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For days now, I've been painting up a storm. It's been ages since I've been so inspired. The works are somewhat abstracted—attempts to capture a feeling more than a scene. But these men all feature in the images—prominently. Hints of musculature and chiseled jaws, dark eyes and high cheekbones. Rugged beards and corded forearms.

None of the paintings are probably worth much. But getting back to my passion, back to my art, has been exhilarating. Having more time to concentrate on it will be good for mysoul.

Only losing my time in the workshop feels like losing something way more important than that. A niggling, disappointed twinge fires off in my heart.

I don't have long to dwell on it, though. Deandre announces that he's using his day off to see to some other work around the property. Soon enough, Cayden, Jax and Sergio head off to start putting chairs in crates. I work alongside Adam for a minute, helping to clear the table and clean up, but before long, he shoos me.

"Go. You need some time at your grandmother's house. I got this"

"But I want to help." Jeez, I am way too close to pouting.

"I know you do." He kisses my forehead and strokes my shoulder. "But let me do this for you. You go focus on the things you need to do."

He's trying to be kind. I should be grateful. But it feels like Cayden's comment about being a team—like I'm something external to the cohesiveness of their unit, tending to my own affairs.

He won't be cajoled into letting me wash the dishes, though, so I'm left either wringing my hands and watching him or getting going.

Choosing the ladder, I gather my stuff and head out. The cool air is bracing, but the truck I'm driving heats up fast enough.

Everything at my grandmother's house is exactly as I left it. The stillness of the place haunts me nearly as much as Grandma's ghost. Suddenly I'm achingly reminded of why I let Cayden and Jax drag me back to their house in the first place—and it had very, very little to do with either the power outage or the storm.

In the end, I don't even bother to pretend I'm going to get any real work done right away. Instead, I head for my makeshift studio, where I pull out a brand new canvas. Its blankness staresat me. I feel as empty as it looks, like I, too, am made up of miles of nothing but flat, harsh white.

At least it's full of potential, though—unlike me. I grab my brush, loading it up with thick black pigment, then I pause.

The content of my internal monologue catches up with me, and I nearly drop the brush.

I finally put a word to the feeling gnawing at my chest.

Useless.

That's how I feel.

Like right now, here on this mountain, I have no real use at all.

32

The problem is that when things are good, they're so,sogood.

It's pretty hard to worry about your independence or your usefulness when you're being shared by two guys in front of a roaring fire.

On my hands and knees, I rock between Sergio in my mouth and Cayden in my pussy. Cayden's grip on my hips is hard as iron, and his cock inside me feels like steel. Sergio holds my hair in his fist and uses it as leverage to pull me forward, forcing me to take him deeper, and God, all he has to do is ask. I'm happy to take it, happy to be used this way.

Especially when Cayden drops his hand to the place where our bodies are joined. He rubs my clit, and my eyes roll back in my head at the new well of pleasure opening up inside me.

I didn't exactly plan to end up like this today, but these things have a tendency to happen. I'd just walked in the door after another full day of cleaning and painting at my grandmother's house. If anyone looked too closely, they'd notice the flecks of blue on my wrist and the crimson stain embedded in the whorls of my thumb. My artwork has possessed me. I've had too manyfeelings to work out, too many beautiful images of the new men in my life floating around in my head. I've been pouring them onto canvas as catharsis and creation, and I was feeling exhausted. Drained.

Except Sergio had been there, freshly showered after a day spent hunched over a wood saw. With a look, he'd invited me to sit beside him for a quiet evening.

Instead, I'd decided to sit on his lap. He always has been a fan of me letting him know when I want his touch. I didn't mince words. Things progressed swiftly from rough kisses to the rocking motion of our bodies against one another. Clothes flew, leaving us bare to each other.

And then Cayden walked in. Desire burned in his eyes. Sergio didn't seem to mind.

Now here we are.

Sergio leans down, reaching to cup my breast. His touch there sends bolts of lightning through me. They're echoed by Cayden hammering my g-spot with his cock and my clit with his fingers. I groan, nearly choking on Sergio. His cockhead nudges up against my throat, his bitter taste slick on my tongue.

Cayden speeds up his pace, slamming into me.