, animal. It called to every instinct I had inside of me and my runes flashed bright, reflecting off the wall of mirrors, the shiny floors, the huge glass doors that showed me every inch of Shane's naked form wrapped in steam.
“Hop on in and don't be shy,” Shane said, lathering a loofah with lots of soap. I wondered what he was planning on doing with that … As long as he didn't try to stick it up my cooch like Christian Grey did to Ana Steele in Fifty Shades, then I was good with it.
He held out a warm, soapy hand and I took it, stepping into the marble expanse of the shower and letting him pull me into the hot stream of water.
There were fucking jets everywhere—including the ceiling and three of the four walls.
Really though, who could blame me for wanting to get in? It was a shower to die for and I was a very dirty girl.
The hot water pounded down on my aching muscles with a pressure that could only be described as supernatural while George stepped in behind me, his hands on my waist.
“Here, let me help you clean up a little, Sugar,” Shane purred, letting a little dragon bleed through into his voice so it came out rough and wild. Using his soaped up loofah, he began scrubbing gentle circles on my skin.
He started innocently enough at my shoulder, then quickly descended his soapy sponge to circle lower, dragging its rough surface across the skin of my chest and then lower, dipping between my breasts and then skirting beneath one of them. My breath caught in anticipation as his knuckles brushed lightly across the underside on my left boob, but that's all he did before switching hands and soaping the other side.
The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know about how much he was enjoying torturing me, even if his rock-hard wrench hadn't already given it away.
“Shane …” I hissed, as his loofah circled closer to my nipple but dodged it right at the last minute.
“Yes, Arizona?” He smirked, using his empty hand to cup my other breast but still avoiding my granite nipples which were practically begging for attention.
“Shane, don't be mean; Ari’s had a hard day,” George murmured from behind me, his own hard day pressing against my lower back and making me lean into him instinctively.
“Ah, of course, where are my Southern manners?” Shane drawled, turning up the charming gentleman routine which was so deliciously at odds with his tattooed pipe tapping me on the stomach. Although it was very gentlemanly of him to finally quit fucking around and pay a little closer attention to my good bits.
Squeezing out a bit more soap onto my chest, he then tossed the loofah aside and cupped both breasts in his huge, calloused hands, this time grasping my aching nipples within his thumb and forefinger of each hand and rolling them gently. Sharp waves of pleasure radiated from each peak, rolling through me and soaking my sinkhole way more than the shower had already done.
George tilted my face back towards him and claimed my lips in a kiss which was totally at odds with the gentle one he'd given me in Max's room. Maybe not such a nice guy after all?
“Fucking Christ,” I muttered, when he paused for a breath and Shane leaned in to take his place, grabbing my lips in his with more fever, more domination; it only intensified my need for them both.
Shane's fingers still held my rigid nipples and as he kissed me, he tightened his grip ever so slightly, causing my back to arch and push forward in his hands.
George snagged a loofah of his own off the rack under the main showerhead and began trailing it down my spine, scrubbing in gentle circles, then sliding around my waist to my stomach.
“So, is this how you guys shower normally, soaping each other up and all that?”
Shane chuckled and dropped his soapy hand to his cock, curling his fingers around the inked length of his shaft, sliding his fist up and down niiiice and slow.
“Not exactly, sweetheart,” he said with a slight smirk, “this is just for you.”
I swallowed hard, feeling my lids flutter closed as George dropped his hand lower … lower … slicking the soapy loofah across my landing strip—I know, tacky, but Britt convinced me over the phone to get it waxed like that. Pretty sure she still had that lightning bolt down there—unfortunately she'd sent me a picture and I'd had to actually see it.
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br /> “Your mind's wandering,” George said dropping just a little lower and teasing my clit with the tips of two fingers. “I think we need to teach you to focus,” he whispered, sliding his tongue along the shell of my ear, sucking my lobe between his teeth.
The whole bathroom smelled good—like jasmine rustling in a night breeze—but I couldn't decide if it was the men or the soap …
“My mind always wanders,” I whispered, voice barely audible above the sound of the running water. “I guess I'm just complicated like that.”
“Maybe you've never had the right sort of attention?” George said, dropping his loofah and sliding his fingers down and between my thighs, parting my folds and pushing into that desperate ache between my legs.
“Maybe not …” I breathed as George pushed in all the way to the knuckles, and I leaned back into the warm, wet planes of his body. If these guys wanted to try to top the best sex I'd ever had then go for it—whether they did or not, this was sort of a win-win situation for me. Unfortunately, when I thought really hard about my favorite sexual experiences, I kept landing on two: the magic orgy (I know, I know, but it was good) and that night with … Well, you know.
George kissed along the side of my neck, water running down my throat and across my bare body, droplets teasing my nipples, slicking all the soap down the drain. I watched as Shane worked himself up with his hand, fingers sliding along the inked length of his shaft.
He did it with this look on his face, like he knew how fucking hot he was.
Asshole.
George added a third finger, and this little gasp burst from my throat, making Shane chuckle.
“I think you found the right spot,” he said, leaning his back against the wall and putting on a show for me. I didn't want it to work, but it did. As George worked my body with his hand, I watched Shane do the same to himself. Even though we weren't touching, it was like we were in sync. As his orgasm approached, I felt mine sneaking up right along with it.
