Twice Upon a Blue Moon (23 page)

“This is punishment,” Dylan murmured. “Or did you think he forgot?”

“Fuck.” Her eyes squeezed nearly completely shut, she could only see a sliver of Dylan’s face in the blinding glow of light. It was enough to know that he was smirking.

You’re enjoying this.

Ward scraped a fingertip over her clit.

Hell, I’m enjoying it, too
.

Despite the raw, near-painful drag of friction, despite the frustration that accompanied her ruined orgasms, Hazel found herself soaring, tethered to her body only by the flimsiest of hooks. Ward rode her hard, seeking his own pleasure and caring nothing for her own. His flushed face was set in a grimace, teeth bared and eyes rooted to hers, and that alone could have sent her careering over the edge.

Instead, she cried out as Ward pinched the engorged nubbin of her clit tight between thumb and forefinger. “Not yet.”

Hazel felt tears leak into her hair as he drove his hips faster and faster, racing toward his high.

“
Now
.”

Permission was perfunctory. As blood flowed back into her compressed flesh, Hazel bucked against the bed, thrashing as orgasm rode her hard. She cried out, tension building to an unfathomable crescendo. Then pleasure took over, wave after wave of heat rippling across her skin as she sank, boneless, into the bedclothes.

She had no memory of Ward withdrawing and lowering her legs to the mattress. When she glanced down a minute or an hour later, he was rubbing her feet between his hands, so gentle that it might have been contrition animating the tender strokes.

“Aaand she’s back,” Dylan breathed, a smile in his voice. He was carding fingers through her hair and he grinned when their eyes met. “I’m a little jealous.”

“I passed out?”

“For a few seconds.”

“I pushed you,” Ward said and
he
wasn’t smiling. The furrow between his eyebrows had grown to a channel deep enough to fit the Marianas.

Dylan palmed her cheek, forcibly turning her attention back to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Anything hurt?”

Hazel flexed toes and fingers. She squirmed a little against the bed sheets. The collar and wristlets were gone, disappeared into whatever toy cupboard the boys used to conceal their torture implements. “I’m a little sore…”

“Not surprised.” Dylan stroked his thumb along the curve of her cheek. “Your back’s okay?”

“I must seem very fragile to you.” Hazel made to sit up, but Dylan pressed a hand between her breasts, keeping her down.

“You don’t. Ward is freaking out because no one’s ever fainted from the power of his cock before.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ward groaned under his breath.

“Do they often faint for
you
?” Hazel quipped but she settled back against the mattress as instructed. She could do that much to keep the peace.

“All the time.” Dylan propped himself up onto his elbow. “So, if everything was good and nothing hurts
too
much, can you please tell him to calm down and get over here?”

Hazel craned her neck. “He looks calm.”

“That’s because
I
talked him down. He’s holding out on joining us, though.” Dylan slid a long-suffering glance down the bed. “He can be trying.”

“Ward.” Hazel held out a hand. “Come here before Dylan breaks his arm patting himself on the back?”

With the clarity of afterglow and the satisfaction of a worthwhile scene smothering her insecurities, Hazel knew suddenly that it wouldn’t be easy to navigate a relationship with two men. They might stand a chance as long as they were all willing to compromise. They already had a lock on sexual chemistry. That was something.

Ward heaved a put-upon sigh and flopped down beside her. His spent dick rested soft and warm against Hazel’s thigh.

“You’re pretty good at this dominating thing,” Hazel breathed, tipping her head against his shoulder.

She had grown used to Ward smirking and scoffing, brushing off anything that so much as flirted with significance. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him laugh in response.

He didn’t. Instead, he brushed her temple with his lips and said, “You, too.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hazel glimpsed Dylan’s self-satisfied grin. She let him have this one. There were worse reasons to look smug.

Epilogue

She woke in a tangle of limbs. The sheets were a jumble of crinkled damask beneath her. Dylan lay on her hair, one hand curled around her breast. Ward had casually flung an arm across her belly as he spooned her from behind. Even soft, his cock was a noticeable bulge against her backside. It spurred all kinds of wayward thoughts.

