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I silence him with my fingers over his mouth. “I’m fine with it.” His warm breath feathers over my skin, and arousal races through me like a wildfire. “Absolutely fine. Don’t you fucking dare think I’m complaining.”
“You would’ve done the same if you had the money,” he whispers.
“Probably. But I’d have bought a house with a pool so I could have you be my pool boy in tiny shorts and Sydney naked bringing me cocktails while West does lap dances for me.”
Silent laughter shakes his shoulders. “I see. Your secret fantasy is to be an oversexed sheikh.”
“Not a secret, dude. I’ve just told you all about it. However, we can still do all that without the pool. Without the house, even. I don’t fucking care about the house. I’d be happy anywhere with you guys.”
“I know.”
“Just put on those tiny shorts, bend over, and we’re good.”
“Motherfucker.” He laughs. “I’m not putting on tiny shorts for you.”
“But maybe for me?” Sydney asks, coming inside, wrapped in a white, fluffy towel, the scent of roses following her. My dick was already at half-mast from the talk about Kash in shorts, and now it’s rock hard in my pants.
“That’s unfair, Syd,” Kash grumbles. “You know I can’t say no to you.”
“It sure is unfair,” I say. “Favoritism ain’t pretty. Besides, I asked first.”
“Asked what?” West asks, wandering in. He has a small towel wrapped around his hips, and damn, I’m ready to take this party upstairs to bed.
“Nothing,” Kash says quickly.
“For Kash to dress in tiny shorts,” Sydney says.
An interested gleam enters those blue eyes. “How about we take a vote?” He lifts his hand solemnly. “I say yes.”
“For sure,” Syd says.
“You already know what I think,” I growl and slide an arm around Kash, crowding him, pushing him back against the sofa.
“What are you doing?” He sounds breathless rather than outraged. His pupils are blown huge, swallowing the light gray of his eyes.
“That destressing method we talked about.”
“What about it?” He swallows hard.
I lick a line up his neck, and he shivers. “Well, it requires undressing you.”
He shifts on the sofa, the bulge between his legs drawing my gaze. “We were talking about shorts.”
“You don’t own any. You’ll need to buy some, but until then, we’ll have to do without.”
“…without?”
“Show him, guys,” I sigh. “He’s too tired to think.”
“What…?”
“Destressing,” I tell him, “is a group effort.”
At least in this house, in this family, it is.
I pull Kash onto the huge bed dominating our master bedroom and push him down on the bed. He could have easily resisted. These days he’s strong, if not stronger, than West or me. He trains a lot, runs with us, spars with us. When I push up his T-shirt, baring his chest, I stop to admire the hard ridges and planes of his stomach.
Damn… If two years ago you told me I’d be admiring a guy’s chest, I’d have kicked you in the nuts. Of course, I might have been checking out West long before that.
