Mountain Desire Page 7

I kept going, kept lifting and lowering, slowly fucking myself onto him. “I’m almost there.”

  “Yes, you are. Such a good girl taking his big dick,” Mac crooned, his hand caressing my back. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Perfect.”

  Finally. Finally I sat on Hardin’s lap, but his dick was all the way inside me. I sat up and gasped, him nudging me so deep. My hands landed on his chest, felt the play of hard muscles beneath his shirt.

  While I was completely bare, they only had their dicks out.

  “Time to move or I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

  I frowned, thought.

  “Don’t make her think,” Mac snapped.

  Hardin’s hands went to my hips, and he lifted me up so just the flared head of his dick remained inside of me, then pushed me back down.

  “Oh my God,” I cried.

  Hardin grinned. “Again?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Even though I was on top, he was doing the guiding, his strength making it easy for him to fuck me. The discomfort faded, and the incredible feelings he was awakening had me moving on my own. His hands fell away as I found my own rhythm. Circled. Lifted. Dropped. Circled again.

  Hardin licked the pad of his thumb, then brought it down between us, brushed over my clitoris and—

  “Yes!” I screamed, coming as soon as he made contact with that very sensitive bud a few times.

  I clenched, squeezed, rode him as I wanted, enthralled by every bit of pleasure.

  Hardin’s grip tightened on my hips, and he thrust up into me hard, remained deep as he shouted and came.

  I grinned—it was impossible not to—and let my head drop.

  “That’s what I’ve been missing?” I asked, weary.

  Hardin sounded as if he’d run a marathon. Feeling adventurous, I grabbed the two halves of his flannel, tugged them open. A few buttons flew across the room, bounced off the concrete floor.

  “Oh yes,” I said, eager to run my hands over his bare skin. It was hot to the touch, soft, but I could feel the hard play of muscles beneath. He had soft hair on his chest, not too much, just right.

  “We’re what you’ve been missing,” Hardin clarified. Perhaps he was right. It might not have been like that with anyone else.

  “Up you go,” Hardin said, carefully lifting me off him. “Gotta get rid of the condom.”

  I shuffled back, sat on the far side of the couch as he got up, went over to the trash can. “Again, not sanitary,” I said, realizing I was bare assed once more on a public surface.

  “Sweetheart, we’ll never see this couch in the same way after this,” Mac said. “Lie down for round two.”

  I shifted, slid down so I was on my back. At some point he’d rolled a condom on and was ready to go.

  “Eager?” he asked me.

  “You’re the one who looks eager. Take your shirt off,” I told Mac.

  Hardin looked over his shoulder as Mac tugged the T-shirt over his head. He, too, had hair on his chest, darker than Hardin’s. While Mac was well muscled—I wanted to run my hands over those six-pack abs—he was smaller than Hardin. Narrower shoulders, tapered hips. It was the tattoos that snagged my attention, too many to focus on just one. Some were monochrome, others multicolored. Geometric shapes, words, images that covered one arm and part of his torso.

  He settled one knee on the couch. “I’ve been eager since I laid eyes on you.”

  Lowering himself, he settled on top of me, most of his weight held off me by one hand next to my head, but he pressed me into the cushions. I felt every—very hard—inch of him. God, what a feeling. I had no idea I could feel so dominated, so safe, with a guy on top of me.

  “More?” he asked, his gaze shifting from my eyes to my lips and back.

  “More,” I breathed.

  “Not too sore?”

  I shook my head. I was a little because Hardin was big, but it felt good.

  “When you first talked about the dildos you’ve fucked yourself with, I admit, I was a little jealous. Now I’m glad you used them. Virgins can’t take one guy easily, let alone two.”

  I smiled at him. “I’m not a virgin anymore.”

  Hardin made a funny sound as he tucked his dick back in his jeans, then dropped onto the desk chair to watch.

  Slowly, carefully Mac pushed himself into me. “Oh, fuck. Shit, no, you’re not,” he growled, lowering his head and kissing me.

