Dangerous Boys and Their Toy

  surrounding her completely, front and back. Thorn’s sweat-slicked chest and five o’clock shadow covered her back. Cam’s hard pecs, lust-dark eyes and urgent hands, kept her right against his body.

  Thorn withdrew, then pushed in as Cameron pulled back. Like counterparts of a piston, they fucked her in turn.

  Never, ever, when they’d suggested this impromptu ménage a trois had she imagined it would feel this…

  Perfect.

  Being sandwiched between them, Brenna felt surrounded, cocooned. And…safe. Cared for. Wanted like never before. Endlessly adored.

  Inside, she felt herself clamping down on them as they rode her slowly, but thoroughly, wrenching one moan after another out of her.

  “Brenna?” Cam sounded like he’d run a marathon. “You’re getting tighter on me.”

  “Us,” Thorn clarified. “And it’s fucking killing me.”

  “You feel me?” Cam asked.

  “Yes.” Brenna’s voice shook.

  “I know you do. I’m making sure of that.” To drive his point home, he pushed his way deep inside her in that moment, nudging her cervix with his tip.

  Fresh tingles threatened to detonate everywhere. Dizziness tinged the edge of her vision. She could hardly catch a breath. Her skin felt damp, her limbs boneless. Her blood was on fire.

  And she loved it.

  “I meant you.” Cameron shot Thorn a challenging glance. “Can you feel me?”

  Chapter Six

  Cameron withdrew then gritted his teeth as Thorn sank deep in her ass. “I sure as hell feel you.”

  “Yeah,” Thorn croaked. “Hard to miss you. Jesus, this is insane. Hot!”

  “Beyond hot.”

  Brenna couldn’t agree more, but it was more than hot. Cameron’s mouth crashed over hers, drawing her closer and closer to him in a way that was more than physical. Thorn reached around her hip and began to toy with her clit again.

  “Ever shared before?” Cameron asked Thorn over Brenna’s shoulder.

  “No. Fuck!” he cried out. “I’m already addicted. I’m going to need more of this.”

  “Definitely.” Cam’s agreement was a sexy purr against her throat.

  They wanted her. To stay with her. No, it wasn’t permanent, but she already knew that nothing was. In this moment, in some odd way, she mattered to them. Her pleasure mattered to them. All the grunts, strokes, sweating and straining, the aching, trying to hold back, the reassuring, gentle caresses and sexy banter—that was all for her.

  The sensations pinging all through her body began to migrate, to congeal, into a deep pulse of need between her legs. She’d never felt anything like it. Like she had to explode or die. She held her breath. Black spots danced at the edge of her vision. She felt herself clamping down on Cam and Thorn. They clutched at her, gripping, sliding deep, possessing her.

  “You’re right there, baby,” Thorn growled as he swiped another thick finger right across the tip of her clit. “Fuck, yeah. When you come, it’s going to blow my mind.”

  “Fall,” Cam coached. “We’ll catch you.”

  Then, in a rush, all the blood in her body seemed to soar to her sex, heating, burning. The pressure built, the pleasure stacked up. God, it was huge, a tidal wave of ecstasy. She was going to implode from the force if it gave way.

  Thorn rubbed at her clit again, his drenched fingers sliding around the sensitive nub, then right over the top again, just as Cam slid balls-deep again. The friction of his entrance, coupled with Thorn’s exit…

  Everything inside her went kaboom!

  Brenna shook, jolted, spasmed with the force of the monster climax. As pleasure tore through her body and her sex throbbed, she screamed and clutched at Cameron. Orgasm turned her inside out, reformed her opinion about her body and sex. Shocked her. And still, they kept on. Cam’s teeth in her shoulder, Thorn’s shout in her ear, and their frenetic thrusts inside her, as if they had to wring every ounce of sensation out of her body or die, told her they, too, felt the effects of arousal overload.

  Oh. My. God. This was what she’d been missing out on all her life? If she’d known, she would have sought these two out sooner. Because she knew that not just any two guys would do—they were special.

  But now what? They didn’t want a lifelong partnership or anything. Not that she did. They wanted information about Curtis, first and foremost.

  Would they believe her, hate her—or both—once they knew the truth?

  * * * * *

  A few snatched hours of sleep and a shower later, Thorn sat at the kitchen table, watching the sun rise over the mountains and Brenna fry bacon wearing only a pair of lacy panties and an apron. She hummed absently.

