1
Easton undid his belt and dragged the zipper down, moving closer so that I could reach him. “Take it out.”
I obeyed, self-conscious under Aaron’s gaze as I worked Easton’s jeans and underwear down, then ran my hands softly up his muscular thighs and over his cock. It was already stiffening. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and squeezed it, smiling as it quickly went from pliable to rigid.
“Jesus,” Aaron muttered from his spot beside us. “I forgot how fucking big you are.”
“She can take it all.” My husband’s hand closed on the back of my head and gently pulled. “Show him, Elle. Show him how well you suck my cock.”
* * *
I felt different when I woke up. It was a very similar feeling to how I felt the morning after my first period. Older. More worldly. Like I had secret access to an elite club that had finally accepted me as a member.
I rolled onto my back and stretched. The right side of Easton’s makeshift fort had fallen, and I could see a water stain on the joint of the ceiling beam. I studied the water stain with growing concern. Had it been there before? I propped up on one elbow and tugged at the wall of the fort, trying to get a better look. If we had a leak, so help me…
“Hey.” Easton ducked under the sheet and grinned at me, his aqua golf shirt a little crooked on his frame.
I reached over and straightened his collar, folding it into place and returning his smile. “Good morning.”
He leaned forward and planted a kiss on me. “Already taking down my fort?”
“I wanted to get to it before Wayland did.” I scooted to the edge of the bed. “You know him and sheets.” Our Great Dane had a vendetta against any white blankets, sheets, or towels—one that worked him into an immediate fervor at first sight. Easton’s grandmother wore a white wrap to last year’s Christmas party and he had knocked her to the ground, tug-o-warred it off her body, and was pouncing on it like he was giving CPR when I came around the corner and found the scene. Wayland was put in his crate and Grandma Ann confiscated his Christmas stocking out of pure spite.
He pulled a belt from the closet and worked it through the top of his shorts. “I’m going to brew some coffee and see if Aaron is up.”
“Okay.” I glanced around for further evidence from last night. With the morning sun beaming through the windows, the bathroom air vent on high, the cocoon of sheets dropping around me—it seemed crazy that this room had been the same place where Easton’s best friend had stood naked, his dick in hand, waiting to take his turn on me.
Easton stood at the side of the bed, his gaze on me, eyes burning with heat. “Put your fingers in yourself,” he ordered. “Show him how wet you are.”
I flicked my gaze to Aaron and slowly ran one hand down my stomach and across the thin strip of hair between my legs. I pushed a finger in, then a second, opening my legs and showing him the tight fit around my knuckles. His eyes followed the motion, and his breath shortened as he stroked his cock in rhythm with my fingers. “Fuck me,” I begged. “Please.”
What had we been thinking? We weren’t those kind of couples. We were the forget-trash-day couple. The ones who snuck a flask into football games and didn’t send Christmas cards. The kind who paid property taxes late and booked concert tickets early, and argued over parking spots and coupon usage and whether celebrity hall passes were allowed. We were Easton and Elle—not…ew…swingers. Not those creepy people who pressured their friends to join them in the bedroom. I knew those sorts of people. My first boss in real estate had been that sort of person.
We weren’t those people, yet we had done it. Ten hours later, and the memories were still crisp and vivid.
The possessive and aroused look on Easton’s face.
His hand tight around his cock.
Aaron’s fingers, trembling as they traced around my nipple.
His mouth coming down on my breast.
The drag of his teeth and the hot swipe of his tongue.
His rigid cock, pushing inside of me.
The hiss of Easton’s breath.
Their tight grip on me.
The groan of their orgasms.
The intense peaks of mine.
I fisted the sheet and pushed off the bed, needing to get onto my feet and away from the memories before my arousal got the better of me.
I met Easton’s eyes as I moved past him, toward the bathroom. His hand closed on my wrist and he pulled me back until I was against him. “Wait.”
I resisted. “I need to brush my teeth.”
“Is that what you need?” His gaze sharpened. “Because it looks like you might need something else.”