  He swallowed my gasps, my whimpers as he fucked me, his tongue mimicking what his dick was doing.

  Hardin was the calm one, the toucher, but he’d been rough in his fucking—or at least I’d thought so. Mac was the opposite. He was the wild one, but now he was gentle. Slow. Maddeningly patient.

  My hands settled on his waist, slid down to cup his ass beneath his jeans, to feel the play of those taut muscles as he took me.

  “Mac,” I breathed when he kissed my neck, nibbled on my ear. I angled my head to give him better access, lifted my knee to his hip, which I discovered changed the angle of his penetration. I gasped at the delicious feel.

  “So good, sweetheart. So fucking good.”

  He fucked me into that couch with a ruthless, patient precision. I tried to lift my hips to take more of him, to get him to go faster. Harder. He wouldn’t have any of it. He was in control. And that control allowed me to let go, to give up everything in my head, my body, my soul and hand it to him.

  I came on a quiet gasp, the pleasure rolling through me in soft yet powerful waves.

  “Shit, you’re clenching. Fuck.” He dropped head beside mine, held himself deep and came, his chest pressed to mine. I could feel his rapid heartbeat, his ragged breath.

  This hadn’t been clinical. It hadn’t even felt biological. It had been… instinctual. As if something primal inside me had been unleashed. I hadn’t controlled anything about how my body reacted, and it was obvious Hardin and Mac had been unable to do the same.

  That hadn’t been sexual intercourse. That had been fucking.

  Pure and simple.

  And it brought a smile to my face.

  9

  HARDIN

  * * *

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  That had been intense. The most powerful connection I’d ever felt with a woman. And we’d done it on the old couch in the back of the shop. Watching Sam have her pussy opened up for the first time, and knowing it was me who was doing it, was something I’d never forget. The way her eyes widened in surprise. The way she’d bit her lip in concentration and focus. And when she lost that focus and basic instinct took over.

  She was… incredible.

  When I’d sat in that uncomfortable desk chair and watched Mac have her, too, to see her get pleasure not just from me but my best friend as well… fuck me.

  I was so damn pleased. Thrilled. This was what some guys had spoken of. How it was different, better, with the right woman. Mark wouldn’t understand, but I didn’t give a fuck.

  It was everything.

  And I wanted more. Again.

  Mac lifted himself off Sam and went to dispose of the condom. She didn’t move, sated and clearly content naked and unaware of the picture she made. Her legs were parted, her pussy was visible. The hair there was groomed and pale, the pink lips swollen and flushed. I could see how wet she was.

  My cock was hard again, eager for more. Once wasn’t going to be enough. Not today, not in this hour.

  “Time to fuck in a bed,” I said.

  “Your apartment,” Mac added. “I want to see all those toys you talked about.”

  Her eyes popped open, and she sat up so fast I thought she’d topple over from a head rush.

  “No,” she said quickly. While she was gorgeous naked, her tits all perfect and right there for more play—fuck, I could play with them for hours and never get bored—she was back to the prickly, hyperfocused Sam.

  “We want to see the competition,” I joked.

  She shook her head, pushed her glasses up and bent down to grab her panties. />
  Using my heels, I moved the chair across the concrete floor to get in front of her. “What’s up, Sam?”

  She looked to me, lifted her leg and stepped into her panties. “Nothing.”

  Mac laughed. “There is no nothing with you. There’s always something. Spill it.”

  She shook her head, attempted to put her other foot through her panties and almost fell over. I set my hand on her arm.

  “Sam,” I said, drawing out her name.

  She tugged up her panties, which was a shame, then stilled.

  “Why don’t you want us at your apartment?”

  “I… I—”

  I tugged her onto my lap, wrapped my arms around her. Fuck, she felt so good, her skin so soft and perfect. I wished I could keep her bare all the time. “You’re going to tell us. Now.”

  I wasn’t letting her up until she did. Her entire demeanor had changed, as if a switch had been flipped.

