Page 11 of Swept Away (Men of War #1)
G EMMA
I don’t know how I’ll face Carter after we did what we did in his living room.
Mason is already in the room, chatting with his friend.
Carter acted like a gentleman while I snuck out behind Mason’s back and made myself invisible as quickly as I could, so I didn’t have to look at him with my hair damp and my dress crooked, barely covering my chest.
I run a damp towel over my legs, my arms, my boobs, and my neck before tossing it into a laundry hamper.
Nervous, I rake my fingers through my hair and make sure no trace of mascara smears my cheeks–my old-time dread–before checking my back in the mirror and heading to the door.
Carter’s place is clean and nicely organized, and I feel bad about the couch, although Mason made me look at the upholstery twice to convince me my fears were completely unjustified.
I tug at my skirt one more time before walking into the living room.
Mason faces me as I enter the room.
He is sprawled in an armchair, his legs leisurely spread open, his elbow on the padded arm of the chair, his eyes straightly connected to mine, a faint smile on his lips.
I walk in, wrapped in a mantle of embarrassment for doing it in his friend’s apartment.
Carter watches me with a smile, propped against the kitchen counter, a drink to his lips, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Everything good?” he asks after taking a sip and putting his drink down.
He wears a soft white T-shirt with a deep V neckline that highlights his muscular chest and well-cut arms.
His low-sitting sweatpants do justice to his trim waist.
From the way he looks at me, I can tell he knows exactly what happened on his couch, and not only because he had that exchange with Mason, who asked him to give us a bit more time.But because his mind mirrors Mason’s.
Whatever happened on that sofa somehow made it to his brain, making him smile and me sweat a little.
“Can I get another cocktail?” I ask, giving him something to do and getting a reprieve from the scorching of his gaze.
“Oh. Sure. You liked it?”
“It was good,” I say.
“I’m glad you liked it,” he says, spinning to the dish rack and pulling out a clean glass before mixing another drink for me.
I move to the living room, holding Mason’s eyes.
“Is everything all right?” I ask quietly, hoping that Carter won’t hear us.
“There’s no problem,” Mason says in his normal voice.
“Don’t worry about me,” Carter interjects from the kitchen, hearing us talk about him.
I lower myself on the couch and press my knees together, while keeping my back straight and trying to compose myself before Carter brings my drink.
He walks up to us a moment later, holding two drinks.
He hands me my cocktail and takes a swig of hard liquor from his glass.
After a quick glance around the room, he claims a seat not far from me and asks me if I like the music.
I haven’t even noticed it, to be frank.
I say yes and take a drink, trying to hide my nerves.
Something about him being so close to me makes me overly aware of myself.
I tug at my skirt and toss him a glance while setting my drink down.
“Monique said you’ve been living here for a while.”
“I was born here,” he says, setting his drink down as well, and shifting slightly toward me, his arm propped on the back of the sofa without reaching me. “How long have you been living here?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you in the neighborhood. I’d remember you if I’d crossed paths with you.”
His compliment makes my cheeks warm, and I’m sure that’s not what he had in mind, since he doesn’t follow up on that and focuses on his drink.
“I moved here for school. I’m in college,” I say, regardless of his reaction, and the two men shift their eyes to me.
“What are you studying?
“Business.”
Renewed interest flickers through their eyes.
“Business?” Carter says before looking at Mason. “We might need someone like her,” he tells his friend, and I can’t quite figure out what they might possibly need me for.
Besides, they share a smile that could mean things I can’t quite understand right now.
I shoot my eyes to Mason.
“What is he talking about?”
Grinning. Mason rises from his seat, rounds the coffee table, and sits next to me.
“He likes to talk a lot,” Mason says, slightly dismissively. “And he doesn’t always know what he’s talking about,” he adds with humor, and Carter chuckles.
Sitting between the two of them, I move my eyes from one to the other, and since they don’t elaborate on that, I ask the next question.
“Monique also said you two are ex-military,” I say, looking at Carter first and then Mason.
“Man, that woman likes to talk,” Mason says, leaning back into the couch and running his fingers through his hair, avoiding my stare.
He glances at Carter, still avoiding my eyes.
I can’t tell what Carter's expression says, as I keep my eyes on Mason, who shifts his focus back to me.
“Are you?”
“Yes, we are,” he says softly, a smile on his face.
“So, what are you doing now?”
Looking at me, he bites his lip.
“We’re hanging out with you,” he says, amused.
“Mason?”
“Yes, baby.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He clearly likes our back and forth as he slides his folded arm beneath his head, and shifts his eyes to me, studying me.
“We’re in between jobs.”
“What about that story?”
“What story?”
“You don’t even remember? You said you were looking for your stepsister.”
His smile fades.
“I am.”
“I was talking to someone today about that house,” I start, and he straightens and shifts to me.
Smoothly, he spreads his hand over my neck and puts his lips against mine.
“Let’s not talk about that now, yeah?” he says quietly but firmly. “I’d rather hear more about you,” he goes on, tearing his eyes away from me and moving them over my body.
His hand comes to my knee, and I get the message and pull my mouth shut.
“I don’t want to talk about that stuff,” he says, distracted, stroking the inside of my knee and shifting me off my axis.
As curious as I am about that story, it’s not my business after all, so he’s within his rights to ask for some privacy.
His eyes become heavier and heavier as he moves his hand under my skirt, and I wrestle with the reality of having no underwear and another man’s eyes on us.
As much as I’d like more control over these things, I have a deep need to have his hand move up my thigh.
His eyes lock on mine, and in their depth I see exactly what he’s thinking.
He wants to run it up my thigh as much as I do.
My focus is solely on him, so I can’t speak for the other man as I don’t know what he’s doing and whether he’s still watching us.
Mason’s hand slides up all the way.
He does it slowly, without stopping until he reaches the warm spot between my thighs.
His eyes are trained on me, gauging my reaction.
The forbidden pleasure that I feel compares to nothing that I have ever felt.
His eyes move over my lips before reading my reaction.
A puff of air blooms on my lips, and a quiet gasp of panic tells him what he needs to know.
He slides his fingers over my slit, like it’s normal to have his hand up my skirt, right between my thighs, and his thumb over my clit.
His friend seems frozen next to us, although he can’t see much as I’m mostly facing Mason.
He is so quiet that I could swear he’s left the room.
But Carter is there, beside me. I know it. The heat of his body creeps up my back.
“Do you like it?” Mason asks quietly against my lips, and my chest moves up and down as fingers of heat slide inside my neckline and harden my nipples.
I nod.
“Good,” he says, grinning, his focus shifting to my lips.
Propping his arm on the back of the sofa, he moves his hand between my legs, stroking me, no longer caring that my crumpled skirt is in no way hiding what he’s doing.
He locks my lips into a soft, sensual kiss that throws me into a vortex of need, moving his fingers gently and circling my clit before filling me up.
I moan silently, arching against him and opening my legs.
“You don’t mind him watching us, yeah?” he asks against my lips, driving two fingers into me, my skirt rolled up my while he’s waiting for an answer.
The thought that he’s asking me that almost makes me come.
I’m so deep in this right now that there are no other options, and Carter is a go.
He can watch us.