Page 8 of Wrangled Up (Menage a Trouble #2)

From behind, Christian’s cock lengthened, jabbing into her lower back. She wondered if all his arousal was really from her or the fact that Tucker’s shaft was waving slowly back and forth, as if seeking a target.

She’d never considered how erotic it was to see two men so comfortable in their skins and with each other, but it could quickly become her obsession.

Over her shoulder, they looked at each other. Tucker eased his fingers down her seam, soaping her pussy. Up and down, riding the outer folds. Juices spilled from her.

At that moment, she felt Christian’s hands on her ass. Gliding down another seam and right past her pucker.

She cried out. No one had ever touched her this way before. She bit off the urge to say, “Again.” But her body was more brazen. She pushed back against Christian’s finger.

He circled her intimately, loosening her every muscle and her mind. For long, sensual minutes she drifted, speared on Tucker’s probing fingers and Christian’s gentle touch. When he applied more pressure, she couldn’t take it another second.

“Please,” she rasped. The word bounced off the tiled walls of the shower.

“Go on,” Tucker ordered.

Christian pressed harder until the tip of his finger breeched the tight ring of muscle. With a cry, she felt her body pull at his finger. Drawing him in.

His thigh muscles trembled. He ground his length into her back. She ground too, which drew his finger in completely.

Tucker plunged two fingers into her pussy.

“Oh my God.” She squeezed her eyes shut and thrashed. How would it feel to have them both inside her? Was she a crazed slut for thinking such a thought? Playing with Christian was one thing, but taking him into her body was another.

It felt too intimate .

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” Tucker murmured against her ear. Water sluiced off his skin and wet hers. He slipped his fingers out. In again. She moaned.

Christian eased his finger out to the tip then rammed it home in one go.

“Fuck, yes,” she cried.

“Think of us moving inside you together.”

She couldn’t think of anything else.

They set a rhythm, moving at the same time, until her knees buckled. They suspended her between them, hard arms lashing her to big, wet muscles. Heat ricocheted around her body. She was going to die from the pleasure.

Suddenly, their movements grew disjointed. Christian plunged in while Tucker pulled out. The change sent her over the edge, sailing. Her ass clamped down on Christian’s finger at the moment her pussy pulsated wildly.

A long scream bounced off the walls. Hell, was that her? She hung limply in their arms for several seconds, trying to regain her equilibrium.

“I do believe you’ve popped her ass cherry,” Tucker said .

Christian grunted. “Her first anal orgasm.” He placed his lips against her ear and breathed, “I’m honored to be your first.”

Something warm and fuzzy settled in her belly, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it before Tucker thrust his cock into her hand. Her lips stretched into a grin as she reached for Christian too, bringing the three of them together for another round.

* * * * *

Christian caressed the curve of Claire’s hip, his erection bobbing against his ridged abs.

At the sight of his friend touching his woman, a growl settled in Tucker’s chest. He bit it off, unsure whether to break Christian’s fingers or thread them with his in order to feel Claire’s peachy-soft skin together.

She was spread out beneath him, curls tumbling in wild disarray, a daredevil smile gracing her lips. After a quick nap, she seemed to be rejuvenated.

“Uh-oh,” Tucker said.

“What’s uh-oh?” Christian reached for her again, running his hands up the sides of her torso, over the outside swells of her full breasts. The man couldn’t keep his damn hands off her either.

“I know that smile,” Tucker said a split second before Claire rolled out from under him, twisting like a trick rider.

She locked her arms around Tucker’s neck and wrestled him to the mattress.

Excitement swirled in his groin. Several hours and orgasms later, and he was ready for her again.

Especially when she shimmied around in the saddle of his groin and slid over his condom-covered cock reverse cowgirl style.

“Jesus God,” he groaned.

Her tight pussy hugged his shaft perfectly, milking him before he had anything to give. But when she extended a hand to Christian and drew him around to the foot of the bed so she could lean all the way forward and suck his cock, Tucker thought she might kill him with ecstasy.

