God help me. My body is responding without my permission, arching into their touches, seeking more contact.
“Callie,” Jesse says, his voice rough with want.
“Yeah?”
“Tell us to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“This. Before it goes too far.”
I look up at him, then at Wyatt, then at Boone. Three faces, three different expressions of desire and restraintand hope. Three brothers who represent everything I’m not supposed to want.
But standing here in the dark barn, feeling their want like a physical thing, I can’t remember why any of that matters.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t tell you to stop.”
Jesse makes a sound that’s pure need. “Thank God.”
His lips crash into mine before I can take another breath, hungry and demanding and everything I’ve been trying not to want since that day at the feed store. He tastes like mint and danger, and the kiss is nothing like Wyatt’s controlled intensity. It’s pure fire, consuming everything in its path.
His hands tangle in my hair, and I melt into him, my body responding before my brain can catch up. Behind me, I feel Boone’s hands settle on my hips, steadying me, his thumbs stroking circles that make me gasp into Jesse’s mouth. Wyatt’s hand slides around my waist from the other side, his touch possessive and sure.
When Jesse finally breaks the kiss, I’m dizzy and breathless and aching.
“We’re not done yet,” Boone says.
I turn to face him, and he’s right there, his hands framing my face. “You sure about this?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good. I’d be worried if you were.”
Boone’s kiss is different from both of his brothers. Playful and sweet at first, but then his tongue traces my lower lip and it becomes something else entirely. There’sheat there, his fingers sliding into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the connection.
When he pulls back, all three watch me with dark eyes and careful expressions.
“Okay?” Jesse asks, his voice rough.
“I don’t know,” I admit, trembling. “This is... a lot.”
“Too much?” Wyatt’s voice is tight with concern.
“I don’t know that either.”
Boone’s hands are still on my waist, and I can feel the warmth of his palms. Jesse’s standing close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. Wyatt’s thumb is stroking my cheekbone.
“We don’t have to do anything else,” Jesse says quietly. “We can stop right here.”
“What if I don’t want to stop?” The admission comes out before I can stop it.
“Then we don’t stop.” His voice drops, becomes rougher.
“But what does that mean? What are we doing here?”
