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CAUGHT BY THE CONVICTS

JESSA KANE

ONTENTS

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

MY

in my throat.

With every step I take into the penitentiary, my legs liquefy a little more.

Every instinct inside me is screaming for me to turn around and sprint for the closest exit. Though it would be no easy escape. I’d have to wait for the steel door to be unlocked, wouldn’t I? Not to mention the three doors preceding it. The goal of a prison is to keep people locked inside, after all. I’m sealed within these cinderblock walls with hundreds of dangerous felons now—and there’s no turning back.

I came here with a purpose and I knew it would be hard.

Knew I would probably shake in my kitten heels the entire time. But it will be worth it. That’s what I told myself when I called in this favor with a client to meet with one of the prisoners. And it’s what I told myself over and over on the drive to the state penitentiary this morning. Taking ownership of my fear will make this scary situation worthwhile.

“Last chance to turn back,” the guard croons over his shoulder in a sugary Louisiana drawl. “Some of these men ain’t seen a lady in over a decade. You’re like a bone being tossed into a pack of hungry dogs.”

HEART IS LODGED

“That’s very flattering, thank you,” I mutter, running a hand down the front of my white silk blouse to make sure all the buttons are secure. “If they want to yell obscene things at me, I can handle it. As long as they remain locked in their cells while I’m meeting with my…” I trail o before I can say the word father. “Mr. O’Casey.”

The guard hums, jingling the ring of keys in his hand.

“This isn’t the usual procedure, you know. People meet their incarcerated loved ones through the glass partition in the secure visitors’ center. They don’t simply waltz into the holding area—” “Thank you. I’m aware this isn’t typical.”

“Why are you insisting on doing it this way? Ain’t you scared?”

Of course I’m scared. Sometimes I think I was born afraid.

But for too long, I’ve allowed my fear to rule me. Keep me in a box. I’ve had a lot more time to overcome the feeling…and I can’t. Maybe this will be the closure I need to leave the past in the past. I call on every ounce of bravery in my body now as the guard unlocks the final door and gestures for me to enter the prisoner holding zone.

There is a slight hesitancy in my step before I venture over the threshold, but I force my shoulders back, chin up, when the cells come into view. When the sounds reach my ears. Shouting, moaning, the groan of bars, a mad whisper threading through all of it.

Worth it.

Worth it, I repeat internally.

I need to see my father behind the bars. If I see him there, if I know he can’t get out, he’ll stop haunting my dreams. I’ll stop looking over my shoulder every time I’m in the supermarket or walking through a parking lot to my car.

This is hard, but necessary.

Mentally, I rehearse my speech to keep my mind o my surroundings. Or I attempt to rehearse it, anyway. It becomes nearly impossible to concentrate when the smell reaches me. Unwashed men. Filth. Rotted food. It’s so overpowering, I check the urge to throw the crook of my elbow across my face to cover my nose.

The guard laughs at my expression. “Having second thoughts, Miss O’Casey?”

I swallow with determination. “No. Lead the way.”

I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter the words crazy bitch under his breath, but I’m too captivated by the structure of the prison to call him out. The holding area is three levels, consisting of long rows of barred cells. Down the center is a concourse dotted with picnic tables, but no one is occupying them at the moment. The prisoners are all in their cells.

Murderers, most of them.

As if a switch is flipped, they all become aware of me in their vicinity.

At once, bodies in orange jumpsuits surge toward the bars of the numerous cells, dirty hands wrapping around steel, faces pressing through the openings to leer at me. There are cat calls, which I expected. But they’re not your average construction site whistles and propositions. They’re even cruder in nature than I’m used to. Still, their words don’t cause me to hesitate moving forward through the concourse, eyes fastened ahead. It’s only when a sound—a desperate, sickening sound—begins to echo o the walls that goosebumps lift on my arms and the toe of my shoe hits a crack, causing me to trip a little.

I look to my left, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

A prisoner is there, jumpsuit peeled down, his hand working in furious strokes on his exposed manhood. I’ve never seen one in real life before, so I flinch, shocked. Teeth gritted, sweat pouring down his face, he stares at my

backside while he performs the intimate action and I pick up my pace immediately, causing the prisoners to laugh at my expense.

“I think he likes you,” chuckles the guard.

“I’m glad you’re amused by …”

My sentence hangs in the air when two men come into view just ahead to my right.

Prisoners.

They are in a cell, side by side. And they couldn’t be more di erent.

One of them flat out doesn’t seem to belong in this setting. He’s…gorgeous.

Tall, fit, square jawed and handsome, his whiskeycolored hair casually tousled. He winks a blue eye at me as I pass. An honest-to-God flutter in my belly catches me o guard. I can’t help but look back over my shoulder, and this time, my attention settles on the second man. Now he looks like a prisoner. Unshaven, black hair hanging down in curtains around his face, tattoos rioting across his thick, prison yard muscles. His intensity settles on me and inflicts a very di erent kind of flutter than his counterpart.

These men are night and day. One terrifyingly masculine.

Dangerous. One devastatingly sexy, a twinkle of charm in his eye. Who are these men?

Why can’t I seem to tear my attention o them?

“See something you like?” drawls the guard.

My face flames and I keep moving, doing my best to refocus on the task ahead. I’m not here to study the prisoners or wonder what heinous deed landed them behind bars. I’m here to finally confront my father. To strip away his power over me once and for all, so I can move on with my life. So I can trust that he’s locked up forever and maybe, just maybe, I can attempt to be happy. Perhaps I can even have a

healthy relationship someday built on trust, something I’ve always found extremely di cult.

I’ve just about regained my determination when the prisoners start to grow rowdy.

Beyond rowdy, really. There’s a surge of energy around me, a cacophony of sound. Excited hollering, the shaking of bars, the slamming of metal on metal.

“What’s happening?” I ask the guard.

“I don’t know.” He unclips the radio from his shoulder and speaks directly into the static, his eyes slightly nervous as he scans the rows of cells. “Control center, I’m going to need some backup in concourse three. I thought it was the hot blonde making them extra rowdy, but it appears to be something else.” When there is no response from the radio, he looks down at the device in confusion. “Control center, do you copy? Come in, control center.”

A layer of ice is forming on my skin.

Something is wrong.

For some odd reason, my gaze shoots to the cell holding Night and Day. The scary one. The beautiful one.

When I walked past a few moments ago, they didn’t look worried, but they do now.

Night paces behind Day, his mouth moving with words I cannot hear.

There is a smile on Day’s face, but his brow is pinched, his long fingers drumming on the bars of their cell. Without taking his attention o of me, he says something to his cellmate over his shoulder and the man nods, shoulders firming with purpose.

A deafening buzz rents the air, followed by a sequence of loud clicks.

And that’s when the cell doors—all of them—spring open.

A sea of orange jumpsuits floods the concourse. Men overturning the picnic tables, fights breaking out, shouts echoing o the high ceiling. It all happens so fast, I barely have a chance to piece together what’s taking place. This is a jailbreak. An actual jailbreak. We’re in the midst of hundreds of violent o enders. I turn toward my escort with wide eyes and his helpless fear unleashes my own. His gun can’t protect us from this many prisoners.

This is a death sentence.

As soon as those words settle in my mind, an inmate comes up behind the guard and buries a sharp object in the side of his neck. With a choked sound, my escort goes down, thick, red blood burbling from the fresh wound and soaking his uniform top.

It’s only seconds before the light goes out of his eyes.

Dead. He’s dead.

With my heart slamming into my ear drums, I go into survival mode. I turn in a circle, looking for somewhere to hide. But there’s nowhere. Nowhere. And now the man with the shank is stalking toward me with an insidious smile curving his lips. Oh God. Oh God. Is this a bad dream or am I actually at the mercy of hundreds of incarcerated men? I won’t live to see this evening, let alone tomorrow’s sunrise.

A voice comes over a loud speaker ordering the prisoners back into their cells. But I don’t have to turn around to know they’re ignoring the warning, continuing to wreak havoc behind me. The man with the sharp, bloody object has almost reached me when I’m picked up and tossed over a large shoulder—and carted o into the fray.

CHAPTER 2

I CLOSE my eyes and inhale through my nose, repeating the mantra that got me through a youth of poverty and violence and instability. You can survive anything. You can survive anything. Unfortunately, those four words don’t seem to ring as true today, since I’m currently being ferried away by a prisoner, hands ripping at my clothing, fists closing around my ankles and attempting to pull me away from whoever has taken me.

With a whimper into my captor’s shoulder, I realize the best I can hope for is to live through this day, because there is no doubt I will be assaulted.

Prepare for it now. Be prepared.

There is a series of shouts around me and then a loud metal slam.

Everything goes still, except for my pulse, which sprints a thousand miles an hour.

Slowly, I open my eyes and look down at the ground. Two pairs of feet. One belonging to the man holding me over his shoulder, one belonging to someone else. Who? I might as well face them and attempt to personalize myself. If I can do that, maybe they won’t kill me before all of this is over.

Before I can lift my head, I’m being manhandled again.

Pulled from the mountainous shoulder underneath me, my

feet settled onto the ground. And there, standing on either side of me, is Night and Day. My first reaction is relief. Which is ridiculous.

The only thing I know about these men is that they’re violent o enders.

That’s more than enough to know I shouldn’t be relieved.

“Please don’t kill me,” I whisper, an annoying tremble in my voice. “My name is Wendy. I’m a scent branding specialist. Like, hotels hire me to scent their rooms and lobbies? Sometimes casinos, too. I don’t…I don’t have any family, but I want one someday. Very badly. I have a hamster named George and he’s my family for now. I love old reruns of Gilligan’s Island and I’m very indecisive about the color of my living room accent wall. I’ve tried nine shades of green now and none of them are right—” “Fuck me,” mutters Day, a hint of England in his tone.

“She’s downright adorable. And quite reckless, apparently, marching into this den of vipers in that…” His gaze ticks lower, his voice dropping along with it. “Obscenely formfitting skirt.”

Behind me, there is a long, anguished groan from Night.

I turn to find him pacing. Right. Left. Then he stops abruptly and grinds his forehead against the cinderblock of the cell wall.

“You’ve got Ruger very worked up, sweet cheeks,” continues Day, his warm hand coming up to cup my jaw, tilting my face one way and the other, his thumb pressing into the middle of my bottom lip. “Shall we have pity on the poor chap and set him loose?”

A guttural sound comes from behind me, Night’s fist slamming into the wall.

Loud enough to be heard over the pandemonium in the concourse.

“No,” I whimper, forcing my voice to firm. “Please.”

“No pity for poor Ruger, eh?” The insanely handsome prisoner chuckles, and God help me, the low rasping intimacy of the sound causes my nipples to bead. “You don’t seem to realize the predicament you’re in. See, in here there is only one of us to satisfy.” He tips his head toward the bars separating us from the violent prison riot. “Out there? Well.

I’d hazard a guess there are hundreds, if not a thousand men dying to tear this skirt from your tight little arse. You’re safer in here with us.” He turns me around to face Ruger, his fingertips trailing down my spine and unzipping my skirt.

“Show a little appreciation for the protection we’re providing.”

Only one of us to satisfy, he said.

“What about you?” I don’t know why I ask this. Maybe I’m an idiot. Or I’m too curious for my own good. But it strikes me as odd that Day is brokering sex for his friend, while asking for no relief of his own. “Don’t you want…”

“Yes. I want,” Day hisses into my ear, ripping my skirt down over my hips, pooling the wool at my feet. “Oh, I fucking want, but I’m far too arrogant to fuck an unwilling girl-child who looks terrified half to death. Ruger can’t help being a beast.”

“Please stop, Klay,” Ruger growls, still facing the wall.

Klay.

Klay is Day. Ruger is Night.

The handsome prisoner laughs, his big hands cradling my hips, giving them a rough squeeze—and there…I can feel his erection against the curve of my buttocks. Klay is aroused.

Very much so. In fact, he seems to be breathing faster by the moment, his hands growing more and more restless on my hips. My waist. “Nothing to be ashamed about, Ruger,” he rasps, twisting the sides of my panties around his fingers.

“Any man who reached the age of thirty without sampling pussy would be a beast. Now you’ve got this tasty little thing

at your mercy and you want your first ride. Badly. No one blames you.”

Ruger’s massive back heaves, heaves, then he turns to peer at me over his shoulder through the fall of black hair.

And his blatant hunger spears me in the middle, making my bare thighs quiver. A virgin. Ruger is a virgin, like me? It doesn’t seem possible in this place. Or that a hardened criminal could be inexperienced. But…I believe he is. I can see it in the depth of his brown eyes how badly he’s been in pain without physical touch.

Finally, Ruger turns back around and I gasp at the large protrusion in his jumpsuit.