The golden cheeks of her ass wiggled in his face as she rose and fell over his length. Dark pressure built in his core, mirroring the almost delicious ache in his heart. He stared between her legs as her wet sex swallowed him .

Christian made a choked noise. Hell, had his friend ever looked so absorbed with another woman? No. With Tucker, alone? Maybe.

Christian’s tanned skin rippled on his stomach when Claire released his cock with a soft pop. Immediately, she caught it in her mouth again, still fucking Tucker with a brand new rhythm that made his balls clench.

Tucker gripped her hips and rammed his shaft home. The head bumped something deep within her body. She cried out, so he did it again. And again.

Over her body, his and Christian’s gazes collided. Sparks sprayed like metal sheered against metal. Throwing his head back, Christian broke their connection. He dug his hands into Claire’s hair and churned his hips. She made a humming noise and sent Christian over the edge.

Tucker’s own orgasm rushed up, stronger than the last. Spurts shot from his engorged prick. For a split second, he imagined filling her body without the barrier of a condom. Of truly owning this woman.

She wanted him to .

Her throaty cry echoed at the moment her tight sheath contracted around him. Palms on her ass cheeks, he parted them slightly to watch her muscles squeeze and release him. Long seconds spiraled between them as the sexual haze dissipated. Outside, a steady drip from the gutter tapped a beat.

Heather loved lying in Tucker’s arms, listening to the rain. Would Claire?

Christian slid his arms around her, gathering her trembling body close. The coarse hair of his friend’s legs brushed Tucker’s, sending a warm splash of wanting against the walls of Tucker’s heart.

Without warning, more images of Heather rose in his mind’s eye. No, he couldn’t feel these things for anyone else. She was it for him. Forever.

Claire collapsed fully into Christian’s arms, and he drew her down onto the mattress, cradling her with his body from head to foot. A lump of jealousy formed in Tucker’s throat, but he had no right to feel it. Slinging a forearm over his eyes, he fought down rising panic.

Nothing had changed tonight between him and Claire. He couldn’t give her his heart, because it was buried in a cemetery on the south side of Reedy. He’d been wrong to toy with her emotions, but maybe something good could come of it.

Judging by the way Christian had clamped her to him, some feelings were stirring there. But could Tucker handle that? Knowing Claire was in Christian’s bed, giving him those smoldering you’re-my-universe looks? And if Christian had her, that meant he wouldn’t come around Tucker’s place as often.

Controlling a weighty sigh, he blew it out in small increments.

A slideshow of happy moments with Claire slid through his mind.

The time she stripped off her boots and ran barefoot through the mud, uncaring of it splashing up her tight calves, until he caught her around the waist and swung her off her feet.

They’d crashed to the ground together, rolling in the mud as he delivered lingering, open-mouthed kisses.

Or the time she’d jumped the fence to chase Tucker’s dog, Rocky, romping like a child.

Christian gave a stuttering sigh that indicated he might be falling asleep. Tucker opened his eyes wide to strike away the images of his friend shooting hot droplets all over his fist and Claire’s round breasts .

Too much, he loved seeing that son of a bitch come. When had Christian’s pleasure gotten all tangled up with Tucker’s? It was like they were a goddamn unit.

The drip outside increased. With a jerk, Tucker realized his mind was on the people in his bed, not with Heather on this rainy night. Guilt wove into his chest. He scrambled for a memory of his sweet little fiancée—any memory. Threads waved in his mind, but he couldn’t catch one.

Guilt transformed into anger directed at himself. He locked his jaw and glared at the black pane of glass until a thin band of light appeared on the horizon. If I stay here with them, I’ll lose her.

The notion materialized like a ghost walking out of the swirling fog.

