“Slow down, Pope John. No one present in this room wants to see your erection. Talk your buddy down to resting phase, please.”
A couple of knocks to his crotch and a silent mental berating, his hard on crumbles, which I’m grateful for; sibling cock when Ebony isn’t around to play referee is not my bag, and I know it isn’t Cooper’s.
So we like to dabble in murder and our morals are questionable at best, but that sibling shit is not for us. We share our woman, this woman—equally.
“If you don’t want to see them again, I could set you up on a normal date. No strings, just fun.”
Her roommate’s voice rings through our headphones in tandem.
I growl like a feral animal at her remark.
“Do we kill women who make stupid suggestions like that?” Coop asks deadpan, his gaze locked on the screen where Ebony looks entirely too fucking sad for a woman still riding the high of last night.
“We can make an exception. She’ll go on a date over my dead body,” I retort through clenched teeth. Coop nods silently beside me as his jaw clicks in frustration, all mirth and wisdom dying a slow fiery death as he gets a taste of the anger I’m feeling.
“So we’re both on board—our Dove belongs to us until we’re done with her.”
‘Well, it’s gonna be a cold day in hell before that happens—you remember the whole ‘you are our wife’ statement?’
The memory tucked away inside the present thought jars me, that voice in my head wading through all the times where we had claimed her as ours, imprinting our twisted sense of ownership into her alabaster skin to the point that giving her up felt like a preposterous thought.
I don’t hate the list of moments where I realised I was done for where this woman was concerned; in fact the list has my cock jumping in my underwear as the visual of her bound naked and presented beautifully to me, her centre soaked with her arousal…pert nipples…
Fucking hell, this woman. I’ve lost all control.
I need a new list—a list I can get on boardwith, a list that doesn’t have the mental image of her naked and bouncing on my cock every time I close my eyes.
She hurt us, she betrayed us, all of this is to punish her.
I don’t like the way my brain laughs at the string of lies. But I also refuse to contest it—right now that little voice in my head seems to be the only adulting grown-up in the room.
Stay away from her.
Under no circumstances will you touch her again.
The warnings fall on deaf ears because all I want to do right now is haul her up into my arms. I’ve never been accused of being a wise man.
We’ve been hiding out here in her bedroom for the past thirty minutes, watching and listening to her on the cameras as she and Megan animatedly chat between chewing down handfuls of popcorn. Fading in and out of their back and forth as I question my own sanity.
CHAPTER THIRTY
EBONY
“So you have a past with these guys. You’re telling me they wouldn’t understand if you explained your side of the story? I find sex is a great softener for awkward conversations.”
“That was hate sex—pure, unadulterated, wonderful, hot carnival hate sex.” I practically pant as the memory of them crowding my body has sweat speckling my hair line.
“Yeah, there is no way hate sex can have you tied up like this—unless that’s what you’re into. A little bit of self-flagellation to really stoke that fire with an emotional petrol bomb. I do men of the cloth in the middle of Sunday service; I’m not here to judge.”
I don’t tell her the irony of her statement—being tied up by these men is exactly what my greedy little body wants, and we certainly know how out of control a fiery relationship like ours can get. “They hate me for what I did.”
“Did you mean it…what they think you did?”
“I did it to protect them. I knew they would get sent away; I knew the chances of us finding each other again was slim—but there was a part of me that believed the universe would help us cross paths again.”
“And it has—cheers to the universe.” She holds up her nearly empty mug of wine to toast mine, and I move slowly to mirror her move, sadness tugging at the corners of my lips as my heart shatters anew. The memory of their sullen teenage faces etched into my mind still as fresh and vivid as the day I watched them get taken away. “Enough of the sad. More of the sex. No-one can be low when they are thinking about, how did you put it, hot carnival hate sex.” Megan grins as she tops up my wine, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa.
“I had one good thong, and Coop tore it off my body, tucking it away for a keepsake.”
