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He grinds his thick erection against my thin lace panties, rubbing against my lonely clit, and I gasp, “Beau.”
“See? You’re tempted,” he teases. “You’re lying, Kitten. My cock can feel your heat. I can feel your pretty pussy getting so wet for me.”
“No, I’m not,” I lie. “Finish your Super Bowl story.”
Beau gazes down. He and his one-eyed monster can see right through me.
“You want to know what Colt and I did in bed together?” He keeps grinding his granite cock against my soft pussy, and I moan. Beau’s found my poison, our poison, because he confesses, lowering his lips to my ear, “Do you want to know how I get so hard for him? The same way I get so hard for you? The same way I want inside him, I want inside you? Do you want to hear how I want to fuck him,” he thrusts hard, “and fuck you, Blair?”
“Beau,” I gasp again.
I’m going to lose on the first night because, with me, Beau’s not ashamed of his dual desires. He’s safe, he’s free. He wants me, and he wants Colton. It burns in his eyes, trapping me beneath him, and I can’t resist his lust, his hard pressing need wanting inside me right now.
I need him, too. I reach to stroke him and…
SLAM!
Colton’s bedroom door shakes the house. Seconds later, he’s standing by the pool.
My bedroom lights are on. A wall of my bedroom, like all bedrooms, has sliding glass doors to the outside, and he can see in.
Colton’s staring right at Beau on top of me. At how Beau’s one zipper yanked down and one pair of soaked panties ripped aside from fucking me.
“Shit,” Beau mutters, spotting him. “This is like the night before the Super Bowl. He needs help. He has nowhere to go where Amber won’t make his life hell.”
And I see it, too, how Colton looks like a caged and lonely, miserable animal.
“Let me,” I ease, pushing Beau back. “Let me talk to him.”
CHAPTER SIX
I’d rather fuck a fire ant hill.
COLTON
The night before the Super Bowl
Ibang on Beau’s hotel door. I know he’ll open it. I know he’ll help me.
It doesn’t matter how much we’ve hurt each other or what we hide or deny; this is best friends watching out for one another, and the wooden door swings open.
“Can I crash here?” I grumble.
Beau doesn’t even ask. He knows. He steps aside and holds the door open.
Do I miss that all he’s wearing are tight gray boxers over his big, raging hard-on? Nope. It only adds to my frustration.
I sit on the edge of his king-sized bed and bury my head in my hands. “I told her I needed lights out by ten. I need sleep, but she’s going live, and sharing her Super Bowl looks like people give a shit. I asked her to stop, but she wouldn’t, so I had to get out of there.”
I glance up to see Beau rummaging through a gift basket on the table by the window. He tosses me a bottle of water from it before he cracks one open for himself.
“She doesn’t give a shit about you,” he mutters. “Sorry, man, it’s true, and I don’t know why you put up with her.”
“Better than being alone like you. Besides, she understands the biz.”
“Does she? Or does she understand the media but not the sport? But hey,” he shrugs, “she’s got a massive rack, and you’re a sucker for tits and tan blondes.”
“I don’t have a type,” I grumble. “I just need some goddamn peace.”
