by Rye Hart
Luke left the wall like a bolt of lightning, his tongue sliding between my lips and my hand fell to his cock. Logan gripped my hips and held me steady with his strong arms and I moaned into Luke’s mouth as my tits bounced. I convulsed and fell into Luke’s arms, and he caught me just as Logan met his own end.
“Sam. Oh my God.”
Luke dragged me off Logan’s cock and settled me against his body carefully. He guided my hips to his and slid his thick dick between my pussy folds, and I dropped into his lap with ease. He cradled me against him, wrapped his lean arms around me and held me close. He peppered kisses along my shoulder and my neck, my jawline and my forehead.
Then slowly, we began to move.
It wasn’t long before I lost myself in his touch. I clung to him desperately. He rolled into me. Ran his hands up and down my back.
“Oh, Sam,” he whispered into my ear. “You feel like a dream.”
I ground my clit into his tightly-wound curls as his hands guided me. My lips grazed along his skin. The other brothers were thick with muscle, padded and chiseled and sculpted from marble sent by the gods. But Luke was different. He was lean. Slender. I kissed him. Drank him in. Rolled deeply onto his cock and brought him as deep as my pussy would allow him.
Then my body fell back, and I shook with my orgasm before my mind went blank.
***
I woke up the next morning and felt like death. I sat up in bed as nausea rolled through my body. My head started pounding, and my vision was blurry. I fell back onto the bed and groaned, then curled myself back up into the comforter. Sleep. The only thing to cure a hangover like the one I was plagued with was sleep. I whipped the comforter around and knocked something over. It sounded like glass, but I couldn't be sure. I opened one eye and looked at a toppled over cup on the bedside table.
Water was dripping off the side of it.
“Fuck,” I said. “Where the hell did that come from?”
I reached over to pick up the cup, my hand sliding along a piece of wet paper. I couldn't see straight. My breath still smelled like alcohol. My body ached. My joints hurt. My muscles were sore.
I reached out to right the tipped over glass and everything fell to the floor.
I groaned out loud and squeezed my eyes shut for a second before opening them.
Something shiny caught my eye as I moved my hand in front of my face. I lifted my head gingerly and brought my hand closer to my eyes. My left hand. The one that was currently sporting a ring on a very important finger. I sat up quickly and immediately regretted that decision. My vision swam, and my stomach churned. I looked over at the official looking piece of paper on the bedside table, a feeling of disbelief rising within me.
I stumbled from the bed and took the piece of paper with me. I flipped on the bathroom light, and the whirring sound of the fan beat against my skull. I turned the light off and sighed, feeling my headache dissipate.
Then, I took my hair dryer and tried to dry the piece of paper that very clearly said “Marriage License” across the top.
I dropped the hair dryer as my eyes scanned the paper. There was my name. Samantha Easton. The ink was distorted, but it was clearly my name. I’d signed underneath it, but the last name I signed was no longer “Easton.”
It was “Anderson.”
“What the fuck?” I asked.
My eyes scanned over to the other side of the paper, but it was destroyed whatever I had spilled on it had distorted the ink to the point of being unreadable.
Who in the fuck had I married the night before?
I closed my eyes and tried to conjure the night. Maybe this was a prank. A practical joke. I could recall the night in bits and pieces. Dancing. Todd making jokes. Lauren leaving to go somewhere. Cards? Was poker involved?
My eyes flew open as it all came crashing back into my mind.
“Oh no,” I said as embarrassment heated my cheeks.
I’d slept with all the brothers.
Apparently, I’d drunk enough to lower all of my inhibitions and had given in to my ultimate fantasy. A knock came at my door, and I jumped. I scrambled to get the mangled piece of paper underneath a towel. I worked the ring off my finger and looked down, trying to find a place to put it.
Fuck. I was naked.
“Sam? You up?”
Of course, it was Lauren.
“Give me a second. Very hungover,” I said.
I shoved the ring underneath the towel and closed the bathroom door shut.
“Good morning,” I said as I opened the door, poking just my head out. “I’d let you in, but I’m kind of naked.”
“Uh-oh. Is someone in there with you?” Lauren asked whispering.
“I wish,” I said with a grin.
“You up for some breakfast? No one’s up yet, and I want to enjoy our last day in Vegas.”
“I’m actually about to disappoint,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
My mind started swirling with ways to get out of this mess. I had to get home. I had to fix whatever the hell I’d gotten myself into. And I couldn’t do it with Lauren breathing down my neck. I’d married one of her brothers for fuck sake. She would kill me if she ever found out.
“Sam?”
“Sorry, thought I heard my phone buzzing. Something’s come up with work and, like an idiot, I didn’t bring my laptop,” I said.
“You always pack your laptop.”
“You can blame it on the flustering news of your brothers changing flights without telling me,” I said. “But I have to get back earlier than I thought. It’s a massive story, and my boss has handed it to me.”
“Oooh, that sounds big. Oh my God, did you get chosen to cover the Royal Wedding?” she gushed.
