Page 107 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

KIERA

N olan returns with a drink for me. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He’s not bare-chested anymore; he’s put his t-shirt on. It’s subtle, but I’m not the clueless girl from a trailer park in San Diego anymore. I’ve learned to pick up cues.

Ever so slightly, Nolan’s pulling back. Should I do the same thing?

All evening, I’ve been winging it. Ignoring the voice of caution in my head. Acting on instinct. But I’m not a child; I’m a grown woman. It’s time to answer the question: what do I want to happen tonight?

Drink me, the beer in front of me invites. Drink me, and you’ll fall down a rabbit hole into Wonderland. Drink me, and adventure awaits.

I used to go on adventures with Rhun, my imaginary dragon. I was a princess, but I had a sword, and I knew how to use it. I’d climb on his back, and we’d fly into the sky. I’d rescue villagers from bandits. Ships from pirates.

The air smells like roses. Music is playing in the background. Drumbeats throb, low and insistent, and I feel their pulsing in my core. The moon shines down, glowing and silvery and magical, and damn the consequences, I want to have another adventure.

They’re looking at me. Caleb leans back on the couch, the picture of relaxation, but the expression in his eyes gives him away. It’s intent. Focused. Predatory.

This is a side of Caleb Reeves I haven’t seen before. Dominant. In charge.

I want to see more of it.

I sit down on the couch as well, a safe distance away from Caleb. Nolan sits across from us. “How do the two of you know each other?” I ask, partly to postpone the moment of reckoning, but also because I’m curious. “Did you meet at the club?”

“No, we went to college together.”

“That’s nice.” That’s nice? Argh. Not winning any prizes for conversational skill here.

A brief smile crosses Nolan’s lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He gulps down his beer and places the empty bottle on the table in front of him. “It was, until it wasn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

I don’t expect either of them to answer.

I’m being terribly nosy, after all. “Two of our friends died right before we graduated,” Caleb responds.

“Stephan and Lina scened together, and Stephan enjoyed pushing boundaries. We thought Lina liked it.” His voice is steady, but his eyes are far away.

In a different place. “Maybe she did. I don’t know; it’s too late to ask her.

One day, they went too far. Lina died in a breath control scene gone wrong.

Stephan shot himself. And ever since then, we’ve wondered how we missed the signs. ”

Oh wow. I place my hand on top of Caleb’s. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezes my fingers. “Nolan had it harder. Stephan was his roommate.”

I turn to Nolan, who lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “It was a long time ago.” His voice sounds casual, but it carries a hard edge. His muscles are tense. His fingers grip the empty beer bottle so hard I’m afraid it’ll shatter. “Life moves on.”

This is a very personal conversation. I don’t belong here, but I can’t pull away.

Nolan looks haunted, and so does Caleb, and I understand only too well how they feel.

I’ve spent eight years hiding. Every single one of those days, corrosive guilt has eaten at me.

Every single one of those days, I’ve obsessed over the what-ifs.

What if I told my mother the first time Bianca met Greg?

Could I have tried harder to break them up?

What if I’d never gone to the Rose and the Crown that fateful Thursday night, looking for Bianca?

Had I not seen Vladimir Sirkovich shoot two people in the head, would he have set the bar on fire?

Would Bianca still be alive? Was it my actions that caused her death?

Eight years of keeping secrets. Eight years of searing regret. I can’t—shouldn’t—tell them any of that. “My sister Bianca died almost a decade ago. It still aches. Sometimes, it’s impossible to move on.”

Caleb’s grip on my hand tightens. “I’m sorry,” he says, an echo of my own words.

I don’t want their pity tonight. I want something else. “Let’s change the topic.”

Nolan props his legs up on the table in front of him, just as ready as me to shift the conversation away from the minefields. “Is Nala living with you now?” he asks Caleb. “Is that why the house is such a mess?”

Nala? Hang on. I thought Caleb was single. He isn’t? What the hell is he doing then, stroking my palm with his thumb, each pass sending a concentrated burst of heat through me?

Caleb shakes his head. “She had some friends over for a sleepover,” he says.

“She wanted access to the pool.” He turns to me.

“Nala’s my seven-year-old niece. She lives with my parents, but according to her, their house is less interesting than mine.

” He rolls his eyes. “The real reason she likes to hang out here is because my parents make her pick up after herself, and my housekeeper, Soledad, is far too nice to crack the whip.”

His niece. Relief floods through me, and I take a sip of my beer to disguise it. “And what about you, Mr. Reeves?” I tease. “Do you crack the whip?”