  She took a deep breath, which pushed her tits into my forearm.

  “I don’t want to go there. Someone was in my apartment.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Mac asked, running a hand through his hair. He moved to the couch, dropped onto it.

  I swiveled us around in the chair to face him.

  “After work, I went home.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “The hand towels in my bathroom weren’t aligned.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t leave them crooked?” I asked.

  She turned her head, looked up at me, one pale brow arched as if stunned I’d ask her that question. “I wouldn’t leave them that way. I couldn’t.”

  I knew she was precise and that meant she had OCD to a certain degree. Probably not to a true compulsion level, but she liked things just so. Found comfort in it.

  “What else?” Mac asked. He watched her closely, as if he could get answers from her demeanor as well as her words. I could. It was obvious she was really bothered by what she’d seen, that she was upset about it.

  “The magnet on my fridge had been moved from one side to the other. I don’t like it when it’s near the handle. The pizza menu bumps my hand when I open the freezer. Also the TV remote wasn’t in the basket on the coffee table. Someone was there.”

  My TV remote was in my recliner, right side. Always. If I came home and found it sitting on the coffee table instead, I’d think myself crazy for about three seconds, then wonder who the fuck had been watching my TV. I believed her.

  And that meant someone had been in her fucking apartment. I didn’t dare ask if she’d left the door unlocked because if she was particular about hand towels, she wouldn’t forget something like that.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Mac asked. His voice was calm, but the tone was dark. Yeah, he was pissed, most likely at the fucker who had broken in, but also with Sam.

  She hopped off my lap, grabbed Mac’s T-shirt off the floor, put it on. It fell almost to her knees and fit her like a potato sack. But her tits were outlined in the cotton, and we couldn’t miss the outline of her tight nipples. She was hot as fuck.

  “I was distracted,” she replied.

  Mac shook his head. “No, you used sex as a distraction.”

  She shrugged. “Same difference.”

  I pointed at her. “For you, Miss Persnickety, it’s not the same and you know it. Were you planning on telling us?”

  When she bit her bottom lip, I had my answer. We’d only known her for a day. It wasn’t long when it came to relationships. Hell, any other woman I’d have kissed her on the head post-fuck, walked her to her car out front and forgotten all about her. If she’d wanted more, I’d have called her a clinger.

  With Sam, I felt like the one clinging. I wanted it all with her—hell, I wouldn’t have taken her virginity if I didn’t—but she didn’t seem to be of the same mind-set. And that was what pissed me off, that we felt more than she did. “You wanted our dicks, but not our protection?”

  Her head snapped back as if I’d slapped her with my sharp words, but she didn’t argue. Didn’t contradict. Yeah, that was what she thought. “Why would you want to take on my problems?” she asked.

  Holy shit. She was fucking serious.

  “Why?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. I pointed at her chest. “You’re wearing Mac’s T-shirt. I bet your pussy’s sore from our dicks. Why the fuck wouldn’t we?”

  “Someone slashed your tire yesterday,” Mac recapped. “Today someone was in your apartment. And you didn’t think we’d want to know?”

  “I don’t know you,” she finally argued.

  “You’re pretty much naked in our shop. You know us pretty fucking well.”

  She blushed and looked away. “It was just sex,” she said.

  “How the hell would you know? You’ve never had dick before ours. You think it’s always like that?” I stood, went over to her and tipped her chin so she had to look at me. “You think this connection between us is nothing, just a quickie on a couch? You think we’d take your virginity if you didn’t mean something? If you didn’t mean everything?”

  She looked at me with those blue eyes, studying, thinking. I could see her mind at work. “I’m not the only one keeping things a secret.”

  I frowned, stroked my thumb over her soft cheek.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

  She looked to Mac.

  “Were you arrested for buying drugs?”

  SAM

  * * *

  I was having emotional whiplash. One minute I’m coming all over Mac’s dick, the next I’m quizzing him about his arrest history. They were mad because I hadn’t told them about the break-in, and I’d turned it around and made it about Mac.