Easing out of bed, Tucker quietly crossed the bedroom. As he drew on his clothes, he stared at Claire’s lovely features. Blue light played over her long brows and cast shadows in the hollows of her cheeks.

Tucker’s heart was too full—his head too full. He needed to strip these images of Claire and Christian from his mind and fill it once again with Heather. There was one place in particular where he could do that.

Her family’s house.

Clutching his boots and hat, Tucker crept out of his room, in search of the ghost that haunted him.

Driving through Reedy in the pre-dawn hours afforded him some calm. Heather’s family lived on the outskirts, up in the mountains. The twisty road was a gray ribbon, unfurling for him, greeting him like an old friend. He’d driven this road countless times.

By the time he reached the homestead, the sun’s golden fingers were stretching into the dusty blue sky.

Just as he expected, the two-story house was lit up as the family sat around a big, scrubbed table and shared a hearty breakfast before a hard day was put into caring for the animals and working the land.

He reached the front door and raised his fist to knock, but the door opened. Heather’s mother stood there, neat and tidy as ever in jeans and an apron, her warm brown hair shot with silver and pulled off her face in a low ponytail.

This is what Heather would have looked like in thirty years .

His heart turned over and his voice came out rough, bruised. “Mornin’.”

“Tucker. Come and have some coffee. There’s plenty.”

“I hoped you’d say that.” Stepping into the house was like embracing his lost love. Scents of baking had always clung to her, even after Tucker had marked her from head to toe with his scent.

When he entered the kitchen, Heather’s dad and brother looked up. Her older sister had gotten married a year after he and Heather should have and was now living in the next town.

“Mornin’, Tucker,” her dad said gruffly.

Tucker gave a nod and moved to pull out a ladder-back chair. His eye caught the family photographs plastered on one wall, homing in on the spot where his and Heather’s engagement photo had hung.

The space was filled with a new picture of Heather’s sister and her new husband.

His heart squeezed so violently, he thought he’d throw up. Dropping his head forward, he gripped the chair back for support. “Where’s our picture? ”

The coffee pot hissed. Outside, the rain pattered the old windows.

But no one spoke.

Finally, Heather’s mother sighed. “We need to talk about that, Tucker.”

Dread washed over him, turning his fingers to ice. If he tried to pry them off the chair now, they’d splinter. He had to touch this wood. Heather had touched this wood.

Heather’s mom placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We think it’s best to start moving forward. We’ve had some time to grieve—we’ll always grieve. But…”

“But you put her wedding gown away, didn’t you?” His tone had a sharp edge.

Her mom nodded, eyes downcast. “It couldn’t hang in her room forever, waiting for her, Tucker. And you can’t hang around here forever either. She’s not…she’s not coming back, son.”

The use of the word “son” plucked at the strands of his control. Tears scorched his throat and lay salty on his tongue. “What are you saying, Mrs. Lander?”

Mr. Lander spoke up. “It’s time you get movin’ on in your life too. You have years and years ahead of you to laugh again, love again—”

“No,” he barked.

“It’s best this way,” Mrs. Lander said with tears in her voice. “Time to let go.”

“And you don’t want me here anymore?” A giant fist punched through Tucker’s chest, grasped his heart and yanked it out still beating.

And I thought it was buried.

Mrs. Lander patted his shoulder. “Time for you to go.”

Through a fog of pain and betrayal, Tucker scoured Mr. Lander’s face, Heather’s young brother’s face, the old tabletop where he’d sat through countless meals and games of cards.

Jerkily, he pivoted on his boot heels and ambled to the door, resisting the urge to clutch his guts to hold them in.

They don’t want me. They put away her weddin’ gown. Oh, Heather.

Somehow he’d gotten behind the wheel of his still-dented Ram. He looked out across the landscape, suddenly despising Reedy and all of Wyoming. Was the sky a different color in other parts ?

Stomping on the gas, he pointed the truck north, away from everyone who could possibly cut themselves on the shattered shards of his being.