Caleb and Nolan snap to stillness. The silence stretches. I start to second-guess myself. Wonder if I’ve read the situation very, very wrong. I open my mouth—undoubtedly to put my foot in it again—when Caleb leans forward, his eyes fixed on me. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Are you going to answer it?”

Nolan stirs in his seat. “I should head to bed.” It’s phrased as a sentence, but there’s a question in his voice.

“You don’t have to,” Caleb answers. “Kiera?”

He gives me an inquiring look, and the subtext of the conversation crashes into me. Nolan and Caleb are asking if I want one of them. Or both.

I can pretend I don’t understand what’s happening. I can flutter my eyelashes and be coy and giggle. But that’s not me. When I like someone, when I want someone, I don’t want to play games.

Tonight, I’m throwing all the rules out of the window. “Stay. Please.”

Nolan eyes me with a speculative look, and then he nods. Caleb stares at me. “What do you want, Kiera?”

Cue my deer-in-headlights look. He’s being so direct, and I don’t know how to respond. “Umm,” I stammer. “Are you always so blunt?”

Nolan makes a choked off sound. He sounds like he’s struggling not to laugh. Caleb doesn’t look amused. “Two words,” he bites out. “Brett Fisher.”

Oh. Comprehension washes over me. That’s what this is about. “This isn’t the same thing,” I murmur. “I’m here because I want to be.” My fingers worry the label on the bottle. The beads of condensation have weakened the glue, and I peel back the edge as I think about how to answer.

Both men are dominants. They probably value open communication. If I give them clear guidelines on how far they can go, they’ll respect it. All I need to do is open my mouth, swallow the lump in my throat, and tell them what I want.

Only problem? I don’t know what that is. I mean, I’m not a total idiot. I want them. I want to do something with the delicious sexual tension that’s building in my insides. I want to be kissed. Touched.

But I don’t know if I’m ready to sleep with them this very second. There’s two of them, and I’ve never done anything like this before. Most of me is tempted, but there’s a small part of me that’s very nervous.

“You’re not talking,” Nolan says. “You have a very strange look on your face.”

I gather my courage in both hands. “If I say stop, would you?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in either of their voices.

I believe them. I take one last sip of my beer and set it on the coffee table. Anticipation blazes through me. “Then let’s play.”

Heat sparks in Caleb’s eyes, but he doesn’t move. “I like to be in charge.”

“Hello, Captain Obvious. I work at Club M, remember?”

Nolan laughs softly. Caleb looks amused, but underneath, the heat’s still there. The lust, the need. It’s like fuel to my arousal. “So much sass from that pretty little mouth.” He drains the last of his beer and puts the bottle on the floor. “Stand up, Kiera.”

I hear the command in his voice, and desire punches me in the gut.

I rise on unsteady legs, obeying him. Is this wise?

I don’t know; I don’t care. The world has shrunk to this moment.

I’m cocooned in a snow globe, and everything else is outside.

Guilt, fear, stress—the emotions I carry with me on a daily basis—they can’t touch me tonight.

“Come here.” He indicates a spot between his legs. I move there, and he smiles at me, warmth touching his expression. He lifts his hand and traces the dragon on my thigh. “All night, I’ve wanted to touch you here,” he murmurs. “Spread your legs for me.”

I obey again.

My tattoo is a work of art. A powerful, ferocious dragon snarls, his claws gripping my hip, his face near my waist, his mouth erupting fire over my stomach. His tail curls around my left thigh.

Caleb traces the tail with his fingers, and goosebumps erupt on my skin. “Are you cold?”

I’m burning up. “No.”

Nolan’s watching me. He reminds me of a tiger. One second, relaxed, languid, even lazy. The next, uncoiled, unleashed, erupting into action.

Is he going to join in?

Caleb’s thumb strokes my inner thigh. So close. Just move it up a bit, push aside my swimsuit… “I’d like to see the rest of this tattoo.”

Another shiver wracks me. “I’ll have to get naked.”

There’s no give in his expression. “You say stop, we stop. Until then, you follow instructions.”

So serious. I grin at him. “I know how this works, Mr. Reeves. If you say jump, I ask how high.”

A half-smile curls on his lips. “If I say jump, you don’t stop to have a conversation about it, baby.” He tilts his head to one side, challenge sparking in his eyes. “You just jump.”

So arrogant. I should give him the middle finger and storm off. My fingers move, instead, to the straps on my shoulders. See, Caleb? I’m obeying. “You’re wearing swim trunks. Nolan’s fully dressed. This doesn’t seem fair, somehow.”