No, not large.

Enormous.

I stumble backward and Klay chuckles in my ear, his lap pressed tight to my bottom now, his thickness separating my cheeks. “Did I mention there’s a good reason he’s a virgin?

There isn’t a woman brave enough to try him.” Shame dances across Ruger’s face and maybe I’m imagining things, but…Klay sounds regretful when he continues. “We can get it in if I make her wet for you first, mate.”

Ruger nods and moistens his lips, hu ng an uneven breath when Klay’s fingers delve down the front of my panties, stopping just before the beginning of my folds. My nerve endings—every last one of them—clang like the bells of a church, shocking me. Am I…enjoying being touched by this inmate? This stranger? My nipples are sti and I’m struggling not to circle my backside in his lap. Every time he breathes onto my neck, it’s like a wave of pleasure rolling down, down to my knees.

“Do it,” Ruger groans, stepping forward. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then drags a featherlight touch down the side of my face. “Soft.”

Klay’s middle finger parts the valley of my sex, dragging up and back slowly, his shuddering exhale bathing my neck.

“If you think her face is soft, you should feel her cunt. Good God. It’s already wet and waxed for you, Ruger. Get your cock out.” Klay’s breath is coming in harsh pants now, his manhood straining against my bottom. “We don’t know how much time we’ll have before the guards break up this shit show outside. Don’t lose your chance.”

That statement causes a light to go on in my head.

Stall.

I need to stall.

There might be a way to walk out of here alive—and with my virginity.

If I can just drag this out until the guards get the prison back under control.

That’s definitely what I want to do. The fact that my sex is wet has to be an involuntary response to fear, right? I can’t possibly want these men to touch me. That would be… wrong. Unfortunately, there is something that feels so right about it. My trust issues have prevented me from dating or getting close to anyone in my twenty-one years. The fact that I don’t have to trust these men to experience the physical thrill of their touch…it’s a relief. It excites me.

But that’s crazy. I can’t just have sex in a prison cell.

Stall. Do it. Do the right thing.

Ruger seems to have a conscience. He must if he can feel shame.

I appeal to him with my eyes. “Please…I’m a virgin, too.

You’ll hurt me.”

He takes his hand back from my face as if burned, his stormy eyes shooting to mine. “I’ll hurt you,” he repeats slowly. Then, “What were you thinking, coming into a place like this? If someone else had grabbed you first—”

“Let’s not think like that,” Klay says quickly, an edge of residual panic in his tone. Almost like…he cares about my safety. But doesn’t want me to know it.

Apparently I’ve found the two most complicated men housed in this penitentiary.

And oddly, perhaps dangerously, it makes me feel closer to them.

Makes me want to reveal secrets I’ve told no one.

No. No, I just want to personalize myself. That’s all.

Right?

“My father is a prisoner here. James O’Casey,” I whisper, drawing them both closer. They hold their breaths when I keep going. “He…he wasn’t good to me as a child.” To put it lightly. “When I finally got away at sixteen, he kept tracking me down, refusing to let me better myself. Stealing from me.

Scaring o my friends. Once he even set my apartment on fire—while I was asleep.” I swallow hard. “He killed someone during an armed robbery and finally got sent away for good. I just needed to see him for myself. Behind bars. So I can stop being so scared.”

A beat passes.

Klay’s mouth skates slowly up the side of my neck. Ruger steps closer, slightly uncertain, before pressing his hard mouth to the center of my forehead. And it’s insane. It’s totally crazy, but I’ve never felt more safe or comforted or cherished in my life.

By two criminals. Strangers.

While a prison riot rages on the other side of the bars.

“You don’t have to be scared right now, Wendy,” Klay murmurs in my ear, his finger sawing wetly through the drenched folds of my sex. “You don’t have to be scared…of us.”

I tilt my head back to look Klay in the eye, finding his brow furrowed in that deeply thoughtful way. He looks as

caught o -guard by this whole situation as I am. Shocked by how right the three of us feel, pressed tightly together, Klay at my back, Ruger at my front. The more fearsome of the two men breathes heavily into my hair, his lower body beginning to rock against my hip, his groans peppering the scant space between us.

“Her pussy is dripping for you, mate,” Klay pushes through his teeth.

Ruger makes a doubtful sound, but doesn’t stop pumping his hips against me. “No. It’s for you, Klay. Not me.”

“That’s not true,” I blurt, before I can stop myself. And there are my fingers, threading into his long, black hair, tugging him closer. As if my body is obeying some urges that my mind can’t comprehend. What is happening to me? “It’s for you, too,” I whisper against Ruger’s mouth when it reaches mine. “It’s for both of you.”

The air crackles with static, both men surging closer, sandwiching my tightly.

Making me whimper, clutch at Ruger’s collar.

“Fucking hell,” Klay grits out, tearing my panties o with a twist of his fist, tossing them aside. “She wants it.” He wraps his now-free hand around my throat. “That changes everything, Wendy. Now you get two cocks. Mine and Ruger’s.”

“Two? H-how?”

Klay sinks his teeth into the side of my neck and thrusts against my buttocks. Roughly. “Going to put it right here, deep and dirty. Going to bounce you around like a little rag doll.”

Ruger growls, shaking his head. “She’s too innocent, Klay. You can’t. Not the first time.”

I’m being lifted, Klay’s hands scooping beneath my knees, opening them for Ruger. Exposing my drenched sex in a shocking, unexpected way. I’m between two hard-bodied

men now, my legs pried wide, Ruger’s hips inserting hungrily between them to grind his shaft against my juncture, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his hips humping in a jagged pattern.

I make a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a moan. Both men seem fascinated by it, staring at my mouth.

Licking their lips. Releasing harsh exclamations when I begin to meet Ruger’s pumps shamelessly.

“Fuck,” Klay rasps beside my ear. “Fuck, you’re right. I’ll wreck her. I don’t…I don’t want to.” He sounds almost shocked by his own revelation. “I don’t want to wreck her, Ruger. I want to…I need to…”

“You need to keep her,” Ruger says gru y, meeting his cell mate’s eyes over my head. “Me too. It’s like there’s no choice. She’s…ours.”

An understanding seems to pass between them which I’m not privy to.

I don’t have a moment to analyze, though, because Ruger begins to peel down his jumpsuit, Klay breathing heavily against my ear, his fingers buried in the undersides of my knees, which he still holds wide open. For just a moment, he props my right knee on Ruger’s hip and reaches past me to help Ruger drag the orange jumpsuit down his thickly muscled shoulder and I feel it. I feel Klay’s erection swell even bigger where it pressed between the cheeks of my bottom, feel the added strength in his grip when it returns to my knee. And I hear Ruger’s breath stutter at the helpful action of his friend. Suddenly there is so much tension in the air, it’s like a spell has been cast.

Dramatically, it all zeroes in on me.

Klay licks up the side of my neck, planting kisses beneath my ear.

Ruger looks me right in the eye and guides his shaft between my legs, sweat trickling down the side of his face,

bursts of animal grunts falling from his lips.

And he drives halfway home, his eyes going blind as I surround him.

The pressure of him inside me shoots discomfort down to my toes, but I bite my lip and focus on the man in front of me. This man who has been rejected because of his size.

Locked up like an animal. Untouched his entire life. I relate to that. I connect with him over that and suddenly, we’re kissing, his tongue stroking into my mouth, his moans noisy and shocked, his hips thrusting involuntarily to seat his huge sex fully inside me, my hymen giving way around his size with a painful tear. “She’s kissing me, Klay,” groans Ruger in disbelief, between kisses.

“I see that,” Klay says hoarsely, his mouth raking up into my hair, jerking my knees wider. “Hear the way she moans?

You must be very good at kissing, mate. Have you been… practicing?”

The question is posed casually, but there’s a hard edge to it.

There’s danger there.

Klay’s muscles don’t relax until he gets an answer.

“No, Klay,” Ruger says firmly, diving back in for another taste of my mouth, his fingers quickly unbuttoning my blouse and shoving it open, his pupils dilating at the sight of my white strapless bra, my breasts swelling over the silky tops. “Dammit. Her tits are going to make me come,” Ruger groans, beginning to buck inside me uncontrollably, his jaw going slack. “Oh Jesus, is she supposed to be this tight? I can’t…I can’t stop…”

I’m pinned between two hard bodies, one of them filling me repeatedly with hard flesh, the one holding me open for his cell mate’s pleasure. Klay curses vilely, then begins to match Ruger’s thrusts. When his friend drives home, Klay grinds his erection into the split of my backside. Now they’re

moving in unison, humping me, occupying me, groaning into the air that surrounds me. And that’s when the quickening begins in my loins.

I don’t expect it.

Somehow, it felt like enough just to be touched. Just to connect with these two human beings when I’ve never even connected with one. But watching Ruger become so intoxicated by pleasure from my body is…magic. Klay’s hands on my thighs, his wet mouth on my neck and his overall magnetism adds to the whirlwind and before I know it, I’m jerking my hips up and back, whining over the friction of Ruger’s erection where it slides against my clit. I’m half blind, toes straining, tummy tightening, tightening. “I’m ggoing to…I think I’m…”

“Fucking hell, she’s coming, isn’t she?” Klay moans into the side of my neck. “I can feel her shaking. Don’t come yet, Ruger. She’s almost there.”

“I can’t stop it,” he pants, slamming into me now, his thick, hair-covered body glistening with sweat. And somehow Ruger gets deeper. Goes harder. And he does it by gripping the sides of Klay’s jumpsuit to keep him steady for his ferocious drives, yanking him toward us in a furious rhythm—and all at once, a rush of pleasure sweeps me, tightening every nerve ending in my body like a bolt, my womanhood clamping down, a loud cry racing up my throat.

Moisture floods me.

The sounds of the men and their animal groans fills my ears.

My femininity clenches and clenches. It won’t stop. It’s so intense, my thighs jerk and tremble, hot shudders passing through me.

Before I can even get a breath, I’m being spun around.

“Open up, Wendy,” Klay demands. “My turn inside that hot little cunt.”

With a frantic look in his blue eyes, Klay strips his jumpsuit down to his hips and wraps a hard fist around his impressive erection, surging toward me— The bars of the cell roll open.

Several guards rush into the tight space, ripping me away from Ruger and Klay.

I’m so dazed, I barely realize what’s happening until I’m halfway out of the cell.

“No!” I scream reaching for them, before I realize what I’m saying. What I’m doing.

Am I actually asking to be left in the cell?

Am I asking to be kept locked up with these men instead of being taken to safety?

With those confusing questions ringing in my head, I’m carried away over the shoulder of a guard, my clothes in disarray, and I watch as it takes over a dozen guards to hold Ruger and Klay back from coming after me. They fight, fists swinging, wild expressions on their faces, until the guards are forced to stun them both with tasers.

The last thing I see before disappearing around the corner is Klay, face down on the floor with his head turned, mouthing the words we’ll find you.

The promise in his eyes makes me shiver.

But in relief or trepidation?

That’s the million-dollar question.

CHAPTER 3

Klay

T HIS CELL HAS NEVER FELT SMALLER .

I’m trapped in here and the girl is out there.

I pace in front of the bars, hands on top of my head, fingers buried in my hair. It feels as though someone has hollowed out my insides with an ice cream scooper.

What the hell did she do to me?

It has been a full week since the guards carried her out of here and my skin is still clammy. To say nothing of my cock.

It waits in my jumpsuit, livid over being denied what surely would have been heaven. I can’t close my eyes without hearing her whimpering. Feeling her taut ass wiggling around in my lap. Can’t sleep or eat or even sit down, because I need. I just need. And that hunger is compounded

by Ruger’s.

He hasn’t spoken since they took Wendy. Just sits hunched over on the bottom bunk with his head in his hands.

Ruger is a restless man by nature and I’ve always kind of laughed about it. Told him to calm down, the way only a childhood friend can do. But Wendy…the girl has done

something to me. She’s reached inside my chest and fucked everything up. Now I find myself caring a great deal about my best friend’s agony. I’m awake. I’m too awake. My cells are buzzing with energy, racing through my system, but they have no outlet.

I can’t last like this.

I have to reach her.

I need to get inside of her.

There’s a part of me that is quite resentful over how badly I need her. I’m not supposed to need anyone. As an international con man, I was always happy to work alone.

Who wants to share their money? Not me. Ruger insists on being my shadow, though. He fancies himself my bodyguard or something equally ridiculous. I’d finally given up on trying to part ways with him when we were caught fencing an heirloom I’d stolen. Now we’re locked in a cell together.

There’s something ironic about that.

Too bad I’m not looking to be amused.

