to a steady pace, thrusting enough to build my pleasure, and bring it to a heady ledge. He dropped his head to my breasts again, to suck on a nipple.
Owen worked a hand between us, down my stomach, to find my clit. He circled the swollen button, faster, harder.
Climax surged through me without warning, splashing around me. Consuming me. I clenched around Kingston, lost in orgasm, my body shuddering away when Owen’s touch became too much.
More. The insistence was louder now, rather than being sated. I fumbled my way through unzipping Owen’s slacks, and freed him. The noises they made, the attention they gave me, the scents of sugar and sex, were better than the finest liquor, going straight to my head.
Kingston increased the pace and intensity, slamming against me, inside me, striking the right spot and breathing new fire into a fading orgasm.
I stroked Owen in rhythm with the pump of Kingston’s hips. Gripping tighter as another wave of pressure built inside me.
Owen covered my hand, setting the pace, not letting up even as I came again, tumbling into the sea of sparkles that danced behind my eyelids.
Twin grunts, staccato and wrapped in climaxes of their own, filtered into the haze I floated in. Fingers dug into my hips. Warm sticky fluid covered my hand.
The world slowly swam back into focus as we slowed and stopped. Owen was behind me, holding me upright, and Kingston had his forehead buried in the crook of my neck.
It would be a little while before I wanted to move from this spot. The impulse was there to cover up. At least grab the apron Kingston said he wanted to see me naked under.
But it was easy to ignore the thought, nestled between them.
“So...” Kingston kissed along my shoulder. “You’ll take a look at the contract now?”
Ice raced through my veins, freezing my entire body.
Owen’s groan was a different one than he’d been making all day. This sound was less sexy and more disbelief.
I forced myself to move. To extract myself from the pile of limbs, and grabbed the apron. It wasn’t enough. I needed a dozen layers of clothing between me and them. “Get out.” I bit off the words.
They were both already on their feet, straightening their clothes. Buttoning and zipping up.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kingston sounded apologetic.
Which was bullshit. At least I could recognize that now.
“Please.” Owen studied me with... pity?
I didn’t want his fucking pity.
“Let me explain—”
“Listen to me.” I interrupted Kingston with bitten off words. “Don’t talk. We’re done. Get. Out.” I spoke through gritted teeth. I refused to break in front of them, no matter how desperately I wanted to shatter into a million pieces.
Chapter Seven
The catering for Digital Media consumed enough of my brain that I could ignore yesterday, and what happened with Kingston and Owen. But as the event wound down and exhaustion sank into my bones, my brain was free to skip along any path it wanted.
By the time I got back to my apartment above the shop, my thoughts were berating me full-force.
I fell for the guys’ bullshit, less than a day after they lied to me about who they were. It hurt from my toes to my hair follicles, that I’d let down my guard even a little. What was I thinking?
I was an idiot. Sex didn’t equal a connection and neither did good conversation. A lot of people knew how to get along.
But this was different.
Was it? If I hadn’t enjoyed their company, I wouldn’t have screwed them. The day was fun, the sex was good, and I got to try the whole two-guys-at-once thing. Honestly, I’d expected disappointment, but that was good—really good—so I could check that off my non-existent bucket list.
It was sorted then. I’d had fun, no one used anyone, even though apparently that was what they’d been trying for, and it was time for me to move on. I hadn’t been an idiot after all, just made a few naive assumptions.
My thoughts didn’t get the memo, though. Through the night and into the next morning, I was treated to replays of Kingston’s kisses and Owen’s touches and two skilled lovers savoring me like the most delicious delicacy.
As I made pastries for the shop, ghosts teased me with memories of them both working in my kitchen. Of the synchronicity we’d achieved. Of how good they looked in aprons, with their sleeves rolled up.
This wasn’t working for me. I didn’t swoon over one-night stands. Especially when they turned