Hazel had more pressing concerns.

Ward tightened his hold as she made to pry her way loose and he blinked awake with a frown when she persisted.

It figures he frowns even in his sleep.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” Hazel reassured him, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Dylan.

Ward took a moment to parse out her words, then nodded and withdrew his hand. It was hard not to miss its warmth.

Hazel scrabbled her way to the foot of the bed on wobbly legs. When she glanced back, Ward had closed his eyes again. Probably feigning sleep, she thought. She was beginning to figure out how his busy mind worked. The things he was afraid of rang oddly familiar.

After using the facilities and washing her hands, Hazel wrapped herself in the terrycloth robe she found on a hook on the back of the door. It was softer than any she owned. She made a mental note to ask Dylan what kind of laundry powder he used.
Later
. When she stepped back into the bedroom, Dylan was tucked neatly into the empty space she’d just vacated, his cheek on Ward’s pale shoulder. They looked at once wicked and divine together, moonlight slanting across their bodies and shadows pooling in the few hollows left between them.

It was a shame that she couldn’t paint for shit because those two had bodies nude models would kill for. She filed away the thought as she padded out of the room.

She was thirsty and she needed to stretch. Mostly, though, she needed to recoup.

The urge to call Sadie and have some good ol’-fashioned girl talk surged inside her like a craving for chocolate. She rummaged for her phone in her purse and took it over to the couch. It was only nine o’clock. Sadie would still be up.

If Hazel was lucky, tonight would be a quiet night at Marco’s and they could talk.

She typed her passcode and swiped to unlock the screen. Her inbox was seventeen missed calls and twenty-two messages deep, all received since the afternoon.

Hazel felt her stomach sink. It settled slightly when she realized that the calls were all from Sadie or Marco’s. Nothing from Dunby. No sign that calamity had struck her family. Hazel scrolled to the first message in the queue. It was from Sadie.

Don’t freak out but call me back when you get this.

The second, in the same vein, pleaded with Hazel to get in touch ASAP. Third and fourth were identical resends. Could be network glitches, Hazel reasoned, trying to keep calm. The fifth message reduced her mental gymnastics to dust.

He’s posting your picture and vid on some gross website. With your number. Call me.

“Hazel?”

She startled at the sound of Dylan’s voice. With the lights out, his shadow blended with the darkness of the room. The dizzying, riotous thoughts clamoring in her skull dimmed in his presence.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “I was going to get some, uh, some water.” Her mouth was thick with cotton, cloying with honey and bile. She had to swallow a couple of times before she could muster enough spit to add, “How did you escape Octopus Man in there?”

“Ward?” Dylan raked a hand through his inky hair. “He’s pretending to be fast asleep. If we’re not back soon, he’ll probably come looking.” He didn’t seem overly concerned about the prospect.

He padded barefoot and naked into the kitchen, rounding the island to fetch a bottled water from the fridge. “If you need to make a call—”

“I don’t.” Hazel tossed the phone to the couch, having typed a quick
I’ll call you in the morning
to Sadie
.
She took the water from Dylan’s outstretched hand. “There’s no middle ground with you, is there?”

Dylan arched an eyebrow.

“Suit and tie or birthday suit.”

“Do you have a preference?”

Hazel grinned and let her eyes rake down his body. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

When she hauled her gaze back to his face, she found him smiling crookedly. Even covered from her knees to her chin, she couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious beneath his stare.

“Thank you,” Dylan said.

“I haven’t moved any mountains lately.”

“For sticking around. For…giving us a chance.” It was hard to say if ‘us’ referred to him and Hazel or him, Hazel
and
Ward. Possibly the latter.

Hazel hitched up a shoulder. “I have fun here. And Ward really likes to cut in, so we’re better off including him, anyway.” She could see bemusement in the crease of Dylan’s brow. “I’ll explain some other time. How was Shanghai?”