I’m looking to stem this rampant lust inside of me. The lust she set loose. Of course I’m feeling like a caged animal. I was hornier than I’ve ever been in my life, about to sink into tight, warm pussy when she was stolen away. If I can just finish what I started, maybe this intense sense of possessiveness will go away. Maybe this urge to tear these new, overwhelming feelings out of my chest will cease.

There’s only one way to find out.

Out on the prison floor, two men are holding down a third, threatening to slit his throat over him cheating at cards. How could they let that sweet girl into this hell hole?

How dare they? I’d like to track down who is responsible and break their fucking jaw.

When I realize my hands are curled around the bars and I’m growling, with my teeth bared to the concourse, I

swallow hard. Too much. She’s made me feel too much. I’m a tornado of emotions when I’ve always been calm as a lake.

Find her.

Put Wendy on her back and work through it.

“We have to get out of here,” I say without turning around.

I sense Ruger lifting his head. “You want to find her.”

“Yes,” I admit through my teeth, my fingers flexing around the bars. “I don’t know what she did to me, but it’s getting worse. Being trapped in this place was always miserable, but now it’s impossible to spend another day.” I turn from the bars, pretending not to notice when Ruger’s gaze slides down to my never ending hard-on, then away quickly. “I need to jack o again so I can concentrate and come up with a plan.”

His throat bobs. “You want me to turn around?”

I start to say yes. That’s our usual routine. When one of us needs to release the pressure, the other tries to give as much privacy as possible in a ten-by-ten cell. But after last week when we made eye contact over Wendy’s head while humping her like beasts, a barrier has fallen. We’ve seen each other in the fever pitch of arousal. Some of the mystery is gone and self-consciousness has been taken away along with it. “Would you…” I start to unfasten my jumpsuit, unable to look directly at Ruger while making my request.

“Would you describe how it felt to fuck her while I…do it?”

Ruger’s chest heaves up and shudders down, his hands curling to fists on his thighs. “If I do that, if I start thinking about her, I might have to…beat my own.”

Staunchly, I ignore the confusing tug in my loins. The added heat that ripples through my abdomen, making me feel sweaty and agitated. “Very well,” I say briskly, peeling the god-awful orange jumpsuit down to my hips. Hesitating only briefly, I reach inside and wrap a hand around my dick,

my back teeth grinding at the sensation of my balls tightening. I prop my left hand on the top bunk and begin stroking, not bothering to pull up the jumpsuit when it slips to my knees, exposing me. Exposing everything I’m doing.

“Begin,” I say, hoarsely.

Ruger’s loud swallow is followed by the groan of mattress springs. I only look down long enough to see he has leaned back and reached into his own jumpsuit, the ridge of his hand moving up and down beneath the sti orange material.

“She was so pretty,” he rasps, his eyes drifting shut. “So soft. She had this…blonde peach fuzz on her belly. I wish I could have licked it. I’d never seen a pussy up close before, so I didn’t know they could be hairless. I didn’t know they could be so tight. She almost cut o my circulation squeezing me like that.”

I bury my mouth into the crook of my left elbow and moan, my cock hard as steel now. In my head, I’ve traded places with Ruger. I’m the one bouncing her up and down on my dick, feeling her cream drip o my balls. I’m the one looking into her beautiful eyes, watching her soar from one end of an orgasm to the other.

Ruger is there, too.

That’s what makes my hand pause mid-stroke.

He’s in the fantasy. Behind Wendy. Taking his own pleasure—and somehow that heightens everything. Makes my blood flow in the right direction. I’m satisfied that he is being satisfied and that is out of character for me. I’ve learned to look out for number one. That method has always served me well. Flying solo. Letting no one get inside my head, let alone pry my chest open and rearrange things.

So why am I looking down at Ruger now, watching his hand pump and down on his huge cock and thinking that…I could give him the ultimate release? Perhaps I’ve always sensed that truth and ignored it. Until Wendy. Until she

dropped out of heaven and woke me from my state of apathy.

I should want to punish her for this new awareness. Instead I find myself wanting to worship at her fucking feet for it. For reviving me.

“Keep going,” I command brokenly, pinning my eyes to the ceiling with determination.

Ruger’s leg moves, presses to mine. I pretend not to notice.

I pretend not to feel the moisture bead on my cockhead.

“Her tits barely fit into her bra,” he groans, the sound of wet flesh filling the cell. “I could see her nipples through the silk. They were hard. They were hard for us.”

Now I’m moaning, too, beating myself in a frenzy. And I can feel his eyes there. I tell myself I don’t care if he looks, that it makes no di erence to me. I don’t acknowledge the fact that his attention is making my abs flex painfully, my skin burn. In shame? In confusion? I have no idea. I just keep my own eyes locked on the ceiling and let the climax draw closer. Closer.

“When we find her,” I say, my breath running short. “I’m going to spread her legs and ride that damp little fuck hole while you watch. I’ll be covered in her wetness and sweat and bite marks by the time it’s over. And you’re going to clean me up afterward.”

“Yes,” Ruger half exhales, half growls—and then I feel it.

The pelting of his seed on my stomach. The sticky thickness of it. I look down, caught between disbelief and fascination as it slides down, down, into my pubic hair, leaving glistening trails on my belly.

I close my eyes against the fresh wave of need.

The sharp-toothed lust.

Wendy is there in my mind’s eye, but so is Ruger. With his come painting my body, it’s too much. I’m committing to something I don’t understand. Something I’m not sure I

want to acknowledge. Frankly, it terrifies me how much I want to fire my seed onto his prone body, to cover him in it.

Especially after pushing him over the edge by simply telling him he’d be in charge of cleaning me up. Does he…want that so badly?

Panic causes me to tear my hand away from my cock.

I stu it back into my jumpsuit and cover myself quickly.

“We’ll, um…” I order my pulse to slow down, my sensible brain to come back on line. “We’ll need to get to the infirmary. Both of us. If we have any hope of escaping.”

Ruger is silent, his complexion red. “I’m sorry for—” “Nothing to apologize for, mate. Let’s just get our plan together, hey?”

“Klay…”

“Drop it,” I grind out.

Before I can say more, an inmate darkens the door of our cell. We don’t normally associate with anyone besides each other. Too many complications. Too many alliances in this place we want no part of. But this particular convict is the prison equivalent to town crier. He’s always got some scandalous news to impart.

Ruger pushes to his feet in a blur, inserting himself between me and the other man, as if to guard me from some kind of danger. I can only shake my head.

“What do you want?” I ask our visitor.

“Didn’t you hear?” he says, glancing back over his shoulder. “Three inmates escaped last week during the riot.

Must be on the run because their cells are still empty.”

At first, this news only serves to irritate me. If three prisoners escaped recently, then security will be harder to circumvent during our own getaway. But then I start to wonder if Wendy lives close to the penitentiary. Close enough to be in danger from those escapees.

My heart starts to thump wildly in my ribcage. “Do you know which prisoners got out?”

He gives two unfamiliar names.

But the third turns my blood to ice.

James O’Casey.

Wendy’s father.

“We have to get out of here,” I growl as soon as the gossip mongering inmate has moved out of earshot. “Now.”

“I can’t do it,” Ruger breathes, gripping the shank in his shaking hand. “I can’t stab you.”

“Oy.” I grab the sides of his head, looking him hard in the eye. “Yes, you fucking can. You don’t have a choice. Wendy is in danger.”

“Wendy.” He says her name like a prayer.

“Remember, I have to stab you as well. You’re not the only one delivering a blow.”

Ruger shakes his head adamantly. “It’s not the same thing.”

I drop my hands from his head. “Why?” “You’re not…you’re not made for violence like me.”

“Obviously not. I’m made to be sipping a pina colada on a beach in Barcelona.” That makes him laugh a little, but he goes right back to chewing the inside of his cheek, turning the shank over and over in his giant paw. “Come on now, next time we run a con, I’ll use the scar to glamorize myself as an international mercenary. Our target will eat it up.”

His brown eyes turn quizzical. “Are there going to be more con jobs, Klay?”

Wendy’s beautiful face materializes in my mind. Her sweet, husky voice fills my ears. The possibility that she’s in danger right now causes a drop of sweat to travel down my

spine. As does the prospect of leaving her for any length of time to commit our usual frauds. “I don’t know, mate. I just know we have to reach her as soon as possible. We’ll figure out the rest once she’s safe. I can’t…think past that.” My heart climbs into my throat, urgency slithering through me like a serpent. “Now stab me.”

Ruger squeezes his eyes closed a moment. When they open, they’re cold and focused, like I’ve seen them before in many a physical altercation. This is my best friend, the killer.

The violent o ender. The bruiser who has been on the street since he turned twelve, left to fend for himself. His hand shoots out, catching me in the designated spot and I wheeze, dropping to my knees with a pained grunt. It’s drowned out

by Ruger’s howl of anguish.

CHAPTER 4

Ruger

W E STAND in the shadows across the street from a modest house.

A light comes on inside and suddenly there is Wendy, framed in the window.

I lurch forward with a heaved sound, my entire body hardening at the sight of her. So soft and delicate in a nightshirt, her long, blonde hair loose around her shoulders.

“Steady, mate,” Klay murmurs, his voice thick with need, keeping me hidden in the darkness with a hand on my shoulder. “Thank God she’s safe. Now we have to keep her that way.” He takes a moment to let the relief settle. “Try and remember that we are two prison escapees showing up unannounced. Let’s try and not come on too much stronger than that.”

“I need to get inside of her again,” I growl, palming my straining cock through my stolen pants. “Soft. So soft and tiny around me.”

Klay is breathing harder now. Trying not to look at me.

He’s been doing that a lot lately.

I used to try and limit the amount of time I spent making direct eye contact with him, too. Doing so always made my briefs feel extra tight. Made them chafe me in embarrassing places. But I’ve given up the battle now. My best friend is royalty in my eyes. Extraordinary. He always has the plan.

Always confident and smooth where I’m a bumbling idiot half the time. If I didn’t have him to guide me, I’d still be homeless and begging for food on the streets of Baltimore.

I’d be lost. Klay is my compass, even if he’d like to be rid of me.

I wish I could give him what he wants, but I can’t.

Me and Klay met when we were twelve. I’d been kicked out by my single mother for eating too much, taking up too much space in an apartment filled to capacity with children.

Klay had just run away to escape an abusive father, disappearing while they were on vacation in the States, hoping to get lost in the wilds of America. His dad never came looking for him—a fact that blows my mind to this day. Klay is everything a man could want in a son.

He’s quick witted. Funny.

Attractive.

A knot gets stuck in my throat and now I’m splitting a look between Wendy and Klay, the horrible throb between my legs making it hard to breathe. How can I thirst for two people, of di erent sexes, in the same way? I don’t know.

I’m not sure it would be like this with anyone else. Just Klay and Wendy. During those too brief moments in our prison cell, I experienced a sense of belonging that I never knew enough to hope for.

If I don’t feel it again, I think I might die.

There’s a pinch in my gut when I notice Klay pressing a hand to the wound in his side.

“Does it hurt?”

“What?” He shakes himself, drops his hand. “No, it’s fine. A mere scratch.” His blue eyes travel over to me, resting briefly on the shoulder bandage. For just a split second, they darken with distress, before it vanishes and he’s once again aloof. “And yours?”

I try not to make it obvious that my pulse is racing.

Klay is concerned about me.

“Fine,” I manage thickly, remembering how my come looked dripping down his diamond cut abs. Dammit. I fucked up. I went too far. Now I’m cursed with the memory of how good it felt to release on his unblemished skin. Just like I’m cursed with the memory of how tight and wet Wendy felt sitting on my dick. How her small tongue felt tickling mine, her little hips pumping hungrily in my lap. Jesus, between Klay and Wendy, the pike in my pants is never going to subside. I’m a downed power line, sparking and dancing on the sidewalk, in need of repair and they’re the only ones who can help me.

“I think it’s late enough now,” Klay says, scanning the neighborhood. “We’ve covered our tracks well, but we don’t know what’s being broadcast on the news. It could only be a matter of time before they connect us to Wendy. We weren’t exactly subtle last week about wanting her brought back.”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘get her back in this cell or I’ll gut you all like fish.’”

“Sounds about right,” Klay deadpans, his chest hollowing and expanding quickly while watching Wendy move through the lit-up house. “Damn it to hell, she’s beautiful. I wondered if I’d imagined how much she…a ects me.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. There’s something about her presence that wraps around a man like magic. Being in the direct path of those eyes, her inquisitive attention, is so exhilarating, I can still feel it on my skin. In my veins. “You’ll take your turn first.”

He acknowledges my statement with a tilt of his lips.

“The question is, will she want it?”

Confusion clouds my mind. “Of course she will. You’re…”

Klay turns and pins me with a look. “I’m what?”

