Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(21)

I blush and my gaze catches on the very noticeable bulge between his legs. Guilt washes through me.

“I—” I begin, and then clear my throat. My voice is so husky it’s unrecognizable. “I can . . . ”

Can . . . what, exactly? I don’t even know where to begin. The tempered heat in Jasper’s face gentles somewhat, and he bends to give me another brief kiss on my lips.

“Very kind, but not necessary. I think that’s enough for one afternoon.”

He turns and gives Dominic a cool look. Catching sight of him makes me distinctly aware that I’m completely exposed.

My breasts glisten damply in the warm, low light, my nipples are obscenely puffy and red, and there’s a distinct bite mark on my right breast. My legs are still split over Beau’s thighs and my slit is wet and swollen and bare and in full view. My long, still-damp brown hair tangles over my arms and Beau’s shoulders. I can even feel the dark blush in my cheeks.

With Jasper out of the way, I note with relief that Dom has finally abandoned his book. His golden gaze rakes over me, and Lucky blatantly watches, his eyes sliding between me and Jasper. Jasper raises one brow at him before leaving the room.

I clutch the sides of my shirt and pull them closed over my chest. The movement makes me shift in Beau’s lap, and he groans, his arm tightening around my waist. The hardness of him is insistent against the seam of my rear, covered only by the straining denim of his jeans. I fight the urge to turn around and press against him. Delicious little aftershocks still tingle under my skin but there’s a hollow, empty ache between my thighs. As wonderful as his fingers were, what I really want is that thick length buried inside me.

I jump off Beau’s lap, pulse erratic. What in holy hell is wrong with me? I never think like this.

Dominic stands up slowly and walks over to me. “You have one week to get comfortable here, then we’re drawing straws to work out the roster. Two days on, one day rest, continuous—unless you and those involved agree to swap days, or take more than one per day, but you sort that out between yourselves.”

He leaves with me still gaping after him.





Chapter 8


Eden


SURVIVAL TIP #124

Everyone has a past.

Make sure theirs won’t come back to bite you.

M ore than one of them in a day? How in the world does he imagine that working? Though, I mean, I guess it just had.

I shift, looking down. My etiquette lessons didn’t cover this kind of thing, and embarrassment is fast swallowing my brief moment of abandon.

Beau stands behind me. My cheeks feel hot. He just . . . His hands were just . . .

He bends and presses a firm kiss against my lips. Shockingly chaste, considering what he was just doing to me. I can taste myself on his mouth. He pulls back and makes to leave, and I clutch his arm, feeling like I should say something—thank him, maybe? Demand an explanation?—but my tongue feels clumsy in my mouth.

Beau misinterprets. “I need to cool off, darlin’. Lucky’ll get you sorted.”

Letting out a slow breath, I nod. With a final squeeze of my arm, he leaves as well.

Not able to look at Lucky directly, I stare at his shoulder as I squeak a request for the bathroom. With a far-too-cheerful bounce to his step, he shows me the way and tells me to meet him in the kitchen when I’m done, giving me brief directions I pray I’ll remember.

Closeting myself in the bathroom, I quickly relieve myself and clean up, feeling swollen and tender from my encounter. My head is spinning slightly, whether because of the ridiculous drink Lucky gave me or my combustive orgasm, I’m not sure.

Washing my hands, I study my face in the mirror. The cheeks that were ghostly pale less than an hour ago are full of color, my blue-gray eyes luminous and glassy, my lips pouty and roughed red.

I run a finger over the pink mark on my neck, examine the one on my breast—while trying not to examine why I feel a sneaky sense of pride when I look at them. My hair is a mess around my face, kinked at the back where it rubbed against Beau’s shoulder as he— The tap is still running.

I turn it off with a curse and take a deep breath, bracing myself on the sink. I can’t remember the last time I looked so . . .

pleasured. Have I ever looked like this before? Why does it make me feel just a little bit . . . pretty?

A frown crinkles my forehead. What is wrong with me? Years of propriety and reserve melted in moments under Beau’s touch. Jasper’s lips. Dominic’s kingly, heavy gaze. Lucky’s intense, playful heat. My thighs clench.

If I’m brutally honest with myself, I even responded to Jaykob’s rough handling—though that had to be some sort of post-traumatic reaction, I’m sure of it.

I meet my own lust-drunk gaze in the mirror.

“You’re behaving like a slut,” I admonish myself.

Yeah, well, apparently being slutty is really fun, my heavy-lidded reflection purrs. Let’s be slutty again. Right now.

Despite the glee of my vixen twin in the mirror, my long history of disillusionment warns me not to get too excited. My situation isn’t so simple, after all. The things they want to do to me, what they expect . . . it’s overwhelming.

My reservations cast shadows across my features, dimming some of the rosy glow.

How can I possibly juggle the needs and desires of five men when I haven’t ever been able to hold even one man’s attention?