Page 21 of Craving Consequences

EVERLY

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PRESENT DAY...

I’m being punished.

There’s no other explanation as to why there is a marching band in my skull and my body is weighed down by rocks, preventing me from protecting myself.

“Oh my God,” I whimper from my dark cocoon of misery.

One of the boulders shifts. Hard muscles press harder against my softer ones. Warm, taut flesh brushes down my side. It’s definitely alive.

My eyes spring open. Violently and with little regard to my throbbing brain. It does register somewhere at the very bottom of all the pain that I am a lightweight. A pathetic one, given the high school marching band putting on a show after only two ... maybe three drinks.

Maybe four.

It was hard to keep track after the first, initial burn cut a path down my throat to fill my empty gut .

But never again.

Still, that doesn’t explain why my weighted blanket is tightening around me with the strength of a boa constrictor.

Struggling against the urge to remain immobile, I tip my face down to the dark head nestled against my chest. Thick arms band across my middle, overlapping the second arm hooked in from behind. There are too many legs twisted through mine and at least two erections digging into me.

I’m partially on my side with a beating heart pattering lightly against my shoulder blade. The owner breathes lightly into the back of my neck. Their hand cups possessively over my breast despite the second face tucked deep between them. One thick thigh is wedged between my knees from behind.

I lay frozen, the numbing pain in my skull forgotten. Overshadowed by this new plot twist.

Vaguely, I know I’m in Lachlan’s guestroom. I recognize the oil painting of a blue sky over a cliffside lighthouse. Even without it, I know their scents. I would recognize them anywhere. I would know Van’s broad shoulders encircled by my arms and the inked mural down Lachlan’s forearm.

What I’m having trouble sifting through is the how. How did I get here?

I remember — with cruel clarity — the events that drove me to find them at their favorite bar in the first place. I remember scanning the sea of oily, sticky bodies for signs of them, and throwing back drinks to calm my nerves.

The drinks hadn’t been the plan. I’ve never been much for alcohol. Never saw the need for it, but the situation called for it. My willpower was crumbling and I knew I wouldn’t make it.

The rest...

My brain fights to pull up the blur of faces. The smudges of sounds and motion. I remember Van’s arms. Lachlan’s mouth. I remember Van’s husky taunt in my ear, goading me to take his finger.

“Oh my God!” I squeak.

Horror and humiliation ... and arousal rise up in my belly as bits and pieces of the car ride make me vividly aware of the tenderness between my legs ... and the moisture.

So. Much. Moisture.

And begging them to fill me up ... and them obliging.

Stifling the choked sound threatening to expel into the silence, I attempt to shift. To wiggle free. To escape. Neither even budges. They are locked around me, pinning me to them and the mattress.

I can’t stay here. I can’t have that conversation when I have no idea what to say.

Maybe it’s my futile wiggling or the escalation of my heart thundering in my chest, but Van nuzzles the place between my breasts.

It’s so sweet and gentle, so like a lost kitten seeking warmth that the gesture kicks me in the chest. It warms me in places it shouldn’t.

Lures my arms around him as if in protection.

No! Stop that! the voice hisses, panicked when my fingers slip through his hair. Skims, Eliciting a low groan from him.

It hurts how badly I have always wanted this. How often I fantasized about having them curled around me like this. To wake up with them already there, especially when my dreams feel so real that reality is a burdan to return to.

But this cannot last. What happened last night can never happen again. Can never be mentioned. Somehow, I need to resume my life without them in it. Return to the days when I would yearn for them from afar.

I can’t.

I can never go back to that. I can’t pretend last night wasn’t the best night of my life, even if it’s a bit fuzzy around the edges.

Heart breaking, I lower my chin and brush a kiss to the top of Van’s head. I let my fingers skim the stubble on his face. For a second, a traitorous, dangerous second, I sink into the moment. Into them. I allow myself the illusion that I can have this even as hot tears well up behind my eyes.

The man in question sighs, soft and content. He nestles deeper into the curve of my body like he belongs there.

In a different world, he does. In that world, they both belong with me, and the world is a different place and people are accepting and what we have won’t ruin so many lives. In that world, I can wake up with them twisted around me and kiss them and hold them without consequences.

But that world isn’t real, and I can’t let my selfishness hurt them. I can’t let my bad decisions ruin their lives.