This might be the first time in my life I’ve seen Klay unsure. Normally he’s cocky as sin, and who wouldn’t be, looking like that? “She’ll want it,” I say firmly.

A few beats pass before Klay clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, back to his usual self. “You’re right, of course.” He stabs his fingers through his thick hair and starts across the street, all the while searching the windows of the surrounding houses for movement. “Shall we?”

I stalk forward to keep up with him and soon we’ve made our way around to the back door of Wendy’s house. My dick feels unwieldy and painful in my pants. It pulses with feverish anticipation knowing I’m going to watch Klay and Wendy have sex together. She enjoyed herself with me, so I can’t even imagine her reaction to being with Klay. And I want that. Badly. To see pleasure etched into their features.

To watch them strain and buck and moan. It surprises me a little how anxious I am for them to find fulfillment. Almost like it’s a responsibility. The relief of these two people could be my job. My duty. I want it.

It takes Klay less than five seconds to pick the lock of the back door.

The first one, anyway.

Wendy has four locks total, all of them engaged.

“She must really be afraid of the bastard,” Klay remarks with a tight jaw, working his way through the locks with a wire we picked up from a closed hardware store.

“She’s safe with us,” I vow, staring hard at the door.

Finally, Klay manages to get all four locks open and he turns the knob, moving stealthily into the darkness of what

appears to be a kitchen, me following behind him. It doesn’t occur to me until this moment that we never considered knocking. “Do you think she’ll be happy to see us?” I whisper to my counterpart.

“I don’t know. But we can’t take the chance of her getting nervous and calling the police.” He doesn’t make a sound as he moves, well-practiced in the art of becoming one with the shadows. “Not until we’ve had a chance to reassure her.”

I’m already nodding. Klay always knows best.

We reach a hallway and follow the light at the end.

Klay hesitates for a few seconds, then steps into the light of her bedroom doorway.

I move forward just in time to watch Wendy jackknife in bed, screaming loud enough to make my ears ring. Klay moves like lightning across the feminine room, pouncing on top of Wendy and covering her mouth. “Lovely to see you, too, sweet cheeks.” He tilts his head. “We’re not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite. We’ve come a long way to make sure you don’t get hurt. If I take my hand away, will you promise not to scream?”

Her eyes fly over to me, widen, then return to Klay.

She makes a sound of fear, but nods and slowly, Klay takes his hand down. After reaching over to turn o the light on her bedside table, he plants his fist in the pillow on the side of her head. With the threat of discovery out of the way, I can finally soak in the sight of Wendy in her thin night shirt, which is currently riding very high on her thighs. I can greedily absorb the long waves of her blonde hair that fan out around her beautifully stunned face. Klay is on top of her, pressing her body down into the mattress and my balls throb in response to the picture they make. Perfection meets perfection.

“H-how did you escape?” Her voice trembles. “How did you find me?”

“Well it took a couple of stabs, but we eventually made our way out through the infirmary where security is far less tight.” He flashes her a grin and her eyelids flutter in response, her breath catching. “Did you know they can access the prison database from the infirmary, including all past visitor information?” Dazedly, she shakes her head.

“Very convenient. Of course it took a little coercion to make the nurse log us in, but after that? Piece of cake. And there you were, Wendy O’Casey.”

It’s easy to see that she’s being pulled under his spell.

Under the full power of Klay’s attention, she bites her lip, her eyes glazing over. And Klay can’t see this, but her toes are curling into the bedding.

It’s also obvious that she’s determined to fight his magnetism.

“Please leave,” she says, pushing at Klay’s shoulders. “I don’t want you here. What happened between the three of us…it was a mistake. Momentary insanity. I-I was just scared and overwhelmed by the riot and my adrenaline was spiking and—” “Wendy,” Klay croons, taking hold of her wrists and pinning them above her head, then lowering his open mouth to exhale roughly into the crook of her neck. “You aren’t trying to convince us that you didn’t love every second of your first fuck, are you? We were all there to feel the sweet shake of your thighs. We all heard you whimper through an orgasm.” Klay hits me with a glance where I stand in the bedroom doorway. “Ruger, didn’t she leave a helping of cream all over your big dick?”

“Yes,” I rasp, wetting my lips. Rubbing myself through the fly of my pants.

Klay hums low and long, shifting his lower body against Wendy’s hips.

Her breath catches. Stutters out.

But she still twists, digging her heels into the bed in an attempt to gain her freedom. “I can’t. I c-can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Klay says smoothly, easily keeping her pinned, his mouth raking up and down the side of her neck.

“You want me to fuck you, Wendy,” he croons in her ear, his voice dropped to baritone level. “Stop pretending otherwise.”

Her head writhes side to side. “No.” With a low rumble of frustration, Klay gathers both of her wrists in his left hand. Then he trails the right one down, down between them, shoving his big hand into her panties, his fingers moving in long strokes beneath the white cotton.

“You want it. You want to be fucked.”

“I…I…” It’s obvious when Klay sinks one or more fingers inside of her cunt, because she cries out and now, now I can see his wrist flexing, hand moving inside of her underwear. He’s finger banging her. And I have to grip the doorway or risk my legs giving out, the scene is so erotic. So charged and raw.

They are forehead to forehead, both of them panting, Klay’s hand moving relentlessly between her thighs. I don’t know a lot about women, but even I know her resistance isn’t completely authentic. She wants my best friend. Of course she does.

“You want to be ridden now,” Klay says thickly against her mouth. Before she can respond with another protest, he slants his lips over hers. He invades her. Licks his tongue into her mouth—and almost immediately, her pussy starts making wet sounds. It squelches with every pump of Klay’s finger. And slowly, she starts to kiss him back. Hesitantly at first and then she makes a sharp sound of surrender, openly her mouth wide, allowing it to be taken.

Mewling for it. Giving in.

Klay knees her thighs open and presses his fingers deeper, breaking the kiss with an almost stunned expression.

“God. God. Tight doesn’t even begin to describe this little pussy.” His intense eyes whip in my direction, knocking the breath out of my lungs. “Ruger. Come over here and take o her panties for me.” While I make my way across the room to the bed, he kisses her long and hard. “We’re going to finish what we started, aren’t we, baby?”

A beat passes. Two. “Yes,” she whispers.

Triumph fills me. For Klay. For the three of us.

I allow my palms to slide up and over Wendy’s knees, traveling higher to her smooth thighs, gripping the sides of her white panties and stripping them down her legs. And I almost come in my pants and the sight of Klay’s middle and ring finger sunk into her pussy. Thrusting in and out, her flesh drenched around his knuckles. “Undo my pants,” he says raggedly. “She’s finally admitted she wants it. I’m not giving her a chance to change her mind.”

There’s a harsh, labored sound filling the room and I realize it’s coming from me. I’m breathing like I’ve just run ten miles, sweat beginning to soak the front of my shirt.

When I move to stand beside Klay, reaching for the straining zipper of his pants, my fingers are clumsy. Mired in lust, I barely have any dexterity and…and I’ve never had my hands this close to Klay’s cock before. I’ve seen it, of course. We grew up together. But it’s one thing to look at it covertly from the corner of my eye, and another to drag my fingers down the swollen front of it.

But that’s what I do. It’s what I have to do, in order to lower the zipper.

Do I imagine the way he pauses in the act of kissing Wendy?

Do I imagine the guttural sound he makes when I drag my knuckles down his bulge?

Both of us expel a heavy breath when his dick springs out, slapping down onto Wendy’s belly. Klay glances to the side— at me—right at me. Humping the curve of Wendy’s hip, still finger fucking her so thoroughly and without cease, she’s started to writhe and whine his name, her knees lifting up to hug his hips. “Klay. Klay.”

“I know, baby, you’re ripe for fucking,” he rasps, trailing his mouth down her throat, back up to snare her lips. “Put my cock in, Ruger. Right where my fingers are.”

Lust slams into my belly like a launched brick.

Did I hear him right? He wants me to touch his dick?

There’s a rushing river of sound in my ears, hot shivers passing through me, head to toe. Klay and Wendy are kissing passionately, her hands trapped overhead, her body arching, and they’re moaning brokenly. The last piece of the puzzle is Klay being inside of her. He needs it.

And I can help him. I can do for him the way he’s always done for me.

I move behind Klay, my hand shaking as I press a knee onto the edge of the bed and reach between his legs, gently fisting his thrumming shaft. Jesus. Jesus, it’s like hot steel, shaped like it has been sculpted by an artist. “Can I jack it a little?”

God help me, those words are out of my mouth before I know what I’m saying.

I watch tension ripple up Klay’s spine with a sense of dread and self-loathing.

But then he grunts, “Just a little.”

Oh my God. Unable to breathe properly, I tighten my hold and he shudders, the muscles of his buttocks flexing, visible because his pants are down around his knees, the curve of his cheeks only inches from my face. Taut and covered in a light layer of hair that reminds me of the peach fuzz on

Wendy’s belly. Biting down on my bottom lip so I won’t make any embarrassing sounds, I pump Klay’s dick in my fist. I jerk him o at the same tempo I’ve watched him employ in our cell when he thinks I’m not watching. I thumb the slit every time I reach the top and it swells while he makes choked noises, his hips beginning to rock subtly.

“Goddammit,” he grounds out.

But he doesn’t make me stop.

I go faster, my pulse accelerating with the pace of my strokes. Through the upside-down V of his thighs, I watch his balls seize up and turn a mottled color. I watch the sheen of sweat appear on his backside. When he makes a ragged sound, I know I’ve pushed enough. I’ve taken enough liberties. I can’t push my luck. So I guide him to the hold between Wendy’s legs, eager to watch the pulsing length of him sink into her cunt. Eager to hear her whimper when he’s fully seated and watch them race toward pleasure together.

Just to be a witness to these two people fucking makes me the most fortunate man alive.

“Oh fuck!” Klay shouts through his teeth once I’ve got him buried halfway. “Fuck, it’s so tight.” The muscles of his ass shift and he buries himself the rest of the way, making Wendy cry out, the lips of her sex wet and stretched around the fat base of Klay’s cock. “Prison bars can’t hold a man when pussy this hot and tiny is waiting on the outside. You should have been expecting us.”

“I was,” I hear her whisper. “I…I couldn’t help…”

“What?” Klay prompts her gru y.

“Hoping,” she says, her voice barely audible.

“Baby…” Klay pumps into her hard, almost like a reward for that confession—and she screams with pleasure, her thighs opening wider, her hips lifting to greet his next rough pump. “Ruger,” Klay says, laboring for air, his sleek body

bucking between Wendy’s legs. “Lift this shirt up. Show me her tits.”

Before he’s even finished speaking, I’ve climbed onto the bed alongside of them and started gathering the nightshirt in my hands, raising it to her neck, exposing two small bouncing breasts, bare this time, peaked with dusky rosecolored nipples. She looks up at me while I expose her, her mouth open in a cry of pleasure, eyes glazed and…trusting.

She trusts me. That realization is so humbling, I can’t seem to swallow.

“Ruger hasn’t been able to shut up about your sexy rack, Wendy, and good God, he wasn’t wrong. You’ve got tits like a spoiled daddy’s girl, don’t you?” Klay pants, eyes glittering with lust, hips rolling, his jaw slack as he enters her again, again, again. “Do you want Ruger to play with them while I finish o this exquisite little pussy?”

I hold my breath, only letting it out when she nods.

“Yes.” Christ, I fall on them like a man being o ered a meal after a week of starvation. Maybe that’s what I am. I latch onto her nipples and worry them between my lips, licking them like ice cream with embarrassingly eager strokes of my tongue.

Sucking on them, right then left then right, as if she can nurse me back to health. As if she can heal every wound I’ve ever sustained on the inside.

My hips slam up and down on the mattress, causing myself pain, but I can’t stop. My hunger is so violent. So urgent. My need is not for one person, but two, and that doubles the sharp burn for relief. It amplifies everything. So I’m almost felled by gratitude when Klay says, “For the love of God, mate, take out your cock,” he rasps. “Stroke it properly.”

I moan around the peak of Wendy’s breast, my hand grappling frantically with my zipper, a hoarse grunt leaving

me when that heavy flesh is finally free.

I form a makeshift pussy with my fist and drill my dick into the opening, fucking it frantically, the way I’ve done so many times on my prison bed, pretending it’s another person. Klay. Wendy. Klay. Wendy. Pretending I’m giving them pleasure. The sounds of grunting and whimpering and slapping flesh fill the room “Good man, Ruger. Doesn’t that feel much better?” Klay manages, struggling to breathe, his body riding Wendy’s without a hint of gentleness, his sweaty buttocks flexing, his tongue dragging upward a path between her jiggling tits.

