Page 27 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

S omething has been off with Troye all night.

Despite his eagerness to party, there’s a sadness in his eyes, and he’s been so …

affectionate. Holding suspicions over sweet and tender touches, says little for the health of our relationship, but in my defense, though he’s so anti-PDA, I think I can be forgiven for my skepticism.

Especially when Plum is involved. The woman screams cougar at best, predator at worst. I can’t help but wonder what happened in that car with Plum. What would he do if she made a move?

Ultimately, I could hypothesize till my ass falls off, but he seems a bit peppier now, if that’s a word you could ever use to describe Troye. All traces of lingering melancholy melting away, as Brady edges from the door he appears glued too. Guess the prospect of a threesome is a cure all.

“Kitty. Forget your drink for a bit. Come here.”

Licking my lips, I stare at the soda can Troye just handed me. I’m beyond parched, my mouth dryer than Mom’s pot roast, but a second tap to the leather upholstery has me helplessly following the command. Just like Brady.

I’m reintroduced to the size of him when we meet in the middle of the sofa, loitering between Troye’s parted thighs, nervously avoiding each other’s eyes. It’s a happy re- acquaintance. Brady is a beautiful man with huge, wide and thick arms, and biceps that I’d happily be imprisoned in for life.

Possibly thinking the same, Troye releases a low whistle, clears his throat and slides to his right.

I’m the first to sit beside him, leaving the space to my left free for Brady who watches on warily.

“Skip, mate. Relax. We’re just three sexy friends alone in a sexy room, thinking sexy thoughts about sexy times.

Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want to happen.

” He finger guns to his temple. “It can all stay in here.”

“Yes, thanks for that. I wasn’t aware of how thoughts work,” Brady replies to the patch of carpet he seems especially interested in. “Anything else you want to explain to me, Captain Obvious?”

“Yes. In two minutes it’s going to be midnight, which means it won’t be Kitty’s birthday, which means if you are in to this, you need to come closer. If not, there’s the door.”

“Why do you call her Kitty, anyway?” Instantly, Brady winces as though there’s nothing in the world he wants more than to reach out and magically stuff his words back in his mouth.

As a blurter, it’s a feeling I am more than familiar with. I want to help him, but can’t. Fear and anticipation have left me incapable of speech.

Probably a good thing.

It seems Troye has no such problem. Snorting a laugh he stretches his arm out and slides it behind my neck, gripping my shoulder so tight it’s almost painful. “You’ve got about ninety seconds left before she turns back into a pumpkin, so for fuck’s sake, Skip. Be a good boy for me, and sit.”

I’m mixing my fairy tale metaphors here, but good boy , spoken as it was, so low and deep it rattled my bones, are the words that slay the giant. Brady’s eyes fall closed, his legs give way and he drops, the bottom curve of his sweet hockey ass landing on the sofa only inches from my lap.

“There. Was that so difficult?” Troye’s voice drops again, and the fingertips that were gripping me, relax and spread, just enough to caress the edge of Brady’s shoulder.

He flinches, and makes a tiny, breathy gasp I wish I had caught on film.

“If we want at least one true birthday kiss, you better make a move, big fella. Or, maybe we should leave it up to you, Quinny?”

“What?” I splutter, my brain frying from the proximity of these two beautiful men. What will it be like when we actually do this? “Me? You want me … too … start?”

“Don’t be shy, Kitty. We’re both here for you. This is your night. Your time to shine.”

“Kitty Season.” Comes from my left, and I feel the heat of Brady’s blush burn into my skin along with the gentle caress of his breath.

The desire I’ve tried to crush, ignore, and resist from the first time I saw him swells.

Becoming an insurmountable wave my weakened dams can no longer contain.

Twisting my body to face him, I reach out, cupping his chin and pulling his mouth down to mine.

The gasp released seconds ago is repeated, growing into a hum as he softens his lips and kisses me back. “Quinn.”

“Fuck that’s so hot.” Shifting closer, Troye weaves his fingers through my hair, gentle at first before clenching and pressing me harder against Brady, growling at the sight of us fusing together.

The rumbling from his chest startles Brady who retreats like he’s been slapped.

Instead of slowing down, I kiss him again, then turn to Troye, fisting his hair and tugging him to me just the way he likes.

Where Brady’s lips were soft and submissive, Troye’s are dominant, his tongue almost aggressive in its quest to taste every inch of my mouth.

My beautiful hockey boys.

Night and day.

Black and white.

Sun and moon.

