“Because it looks like everyone in the room has come except the guy we’re supposed to be serving.”
Colby’s smile was slow and sinister. “I like your initiative, kid.”
Keats got up, careful not to jostle Georgia, and walked around to the other side of the bed. He climbed between Colby’s knees and reached for the button on Colby’s jeans. “I’m not a kid anymore, Colby. But I’ve always been an excellent student.”
The deep groan he heard as he closed his mouth over Colby was worth any price Keats would pay for forgetting to ask for permission.
THIRTY-ONE
Colby stared at the ceiling, watching the morning light track across it. He hadn’t planned to wake up this early, but once his eyes had opened and he’d felt Georgia curled up next to him, all the memories from last night had rushed up and he hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. Last night had been beyond all his expectations. When Keats had gone down on him, they’d made enough noise that Georgia had woken up a few minutes into it. Her wide-eyed surprise had switched quickly to interest as her gaze had zeroed in on the spectacle.
“I think we have an audience,” he’d told Keats.
Keats had paused, fleeting panic appearing. Sucking a guy off and doing it in front of someone else were two different things. Keats had turned toward Georgia as if to measure her reaction, but there was no mistaking the desire on her face. That had settled Keats. See, we’re all okay here. Colby had gripped his hair and guided him back down. Keats had found that submissive headspace again and had given himself over to it.
“You don’t have to just watch,” Colby had told Georgia, reaching out for her and cupping her cheek.
She’d nuzzled his hand. “But it’s such a pretty view.”
“Always the voyeur, huh? Come ’ere.”
He’d drawn her over to him and kissed her. She’d sunk into the kiss immediately and had reached out to stroke Keats while he worked Colby over. Then they’d all gotten into a tangle, switching positions and rotating who was pleasuring whom. Somehow they’d found a rhythm where no one was left out. Everything had felt organic, natural. In the moments that followed, Colby had lost track of time passing. They’d each ridden their edges as long as they could, drawing out the pleasure.
Georgia had declared that she could last in this game way longer than they could, so both of them had taken that as a challenge and gone after her simultaneously. She’d shrieked and had tried to run away. But Keats had caught her by the waist, dragging her down to the carpet. Colby and Keats had attacked Georgia with mouths and tongues and roving hands. She’d given them a fight, playfully swatting at them and crawling away, swearing she didn’t have another go in her. But she’d been fun to capture.
She’d tipped over into a laughing, shrieking orgasm in record time. And she’d kindly returned the favor, taking both his and Keats’s cocks in her hands and stroking them against each other. They’d all collapsed into a sticky, sweaty heap at the end, and when Keats had declared the throw rug a complete loss, they had all started laughing again—overtired, overstimulated, and overwhelmed.
It’d been nothing like Colby had ever experienced before.
He’d had more than his fair share of threesomes but never like that. Never had he ended up belly laughing with a partner. Or experienced that contented, all-is-right-with-the-world warmth going through him when he looked at his lovers, that unshakable need to see these two people wake up next to him the next day. And when Georgia had agreed to try to stay—to spend her first night outside her house in over a year—the feeling had turned into a twisting ache in his gut.
He was so deep in the shit it wasn’t even funny.
If his friends could see him now, they’d be laughing their asses off. Colby Wilkes, the dom no sub could pin down for more than one or two sessions, was having the feelings. God help them all.
His cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. He rolled over and grabbed for it before the noise woke his bedmates. His boss’s phone number flashed on the screen. On a Saturday? This couldn’t be good. He quickly rolled out of bed and hit Talk. “Hi, Rowan. Can you hold on one sec?”
“Sure, I’m at your front door. I can wait,” Principal Anders said.
“What?” Shit. “Okay, be there in two minutes.” Colby hit End on his phone and grabbed a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from a drawer. He tugged them on as quickly as possible and quietly made his way out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. There was no time to do anything else but scrub a hand through his hair to make sure it wasn’t standing up on end. What in God’s name was his boss doing at his house at seven in the damn morning on a weekend?
He pulled open the door to find her wearing her serious face. “Hey.”
Rowan gave him a quick head-to-toe perusal. “I’m really sorry to pop in on you like this on a weekend, but I wanted to talk to you . . . not at work. And you’ve said you’re an early riser.” She glanced at his driveway, where Keats’s bike was parked. “I was going to knock, but I was afraid you might have company.”
“I do, but that’s okay. We can talk in the kitchen.”
He led her inside, an unsettled feeling moving through him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good news. No need to make a house call for that.
“Coffee?”
“I’ll never turn that down,” she said with a little smile.
“So what’s going on?” he asked, getting the coffee started. “Is Travis okay?”
She sighed and slid onto the stool at the island. “Yes, he’s okay. He’s in an inpatient facility for a few more days while they get his medications right. But his parents are getting more and more determined to find someone to point the finger at. That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”
Colby set two mugs on the counter and turned around. “Lay it on me.”