“Now put that big, dirty thing in her innocent little mouth.”

Maybe I should be humiliated by my reaction. The way I shudder and choke on my breath, burying my face in her sweet neck to try and anchor myself. But there’s no room for embarrassment here. There’s only reaching the summit and they are very close, very close. Wendy’s breathy cries are gaining momentum and Klay is pumping harder than before, his eyes squeezed shut. And they’re being generous enough to bring me along on the trip up the mountain and down the other side. I’m not going to squander the opportunity.

Wendy’s eyes welcome me as I walk forward on my knees and push my dripping cock into her beautiful mouth, shouting a curse when her tongue wraps around me. Her hands are still pinned above her head and Jesus help me, it’s like she’s at my mercy. There’s no barrier to stop me from taking a fist full of her hair and turning it to the side, fucking my shaft deep into the warmth of her perfect mouth, watching her lips plump and strain in order to take me.

I’ve been denied sex all my life because of my size.

Because I’m not pretty to look at.

Now this princess, this angel, is accepting me and I’m dizzy with gratitude. With unspent desire. With a ection and

lust for this girl as I position myself right in front of her face and fill her throat with my too-big cock.

She moans for it.

Moans.

Sucks me eagerly as I pull out, crying out happily when I sink balls deep again.

“Does it taste as good as it looks, Wendy?” Klay asks hoarsely.

Her head nods up and down on the pillow, eyes smoky, tits shaking up and down.

“He’s been thinking of you all week, jacking and jacking when he thinks I’m asleep.” Klay wets his lips. “But you can’t beat o quietly with a cock that big, can you, Ruger?”

“No,” I pant, shame and gratification colliding inside of me. He called me big. He said it looks like it tastes good. And Wendy, she’s drawing on it eagerly, as if she agrees.

Jesus. Jesus. Am I dreaming?

“Look at that suckling little mouth of hers. If it’s half as sweet as this pussy, we’re both very lucky men.”

“Lucky,” I repeat raggedly, tunneling deep. So deep I almost feel ashamed of the liberties I’m taking. But I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I’m fucking her mouth now, sweating, animal noises coming from my mouth and come is beginning to rise, hot and sticky in my shaft. “Oh fuck. I… I’m going to come.”

Klay lets go of Wendy’s pinned wrists and grips her chin, tilting it up for me. “Do it. Look how bad she wants a taste.

She’s gotten wetter since you’ve been in her mouth.”

That does it.

I sink home once final time and send my seed down her throat. It’s a pleasure I never could have believed. It rips through my muscles and chokes me. It blinds me, owns me.

And it only grows more incredible when Klay massages

Wendy’s throat and I feel that firm touch on my cock, all throughout my stomach and right in the center of my chest.

A roar leaves me, more moisture being enticed out of my balls.

When Wendy starts to moan around my shaft, I look down to find Klay playing with her clit, rubbing it in quick little circles until her hips become restless, lifting, twisting under the inundation of his thrusts—and then her eyes widen and she comes. Wanting to hear the scream of ecstasy, I pull my cock out of her mouth and witness her coming apart. She gasps, nails buried in Klay’s strong shoulders, eyes unseeing, thighs shaking.

Fucking glorious.

“Look at her. My God,” Klay breathes, his hips slapping deep—and he holds, a violent shudder carrying through his muscles, veins standing out on the side of his neck. “Fuck!”

I’ve seen Klay climax before. Often covertly. But out in the open like this, without hiding, it’s like watching a masterpiece being painted. All I can do is observe in awe as he falls forward onto Wendy and humps her ferociously, his teeth burying in the side of her neck, his hands yanking her knees high, up to her armpits and groaning long and loud until the final drop leaves him.

We all have our strings cut at the same time, dropping to the bed, boneless. But moments later, it seems like the most natural thing in the world for me and Klay to sandwich a drowsy Wendy between us, holding her as the three of us fall asleep. If either of us feel a ripple of tension building in Wendy throughout the night, we choose to ignore it.

For now.

CHAPTER 5

Wendy

I’ D MANAGED to convince myself that afternoon at the prison never happened.

Avoidance is a powerful drug.

With Klay and Ruger out of sight, I could wake up every morning, go to my job, eat dinner, watch television. All normal things. They might have come to me late at night in my dreams, but during the day, I could deny how thoroughly they sapped my willpower in that prison cell. How their calloused hands on my skin felt like a prayer being answered.

I’ve never been fulfilled. Not a single second in my life. Until them.

Until they converged on me and we absorbed each other.

Became one.

So obviously I’m bananas.

I’ve lost it.

I can’t just allow two escaped—presumably dangerous— convicts into my home and allow them to slake their hunger with my body. But that’s exactly what I’ve done. No matter that the last half an hour has transcended time and space.

I’m pretty sure I saw the face of God somewhere in the middle. Heard the angels singing.

And it has to be the last time. Allowing these men to sleep in my bed? That makes me an accomplice. I’ve given seriously new meaning to aiding and abetting.

I spent the first sixteen years of my life tiptoeing around my father’s danger, trying not to get burned. Or tip the scale of his temper. Since then, I’ve tried to outrun him. To move on with my life. But until he was imprisoned, he kept showing up, pulling me back into the quicksand. Terrifying me. Making me feel small and unworthy. Manipulating me.

These men are of the same ilk, aren’t they?

O enders.

Men who are such a hazard to the public, they have to be locked in a cell to prevent them from committing any harm. I should have fought harder when Klay’s sensuality started to overwhelm me. I should be sneaking out of bed now and calling the police. Or running to my car and driving away as fast as I can. Yet here I remain. Soaking up the heat of these two men, feeling their heartbeats against my body and being lulled by the rhythm.

Ruger’s hand sits possessively on my hip, his chest hair tickling my spine.

Klay’s face is in sleepy repose on the pillow, mere inches from my face. When awake, he’s obscenely gorgeous. Asleep, he’s a wicked angel that has been booted out of heaven.

Probably for excessive vanity.

A tug of a ection for both men doesn’t even catch me o guard.

No, I felt something similar the day of the prison riot.

These men being in my life almost seems fated. There’s a sense of completion when they are touching me, talking to me, talking to each other about me. It’s like I’ve woken up in

a new land with a unique language that somehow makes perfect sense to my ears. To my body.

In their roughness tonight, they cherished me.

And each other—though I sense they haven’t admitted it.

There’s a deep undercurrent between Ruger and Klay that excites me. That hesitant lust exhilarates and fulfills me almost as much as their hunger for me. It heightens every look, every touch and taste. When they take me, I become the glue holding everything together and there is nothing more satisfying for someone who craves the feeling of being anchored. Anchoring these men in return is even more vital than that.

But I can’t ignore the similarities of their lifestyle to that of my father.

I’m crazy to get tangled up with two criminals after spending my whole life escaping one—and finally succeeding. So I’ll just have to chalk this whole evening up to…what? Recurring insanity? And move on with my life.

Pretend this never happened. Who would even believe it?

They’ll have to leave eventually, anyway. They’re escaped prisoners.

They can’t just live in my guest room forever undiscovered.

I’m sure they’ll be out the door as soon as the sun comes up—and that’s fine with me!

Perfect.

Ignore the hollow, panicked feeling in your stomach.

Resolutely, I slide out from between the men and scoot o the bed, padding my way to the kitchen. It’s only three o’clock in the morning, but there is no way I’m going to sleep with my brain in a meltdown. I stand at the kitchen counter for a moment, palms flat on the cool surface, then take a deep breath and begin the process of making a huge pot of co ee—

“Something bothering you, sweet cheeks?”

With a squeak, I spin around and find both men standing on the other side of my kitchen island, arms crossed over their bare chests. Ruger appears concerned. So does Klay, but only in the eyes. As usual, there is a cocky smile playing around the corners of his lips.

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep,” I say, stating the obvious.

A muscle ticks in Klay’s cheek. “Would you like us to exhaust you again?”

Yes. That’s the answer my body gives.

Somehow every nerve ending is starved for them again after only a handful of hours.

“No, I don’t think so…I…” Klay gives me skeptical look and my mouth goes dry. I have to get them out of here before I fall victim to their promise of pleasure again. “Shouldn’t you two consider leaving while it’s still dark outside? So nobody spots you?”

Several tense seconds pass in silence.

Klay props his fists on the island and leans into the light.

With his features half illuminated, half cast in shadows, he’s every inch the hardened, intimidating inmate. “Have we outstayed our welcome so soon, Wendy?”

His roughened tone raises the hair on my arms.

It also makes my tummy flip with interest. The desire to hear that rasp in my ear.

To have his growing irritation taken out on my body.

I’m a sick, sick lady.

I don’t have a good answer to Klay’s question, so I ask one of my own, instead. A question that has been plaguing me since I met them. “Why are…why were you in prison?” I split a glance between Klay and Ruger. “Both of you.”

Klay’s eye twitches. He rolls a restless shoulder, but composes himself quickly, his sensual mouth spreading into a grin. “Wouldn’t you rather go back to bed?”

“Tell me.”

The grin disappears and suddenly the cockiest man I’ve ever met is vulnerable.

It’s not lost on me that Ruger takes a step closer to his friend. Not close enough to touch him, but close enough that Klay will feel the warmth radiating from Ruger’s skin.

“Fraud. Money laundering. Robbery. Assault with a deadly weapon. Blackmail.” Klay winks at me. “It’s an impressive list, is it not?” His confidence wavers slightly. “I’m a con, Wendy. I pretend to be someone important and swindle rich people out of their money.” Another jerky shrug. “But it’s all smoke and mirrors. In reality, I’m not important. Not at all.”

Ruger frowns over at Klay. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, mate. It’s simply the truth. Even I can be honest once in a while.” Klay tips his chin toward Ruger. “He’s my protection. In case things get out of hand or my identity is blown. This last time, there was a bit of a scu e when we were caught fencing an heirloom I’d stolen from a widow I’d been…” Air quotes. “Courting.

And Ruger was forced to take certain measures so we could escape.”

“Murder,” I whisper, looking at the quieter man. “You murdered someone.”

“A security guard,” Ruger mutters, looking down at the ground, fists clenching and unclenching. “He was going to hurt Klay. He had his gun aimed at him.”

“Yes, Ruger didn’t take kindly to that,” Klay says briskly.

That would be an understatement. The memory alone seems to be agitating the other man to the point that he begins to pace.

“So you two knew each other before prison?”

Klay’s smile is brittle. “Since we were nothing but unfortunate street urchins, yes.”

A wrinkle forms between my brows. “And you ended up in the same cell.”

“A coincidence,” Klay says, shrugging a big shoulder.

“It wasn’t a coincidence,” Ruger says, coming to a stop mid-pace. Clearing his throat. “I couldn’t let you end up in a cell with someone dangerous. One of the guards was willing to take a bribe to put us together. I gave him my bank account details.”

Klay

There’s a slap of thunder in my ears.

I turn toward Ruger sharply, not sure I like the fact that my heart has made a home behind my jugular. “I didn’t realize you’d done that.” I cough into my fist. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He grunts. “It’s just what I do. I guard your back.”

It takes a considerable e ort to turn back around. Even when I manage it, my pulse seems determined to race at a hundred miles an hour. What is happening to me? Before the day of the riot, I could close o my emotions like a faucet.

My focus was narrowed down to survival. Now it’s like a floodgate has opened, thanks to Wendy.

Her grace, her acceptance, her touch, her energy and presence.

I’m not only fixated on her, needing her with urgency that climbs higher with every second…but I’m now being

forced to acknowledge the…discomfort between me and Ruger.

I’m not willing to go any further than that. Or recognize that this discomfort feels perilously close to arousal. To a deep-seated kinship that is expanding to include physical urges.

With determination, I channel all of my focus onto Wendy.

My cock hardens for her. For the lithe thighs visible under her nightshirt. Good God, fucking her was a dream. She’s tight as hell and horny. So horny. She’s got the slipperiest little pussy, but somehow gives an abundance of friction at the same time. And all the while I’m pounding away, lost in the sweet scent of her, the smooth glide of our skin, her eyes are mesmerizing me. Drowning me. If I don’t have her again soon, I’m going to come in my pants out of the sheer anticipation of banging her a second time. Once was all it took and I’m thoroughly addicted. Does she really think we’ll simply leave after experiencing heaven like that?

Well, with the police no doubt searching for us, we might have no choice.

But it’ll be a cold day in hell before we leave without her.

Somehow I doubt she’s ready to hear that, since we’re on one side of the island and she’s on the other, holding the bag of co ee as if it’s garlic to ward o a vampire.

“Naturally it bothers you that we’re convicted felons, Wendy…” I start to make a joke, something to break the thick tension in the kitchen, but I realize I’m on borrowed time. I have strong feelings for this woman, as does Ruger.