Troye and Brady. Truly the antithesis to the other. Together, they make me feel whole.

Together, the only cream this kitty wants to taste.

Brady shifts behind me, the press of his thigh against my hip, his lips against the tender flesh of my neck see me unglue myself from Troye, and collapse against the sofa, the giddy spread in this hockey boy sandwich.

“Quinn, I … Are you sure about this?” Normally sky blue eyes, gray like the ocean during a storm, are trained on my lips.

I want to tell him how wet I am. That I’ve never wanted anything so bad. That I’ve dreamed of this very thing for months.

So I do.

“Yes, I want this. I want you both inside me. I want to watch you inside each other. I want us.”

Brady

Kitty.

Knowing Troye, I figured it was a play on … pussy. Lord, I’m so lame I can hardly think the word, let alone say it. But now that I’ve kissed Quinn, and felt her warm body press against me, I get it.

She hums when she kisses, so lightly and delicately it flitters across my lips like the wings of a butterfly.

A gentle buzz. A purr.

On the very best of days, the grip I hold on reality is tentative. After that, it’s a comet hurtling through space at the speed of light and I am just along for the ride, a virginal fool barely clinging on.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want this,” she again purrs. “I want you both inside me. I want to watch you inside each other. I want us.”

Nodding, I lean forward just enough to see a sliver of Troye’s face, all but that damn nose ring barely visible in the dim lighting. “I … I think I want that too.”

“Me too,” he says.

For the splitest of seconds, I wonder if I should tell them this is my first … everything. But the fear of his smirk, and her being all Quinny and kind and understanding and insisting we stop what I so desperately want, has me lock it inside.

I’m tired of waiting.

This is it.

It’s now or never.

Fuck it.

It’s not going to be good. I know it’s not. I’m trembling, the vibrations I’m sure he’ll feel tingling my lips, but like I did when I first laced on skates while everyone else was reaching for footy boots, and give it all I’ve got.

I’m not sure who is more surprised by what happens next.

Me. Him. Or her, but there’s a flash of surprise and heat in Troye’s eyes as I use my long limbs, and agility to my advantage.

Maneuvering around Quinn, I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, nails lightly raking the exposed flesh of his collarbone and tug him closer.

So turned on I can’t think straight I pause, our lips a hair’s breadth from connecting, his smug face is a blur.

“Do it Skip. I dare ya.”

“Fuck you, Becker.” Holding my breath, I fuse my eyes shut, and crash my mouth over his. Holy shit. In an instant, a million questions I’ve asked a million times are answered. Everything about me feels right.

And hard.

Knowing just seconds ago Quinn’s lips were where his are now, that she is right by my side, has my dick aching, my heart pounding, echoing against my ribs, thudding in my ears.

Our hands become greedy, mine especially.

With one I reach for Quinn, the other clings to and roams Troye’s chest as I run my tongue over his bottom lip.

He opens wide, so our tongues effortlessly meet and glide over each other.

It’s hard, filthy, and messy as shit, but perhaps, perhaps I’m not doing as bad as I think, because when I accidentally scratch him with my teeth he groans. He fucking groans.

I’m basking in that, when his fingers clasp my throat.

His hold is soft at first, tightening and squeezing as he practically pulls me into his lap.

Quinn’s released her own throaty little whimper, and her breath ghosts over my ear as she sucks my earlobe into her mouth.

A jolt of lust shoots down my spine. “Oh, God, Quinn.”

Who the fuck knew an ear would be the thing to have me almost come in my pants.

The room spins. I grip Troye’s jaw, sink my fingers in and hold on. This was supposed to be about her. Kitty Season, I had only just dubbed it. But right now, it feels like it’s all about me.

I fucking love it.

I’m not sure how long we stay like that. Troye practically eating my face. Me lapping it up, Quinn moaning, whispering our names, coasting her lips across my neck and chin and ear. While I genuinely have no idea what I’m doing, I do know what I like. And I know I like this.

I like the attention of Troye who smells like rain on fresh cut grass.

The stubble scratching over my freshly shaved skin, teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

I like that where Quinn is soft and timid, Troye is firm, and demanding.

I love the smoothness of her cheek against my fingers versus the roughness of his. That I can grab her hair, twist it around my wrist and pull, whereas with Troye, I think I could get a handful, but I’d have to work for it. Have to really want it.

And I do.

It’s not right how much I want it.

It’s not normal to crave two people like this.

I know that.

But I can’t help it.

They will teach me a lot, I think. If I let them.