  Hardin dropped his fingers from my chin and settled back into the chair. “Jesus, this again?” he whispered to himself.

  Mac didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink at my question. “Yes.”

  He admitted it outright. No diverting, no excuses or prevaricating.

  “Where’d you hear about it?” he asked.

  “The hospital.” I wasn’t going to give specifics because they were irrelevant. Only what he’d done was.

  He frowned, leaned forward and set his forearms on his thighs. He looked so good without a shirt, the tattoos only enhancing his bad-boy image. For once I was taller than he. “Figures,” he grumbled.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, waited.

  “What else did your source share?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He shook his head slightly. “Again, figures. You know one part. Will you let me tell you all of it?”

  I swallowed, glanced at Hardin, and he offered me a small smile. Would he be here if Mac were a druggie? Would they be friends if he didn’t just look like a bad boy but was one?

  I liked data, liked to analyze. Process. I didn’t shy away from facts, from real facts. I wanted to know the truth. Needed to know it.

  “When I was sixteen, my mother got ovarian cancer. We didn’t have health insurance even though she worked two jobs. By the time she found out what it was, it was too late for chemo. Stage IV. It got bad quick, and she couldn’t work.”

  Oh God. I’d met women battling that stage of cancer, knew their chances were poor.

  “I worked part-time after school for the shop. The owner was like a dad to me, but that’s another story. He let me take on as many hours as I could handle to pay for rent, food. The medical bills piled up, the money I earned slipping through my fingers like sand.”

  He held up his hand as if imaginary grains were falling to the floor. Mac was intense, but it seemed because he felt intensely. Deeply. The way he looked at me, the way he wanted me wasn’t simple. It wasn’t superficial. It was complex. This guy who looked like Cutthroat’s bad boy wasn’t so bad at all. The tattoos, the dark, growly attitude hid a hurt that wouldn’t go away. Not his kind.

  I let my hands fall to my side.

  “Toward the end she was in pain. More pain than the pills she’d bee
n prescribed could cut. She was dying, so I told her to take what she needed, not what the label said.”

  I hated when people misused prescriptions, but I could understand in this case. She was dying. Overuse of pain meds was the least of her worries.

  “I couldn’t sit by and listen to her suffer,” he continued. “The whimpers and moans late at night I could hear through the wall between our bedrooms. God, it was agony for her. For me to know she suffered. So I went in search of pain meds. Found them, but got busted in a sting. Arrested. Sent to juvie for three months.”

  My mouth fell open in shock. “Oh my God,” I whispered. “Your mom?”

  “She died.” He bit his lip, glanced away, then back. His shoulders drooped as he looked down at the floor between his feet. “I was in juvie. I remember the moment someone told me. The look on the woman’s face. She didn’t have to say a word. Mom never got those extra pain pills, and she died alone.”

  The silence hung heavy between us. Hardin hadn’t spoken and wasn’t now. He wasn’t one to talk just to fill a void. They were waiting for me.

  “I’m sorry, Mac. What happened to you is awful. You committed a crime—Oxy abuse is destroying our country—but the circumstances should have been taken into account. You were judged wrongly.”

  He sucked in a breath, then stood. “Tell me, sweetheart. Did you fuck us for a fun time? A wild ride on a bad boy’s dick?”

  His words were harsh, and I felt dirty. Used. But I’d brought it on myself. I swallowed, couldn’t get any words out to respond before he continued.

  “You knew about this before you came here. Did you want to take a convict for a spin? Pop that cherry of yours to make up for all the years you never fucked?”

  I was used to people yelling at me, venting their anger about an unjust death of a loved one, of the cruel misfortune of some kind of disease. But while I may have been the bearer of bad news, those people weren’t upset with me personally. I was the messenger.

  I’d learned to build up a tough skin. It was required, not just professionally but personally, too. I’d hardened my heart to neglectful parents. To the lack of friends. To people who didn’t really care but were more interested in me being an oddity. To know the child genius.