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“I’m not gonna fucking last,” he groans as his hips surge up, and we find a rhythm that has Birdie crying out her pleasure in minutes. It doesn’t take long before we’re following after her. I can’t bring myself to leave the tight heat of her ass, however. I’m more than fucking addicted, I’m transfixed and need to remain a part of her for as long as possible.
Before either of us can stand up, Birdie is fast asleep. Vicious takes her to bed while I jump in the shower to clean up. Minutes later, I enter the bedroom we’re all sharing and stare for a few minutes before joining them in the comfort of the soft mattress. Vicious is on his side, with Birdie next to him on her back. Her arms are above her head, and one leg is tangled between Vic’s while his hand is wrapped around her neck. Both are fast asleep, unaware of the erotic image they pose.
Joining them, I grab Birdie’s other leg and pull it over my hip, leaving her wide open for us. Slipping my hand gently across her pelvis, she sighs, and her hips lift to greet my hand as I cup her kitten. I don’t hesitate to slip two fingers inside; I crave the connection that touching her gives me. This need beating a steady drum inside my chest to always be part of her. Inside of her. She’s more of a necessity to me than the air I breathe.
CHAPTER 11
Birdie
Waking up alone isn’t how I imagined starting the day. For nearly two weeks now, I’ve greeted the day with either Vicious or Chaos between my thighs, eating me to multiple orgasms. It’s been pure bliss with them. We haven’t seen or heard much from Carl since the last time they went over there. I’m not even sure if he’s still living there.
Warmed by the sunlight wafting through the window and the light blanket draped across me, I roll over and catch their scent. Each unique, but together, they make me want the filthiest things.
My body is deliciously sore from the constant craving they have for me, and as I get up, grabbing a shirt along my way to the bathroom, I notice new bruises on my thighs. I love how they mark me, continuously reminding me I’m theirs. Not that I need it; I long to be, anyway. They’ve been on a mission to impregnate me almost from the start, and with my period set to come any day now, I debate taking the test I snuck off to get at lunch yesterday. Almost making me late for my afternoon classes.
After cleaning up in the bathroom, I realize they aren’t home because at least one of them would have been here to greet me with a kiss as I re-enter our bedroom. Quickly dressing, I go in search of food. I’m absolutely famished. These men of mine know how to give a girl a good workout.
I’m halfway through buttering a piece of toast and cutting up strawberries when there’s a knock at the front door. I pause, torn over what to do. I don’t think anyone has come to their door since I’ve moved in, and with them not here, I’m not sure I should check it.
The knocking becomes more urgent, so I decide to take a peep. It can’t hurt to look, right? Besides, it’s probably a delivery of some kind. Or maybe one of them forgot their key.
Tiptoeing to the door, I quietly look through the hole and find no one there. How odd. Shrugging, I turn around only for the banging to start up again. Everything inside me says to back away, to leave and forget about it.
Checking one more time, I wait a full minute to see if someone appears, but there’s nothing. I’m not a complete idiot; I’ve seen horror movies. I am not opening that door.
I’m not.
I won’t.
I can’t.
Curiosity killed the cat, Birdie.
Indecision eats at me. I know I shouldn’t, but the desire to find out who is there but not showing themselves, which is obviously a bad sign, overrides my common sense.
They’ll be pissed if I do it, I try to remind myself.
Blowing out a breath, I force myself to step away, jumping when the pounding returns louder. Ignoring it, I turn and go back to making food. I need to eat; I already feel myself growing lightheaded with hunger. Which then has me thinking of a baby and wondering if I’m carrying one of theirs.
Popping a few strawberries into my mouth, I decide on taking that test. Heading to the bedroom, I rummage through my bag and enter the bathroom. After reading the instructions, I pee on the stick and set it on the counter. As I’m washing my hands, my eyes are immediately drawn to the stick that is supposed to be able to tell within days of conception.
Two blue lines.
Positive.
I’m pregnant.
Holy. Shit. I’m having a freaking baby!
The pounding on the door is getting on my nerves, but I refuse to be some dumb movie girl and get slaughtered or kidnapped because I can’t listen to my conscience warning me it’s a bad idea.
A baby.
Wow.
Grabbing a towel from the cupboard, I slink back to the front door, shove it against the bottom in case they can see my shadow or something, and peer through the hole. I wait, holding my breath, when finally, something moves to the right. A shadow. Someone comes into view. I have to bite my lip to hold back the yelp of surprise.
I recognize this man. He’s come to see Carl a few times, and I’ve always gotten the creeps from him. Double-checking that the locks are in place, I rush to the balcony door, snap the latch shut, put the security bar in place, and close the curtains.
