Page 24 of Craving Consequences

EVERLY

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I’m not ready.

It’s a ridiculous statement given I would eventually have to face the consequences of my actions, but I had hoped I would at least get a day.

A few hours to mentally prepare myself. I don’t even have an excuse that doesn’t sound stupid and childish because without the haze of betrayal and vodka, I realize what a mistake I’ve made.

An irreparable one that I don’t know how to fix with words.

Still, there is no avoiding him when he’s standing in my driveway with his hands in his pockets. His gaze pins me as I climb awkwardly out of the car. It’s like standing in the sun and realizing too late you’re already burning.

Even in a basic black T-shirt and dark jeans, Lachlan is imposing, a threat on legs and I am weak for this man in ways I don’t even know how I’m going to survive.

“Good morning, Mr. Shaw,” I murmur, struggling to meet those deep velvet brown pools and failing when all I can think about is how they’d been dark pits the night before as he came inside me .

His gaze roams over me and I feel every inch he touches as acutely as if he’d stuck me with a lit match. “How are you feeling?”

Mortified.

Lonely.

Sad.

All things I can’t express without sounding even more pathetic. But I’m saved from having to lie to him when the passenger side door on the truck opens and a second figure emerges.

Van.

He must have been on his phone. The device is tiny in his large fist as it’s stuffed into his pocket and he joins his friend blocking my escape.

Deep down, I know why they’re here. I get they’re trying to do the right thing and make sure I’m okay, but I want them to forget. I want them to stop looking at me like I stole something vital from them. It’s an aching longing I wish I didn’t understand.

“Good morning, Mr. Weaver,” I whisper, trying my best to act normal when every cell in my body wants to run straight into their arms and beg them to take me home and back to bed.

“You left,” Van accuses, hot and disgruntled, mirroring the deep crease between his eyes.

Heat rises up my neck to fill my face hotter than the boiling temperature already melting the asphalt beneath my flats .

“I thought it would be for the best,” I lie, dropping my gaze to their scuffed and scarred boots. “Last night...”

“How much do you remember?” Lachlan presses when I can’t voice my shame.

I smooth back a rogue lock of hair caught in the sticky breeze. Anything to distract my trembling fingers.

“Almost everything.” I dare a peek up at them and don’t miss the rise and fall of Lachlan’s chest like he’d been holding his breath.

Van is still frowning. A hard set of lines that pinch his lips together and have his arms folding over his chest.

“I had to,” I blurt. “Leave.” I pause to dampen my lips. “Last night never should have happened. I never should have dragged you into my mess. I’m so sorry.”

“It was reckless,” Lachlan agrees. “You could have been seriously hurt getting drunk in a place like that. What were you thinking?”

I wince at his reproach. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” he bites out. “You do anything that stupid again and I’ll...”

He trails off, but now I’m curious, and desperate to lighten the mood.

“Put me over your knee?” I tease and immediately regret it when his features harden to match the coiling tension in his shoulders. I grimace even as I lift a hand to cover my scorching face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Yes,” he growls out, low, deep ... threatening. “That’s exactly what I’ll fucking do, understand?”

My tender pussy pangs with anticipation of his promise. I have to remind it, it has already made all the bad choices in the last twenty-four hours and needs to shut up.

“Yes, sir,” I mumble sheepishly.

As if they wield the power to absorb every drop of oxygen in the world, the air seems to vanish.

The heat is sweltering, the sun a brutal fist beating down on the earth.

Sweat beads along my brow. Traces lines down my spine.

I am painfully aware of how little I am wearing and how easily I could drag them inside when they’re both watching me like a pair of feral wolves.

“I should go...” I fumble, needing distance before I sweep my dress up over my head and let them have me.

“Where?” Van cuts out from between clenched teeth.

I have to really think before I remember my tasks. Neither of them are making it easy when they seem weirdly closer; I could have sworn there was more space between us.

“Storage?” I mumble stupidly.

My head is forced back to peer up into their faces and I’m definitely sure they’re much closer than they used to be .

“We’ll take you,” Lachlan commands. There isn’t a question in sight, or even a suggestion. “Get in the truck.”

Jesus.

I don’t remember it being so hot, but I am melting. I can scarcely catch my breath. The front of my top is doing nothing to conceal the fact that I am literally panting.

Van certainly notices. He can’t seem to stop staring at my heaving breasts like he wants to drag the collar down and...