I glance over my shoulder and can just make out Lachan’s slumbering features. Like Van, his jaw is a dark carpet of stubble dusted ever so slightly with gray that makes my heart melt. The prickles tickle the fingertips I ghost over his cheek. Careful not tickle or wake him.

I want to stay.

Maybe I can. Maybe we can just live together in this cozy knot, locked up in this room forever.

Not in Jefferson we can’t. People will come looking. They won’t even bother to knock. They’d storm in with their judgment and disgust. They’d tear down Lachlan’s business. Remove Van from his position. They’d lose everything because of me.

Good feeling gone, I reach down and gently drag Lachlan’s hand off my breast. The man grunts his annoyance and drops his palm on my naked hip.

His fingers curl possessively, holding me in place and I’m reminded of him holding my thighs wide to the cock I milked inside me.

His thick, beautiful cock now wedged into the small of my back.

Focus !

Body flushed and leaking what they took turns putting inside me, I slide my hand beneath Lachlan’s. I lift just enough to slip my torso out from under the weight. My shoulder drags against his chest as I shimmy onto my back.

Next, I peel away from Van. I untangle our legs and unhook his arm from across me. I do all this without elbowing Lachlan, or kneeing Van. It’s an art form that has my stiff limbs tingling when blood rushes back through them.

Stifling my whimper, I finally detach myself. I twist up on my hands and knees and crawl backwards in the direction of the footboard. Keeping an eye on the pair the entire time for any signs of consciousness.

Free at last, I slip over the mattress and stand. Lachlan’s shirt slides down my body to hang nearly to my knees. I stupidly raise the collar to inhale his scent mixed with Van’s.

I’m keeping the shirt.

I don’t think I have much choice when I spot my wrinkled and stretched dress puddled on the floor.

I don’t remember us arriving at the house or undressing.

I wonder which of them did it. More importantly if we did anything else.

It’s hard to tell when the muscles of my thighs throb like I ran a marathon without stretching and my vagina feels sore and . .. and wet.

Weirdly amused, I peek at the two. At Lachlan’s face soft and calm in sleep. His jaw slack. The knot that lives between his eyes is gone. Van’s lips are parted. The fingers on the hand he’d held me with fists in the sheets like he’s trying to hold on to something.

All humor vanishes with the violent pang of my heart.

My palm trembles, pressing over the shattered muscle like I can somehow keep it together.

Hot tears blur their sleeping silhouettes, but I tell myself it has to be this way.

Lachlan understands. He’s lived in Jefferson long enough to understand the rules.

He’ll help Van understand. They’ll be okay.

Insides raw with emotions I need to keep in check until I get home, I creep to the door and pause. Ears strain for sounds of movement, for even a crack to alert me to Bron lurking somewhere below.

Carefully, I pry the door open and poke my head out.

I recognize the hallway. The bland walls with a single oil painting of a man in a rowboat in the middle of a lake with his fishing rod extended.

I recognize the door at the end of the hall, the one I’d fantasized more often than I’m willing to admit about sneaking through — Lachlan’s bedroom.

My gaze flicks to the second door at the end, a bit wild with panic at the thought of it flying open and Bron strolling through.

But there’s silence.

No footsteps. No murmured voices.

I tiptoe barefoot through the hall, down the stairs, praying the old wood doesn’t betray me. When I reach the front door, I hesitate only a second before twisting the knob and slipping out like a ghost.

My regret is immediate with the brutal punch of sunlight straight to the face. I shield my eyes with a cry of agony as my corneas sizzle out of their sockets. My brain bleeds into my skull and I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up.

Lord, I will never drink again. I have learned my lesson. Please just kill me already.

My prayers go ignored only for a fresh wave of panic to set in — how am I supposed to get home?

I drove to Mayfield. My car is still most likely at the bar with my purse and keys.

“Darn it!” I whine.

This has to be my punishment. The walk of shame through Jefferson.

I may as well walk back into the house and face Lachlan and beg him to drive me.

Neither option is welcome. But I can’t just stand half naked and dying on his porch.

All it would take is one nosy neighbor to jog past and spot me.

I can already hear the gossip mill churning.

“Little Everly Cavanaugh, naked as the day she was born leaving the Shaw house in the wee hours of morning.”

“I wonder who she was leaving that early, not even dressed.”