  After her orgasm, which seemed to double as an earthquake, she’d conked out and left him with two mutually exclusive desires—to pry information about Curtis out of her and fuck her again.

  Her deep, even breathing told him neither was happening.

  Instead, he’d taken in the sight of her curled up against him, then looked over her, to Cameron. So now they’d shared a woman. And the way Cameron was caressing her shoulder and looking mighty comfortable, the good detective clearly wasn’t going to relinquish her. Well, tough shit. Neither was he, not after the way she’d rocked his world. Not after the way they’d rocked hers. Knowing they’d been the first to give her real pleasure had been an aphrodisiac all its own. Usually, the women he took to bed were going to get off—it was a given.

  Brenna was…different—in a million ways. And he wasn’t budging from her side until he figured out exactly why that mattered to him.

  Finally, Cameron had opted for the shower first, giving him a few precious moments alone with Brenna. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t touched her. Just basked in the weird gut instinct that told him he belonged next to her at that moment.

  Which made no fucking sense.

  Now, with the desert sun inching over the mountains to beam in the wide kitchen window, Brenna seemed to glow, especially when she glanced at him with a smile.

  The domesticity of the scene went straight to his dick. Then again, so did everything else she did.

  “You’re frowning,” she observed.

  Normally he didn’t give a shit what his lay the night before thought the morning after. Hell, he was never there to care. They were good for a fuck. If he saw them the next day, it usually wasn’t his choice. And if they’d made such a statement, he would have found the most expedient way to tell them to get lost.

  Again, Brenna was unique.

  “Thinking,” he offered, his voice rusty. “Got anything to drink?”

  “Coffee, orange juice…” She opened the refrigerator. “Iced tea, a little bit of milk…”

  He’d actually been fishing for vodka. If he was going to face actually giving a shit about someone, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it sober.

  Damn, that apron she’d put on over the scrap of black panties was giving him a hell of a hard-on. He’d never seen a woman wear an apron before. Or had one cook for him. When she set a steaming plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of him, his first reaction had been to get her flat on the table and nail her. He gripped the arm of the chair to resist the urge, since he and Cam had already given her a workout.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. I just…” He glanced between the plate and her expectant face framed by her haphazardly pinned up honey-brown hair. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She set another plate down beside him. “Tell Cam this is his when he gets off the phone.”

  Absently, he nodded and reached for a fork to dig in when he realized she was leaving the room. He grabbed her wrist instead. “Where you going, baby?”

  “I don’t usually eat breakfast.” She wrinkled her lightly freckled nose. “I’m going to get the newspaper so I can read it while you eat.”

  Reluctantly, he dropped her hand. She disappeared around the corner, and he dug into the food. She emerged a few mo
ments later with her hair hanging loose, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, no bra. With a smile, she walked past him, and Thorn heard the front door shut. He sighed. His appetite wasn’t really for breakfast, but there was no sense in letting good food go to waste.

  He bit into a slice of crispy bacon and just about fell in love. Done but not burnt. The woman could cook—a valuable ability to a man who’d never known home cooking and couldn’t cook worth a damn for himself.

  Cameron strolled in from the backyard a moment later, tucking his phone onto his belt. “Nothing new. No one has seen Lawton. They’ve widened the APB. He’s been gone long enough to put some serious mileage between himself and Tucson by now.”

  “Agreed.” Thorn nodded to the plate. “I’m supposed to tell you that’s your breakfast.”

  “I know better than to think you cooked.”

  Thorn just snorted and rolled his eyes.

  “Brenna?”

  “Getting the paper.”

  “What did you think of last night?” Cam sat and shoveled a bite of egg in his mouth.

  Damn, just like it was casual conversation. How’s the weather? Good. How was the fuck?

  Sneaky bastard.

  “It was fine.”

  Cam raised a dark brow. “Just fine?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about it wasn’t better than fine?”

  Thorn dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter. “Look, Oprah, I’m not talking about my ‘feelings’. We shared a woman. It was good. End of story.”

  In response, Cam just smiled. Before he even spoke, Thorn just knew that whatever came out of the detective’s mouth was going to piss him off.

  “I don’t think that’s the end of the story. I think you’re itching to do it again.”

  He was, and the fact Cameron was right… It just added to his increasingly weird mood. First, Brenna had to cook a perfect breakfast and remind him of all he’d never had. Then the good detective had to add to his shit by rubbing his nose in the fact Thorn had liked sharing a woman.

