Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
What if they hate the way I look now?
What if one of them doesn’t turn up?
I’ve dated guys in the last year. And by date, I mean go out a couple of times, have sex, and just feel … like it’s not enough. I even tried an app for couples to find a third, but all the couples on there didn’t live up to Kit and Prescott.
There’s a pull I have toward them, an inability to forget how it feels to be with them. Yeah, it’s all based around sex, but there’s a level of comfort with them too.
As if sensing that I’m close, I get a text message from Kit.
Room 5A in the terrace wing when you get here. Door’s unlocked.
At least I know Kit is there. That fills me with some relief. And more nerves. Fuck, I’m a wreck. Maybe I should’ve tried to settle it with alcohol on the flight or, I dunno, asked someone for an Ambien. Though I’d probably still be asleep on the plane if I did that.
The taxi pulls up to the beach resort, and I take a deep breath. It’s not the most fancy of hotels, but it looks nice from the outside, and from what the guys tell me, it’s gay-friendly, which is a bonus. No one should blink at the sight of three men hanging out in what is obviously a couple’s retreat.
I think.
It’s thoughts like this that give me anxiety over who I am. What I want.
Then I remind myself that what I have with Prescott and Kit hasn’t changed. It won’t get out because there’s technically nothing to get out. It’s always only been sex, and as much as I want more with Kit and Prescott—to explore this connection with them—I can never have it. Even if the triad thing didn’t have such a big stigma, they’re both in special forces and need to keep a low profile. They wouldn’t have that with me. Not with who my parents and brother are.
So I’ll do what I have always done when it comes to my SEALs: remind myself that they’re a guilty pleasure I’m going to let myself have. On the down low. Whenever we can all manage it.
The small, two-story resort is easy to navigate, and as I reach our door, I need to steel myself. But then murmurs come from inside, and I have to laugh.
“That sounded like footsteps,” one of them whispers. “Think it was him?”
“Fucking hope so.” That’s definitely Prescott. “Being naked while waiting for him and without being able to touch you is torture.”
Naked?
Like, right now?
I practically knock the door off its hinges I enter so fast.
And there they are. My guys. Not naked.
Prescott smiles. “I knew that would get him moving.”
“I hate both of you.” I pout, but silently, I’m thankful because he made me ignore my insecurities and push through. And now that I’m in their presence, all that doubt, that dread, that anxiety floats away and is replaced with insatiable need.
“We’ll make it up to you,” Prescott says and holds out his arms for a hug.
I don’t hesitate to run into them and wrap my hands around his back and bury my head in his shoulder.
Then Kit is behind me, and I’m where I belong. Where I’ve wanted to belong since we first met.
With them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
kit
Thank fuck Brady’s finally here.
Prescott has only been here for half an hour, and things between us are … stale. I’ve been trying to keep up with Prescott’s carefree nonchalance, but I’m not as good at it as he is.
Over the last year, Prescott and I have barely managed to stay in touch. The most we interacted in person or via text all had to do with meeting up with Brady at graduation and organizing this trip.
We’ve both been busy, obviously, but it’s so much more than that. I’ve been too chickenshit to reach out because as much as time away has helped me deal with my feelings for Prescott, they’re still there.
Going to Brady’s graduation was a test to see if I’d gotten over the hold Prescott has on me, and I failed miserably. I missed Prescott even more than I anticipated. Hell, I missed Brady too. It was great to see them, but I went back to Virginia even more torn up than I was before.
“Question,” Brady says. “Why aren’t we naked? Isn’t that the best way to start a vacation?”
Prescott pulls out of his arms. “Patience, little one.”
Brady hangs his head, and I hold him from behind even tighter. “Is that your way of insulting how I look now? Because I’m all skinny, and my muscles have deflated, and—”
Skinny? He’s far from it.
“Hey, whoa.” Prescott cups Brady’s cheek. “What are you talking about? You’re still hot as fuck. When I first saw you, I thought you worked hard to lose all that bulk.”