Speaking for myself, I’m on the verge of fucking obsession here. And it’s not the jokes that are going to keep her in our lives. It’s honesty.

It’s opening up. Revealing myself in a way I’ve never done.

Damn it all.

“I became very good at pretending, Wendy. At a young age. My father was a tyrant who expected perfection from his only son. I was browbeaten…hourly, it seemed. When I was among my friends, though, I learned to fake happiness. To never let my mask slip. And so being a con came naturally. At first, running scams was a fuck you to the old man, but eventually it was just as natural as breathing. I could be someone else and that meant never having to acknowledge how god-awful I’ve been feeling for so long.” I break o when my voice begins to sound winded, attempting a smile and failing. “There you go. There’s my sob story.”

I can feel Ruger’s eyes on my back and don’t dare turn around.

For once in my life, I don’t want the focus on me.

“Anyway, Ruger’s story is worse than mine. I left home by choice. He was never given one.”

“Is that true?” Wendy says softly.

And I like that she is so quietly encouraging to him. He needs that. The fact that she gives him kindness so instinctively makes me love her more.

Yes, love her. I can’t help it.

The moment she walked past the cell, my heart became her lifelong prisoner.

Ruger moves into my periphery. “I had a lot of brothers and sisters. They were smaller, from a di erent father. I just…grew and grew. My clothes never fit and I was always hungry. My mother had no choice but to toss me out—” “Yes, she did,” I snap, shocked by the whip crack of indignation inside of me. “She did.”

Ruger is as stunned as I feel. “Um…” After a moment, he looks back at Wendy and continues. “When I left home, I found Klay. He…attracts people. I knew he would need

protection. He disagreed at first, but he’s never made me leave. Even when I annoy him.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Ruger he never annoys me. That I feign irritation as a defense mechanism for whatever…discomfort lies between us. But he’s already had my dick in his hand tonight. Stroked it…well. Perfectly, if I’m being honest. So I think we’ve gone far enough. Admitting I like having the big lug around might encourage more and I’m never going to be ready for that.

I’m not attracted to Ruger in the same way I’m attracted to Wendy.

I can’t be.

Christ, what would my father say— When that disturbing and useless thought wings itself through my consciousness, I rush to cover it up. “So you see, Wendy, the life chose us. And it went too far.” I wait until her beautiful eyes are locked on mine. “But we would never hurt you. Never.”

“We’re here to protect you,” Ruger adds, moving around the island in Wendy’s direction, as if he’s being pulled by gravity. I hold my breath as he reaches her. Takes the co ee from her hands and sets it down on the counter. His big cock is straining at the front of his pants and I wonder if he’s going to fuck her right in the middle of our important conversation—God knows I wouldn’t blame him—but instead, he runs a knuckle down the smooth side of her neck, sliding his fingers up her nape and gripping the roots of her hair lightly. And it a ects her, his touch. Her focus loses sharpness and she sways toward Ruger, nestling into his chest.

Jesus, my heart is slamming in my ribcage.

I’m so full of this…sense of homecoming, purpose, gratitude, I could burst wide open.

Though it’s a struggle, Wendy returns to the topic at hand, even though she’s being rocked by my giant bruiser of a best friend. “What do you mean, you’re here to protect me?”

I take a breath. “Your father escaped during the riot.”

She blinks, her face paling. “What? No.” All I can do is stare back grimly.

“B-but the prison didn’t even call me. I haven’t seen anything on the news or—” “The infirmary nurse told us the prison is trying to keep the breach quiet. They don’t want to lose their funding.”

Wendy sputters. “But people could be in danger. I could be in danger—” “No,” Ruger growls.

“My extra-large associate is correct. You’re not in danger.

We’re here.”

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t know my father.

He’s…he’s insidious. Sometimes he doesn’t even want money from me. He just wants to remind me where I came from. That I’m his daughter and I belong to him.”

Jealousy snaps like a rubber band in my throat. “You don’t belong to anyone but us now,” I say tightly. “The di erence is, you belong to us by choice.” I attempt to swallow, but can’t. “At least, that’s what we’re hoping.”

“Don’t you see that’s impossible?” she asks.

“The fact that you answered so quickly leads me to believe you’ve at least been thinking about it.” I begin to make my way around the island, coming toward her from the opposite side of Ruger. “About the three of us being permanent.” When I reach them, I press my lap to the curve of her hip slowly, letting her feel my rigid cock. I slip a hand between her body and the counter, palming the supple cheek of her ass, massaging it roughly. “Haven’t you, baby?”

Her eyelids flutter. “I, um…”

“Ruger, get down on your knees.” I gather the hem of her nightshirt, lifting it in a fist. “Lick her pussy.”

As I suspected he would, Ruger drops like a boulder, already panting for the opportunity to get his tongue in her tight little snatch. He presses his opening mouth to her naked mound, his hands shaking as they rake up and down her thighs. “I don’t know how,” he rasps. “How do I make her feel good?”

Damn. Damn, I like this too much. The fact that Ruger is so inexperienced. The fact that no one has touched him but me and Wendy. I like it as much as the fact that no one touched Wendy until the day in our cell. I’m here to guide them. Show them pleasure. I’ve always looked out for me, myself and I, but this…God, it’s infinitely better. It’s a calling, a higher purpose I didn’t know I needed so desperately. Because I care about them.

Reaching down, I use my index and middle finger to form a V. And I use that V to slide apart the lips of her pussy, presenting Ruger with the wet, pink flesh beyond. I press my mouth to Wendy’s jaw, breathing in and out while I work my fingers to expose her clit.

“Do you see that little bud, Ruger?”

“Yes,” he responds hoarsely.

“When we stimulate that with our tongues or fingers or cocks, that’s how she comes. It’s fucking sacred. It’s to be worshipped at all times. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” he groans, mouth poised right above the swollen pink berry.

Licking his chops.

“Get started,” I manage, my throat made arid by the erotic sight of Ruger polishing Wendy’s clit hungrily, bathing it over and over with his red tongue, his hands gripping her thighs tightly. I keep her flesh open with my fingers and every once in a while his tongue slips, grazing

the sensitive inside of my digit, causing my cock to pulse confusingly.

Wendy’s head falls back and she moans.

Moans even louder when I bite the skin beneath her ear.

“Let’s continue our discussion, shall we?” I raze her skin with my teeth and she shudders. “You are safe with us. Your father can’t hurt you. As long as you’re scared, he wins. So we need to get rid of the fear.”

“I…I…that’s what I was trying to do. When I visited the prison.”

“Well we don’t have that option anymore, so we’ll have to think of something else to free you from his grip. Maybe we find him first. Play o ense.”

“No, I don’t want to do that.” Her breath stutters and turns into a whimper, her left leg comes up to drape over Ruger’s shoulder. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” I use the V of my fingers to draw her wider. “He’s good at eating pussy, is he?”

“Y-yes,” she says on an exhale, breaking o to moan, her hips rolling toward Ruger’s eager tongue. Perhaps I shouldn’t be using this opportunity to gain promises or solve the riddle of our relationship, but hey, I’ve never been a saint. “Do you know where your father might have gone, Wendy?”

“What?” Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. “No. I mean… my childhood home is on the other side of town. But I own the property now. And he wouldn’t go there anyway, it would be too obvious.”

“If he’s an arrogant sociopath, he might,” I say drily.

That earlier sense of purpose is back inside of me and before I register my own actions, I’m raking my hand upward from her buttocks to her hair, fisting the blonde length of it in a stern hand. “Look me in the eye.”

She does as she’s told, so beautiful with her swollen mouth and pre-orgasm eyes, I can barely breathe for worshiping her so deeply.

“We’ll confront him head on. We’ll rid you of the fear before the sun comes up.” I kiss her mouth hungrily, sensing an increase in Ruger’s e orts. Tasting her appreciation of it with my tongue. Capturing her breathy whimpers. “Let us do that for you. Let us show you we’re worthy of your trust.”

That’s what this is all about, I realize.

Trust.

We need Wendy’s in order to keep her. I’m so eager for it, my chest is locked up like a safe and her confidence in us is the only combination.

She begins to tremble, her flesh pulsing against my fingers. And when Ruger makes a guttural sound and begins licking more eagerly, I know she’s had her orgasm.

“Say yes,” I growl against her mouth.

“Yes!” Relief pours through me. But I’ve only won the battle.

There’s a war ahead—and the only prize I can live with, the only prize I can imagine is keeping these two people with me, just like this, forever.

CHAPTER 6

Ruger

T HE THREE OF us are standing across the street from an old house on the outskirts of town. Sunrise is still a couple of hours away, so the dilapidated one-story is lit by the moon.

The porch is sagging in the center, the rain gutter hangs o the house, creaking every time it’s pushed by the wind. The lawn is overgrown and littered with wrappers and broken glass.

Wendy stands between me and Klay and it’s easy to feel the tension radiating o her. At first, I wasn’t sure why Klay insisted on us coming here, but I think I understand now. He wants Wendy to face her fear.

When I was younger, I had a fear of the water. My mother never took us swimming or to the beach growing up, so the water of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor was just this bottomless, murky, foreign thing. In the early days, when we used to pickpocket for cash, I refused to operate too close to the water, worried the black depth of it would suck me in. One night, Klay broke us into a swimming pool at a motel and taught me how to swim in that clipped, no-nonsense way of

his. After that, my phobia was gone. He claimed he only taught me to swim so I could be a more e ective pickpocket, but I think it was more than that. Klay fixes what’s broken inside of everyone else so he can ignore his own grief and anger, inflicted by his father.

That’s not to say he doesn’t want to help Wendy. He does —badly.

I’m watching Klay right now, the way he looks at her. It’s pure possessiveness and wonder and lust. It makes my blood pound hot. Makes me lick my lips to catch the flavor of her pussy, too. God, the way her delicate little muscles flexed when she came…I’ve never been more gratified in my life. To hear her sobs and know they were for me. I could remain on my knees using my tongue on her every day for eternity and never get tired of licking.

Klay’s hand lifts, his fingers threading through Wendy’s long, loose hair. He grips the strands slowly. “Easy, baby,” he murmurs against her ear.

She takes a deep inhale. In response to her shoulders relaxing, mine do the same. I’m attuned to our woman.

Territorial. Worshipful. Klay and I have been loose ends walking around for years. Wendy arrived and braided the three of us together. Now we’re stronger. We’re no longer flapping in the wind without a purpose or care.

She’s our purpose.

I watch in total astonishment as her hand reaches for mine and we lock fingers. Now she’s bracketed by men, felons who are twice her size. Both of us zeroed in on her, aching to anticipate her needs. My hunger is rising to the surface again. I need her. I need them both. But I put a stranglehold on the lust and focus on the moment at hand.

This is important. Klay has a plan for absolving Wendy of her fear and there will be no satisfaction until it’s done.

“Let’s go inside,” Klay says.

After a beat, Wendy nods and I don’t think, I just sweep her up into my arms, refusing to let her walk across that filthy front yard. My boots crunch in through the glass and debris on our way to the porch steps. We go up and stop in front of the door. Klay tests the handle and finds it locked, so he takes a step back and kicks the door in, splintering the wood around the hinges. My cock fills with blood at the show of strength, sti ening, and I can’t help but lower my mouth to Wendy’s, groaning into a kiss. She opens her soft lips for me, her fingernails rasping along my unshaven jaw—and I realize two important things.

One, I can’t ignore any longer than I’m attracted to Klay.

It’s like trying to ignore an erupting volcano. It’s not going away.

Two, the passion between the three of us is circular.

Flowing both directions. When I hunger for one of them, I hunger for both. It’s never for one now—it’s always for two.

Arriving in Wendy’s bedroom tonight, I was horny as sin for her. But as that feeling rose and took shape, it included them both, naturally. And the same thing is happening now. As I break the kiss reluctantly and carry her over the threshold into the abandoned house like the precious cargo she is, she reaches her other hand out for Klay and it satisfies my soul to watch their hands connect. There’s no jealousy. There’s only this sense of rightness between the three of us.

It’s right. It’s permanent.

She’s ours.

I settle Wendy onto her feet and resume my post on her right side. Each of her hands holds one of ours, a slight tremor passing through her. That little tremble causes us both a great deal of distress. Klay’s throat flexes with an anxious swallow and my temples pound, a knot forming beneath my Adam’s apple. This girl should never be anything

but happy, goddammit, and this place is doing the opposite to her with its moldy smell and rotted floorboards.

We trail our mouths up her shoulders, along the slope of her neck, a touch meant to comfort—and it eventually works. She stops shaking.