  But weird mood or not, the vision of Cameron’s dark hands gliding across Brenna’s fragile, pale skin while Thorn sank into the hot glove of her ass made him sweat. Remembering the feel of Cam on the other side of that thin membrane, deep in her pussy, rubbing his dick with every stroke just about killed him.

  Fuck. This wasn’t good.

  “I don’t do the same woman twice if it can be avoided.”

  Cam finished off his bacon then shrugged. “Okay. We still have to tail her until we get some information about Curtis. But if you’re not interested in dipping from the well twice…I have no such qualms. I guess you can watch.”

  Hell. “You’re a prick.”

  Wiping his mouth, Cam tried to hide his smile with his napkin. He did a lousy job. Laughter danced in his dark eyes.

  Thorn restrained the urge to punch him—barely. “What the hell is the matter with you, man? Why are you pushing for more?”

  His smile dissolved. “Together, you and I gave Brenna something she’s never had and couldn’t even give herself. That was amazing for me. She gets to me, and I want to satisfy her even more.”

  “I thought for sure it would bug the shit out of you that you couldn’t make her come all by yourself.”

  “When we were both inside her, I felt as…close to her as I would if we were alone. Having you there didn’t detract from the experience. I felt a bond, and I want more of that.”

  Thorn swallowed. Yeah, he’d felt that same closeness and bond—and not just with Brenna. God, had he really just admitted that? This whole fantasy was turning nightmare, and it scared the shit out of him.

  The feelings reminded him of the time he’d wanted to keep a stray kitten he’d found just before his eleventh birthday. New, wonderful. The sense of caring and connection was something he’d never had. Unfortunately, it was short-lived, since his dad had drowned the kitten in the toilet. Thorn knew that if his father were here now, dear old Dad would find some equally loathsome way to squash these burgeoning feelings too. And probably with good reason. What the hell kind of pansy ass shared a woman with another guy and liked it? Much less admitted that sharing her made him feel closer, not just to her, but the other guy?

  Thorn wasn’t gay, but being with Brenna had felt a bit like sharing sex with not just her, but Cam too. The shit part was, he’d really gotten into it.

  This whole scene was too damn unsettling. Hard dick or not, he was folding.

  “Knock yourself out,” Thorn said. “I’m done.”

  “So you’re just going to watch and pretend that she isn’t important to you?”

  “Pretty much.” And it was going to hurt like hell. Which bugged him even more.

  “Why? Why not follow your instincts, your feelings—”

  “Man, I’m not wired like you. I just don’t have feelings. I’m a heartless bastard with a drive-through sex life, remember? You said it yourself. Back the fuck off.”

  Cam paused for the longest minute. Finally, he stood, grabbed his plate, and headed for the sink, something, no doubt, sage and clever perched on his tongue.

  The squealing of tires, followed by gun fire and Brenna’s scream cut through everything. Thorn leapt up from his chair and set out at a flat run.

  Chapter Seven

  Thorn charged out the front door, .38 in hand, looking both poised and pissed as hell. Didn’t matter that he was without both shirt and shoes, his tangled hair hanging in pale strands to his shoulders. In leather pants and nothing else, he looked like a Viking warrior of old, big and bad and someone no one sane fucked with. That he was charging out half dressed… Didn’t that speak volumes about what he wasn’t willing to say out loud?

  Of course, Cam was right behind him, weapon drawn, heart beating in a vicious pound. What had spooked Brenna? Was someone shooting at her, at their woman?

  No time now to examine why he felt that way. Cam knew there’d be time later, after they put a stop to whatever threatened her, to think about the fact that, while this had been the first time he and Thorn had shared her, it wouldn’t be the last.

  Running, his booted feet pounded concrete until he cleared the front courtyard. Tall strands of yucca plants blocked the slice of street visible from this angle.

  Finally, he rounded the corner to the street, a half step behind Thorn.

  “Fuck!” the bounty hunter growled.

  Then he feinted left, planted and aimed his gun.

  Cameron didn’t even wait to see the threat before he got in position. As he was steadying his weapon, he finally got a glimpse of the scene—and could barely contain his rage.

  A tricked-out sports car had been slung haphazardly in the cottage’s driveway. A thug in a white tank top that hung loosely from his doubtless drug-addicted frame chased Brenna in a circle around the vehicle. As she neared the driver’s side window, another asshole rolled down the window and pointed a gun right at her chest. The second she saw it, she gasped and slapped a trembling hand over her mouth.