“That’s okay,” I gasp a little too loudly. “You’ve already done—”

“It wasn’t a request, sweetheart. Get in the truck,” Lachlan warns.

I might have cum a little at the gruff command. A micro-orgasm that has my thighs squeezing uselessly together and rubbing flimsy panties into my soaked sex.

“Yes, sir,” I rasp.

“Now,” he growls from between clenched teeth.

I wait for them to move, to part and give me space, but neither of them do. They stand dangerously close, too still. Watching me with a dare we all know isn’t going to end well.

Logically, I could take a step back. I could put my foot down and tell them I’m fine. I can step around them. So many other options that don’t entail me to walk straight through them .

But my limbs don’t listen to my head. They’re ruled by my skin, by the tingling need to feel them brush against me. To feel their heat and strength.

Feel safe.

The way I had last night when they’d held me. I want them to hold me. It’s such a visceral need I could cry.

So, when I shuffle forward and close that last sliver of space, I regret nothing. All fears of being seen aren’t even a thought when I find myself properly in place.

In my rightful place.

Between the two men who watch me like I’m their entire world.

Lachlan catches my waist. It’s fast and sudden, and I’m locked in place with his chest to my back and Van towering over me. And my heart slams into my chest. My breath catches. I freeze and pulse all at the same time.

I shiver. Hard enough that his fingers tighten and Van’s pupils dilate.

“In the front,” Lachlan drawls into my skin, brushes my ear.

Devours my senses, the use of my knees when they nearly buckle and I find my fingers curled up in Van’s top for support.

It’s so much like last night. Such a mirror copy that my head buzzes. My core is on fire. I’m ready to beg, but all I can do is work a semblance of spit around my dry mouth and give a shaky nod.

“Yes, sir,” I rasp, and feel the rumbling vibration from both chests scatter up my torso.

I’m not being bratty. I was raised to call anyone I refer to as mister as ‘sir’. Even Mayor Ferguson. But he has never looked on the verge of consuming me. His fingers never bit into my sides. I’ve never felt his cock burn into my ass cheek ... or my belly.

Van’s fingers slip beneath my chin. Captures my jaw in a firm clamp. Tilt my face up until he’s the center of my whole world. “Careful.”

I’m given no other explanation. No warning when I’m released from both sides and left to pick an unsteady path out of danger in the direction of the truck.

It’s a painfully stiff, almost drunken shuffle. Not a sexy thing about it when my legs are noodles and I’m so soaked I don’t think my panties can contain it all. Worse still, the fabric keeps clinging to me, rubbing against my swollen mound. Making it impossible to think of anything else.

I reach the truck, but Van is there before I can grasp the handle. His meaty fist has curled around the bar, except, instead of letting me in, I’m backed into the scalding door with him caging me .

“Mr. Weaver...” I croak, not missing the shaky plea in my voice.

His head dips. It’s so close my lips part in a gasp. My chin tilts to accept. But he stops.

“My cum is inside you. I think you can call me Van, Everly.” Scorching heat blooms beneath my skin, but he refuses to let me look away, and I can’t think to respond. “I didn’t like it.”

My heart momentarily sinks at the thought of him meaning putting his cum in me. I can feel myself tensing and it must have shown because he slips his fingers through my hair to cup the back of my head. Holding me steady. Close. Inches from his mouth.

“Don’t ever leave my bed like that again. I didn’t like waking up without you.”

Everything inside me dissolves in a messy puddle.

“Van...”

His fingers tighten, tugging at the roots just right to send a shower of tingles down my spine.

“Promise me.”

I don’t know how to tell him it will never happen again. That promising him would make no difference.

But his lips ghost mine in a hint of contact, and all my thoughts scatter.

“Promise,” I whisper without thinking .

He draws back with the same serious scowl, but his eyes gleam softly. He brushes a lock of hair back off my flushed cheek but says nothing.

He jerks the truck door open. I murmur my thanks. He says nothing. Does nothing as I reach for the handle to haul myself up. But he’s there again. Hands on my hips, lifting me up onto the seat. Nudging me deeper to the middle of the bench.

I know he can see up my skirt.

There is no way he can’t when he has me bent over the seat, my ass eyelevel with him. But he stays silent.

He doesn’t take the back like I expected. He swings himself up behind me, trapping me between him and the man sliding in behind the wheel on my other side.