“I don’t have all the details, otherwise I’d tell you. But I do have to get back. I’m so sorry.”
“I know, I know. I get it. I had a feeling your time in France would make you a hot commodity,” she said with a grin.
“I need to get in here and change my flight. See if I can get it pushed up or something.”
“Well, when you’re done, I at least want to have lunch or something with you before you go. Okay? This was supposed to be my Bachelorette party, and you’re dipping out.”
“We’ll do something if I can. But if there’s an early flight, I have to take it and get back to my laptop.”
“Yep. Just come knock on my door before you head out. If we can squeeze something in, I want to.”
“You got it,” I said with a smile.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I shut the door. I hated lying to my best friend, but I couldn’t stick around after what I’d done with her brothers. And after that, nothing. Not a damn clue as to where the night went from there except the ring and a mangled marriage certificate that looked as official as it could get.
I threw some clothes on and shoved my things into my suitcase, including the ring and the marriage certificate. I needed to get home and figure out how I was going to get myself out of this colossal mess with minimal damage.
The rest of the day was a blur. Thankfully, there was a flight back out to Los Angeles at ten in the morning, which meant I didn’t have to lie to Lauren anymore. I hugged her and promised her a weekend with only the two of us before she got married, then I left. I got out of there before any of the brothers rolled out of bed. I sat on the plane and held my breath, and it felt like I didn’t let it go until I landed back in California.
Even though the ring wasn’t on my finger, I could still detect its lingering presence.
I tossed my suitcase onto my bed when I got home and unzipped the front compartment. I pulled out the marriage certificate and the ring, my eyes trying to figure out the name on the piece of paper. But the more it dried and crumpled, the more unreadable the name became.
I’d married one of the brothers, but I didn’t know who.
And the worst part was I couldn’t remember any of it.
CHAPTER 8
LIAM
I picked up my car after landing at LAX and drove straight to Samantha’s place. She’d taken off from Vegas without so much as a goodbye to any of us. Lauren had told me that Sam had gotten called away for work, but I wasn’t buying it.
I wanted to make sure Samantha was okay. After the night we’d all shared, I needed to know that she wasn’t regretting everything that had happened, or worse, feeling bad about it.
I pulled up and knocked on her door, but she didn’t answer. I pressed my ear to the door and listened for her, but there was no movement.
I walked back out to my car and called her. I closed my eyes, willing her to pick up. Willing her to talk to me about what was going on, because I knew Samantha, and I knew something wasn’t right.
“Hello?”
“Samantha. Hey. It’s Liam.”
“I know,” she said.
“I’m at your place. Where are you?”
“Not there,” she said.
“Can we talk?” I asked. “You left Vegas in such a hurry, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Honestly? I need to talk to all of you guys about what happened,” she said.
I felt myself holding my breath, waiting for her to tell me it was all a mistake. “Samantha are you okay?”
“Liam, I’m fine. Just—um—”
She wasn’t fine. My mind started swirling a thousand miles a second. I tried to recall that night as best as I could, but the only parts I could remember were the ones where my hands were on her body. When I was seated within her. When I could taste her on my tongue.
Fuck. Had something else happened that was making her pull away?
“Why don’t we all go out for something to eat?” I asked. “At that restaurant you like so much around the corner from your place?”
“Yeah. That’s good,” Samantha said. “Six o’clock?”
“We’ll all be there. You’ve got my word,” I said.
“See you then.”
Samantha hung up before I could get another word in edgewise.
I sent a message to my brothers and told them I’d tracked Samantha down. They were all worried about her, and they were glad I found out she was okay. I told them about the dinner and that it wasn’t an option. They needed to clear their schedules and be there because Samantha needed to talk.
I showed up at the restaurant and met my brothers outside. I could see the concern on their faces, but none of us said a word. We all walked in to see Samantha sitting there, as beautiful as could be in a pair of black pants and a flowing orange blouse. She turned to look at us, but she didn’t smile. Her eyes were guarded.
This wasn't good, and a knot of worry settled in my gut.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” Logan said with a smile.
But she didn’t return his smile in kind.
“How was your flight back?” I asked as we all sat down.
But still, she didn’t speak.
“You okay?” Luke asked.
Her eyes panned over to him, and it was the first movement she made where I thought I saw a spark of something. She drew in a deep breath, and I was sitting on pins and needles. I didn’t want her to be weird about the night we’d all spent together. It was hot, and amazing, and everything I thought being with her would’ve been. Hell, I didn’t even mind sharing her with my brothers. And that was saying something coming from me.
“We’re all here Samantha,” I said. “What do you need to talk to us about?”
She looked at each of us in turn and it was nearly impossible to read the expression on her face. Finally, she drew a breath and began to talk.
“About that night,” she started.
“It was pretty incredible,” Levi said.
She looked at him for a moment before she continued. “Guys, something more happened that night.” “What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“Well according to the ring I woke up with and the license on the bedside table, I married one of you that night. I just don’t know which one of you it was,” she said. “I knocked over a glass of champagne and all of the ink ran. And, honestly, I don’t remember leaving the room after—” she trailed off.