“That was my room. Back that way.” She tips her chin toward a dark hallway leading from the kitchen where we’re standing toward the rear of the small house. “He would… leave me a loaf of bread and some water. Lock the door and leave…sometimes for two weeks. Longer. Once I managed to pick the lock and get out. It made him furious. Furious.

Because it was all about control. That’s still what it’s about for him.”

Klay’s jaw looks ready to snap. Mine is much the same.

God help this man if we ever come across him. I’ll strangle him with his entrails in her honor…

The thought is halfway through my mind when I spy a du el bag in the corner of the kitchen. It’s black, blending in, but the metallic zipper winks at me from across the room.

With a final kiss to Wendy’s shoulder, I disentangle myself and cross to the bag, hunkering down in front of it, noting it’s not covered in dust like everything else in the house.

“He’s been here.”

Wendy sti ens.

Klay’s gaze flies to the back hallway. “Stay here,” he instructs her, disappearing into the black before I can stop him. He should have let me do the searching. My back teeth grind together, but I relax when he emerges safely a moment later. “Empty. But no doubt he’ll come back.” He studies Wendy and moment, then moves to the kitchen sink, opening the cabinet below. He crouches down, hesitating for a beat before reaching inside and bringing a bottle through the opening. In the near darkness, I can’t read the label, but

when he pops o the top, I can’t the distinct scent of lighter fluid.

Slowly, Klay moves back in front of Wendy, putting it in her hand.

Then he cups her cheek and speaks to her in that hypnotic way of his, tone low and rich. Impossible to ignore and easy to get lost in. “You can’t get rid of the memories, Wendy, but you can replace them with something else. Something you controlled.” He slides a booklet of matches out of his back pocket, tossing them onto the kitchen table. “Don’t remember this place as your prison. Remember it as a pile of ash. Burn it all down.”

CHAPTER 7

Wendy

P OWER TICKLES the tips of my fingers. They flex around the bottle of lighter fluid.

I’m not a destructive person, but I can’t deny the pressure that climbs my throat at Klay’s suggestion. Burn it all down.

And I realize all along that’s what I’ve wanted. This place is symbolic of the pain. The past. The fact that it remains standing has been an o ense to me. A needle jabbing into my throat. When I drive somewhere, I intentionally avoid this remote section of town. It has power over me.

Klay is right. I might not be able to confront my father, as I’d hoped.

But is this the next best thing? Setting fire to the pain?

Will that give me closure?

There’s only one way to find out. Pressing my lips together, I unscrew the cap and set it on the table beside the book of matches, upending the bottle as I circle the room.

Liquid hits the floor, leaving patterns as I walk. I leave a trail all the way to my hated bedroom, pouring a little extra on the door itself, so it can never be locked again, and I make

my way back to Klay and Ruger who appear anxious to have let me out of their sight for mere seconds.

And oddly…that is what sends power rippling through me.

Not the lighter fluid. Not entirely.

It’s these two huge, intense, adoring men.

They’re here for me. They broke out of prison to find me.

Claim me.

I’ve claimed them in the process, haven’t I? There’s no use denying it. Not when I turn achy and flushed just being in the same room with them. Knowing they want to savage my body. Knowing that, by some stroke of a miracle, I’m the person binding them together. I’m their third. I was always destined to be the completion of their circle, whether any of us knew it or not.

That’s where my power to overcome the past is going to come from.

Now I have the strength of three, instead of one.

I drop the bottle of light fluid, lust crackling up my thighs. The need to feel that power. Harness it. Right here and now. I know how to replace the bad memories with good.

With them.

Klay and Ruger.

With my breath beginning to grow short, I strip o the dress I threw on before leaving my house, my nipples puckering at their sharp hisses of breath. “Make me forget,” I whisper, dragging my panties down to my ankles slowly and stepping out of them. In my heeled sandals, I glide to the kitchen table and place my palms flat on the surface. And with their ravenous male gazes devouring me, exhilaration climbs my spine. Anticipation. I’m so primed for touch that when a pair of hands grip my hips, I sob loudly, my feminine muscles contracting between my legs. “Yes.” “You want it from behind?” Klay growls into my neck, yanking my butt back into his lap. “From who, baby? Your

choice.”

“Both of you,” I breathe.

Klay’s muscles fill with tension.

There’s a click inside of me, however.

I’m the bond. The mortar that holds the three of us fast.

But my responsibility goes further. They’ve brought me here to purge my demons…but not until they do the same.

Specifically Klay. Ruger has his share of heartache, but it’s largely been cured by his best friend already. He’s one step away from being complete, while Klay is a few emotional steps behind.

I turn around in Klay’s arms and cradle his rigid jaw in my hands. “My choice is both of you.” Leaning in, I kiss his mouth until he’s straining in his jeans, hoarse sounds coming from deep in his throat. “You’ll have me. And he’ll have you.”

Klay makes a ragged sound, halfway between a laugh and a cough. “That’s not possible. I don’t…Ruger and me…we’re not like that with each other.”

“No?” I reach out for Ruger and he appears beside us, his usual eager, conflicted self. There’s no doubt he’s overheard what’s been said, because he looks Klay in the eye fleetingly, then down at the ground. My heart swims with love for both of them in that moment. For Klay and all his complications and potential. For Ruger with his big, beautiful heart. With a sense of immense purpose I’ve never experienced in my life, I take Ruger’s hand and guide it down to Klay’s erection.

“Rub him while we kiss.”

Klay makes a choked noise, his chest shuddering up and down when Ruger starts to massage him slowly, up and down, through the fly of his jeans.

“Say out loud that it feels good,” I whisper against Klay’s mouth.

“I can’t,” he pants.

“Why?” “That’s…not who I’m supposed to me. I’m already a fucking thief.” He kisses me hard, almost angrily. “This one last domino falls and I’m…there’s no part of me that he’d approve of.”

Ruger’s hand stills a moment, before it resumes stroking Klay’s distended shaft. But now his mouth is open against Klay’s shoulder, as if dying to kiss his skin, but afraid of the repercussions. For my part, I feel as though I’ve just unlocked this man. I’ve just had the curtain pulled back and I know him. Know his heart. “Your father. He’s got a hold on you, same as mine does, but for di erent reasons.” I trace my tongue along the seam of his mouth. “Let it all go.”

“Easier said than done.”

“If you do it, so will I,” I say back—and that’s what gets him.

Klay wants me to be healed. Badly enough to trounce his own insecurities?

Yes. Yes. Very slowly, he inhales and exhales, looking my square in the eye. Letting me share all of his anguish. And then he looks over at Ruger, granting him some of that pain as well. So we can help him carry it. Then Klay does something that I couldn’t have expected, but increases my love and a ection for him tenfold.

He leans over and captures Ruger’s mouth.

Ruger’s eyes fly open in shock, then drift shut, his lips opening against Klay’s. The men break away with a growl, then dive back together, the kiss’s intensity skyrocketing.

Ruger’s fingers tug downward on Klay’s zipper, freeing his sex and pumping his hand up and down the hard, bare flesh eagerly, bringing droplets of precome to the head. While continuing to kiss After kissing Ruger one more time with

unleashed hunger, Klay spins me around, pressing me face down over the table.

“That make you wet, baby?” Klay rasps, delivering a rough spank across my upturned bottom. And it’s a good thing that, oh God yes, watching them kiss turned my flesh damp and pliant, because Klay isn’t gentle when he enters me. I scream. I scream at the fullness, the ownership, the sense of homecoming. “You want me to admit I’ve fantasized about…”

Klay’s voice trails o .

“What?” I breathe.

“Him sucking my cock in the prison showers? I know he wants to. He fucking stares at it and thinks I don’t notice him dripping come down his leg,” Klay grinds out, his voice barely audible. “Is that what you want to hear, Wendy?”

“Yes,” I whimper, receiving several hard thrusts in response.

The table skids across the floor of the kitchen, taking us with it, and it wedges against the far wall, right in front of a dirty window. A window overlooking the overgrown side yard and also a ords me a hazy view of what’s happening behind me.

“Can I, Klay?” Ruger asks, thickly. “Your…ass?”

In answer, Klay bends low over my back, pinning me down with his chest. Presenting himself to Ruger with eyes squeezed shut, flared nostrils and a heaving chest. “Be rough. Our woman is the only soft we need. Our fuck is hard, understand? Man to man.”

“Man to man,” Ruger repeats, looming behind Klay, forehead glistening with sweat.

Big and wild.

Finally set free. Given permission.

He fumbles with the zipper of his pants. “I’d have sucked your dick for you in the showers, Klay,” he groans, his hand

rifling up and down his sti ness, neck muscles straining.

“I’d have sucked it in front of everyone.”

Klay pumps into me, frenzied, groaning over the admission. “Don’t worry, you’ll be sucking it all the goddamn time. If kissing you makes her pussy this slippery, I can’t even imagine how wet it’ll make her to watch my cock disappear down your throat.” Klay grips the back of my hair, hauling my head up. “You perfect little treasure. You sweet fucking angel. Look what you’ve done—” He breaks o on a loud shout and I know, I know Ruger has thrust home inside of him, sure as Klay is inside of me. “Jesus. Jesus.”

Ruger’s labored breaths fill the kitchen. “Feels so good,” he slurs.

“Move,” Klay rasps after a moment, letting go of my hair in favor of wrapping a hand around my throat. “Help me fuck her. Her little thighs are already shaking.”

He’s right. They are.

Acknowledging how close I am somehow pushes me even nearer to the edge. I watch in the window as these two giant men press together, joining forces to ride me violently. I’m screaming myself hoarse, the table cracking against the wall over and over again, Klay’s stomach slapping wetly every time it meets my buttocks. My nails have dug grooves into the kitchen table, my nerve endings racing to gather in that one spot. That one spot between my thighs that tingles with overwhelming arousal. How could it not when I’m watching Ruger pump, slack-jawed, into Klay while Klay struggles to finish me before ejaculating. His face is etched in a combination of agony and pleasure. Both of their faces are— and so is mine. Because this is life. This is our life. We’ve found our home.

And I’ve found my power.

This is the equivalent of setting my helpless past on fire.

I’ll never be helpless again and I didn’t need matches to

believe it. I just needed these two men.

These two men I love.

My orgasm starts to crest and I tilt my hips, whining their names. “Harder, harder.”

Their twin growls fill the room and then I get a hard slam, both of them powering forward at once and holding, holding as all three of us climax at the same time, our bodies shaking through the ultimate release that could only happen with us all together. Like this. Without shame or holding back. Just full acceptance of our needs.

“Ruger,” I whimper, my intimate muscles flexing around Klay’s hardness. “Klay.”

“We’re here, Wendy,” Ruger grunts, his hand riding up Klay’s spine, fingers twining in his friend’s hair as he works his hips, letting out the remainder of his seed.

“Yes,” Klay says, struggling to inhale and exhale, his mouth unruly on my neck. “We’re here. We’ll always be here.

You are ours.”

“Ours,” Ruger growls. “Forever.”

“We’re each other’s,” I whisper, falling replete to the table.

A moment later, I’m swept up into Klay’s arms. He turns and I’m cradled between the two men, awe written on their features. They take turns kissing my forehead and mouth, then—after a small hesitation—doing the same with each other.

“Is it crazy that I already love you…” I say quietly, my chest packed with emotion. “Both of you? I love…this. I love us. It feels like we are exactly what was supposed to happen.”

Ruger makes a sound. “You’re not crazy, Wendy. I love you, too.” He swallows hard. “Both of you.”

Klay holds me closer. Tighter. “I love you,” he says, feeling packed into every word. It takes him a couple of extra

ticks to look at Ruger, his throat working in patters. “Both.

Both of you.”

Ruger jolts, looking shocked.

At least until Klay gives him a slow grin and Ruger melts further into our circle, pressing tightly to my side, happiness transforming him from anxious to complete. I can barely breathe around the joy spreading in my chest. At watching these men grow. Knowing I’m theirs and they are mine.

“Wherever you’re going, I’m going with you.” The very idea of being without these two men fills me with astronomical fear. So much that I sit up suddenly, ordering without words for them to cram in tight around me. Anchor me. “I won’t let the police find you and lock you up again. I can’t.”

“That won’t happen,” Klay murmurs fervently into my hair, calming my pulse slightly. “Nothing is going to keep us from you. Not ever.”

“I might have something to say about that,” says a familiar voice. “That child there is my property and it’s about damn time she comes home to earn her keep.”

My father is standing in the doorway, his signature sneer twisting his features.

The lining of my stomach turns to acid, my knees beginning to tremble like they did when I was a little girl. I have an embarrassing impulse to run as fast as possible to my old room and hide under the bed. But then I remember I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown woman with a new life. A job and a home…and two men who love me. Need me. Have opened themselves up to me and tried to cure me of my fear in the process.

