Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(85)
Licking a droplet of wine from my top lip, I turn to him. “We were teenagers trying to get it on whenever we had the opportunity. It led to some creative choices.”
“Okay, okay, okay. If you two have done this, I have some serious questions.” Colt leans forward in his seat, ready to drop a doozy. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”
A reminder of fourteen years apart crashes into my chest when Denver sheepishly takes a drink. For a second, I quit breathing; staring at him, I’m willing myself not to cry. Because that’s stupid. This is a game. We only just got back together—if we’re even technically together? Everyone else is laughing, but his eyes meet mine with a shameful glance, and I find his hand to give it a squeeze.
It’s fine.
Thankfully, the moment is saved by Cassidy’s shriek when Red tries to discreetly turn to the side and take a drink.
“Oh. My. God.” She cackles, then points between Denver and Red. “Wait…together?”
“Okay, I’m starting to really feel targeted by this game,” Denver says with a groan.
Next to me, Cassidy pokes Red in the stomach. “Oh, you’re so telling me all the details about this later. I can’t wait.”
He responds by choking on his drink. “Can we play a different game? Please.”
“Was there sword crossing?” Colt asks casually, touching the tips of his index fingers together. The entire group busts out laughing, and both guys nearly jump out of their seats with a synchronized, resounding no. Colt puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Just thought maybe things got a little extra freaky.”
We’re all quiet, trying to work out the last of the giggles, when Colt raises a hand—presumably because he has another question—then steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. He’s way too deep in thought for one a.m. and a dozen beers in. “Eiffel Tower, then?”
“Jesus Christ, Colt,” Denver yells, massaging his temple.
“Okay, you’re all getting weird. I’m heading to bed.” Jackson’s face is scrunched in disgust as he stands. Kate—who seems rather intrigued by the entire conversation—reluctantly takes his hand and follows.
“Yeah, same.” I fake a yawn. I’m not actually all that tired, and I’m only half done with my wine. But the thought of trying to stomach any new information about Denver’s sex life is making the Fireball slosh around a bit more than I’d like.
Denver’s quick to follow, linking our hands silently as we start up the moonlit path. The bonfire party becomes quieter with each footstep until our friends’ voices are overshadowed by cricket chatter. The night air is still and Denver’s grip on me is steady.
“I’m not mad at you. It’s hard to hear or think about sometimes, but that’s on me.” I glance over at the twitching muscle in his jaw. “Won’t lie—part of me wants to know how the hell you ended up in bed with Red.”
“I’d rather be dead than in bed with Red.” A goofy grin cracks his tired expression when he catches the way his sentence rhymed. “That’s the start of Dr. Seuss’s new explicit sequel to Hop on Pop, in case you were wondering.”
My cheeks burn with the need to laugh, and a squeaky noise resembling an unoiled door hinge slips between my lips. Denver pokes me, and a full-on guffaw escapes as I double over.
Gasping for breath, I look up at him. “You’re the biggest dork I’ve ever met. God, I love you.”
Not leaving room for me to clarify or backtrack, his mouth crashes into mine with unbridled lust. His hands slide to my lower back, pulling me close enough the pulsing between my thighs presses against the bulge in his jeans. And I frantically kiss him back, taking everything I’ve needed all night. Everything I’ve needed for fourteen years.
His tongue tangles around mine, hands raking through my hair to mess up the loose curls, and my hips meet his in desperation. I want him to fuck me right here in the middle of the driveway.
“Fuck,” he mumbles into my mouth, his voice drowned out by my moan as I feel him cup my pussy through the thin dress fabric.
“I need you inside me. Right fucking now.”
Denver
Thank God for a lack of locks—the cabin door swings open and we stumble through, attached at the lips. Kissing her with primal need, I kick the door shut and cage her against the grooves of the log wall. Her moans echo through the small space, and my tongue meanders down her neck, across her dainty collarbone, to the freckles speckling her shoulder. Kissing each freckle individually, I slip the dress strap down her arm, doing my best to ignore the way my cock’s already pressed painfully into the zipper of my jeans.
“I thought you promised to rip the dress off me.” She hooks her fingers in my belt loops, forcing the bulge of my erection against her stomach. Grinding into me, her eyes meet mine with a fiery stare.
“Rip the dress, then make you come until you can’t take another second.”
“And then you still won’t stop, right?” The corner of her mouth crooks upward, taunting me.
“That’s right, baby. You’re in for a long night.” Reaching behind her slender body, I grab either side of the zipper and tug. She bites her lip at the metallic sound of zipper teeth tearing apart and nods slowly for me to keep going.