“She may not want to leave that house,” I say. “Memories, and familiarity.”
“You may be right. Either way, we’ll make sure she has everything she needs,” Bronson says.
Again, I nod, and I get the sense that they may have been secretly slipping Rachel money for several years. If so, I doubt my father would have approved.
“You should let us take care of you, Caz,” Barrett says, his tone softer than I’ve heard it sound in years.
Anger threatens to rise, but I take another drink of wine to smooth the edges. I didn’t come here to fight with them. “There’s only one thing I need from you,” I say.
Lennox’s brows raise, and he’s about to question my meaning, but when he sees the look in my eyes, his mouth falls shut.
I look around at each of them, making my intentions clear. They’re such beautiful men, so big and strong, so ruggedly handsome with their carved features and masculine, stubbled jaws. When I look into their eyes, I recognize the boys I once knew, but as I scan their bodies, everything is enticingly new.
I take another gulp of wine, and then they lead me upstairs.
15
Only the beginning
Barrett takes me by the hand, leading me down a short hall and into a large bedroom that I assume is his. Being a rental, there aren’t any noticeable personal touches, but the room is tidy, with not even one article of clothing on the floor. The boys weren’t nearly so neat years ago, but I imagine military service helped them form different habits.
As if the threshold of his room flashed a go sign, he begins kissing me as soon as we’re through the doorway. To bridge our height difference, he lifts me in his arms, his hands scooping under my butt as my legs wrap around him. It’s in that position that he walks us to the bed and collapses down onto it, the two of us side-by-side, still kissing.
I take the opportunity to explore his face and body with my hands and mouth. I was too stunned to do much touching the other day, and it’s something I regretted.
His body is hard. I was expecting that, but he’s even more solid than I anticipated. As his lips and tongue tantalize mine, I slide my arm around to his back and pull us closer, my fingers pressing into steely muscle.
His tongue teases mine and I tilt my hips to align with him, the familiar feeling of need rushing in. I encounter another hard ridge, and this one makes my pussy throb. His cock is hard, straining against his jeans, and I can’t keep from running my hand over it too.
“Caroline.” My given name leaves his mouth like he’s on his last breath.
My right leg is still draped over his leg. I lean into it and slide it further up his body so that my weight pushes him onto his back. I don’t think I could push him over without his cooperation, but he seemed to pick up on my intention and happily oblige.
As I move to straddle him, I get a better look at the bulge below his belt. The room is dim; no one bothered to put a light on, but moonlight coming in through the windows provides enough illumination for me to see the outline of him.
He’s big.
Much larger than any man I’ve been with.
Movement to my side catches my eye, and I notice the other three men for the first time since we entered the room. They’re all nearby, watching, waiting for their turn.
In the fantasies that played in my head over the past few days, I often wondered if and how I’d be able to handle all of the men, but now that I’m here, desire nearly making me dizzy, I’m not worried about that. I want them all so much; I’m confident my body and stamina will rise to the occasion.
I am concerned, however, about the size of what’s in front of me.
Curiosity driving me, I undo Barrett’s belt, unsnap his jeans, and slowly slide his zipper down. He watches me closely, his eyes dark but gleaming with anticipation.
I slide my hand over the dark briefs that are the final barrier. The heat of him warms my hand through the fabric. When I grip the width of his cock and give it a squeeze, Barrett groans.
“Fuck, Caroline …” He sounds tortured and ruined, and we’ve only barely just begun.
As I start to stroke him through his briefs, he interrupts me by reaching for my shirt. I’m still wearing the big, ugly Rusty’s shirt, but I don’t hate it anymore, because it was the shirt that got us where we all are now.
As Barrett lifts the front of the t-shirt, other hands reach from behind to assist, and it’s lifted over my head, followed quickly by the tank top underneath. Hands slide over my shoulder blades — I turn to find Bronson there, who unhooks the clasp of my bra and pulls it away.