The table went silent, but my head was spinning. I remembered. I knew who she’d married that night. I sighed and allowed my gaze to fall into my lap as the name tumbled around on my tongue.
“Samantha, I know—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’ve had time to think about this, and it doesn’t matter what happened that night. We were all drunk and got caught up in the moment. It was obviously a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I asked.
“Yes. A mistake,” she repeated.
She sighed, and I watched Luke reach out for her hand. He was able to connect with her. His green eyes sucked her in as their fingers laced. Fuck.
“Look, I’m a lot of things, but one thing I’m not is marriage material. I have a very busy life, and that life doesn't include the time or the desire to be married to anyone. Not now anyway.”
“Are you sure you married one of us?” Levi asked.
“I’ve got the mangled marriage certificate that I signed ‘Samantha Anderson’, and a cheap ring to prove it,” Samantha said.
“And I’m assuming that you want to dissolve the marriage?” I asked softly.
“Yes,” she said. “Look, even if I wanted to marry someone, this was not how it was supposed to go down. Not in some little chapel in Vegas that I don’t even remember.” I watched as Samantha pushed her chair out and got up.
“Where are you going?” Levi asked.
Samantha held her hands up, and I could see the first string of emotion run across her features since we had sat down. She was embarrassed. Frustrated. Scared. Worried. Confused.
Ashamed?
The idea made my stomach turn.
“Divorce,” she said breathlessly. “Never a word I thought I would utter at twenty-four years old, but there it is. That’s what I’m asking for.”
Then she turned on her heels and left.
I leaned back in my chair as Levi let out a whistle. Luke pressed his forearms into the table top, and Logan sat there with his jaw swinging wide open.
“Married?” Luke asked.
“Who the fuck married her?” Levi asked. “Do you know, Liam?”
They all looked at me, and I turned the question around in my head. Would it make a difference if they knew? The important thing was what Samantha wanted. And what she wanted was a divorce. An uncontested divorce took two months, maybe. That meant we had two months to change her mind. But I wasn’t ready to spill those beans just yet.
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“Does anyone remember any fucking wedding service?” Levi asked.
“Hell no. I don’t remember shit after that wild game of strip poker,” Logan said.
“I wish I could remember,” Luke said. “She deserves to know who she married, at least.”
“Even if we did know, she doesn’t seem to want to know,” I said. “But the only thing we can do is give her what she wants.”
“You know damn good and well Sam is the kind of girl that takes what she wants,” Levi said with a grin. “Like us, for example.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Logan asked.
“It was just a joke. Settle down. We’ll get it all sorted out and this shit’ll be just another memory we talk about later over beers at two in the morning,” Levi said.
“Still, not a time to joke,” Luke said.
“He’s right,” I said. “This isn’t a joking matter. None of us saw this coming, and now Sam needs us to be there to support her through the decision she’s made.”
“Does anyone know who she married anyway?” Levi asked.
“Does it fucking matter?” Logan asked.
“What? You mean not one of you is curious?” Levi asked.
Luke rolled his eyes and sighed as I stood from my seat.
“You guys ready to shut up no
w?” I asked.
The entire restaurant stopped and looked at me as Levi grinned.
“Go ahead, Maestro,” he said.
“Fuck you. You might not think this is serious, but I do. Samantha’s hurt. Scared. Angry at herself. Embarrassed. And you’re sitting around making jokes. You might not give a shit about her, but the rest of us do.”
“You sure as hell don’t get to fucking tell me how I feel about that woman,” Levi said. “I know she’s hurting. I also know sitting around here and talking about it without her here isn’t going to do shit. Sam always has control of her life. No one makes decisions about it but her. This conversation’s pointless, and that’s why I’m making jokes. Because none of this shit will matter if it isn’t what she wants.”
“Then act like you've got some sense,” I said.
“You two aren’t anything, if not constantly fucking fighting,” Logan said.
“Please?” Luke asked.
I settled back into my chair, and Levi stared me down before he did the same. Fucking Levi.
Always trying to measure dicks with his older brothers.
“If Sam wants a divorce, then that’s what she’ll get,” Logan said. “But doesn’t it have to be filed by the parties that got married? We have to know who she married before that can happen.”
“You leave that to me,” I said as I stood. “So long as we’re in agreement.”
“Yep,” Levi said.
“Sure,” Luke nodded.
“Logan?” I asked.
He crossed his arms over his chest before he spoke.
“Yeah. Sure. Let’s do this, I guess,” he said. “As long as it’s what Sam wants.”
“Good. Then I’ll take care of it,” I said.
CHAPTER 9
LUKE
TWO WEEKS LATER
I gave Sam some time to cool down, but she wasn’t answering my calls or texts. She wouldn’t answer any of us, honestly, and I felt terrible for it. I didn’t want her to feel the way she did. I didn’t want her to push all of us away. I knew she was doing it to protect herself from what she thought of herself after that night. She had given herself to us and now she was embarrassed by it. Did she think we thought less of her because of it?