His expression morphed into one of ill-concealed glee. “Ah… Ward told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” She felt sheepish admitting it, but it wasn’t her fault. “I didn’t
ask
.”

“I imagine not. I wanted to tell you, but—”

“Too intimate, I get it.” Hazel held out her hands in surrender. “We’re cool.”

“I
do
want to tell you. Now that I know you might be, you know, staying in orbit, I want to do all sorts of things… Including talking.”

“But not exclusively?”

A shiver raced down Hazel’s spine as Dylan slowly shook his head. He watched her intently, as though scouring the deep recesses of her being all the way to that small part of her that wouldn’t mind being told to bend over right then and there. Kitchen sex had all the appeal of missionary with the lights out in her apartment, but the loft was different. The exposed brick and the cool granite countertops called to mind decadence and rough, no-holds-barred grappling.

“We should go back to Ward,” Dylan suggested.

“Okay…”

“And,” Dylan added just as she made to walk away, “if he’s up for it, you two can catch me up on whatever else you’ve been up to these past couple of weeks…”

“What if
I
’m not up for it?” Hazel asked coquettishly.

“You will be,” Dylan retorted, and that sexy, gravelly note in his voice zoomed straight to her core.

She heard him trail her into the bedroom at a leisurely pace, a predator well aware that their prey was cornered. Her pulse spiked in answer.

As predicted, Ward was propped up on his elbows, glaring at the door when they stepped through.

“Someone’s cross,” Hazel drawled.

“No,” Dylan scoffed. “That’s his resting face—”

He didn’t get another word in before Ward tackled him to the bed.

Hazel watched them wrestle for a moment, an outsider looking in, and promptly decided she didn’t have to stand for that.

She let the bathrobe hit the floor.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

Glass Houses

Helena Maeve

Excerpt

Chapter One

Judging by the slide show, it had been a beautiful ceremony. The church was decorated with baby’s breath and carnations, the aisles lined with gold trim. The bridesmaids wore teal and yet, miraculously, didn’t look like something out of
Alice in Wonderland
. Penny herself was radiant in her embroidered white gown and I had to admit that, with a three-piece suit and a nice haircut, even her groom cleaned up nice.

The time stamp on the photos dated back to almost four months ago today. That was harder to digest. I nudged my laptop screen shut and pushed myself up from the bed. It had taken me four months to save up for a new computer and now that I had it, I couldn’t wait to shut it off.

I tried to smother the hurt blooming in my gut. It was a bit like trying to put out a flame when all I had on hand was rice paper. It only sort of worked. I couldn’t help feeling betrayed. Penny was my best friend. We told each other everything.
Well
, I thought bitterly,
almost everything
. For my part, I had gone as far as to share with her my one and only indiscretion back in college—albeit minus some of the more sordid details.

How could a wedding be too sensitive a topic to bring up when she knew all about my steamy one-night stand with a professor who must’ve been my dad’s age?

Okay, so he had been a mere guest lecturer from another college.

My point still had merit.

I brushed the tips of my fingers under my eyes, fiercely glad that I didn’t put makeup on when I was working. The woman staring back at me from the mirror wore disappointment like an ill-fitting dress. She usually preferred anger to dismay. It burned itself out a little quicker than the seasick frustration I could feel swimming in my belly. There was nothing to be done about that now. Later, once I was done feeling like I’d been methodically but oh so effectively sectioned out of Penny’s life, I would have to send her a message, something nice and harmless and heartfelt, to wish her well.

I would have to fib my way through the congratulations.

Break time was over. Any minute now, Mrs. Hamilton would be yelling my name, or one of the kids would spill something all over themselves and start crying their eyes out like neurotic mini-persons.
Something
. Distractions were usually a dime a dozen in this job.

It happened almost on cue, via Mr. Hamilton rather than his wife. And he wasn’t yelling so much as rapping his knuckles on my bedroom door. I wondered if he was attempting Morse code.

I made one last ditch effort to compose myself and decided to brave the music.