Hotter Than Ever
Page 52
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I want you in my ass.
Dylan’s desperate plea to Aidan echoed in her mind, and a hot shiver scurried up her spine. Oh God, the way he was bending over like that, his ass hugged by those camo pants… But there’d been nothing covering that ass last night, not unless you counted Aidan’s muscular thighs pressed up against Dylan’s bu**ocks as Aidan’s c**k slammed into—
“You okay there, sweetheart?” Aidan inquired in a gratingly cheerful voice.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“If you say so.”
But she was the furthest thing from fine. Now that she’d allowed that one memory in, the rest were buzzing in her head like a swarm of bees.
Aidan on his knees, his lips stretched around Dylan’s cock.
Dylan begging to be taken.
Aidan taking him.
Both of them coming.
The whole scene had replayed in her dreams last night, the filthiest, sexiest, raunchiest dreams she’d ever had in her life. She’d woken up between each one, panting, sweating, quivering from what she suspected had been actual orgasms. And each dream had ended the same way—with Dylan’s green eyes burning with ecstasy as he held her gaze and orgasmed.
God, he’d seen her. He’d seen her standing there, and yet he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t sought her out last night, wasn’t mentioning it this morning.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“All right, we’re taking off.” Aidan’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Call my cell if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.” She kept her gaze firmly on her empty cereal bowl.
As they shuffled toward the doorway, Claire couldn’t believe she’d made it through the entire exchange without a single look in their direction. She was about to give herself a mental pat on the back when Dylan’s silky voice drifted her way.
“Hey, Claire?”
Her head lifted involuntarily, causing the accidental meeting of their eyes.
“Yeah?” she said warily.
“You were moaning in your sleep last night.” Chuckling, Dylan sauntered out of the kitchen.
“Who do you think would win in a fight, Costner’s Robin Hood or Crowe’s?” Aidan stretched his legs out and absently glanced at the TV, which was playing the Russell Crowe version of the aforementioned film.
Dylan was lying on the other couch, his head propped up by a throw pillow. “That’s a trick question,” he said immediately. “The real winner would be Cary Elwes’s Robin Hood from Men in Tights.”
Aidan burst out laughing. “Why?”
“Duh. Because he speaks with a British accent.” In an impressive move, Dylan recited the line in a British accent.
“Shit, that’s actually a badass British accent, bro.”
“I know, right?”
They turned their attention back to the screen, but Aidan wasn’t particularly interested in the movie. He was too busy wondering what Claire was doing in Dylan’s bedroom. She’d been hiding away all night, same way she’d done last night, and the night before, and the night before that.
He had to give her credit—the woman had successfully managed to avoid them for three days now, a damn near impossible feat considering they were living in the same condo.
Aidan knew all about Claire’s initiation into the wonderful world of voyeurism, and damn, he wished he’d gotten to see her face that night. Dylan insisted she’d liked everything she’d seen, and judging by the blush that had graced her cheeks ever since, Aidan suspected his roommate was right.
“She’s only got a week and a half of vacation time left,” he murmured.
“I know.” Dylan sounded as glum as Aidan felt.
“I don’t want her to go.” The confession slipped out before he could stop it.
“Me neither.”
They fell silent again, watching the movie with mutual disinterest.
When he heard soft footsteps a few minutes later, Aidan’s heart did an involuntary flip. He eagerly sat up just as Claire stepped into the living room, but his rising excitement plummeted the moment he saw her face.
“What’s wrong?” he said instantly.
Looking pale, she focused her gaze not on Aidan, but Dylan. “If I ask you something, do you promise to give me an honest answer?”
Concern filled Dylan’s eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Just promise.”
“I promise. Now what is it, honey?”
“Did you know Chris was having an affair?”
Aidan had not been expecting that. Neither had Dylan, because the man’s jaw dropped in shock.
“What?”
Claire walked over to the armchair and sat down with a miserable expression. “Did you know?”
“Of course not.” Dylan shook his head, looking flabbergasted. “What do you mean, Chris was having an affair?”
“I don’t know for sure, but that’s what the evidence suggests.”
“What evidence?” Dylan asked sharply.
She sighed. “I was on Facebook messaging a few friends from college, you know, just passing the time, and I was looking at some of their pictures. This one friend—well, more of an acquaintance, really—she’s a lawyer and she posted some pics of this charity event that took place a few months ago. Chris attended, but I couldn’t go, so he went alone. He’s in one of the pictures, looking pretty cozy with this skinny blonde who has her arm around his waist.”
