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Just as I settled onto the couch with a pint of Rocky Road, he texted back.
* * *
Tommy: Needed quick cash. I’ll pay you back.
* * *
I rolled my eyes at the phone. Not once, ever, had he paid me back for all the money I’d given him, or for the things he’d pawned or sold. His bedroom was practically bare now since he’d sold everything… somehow. His stereo was gone. Laptop, gone. Even his clock radio had disappeared.
There was no point in texting him again. He wasn’t coming home. He wasn’t going to apologize. He never had because he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Not only had he taken one of the last things that was our mother’s and hocked it, he’d ruined my night with Porter and Liam. God, they’d asked me outright if I’d claimed them, had been waiting for my answer. Then BAM. Ruined.
I could have stayed at the restaurant with them. They’d wanted me to do so. It had been my choice to leave. Learning what Tommy had done was another sucker punch. He was my brother. Family. Family was supposed to take care of each other, do stuff together, be together. Tommy didn’t see it that way. I’d been the fill-in parent since Mom died, been his legal guardian, but once he turned eighteen, he’d pretty much checked out.
I could understand if he’d gone off to college across the country. Gone into the military and ended up stationed far away. It was his life and he should go live it. But what he was doing was different and downright cruel.
Still, he was my baby brother, and I wanted so desperately to have it like it used to be. I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but that didn’t keep me from wishing. Every time he pulled something like this, it just dug that knife in a little deeper.
Tonight was supposed to be me finally telling Porter and Liam I wanted to be with both of them. To hopefully get them to do more than just kiss me. I believed them when they’d said they wanted to know what was going on with Tommy, to listen, and that was great, but that wasn’t the point of the dinner date. I hadn’t wanted to sit in Cassidy’s with them, eat burgers and vent about my problems. They had tough jobs dealing with people who committed horrible crimes. No way did they need to spend their Friday night listening to me complain about how Tommy had gone from a sweet kid to out of control. A gambler. Possibly even worse. I’d tried my best to raise him when Mom died, but clearly I’d done a horrible job.
I jabbed my spoon into my ice cream, took a bite, settled deeper into the couch. I grabbed my book, the steamy romance I’d gotten from the library, and opened it to where I’d left off the night before. After reading two pages of a funishment spanking and a sex scene where the woman was happily tied to a bed and brought to the brink of orgasm by the hero licking her pussy, I groaned and tossed it onto the coffee table.
It was possible—if the night had gone differently—I could have had Liam’s head between my thighs right now. Or Porter pressing me against the shower wall and filling me up with his huge dick. I could have been in bed… with both of them, getting real man-induced orgasms instead of just reading about it. But no, I was here feeling sorry for myself, sad that Tommy didn’t give a shit anymore, that he was throwing his life away.
I steered my thoughts to Porter and Liam. Would they spank me like the heroine in the book? Was that something they liked to do? No one had ever done it to me before, but reading about it made me hot, made me wet. I was here, alone, in my comfortable, yet not sexy, PJs, horny from weeks and weeks of wanting two men and not doing anything about it. Wet between my thighs from reading about the kind of sex I wanted to have. With them.
The only thing I could do about it was take care of this need myself. Just like I did with everything else in my life. I was on my own. I worked my ass off, paid the bills, bought the groceries, took care of my own orgasms.
Settling my feet nice and wide on the coffee table, I slid down on the couch and slipped my hand into the front of my pajama pants. I might not be able to have Liam and Porter tonight, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t fantasize about them, couldn’t call out their names as I slipped my fingers through my slick folds, dipped two inside my eager entrance and rubbed my clit.
5
PORTER
* * *
Tommy Murphy was a little shit. I wanted to track him down and have a little chat that involved my fist in his face. But from what Liam had told me on our drive to Jill’s house, the punk needed more than that. He needed a broken nose for what he was doing to his sister, followed by some hard work. Real, backbreaking labor that made him learn quickly that there was no get rich quick scheme, no honor or integrity in using a family member like he did Jill.
Our girl had worked her fingers to the fucking bone to take care of him after their mom died. She’d worked full-time while getting her nursing degree to support them both so the state didn’t put him into the system. And now? He wasn’t a fucking kid anymore. He needed to own his shit, get his priorities straight, like taking care of Jill instead of the other way around. He was a man and needed to start acting like one—one who took care of the women in his life, who respected and honored them.
But dealing with Tommy could wait. Jill couldn’t. She might’ve wanted to be by herself, to close herself off from us, but that wasn’t going
to happen any longer. We’d given her enough time to get her mind around both of us being her men. It was time to take over, to take control. Liam agreed.
That was why we’d given her an hour on her own and were now climbing the steps to her front porch, ready to ring her doorbell and tell her how it was going to be. A cry broke the cold silence, and I looked to Liam, my senses on alert. This was an older neighborhood, the houses small and spaced nicely apart.
That sound had come from Jill and she was in trouble. I took one step toward the door, ready to break it down if I needed to, but Liam reached out and put his palm on my chest to stop me.
“Porter, yes!”
The muffled words could be heard clearly and my eyes widened. Holy shit. Jill wasn’t hurt, she was getting off. And she was calling my name.
Liam peeked in the window to the right of the front door. When his eyebrows went so high as to disappear beneath his cowboy hat, I joined him. The blinds weren’t drawn—we’d have to talk to her about that—and we could see in. Our girl was on the couch in the middle of the room, cast in a soft yellow light of the lamp on the table beside her. Her feet were up on the coffee table before her and there was no way to miss her hand inside her pajama pants. I wished I could see how she worked her pussy. Were her fingers fucking that tight hole or just sliding over her wet folds? Was her palm rubbing against her clit or were her fingertips making tiny circles over it?
“Liam, more. Yes, spank me. Harder,” she called out as her hips arched up off the couch.
Her eyes were closed, her head pressed back as she bit her lip.
Liam stood beside me, equally transfixed. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. He reached down, adjusted himself.
