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Chapter Four
Emery
Cole massages my neck and shoulders, conquering some of the nervous tension, while Cabot covers my eyes with the blindfold and ties it behind my head, gently cinching it once more to make sure it’s good and tight.
“Know why I’m doing this, Minnow?” Cabot tries but fails to keep his voice deceptively casual—the significance behind his words, and the answers—anything but casual.
“No,” I fib in a shaky whisper, wanting to hear his explanation for the only one of two reasons he’s willing to admit, and quite possibly, even consciously aware.
“We all—yes, that includes you—already know you can tell our voices and eyes apart. Now, it’s high-time you realize some things we already do, but you don’t. Yet. Emery, you know and love me for me, and Cole for Cole; soul-deep. You’re attuned to everything I am that he’s not and vice-versa.
“So no, there’ll never be any jealousy, because your love for me is mine, no one else’s. And Cole’s, same thing. From this point on, we’re not gonna talk, and you can’t see”—his laugh’s soft and quick—“but you’ll still see, baby… in a new way, the one that matters… You. Know. Us. For. Us.”
“Okay,” I wisp out, tingling with excitement and anxious to finally be freed—to love, without worry—two men. Right out in the open, unconcerned what anyone watching might think. If they’re okay with it; happy, know I love them both, then no one else’s judgment matters.
Exactly why I’m going along with this whole blindfolded thing so easily, my reasons two-fold. Foremost, to indeed prove to myself everything Cabot just said. But also, which I’ll forever keep my own lil’ secret, for them… because I know my men. Only one of them can be the first to take me, claim me as theirs; and even if I do figure out which it is, I’ll never say so. Deep down, they know that, thus eliminating, or at least easing it to livableproportions, any jealousy, hurt, or resentment toward the other. Honestly, I’m praying it takes me a while to snap out of surreal shock and I can’t tell. I’d so much rather never be sure. My heart will gladly accept that it was both of them… as long as my mind doesn’t constantly argue.
A loaded silence fills the room; lest the ragged, rapid breaths of three mingling into one perfect melody of appetite. The bed shifts beneath me as Cole rises, my body tensing with apprehension. This is it… my wildest, unimaginable dreams about to become reality. Cabot and Cole Keller—the men who’ve owned me, heart and soul, for years—finally claiming what’s always been theirs.
Being blindfolded kicks my other four senses into high-gear; my hearing fighting hardest to reach through the darkness. I hone in on the set of similar, yet distinctive, sounds—they’re taking off their boots, and presumably, socks. The rushed movements are those of Cole; Cabot’s unhurried.
Next come the shirts. No need in closing my eyes to envision it; the vibrant picture plays out on the black cloth covering them. Cole reaches behind his neck and yanks his gray t-shirt off with a whish, tossing it aside. And amazing even myself, I simultaneously listen as Cabot slips the last of seven buttons on his shirt through the hole. He tugs on one sleeve, then the other, and lets it fall to the floor.
An airy sigh of contentment releases itself, and upon hearing it, I’m struck with new realization of just how in tune with them I am… the lyrics and tempo that complete my inner harmony. I can’t see a thing, but it’s as though I never took my eyes off them. I wasn’t aware… that I’m acutely aware, of everything “Keller man” … right down to the number of buttons on a shirt.
Must be how I also know that Cole’s already buck naked and glaring at his brother, wondering what’s taking him so long. And the reason I don’t startle at the sudden gentle stroke of Cole’s worn fingers up my arms, lifting them over my head—I heard him coming with his first step. He pulls my shirt up and off, my skin burning beneath the heat of his gaze and low hiss of approval. My nipples bead to tight buds and I swear, I can feel my pulse in the perked tips.
“Goddamn, Em. Knew you’d be perfect.” His awe’s raspy, my entire body warming impossibly more so with a flattered blush.
“You forget the no talking part?” Cabot grouches from across the room, still standing in the same spot.
“To hell with that,” Cole argues. “No way I can’t say something. She’s… she’s absolutely gorgeous, and I for one, want her to know I think so. Look at her. Fuck.” It’s unharnessed lust, only just ground out before his hands are on me… learning my breasts with greedy, exquisite, fondling.
“Cole,” I exhale, curling toward his touch.
“Damn right, it’s me. I’ve waited So. Damn. Long. for you to beg my name, angel. Best fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.”
And I think I fall… into oblivion and onto my back, guided to lie down as he kisses, licks, and sucks on my breasts. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, lost in a splendor of sensations—the deep rumble in his chest; hot, expert mouth, teasing teeth, and a heady aroma of masculine desire—until the present demands my attentionwith a jolt of awareness.
“C-Cabot?” When I call for his twin, Cole groans, not the good kind, and climbs off the bed.
“Right here.” Cabot’s voice is vacant.
“Why?” Cole bites, impatience more than evident.
“Because, brother; we had a deal. A plan. And I’m not some horny sixteen-year-old punk playin’ Beat the Clock against curfew.” That’s how Cabot expresses his impatience.
Without a word, Cole responds—‘message received’—and they regroup. My head snaps to the right… right when the snap sounds. Cabot’s jeans. Coming off. My chest heaves up and down with each long, labored breath of anticipation; twin towers of bared flesh, solid muscle, and steel determination closing in, not to speak again. No tell, all show, time. Show them, prove, that I’m certain of their individuality… and my distinct, instinctive, love for each.
They split paths, one coming to stand on the side of the bed where my head lays, the other across from him by my feet. Seizing both cheeks, he tilts my head and covers my mouth with nothing short of a devouring. I’ve never been kissed, not like this, by either Keller man… but I’m still certain which one’s invading my mouth with every ounce of his inherent intensity. Cabot. Swallowing my moan as his tongue punishes mine.
Which means, of course, that it’s Cole, having dug up some patience from somewhere, slowly sliding my shorts and panties down my legs. And now… skimming his hands back up them even slower, unable to conceal the faint whistle tell-tale of dragging in air past gritted teeth.
Cabot robs me of his kiss and I whimper at the loss… in unison with the animalistic growl he can’t keep. He’s watching. I can all but see it—his dark eyes, hazed with hunger, fixed on the same spot as Cole’s intent stare. My embarrassingly wet, swollen, throbbing… and fully-exposed… pussy. Indeed, Cole’s put me on display; strong, manipulative hands anchoring my thighs up and open.
Now wise to which stands where, the sharp gasp I let out when roughened, deft fingers glide through my wetness then ease inside me, is caused by Cole. And it’s Cabot’s toned abdomen I’m kissing, his musky scent engulfing me as he leans over to toy with my clit. My back bows off the mattress, body bucking… reaching for more.
“Please,” I pant. “I need-”