Dylan’s desperate plea to Aidan echoed in her mind, and a hot shiver scurried up her spine. Oh God, the way he was bending over like that, his ass hugged by those camo pants… But there’d been nothing covering that ass last night, not unless you counted Aidan’s muscular thighs pressed up against Dylan’s bu**ocks as Aidan’s c**k slammed into—
“You okay there, sweetheart?” Aidan inquired in a gratingly cheerful voice.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“If you say so.”
But she was the furthest thing from fine. Now that she’d allowed that one memory in, the rest were buzzing in her head like a swarm of bees.
Aidan on his knees, his lips stretched around Dylan’s cock.
Dylan begging to be taken.
Aidan taking him.
Both of them coming.
The whole scene had replayed in her dreams last night, the filthiest, sexiest, raunchiest dreams she’d ever had in her life. She’d woken up between each one, panting, sweating, quivering from what she suspected had been actual orgasms. And each dream had ended the same way—with Dylan’s green eyes burning with ecstasy as he held her gaze and orgasmed.
God, he’d seen her. He’d seen her standing there, and yet he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t sought her out last night, wasn’t mentioning it this morning.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“All right, we’re taking off.” Aidan’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Call my cell if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.” She kept her gaze firmly on her empty cereal bowl.
As they shuffled toward the doorway, Claire couldn’t believe she’d made it through the entire exchange without a single look in their direction. She was about to give herself a mental pat on the back when Dylan’s silky voice drifted her way.
“Hey, Claire?”
Her head lifted involuntarily, causing the accidental meeting of their eyes.
“Yeah?” she said warily.
“You were moaning in your sleep last night.” Chuckling, Dylan sauntered out of the kitchen.
“Who do you think would win in a fight, Costner’s Robin Hood or Crowe’s?” Aidan stretched his legs out and absently glanced at the TV, which was playing the Russell Crowe version of the aforementioned film.
Dylan was lying on the other couch, his head propped up by a throw pillow. “That’s a trick question,” he said immediately. “The real winner would be Cary Elwes’s Robin Hood from Men in Tights.”
Aidan burst out laughing. “Why?”
“Duh. Because he speaks with a British accent.” In an impressive move, Dylan recited the line in a British accent.
“Shit, that’s actually a badass British accent, bro.”
“I know, right?”
They turned their attention back to the screen, but Aidan wasn’t particularly interested in the movie. He was too busy wondering what Claire was doing in Dylan’s bedroom. She’d been hiding away all night, same way she’d done last night, and the night before, and the night before that.
He had to give her credit—the woman had successfully managed to avoid them for three days now, a damn near impossible feat considering they were living in the same condo.
Aidan knew all about Claire’s initiation into the wonderful world of voyeurism, and damn, he wished he’d gotten to see her face that night. Dylan insisted she’d liked everything she’d seen, and judging by the blush that had graced her cheeks ever since, Aidan suspected his roommate was right.
“She’s only got a week and a half of vacation time left,” he murmured.
“I know.” Dylan sounded as glum as Aidan felt.
“I don’t want her to go.” The confession slipped out before he could stop it.
“Me neither.”
They fell silent again, watching the movie with mutual disinterest.
When he heard soft footsteps a few minutes later, Aidan’s heart did an involuntary flip. He eagerly sat up just as Claire stepped into the living room, but his rising excitement plummeted the moment he saw her face.
“What’s wrong?” he said instantly.
Looking pale, she focused her gaze not on Aidan, but Dylan. “If I ask you something, do you promise to give me an honest answer?”
Concern filled Dylan’s eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Just promise.”
“I promise. Now what is it, honey?”
“Did you know Chris was having an affair?”
Aidan had not been expecting that. Neither had Dylan, because the man’s jaw dropped in shock.
“What?”
Claire walked over to the armchair and sat down with a miserable expression. “Did you know?”
“Of course not.” Dylan shook his head, looking flabbergasted. “What do you mean, Chris was having an affair?”
“I don’t know for sure, but that’s what the evidence suggests.”
“What evidence?” Dylan asked sharply.
She sighed. “I was on Facebook messaging a few friends from college, you know, just passing the time, and I was looking at some of their pictures. This one friend—well, more of an acquaintance, really—she’s a lawyer and she posted some pics of this charity event that took place a few months ago. Chris attended, but I couldn’t go, so he went alone. He’s in one of the pictures, looking pretty cozy with this skinny blonde who has her arm around his waist.”