Both of them have fixed their clothing and are now bristling, preparing for a fight. Possibly even ready to kill my father. And they could—easily. Especially when my safety is at stake. I can see that. A moment ago, they were my tender lovers, but right now, they are hardened and dangerous. Eyes

glittering, jaws full of tension. An eerie calm has settled over Klay while Ruger wears a mask of fury, just waiting for the word so he can attack.

It’s when I’m looking at them that I realize…they have cured me.

Or rather, encouraged me to cure myself.

I’m not running anywhere as long as these two are by my side.

I’m a woman capable of turning three lost souls into an unlikely threesome. I’m the glue these two men need and they’re mine. I now have the power of three instead of one inside of me and that strong bond can’t be broken by my father’s hate or thirst for control. In fact, as I look at his sagging jowls and hunched frame, the very idea is laughable.

“Klay,” Ruger says. “As soon as I’ve got him out of the doorway, bring her outside and I’ll handle the rest.”

“Sound plan, mate,” Klay responds without missing a beat. “Do be careful. A man like that doesn’t issue a challenge unless he has a weapon hidden somewhere.”

Ruger grunts and starts forward, but I stop him with a hand on his elbow. “No.” My lovers turn to me with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t need him…handled. I’m not afraid of him anymore.” I laugh a little incredulously to myself, then sober, putting some steel in my spine. “It’s a far worse punishment to let him live, anyway. Let’s go home.”

“I’d really like to kill him, Wendy,” Ruger rasps, nostrils flaring.

I smooth my hand up Ruger’s spine and his eyelids droop, sti ness draining from his muscles. “You’re not a killer anymore.” I lean over and kiss Klay, lightly. A tease of lips.

“And they don’t decide our actions ever again,” I whisper, referring not only to my father, but Klay’s.

Klay blinks several times to camouflage the emotion in his blue eyes, but it’s there and eventually he stops trying to hide it. I reward him with a smile and take hold of the hands of both men, walking as one unit toward the door.

When we’ve almost reached where my father is standing, his bravado begins to crumble. He knows it’s over. He has nothing and no one to control or terrorize anymore. And in that panic, he produces a butcher knife from the inside of his dirty jacket, the steel glinting in the moonlight. My skin turns clammy and cold. One again, the fear threatens to rear its ugly head, but I force myself to calm down. Instead of running or letting Ruger attempt to disarm my father, I simply reach back and pick up the matches left behind on the kitchen table.

I strike one and throw it down on the twirling pattern of lighter fluid—and I watch the flames zip o down the hallway like I used to do.

“What—no! I have nowhere else to go!” My father drops the knife and looks around frantically for a way to put out the fire. Of course, there is none, so he strips o his shirt and tries to pat out the flames. But it’s already too late.

The last time I see my father is when we’re driving away and I watch his silhouette among the flames, looking like the devil himself, still trying to quell the fire.

And when I hear the roof cave in with a sickening crash, I don’t bother looking back.

I simply allow Ruger to pull me into his lap. I meet Klay’s reassuring eyes in the rearview mirror and I know that with the past in ashes, we’re going to build a beautiful future.

EPILOGUE

Ruger

Five Years Later

I CLOSE my eyes and listen to the breath rattling in and out of my lungs.

The sound of ocean surf seems distant, even though our house is right on the beach. Klay is out there with Wendy.

Swimming. They love to swim, especially in the turquoise waters of Mexico. I’m usually out there with them, reminding them to wear sunscreen, but today is a special day. My birthday. So they’re giving me the gift of a slow tease. Divine torture.

I’ve been roped to this headboard for hours without a stitch of clothing on. A homemade sex tape featuring me, Klay and Wendy plays on the flatscreen. It’s been going for hours, the sounds of moaning and wet smacks filling the airy bedroom. My cock is like a monument pointing straight up from my lap and I’ve about reached my breaking point.

Cracking an eye open, I watch myself ride Klay from behind like a horny beggar, my hips pumping desperately, sweat dripping from my forehead to his back. I’m grunting, keening, grinding out their names in a chant. And all the while, Wendy kneels in front of Klay, stroking his dick, slowly, petting her pussy with the opposite fingers. Watching us with lust and approval and encouragement in her gorgeous eyes.

She leans forward to kiss Klay, but he keeps having to break o to moan.

Because of what I’m doing to him.

Now, I shift my hips on the bed, pulling at the restraints, searching anxiously for some kind of friction or relief, but there’s none to be had. The frustration and anticipation make me hotter, though. Puts a fine sheen of sweat all over my body.

One afternoon a couple of years ago, the three of us discovered how much I love being teased while watching Klay and Wendy fuck. Klay told me he’d let me join if I could watch for twenty minutes without laying a finger on my shaft—and by the time those twenty minutes were up, I was burning alive. We almost broke the bed after that.

The game has escalated a lot since then—as it has today —and I love it. Crave it.

We don’t play it all the time. Our relationship is loving and committed. Equal in all ways. No one is ever left out. No one is ever jealous. We each have an important role. Without one of us, the balance would be o . And the love we have for each other only grows stronger with each passing year here on the beach.

After the night Wendy torched her childhood home, we went back to her house, packed her things and drove to Mexico. From there, she sold her house and invested in our bungalow on the beach. She works as a manager at a nearby

boutique hotel, which comes very highly rated, due in part to the signature scent given to each room. Sometimes me and Klay worry she misses her old job in scent branding, because she operated on a much larger scale, but she always finds a way to reassure us.

My whole heart is here. With you. My men.

I covet this life and I’ll never wish for a second to be anywhere else.

I hear Wendy’s voice saying those words and I sigh warmly, trying to will her into the doorway. Her and Klay. I need their mouths and hands on my skin. Did someone turn up the volume on the television? I can’t tell if the sound of panting is coming from me or the speakers— “Had enough, mate?” Klay asks, sauntering into the room, board shorts riding low on his hips, his skin bronzed from the sun—as is mine—thanks to our job taking tourists out on chartered fishing tours. When we arrived in Mexico, neither one of us knew a damn thing about fishing, but Klay faked it until he made it, getting us jobs as crew members on a vessel. When we’d made enough cash and knew the trade, we bought the boat and started running tours ourselves. We spend our days on the water now, in the wheelhouse together, usually plotting out how we’ll make Wendy moan when we arrive back on land.

Speaking of our woman, she glides into the room in nothing but a white bikini bottom, her tits jiggling with every step. A strangled groan escapes me at the sight, precome dribbling down the side of my erection. “Please,” I manage through my teeth.

“Mmmm.” Klay picks up the remote and turns o the television, leaving the room quiet, except for the ocean waves and my labored breathing. “He said please, Wendy.”

“I heard him,” she purrs, walking her fingertips up my inner thigh. “So polite.”

Klay rubs himself through his shorts and I watch hungrily, hips shifting, my gaze bouncing back and forth between him and Wendy. “Or he would be, if his cock wasn’t leaking everywhere,” Klay drawls. “Maybe he needs a little longer before we give him his birthday present.”

“No,” I protest, even as excitement races up and down my spine. “Please—" Before I can get the word out, Klay has drawn Wendy into his arms. He’s kissing her, his right hand down the back of her bikini bottoms, massaging her delectable cheeks. While looking at me, he continues to kiss her, yanking down the bathing suit and slapping the taut flesh.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, he knows I love it when he spanks her.

Especially because she aches for that crack of his palm.

She whimpers now, writhing closer to Klay’s body, but he grips the back of her neck, turns her around to face me and angles her face down over the bed, delivering another slap to her butt. Another. Another. Her eyes are on me, glazed with arousal, blonde hair in a tumble around her shoulders, lips swollen, her cries turning sweeter every time Klay spanks her ass.

Our woman needs satisfaction. So do I. We’re well past the breaking point.

My hips rear o the bed. “Please.”

Klay’s chest shudders up and down as he twists Wendy’s hair in a fist, blessedly guiding her mouth toward my lap.

Her mouth hasn’t even reached me yet and I’m already groaning, pumping my hips crudely. “Suck him so sweet, baby,” Klay murmurs. “Make him grateful to be a man just so he has a cock to put in your perfect mouth.”

Wendy’s breath stutters out, her lips pausing right over the head of my swollen tip. “Just me, Klay?” She dips her mouth down over me, enveloping the top third of my dick in warmth, my balls tightening with pressure. Agony. I yank on

the restraints. I’m almost too lost in my lust to register what Wendy said. Just me, Klay? Does that mean…

My pulse turns erratic as Klay lets go of Wendy’s hair and gets down on his belly, on the opposite side of my body than Wendy. He watches up close as she sinks my inches into her mouth, further and further until I hit the resistance of her throat. Is he going to…

No. No, he lets me go down on him, but never the reverse. He loves directing Wendy to do it—and obviously, so do I. I’m never unsatisfied for a single second.

Klay, though…his mouth on me there? I’ve never even hoped for such a thing.

But when Wendy pops me free of her lips this time, Klay looks me right in the eye and sucks me hard into the recesses of his mouth, pulling deeply and slowly on the way back up, his throat vibrating with his pleased groan. My heart slams into my eardrums, the muscles of my stomach knitting together, signaling the end. No, no, no. I yank on my restraints and hold on tight, breath slicing in and out, watching through a haze of lust as Klay gets into a rhythm, his lips riding up and down the thick stalk of my cock, Wendy watching with building excitement, her fingers working between her thighs. Wetting herself for us.

“Klay…” The room spins around me. “Wendy.”

Klay wraps two hands around me, jerking and twisting me toward his mouth and I dig my heels into the bed, the headboard groaning under the strain of my constant pulling.

I’m speaking in gibberish, Wendy is kissing my hips and thighs comfortingly and Klay…he’s going to bring me o . Of fuck, he’s going to bring me o . I’m going to come so hard— He takes his mouth away at the last second.

I growl a curse at the ceiling, sweat dripping down the sides of my face. “Fuck. Fuck!”

With a smirk tilting his lips, Klay grips Wendy around the waist, lifting her up and settling her on my lap, her bathing suit bottoms gone, leaving her totally, beautifully bare from head to toe. I grit my teeth as Klay guides my throbbing cock to her wet cunt and settles her right on top of it. “Ride him,” he grits out, slapping her ass. “Let’s see how long he can last inside that tight little pussy.”

Biting her lip, Wendy slowly slides her knees wide, her body taking me inside in degrees, her mouth opening in ecstasy the further she gets to housing all of me. And God, God, she is so tight. No matter how many ways or how often we fuck her, her cunt is like goddamn elastic, bouncing right back to its original shape. She whines my name and wiggles down, her hands flat on my chest, her sun-kissed tits tempting me from above. “You fill me so perfectly,” she says haltingly, falling forward to kiss my mouth, her little hips starting to work me in and out of her narrow cunt. “I’m such a lucky girl, getting to play with the birthday boy.”

I can’t even respond because she’s bouncing on me now, filling my shaft with unimaginable pleasure and hypnotizing me with her jiggling rack. And then Klay is behind Wendy, devouring her neck in a kiss, pressing her down more securely on top of me. Her tits are buried in my chest, our mouth mating frantically, her body jolting when Klay uncaps a bottle, pours a good helping of liquid onto Wendy’s back entrance and fills her ass.

She breaks our kiss with a whimper.

She’s trapped between her men.

Impaled by us both.

At our mercy, where we like her.

Klay meets my eyes over her shoulder and we trade a nod, simultaneously thrusting into her like savages, beating up her tight, wet pussy and asshole, grunting our pleasure,

leaving bite marks on her skin, the bed loudly scraping back and forth on the floor.

Best birthday ever.

I don’t realize I’ve said the words out loud until Klay says, “You haven’t even gotten your present yet.”

I’m pretty sure I have, because I’m in bed with the two most incredible people in the world, so I sco . “Yes, I have.”

“No,” Wendy says, licking into my mouth for a kiss, then pulling away just enough to lock me in her sights. “I stopped taking my birth control, Ruger.” She works her hips faster, faster, Klay bucking into her from above, his face contorted with desperation. “You’re going to breed me. You’re going to be the father of our child.”

My heart shoots up into my throat, my head reeling from her declaration. “What? Me? No, it should be Klay—” “No,” she whispers against my lips.

“No,” Klay echoes from above, shaking his head.

The writhes of her hips slow down slightly, turning into more of a wet grind. “We want him or her to have your heart,” Wendy says quietly, such warmth in her tone that I can’t force a swallow. “You’ll fill me up, Ruger. You’ll make us a family.”

Purpose like I’ve never known expands my chest and my body makes the decision before my mind reaches one, my hips driving up o the bed, slapping my big cock into Wendy, Klay and Wendy shining their love down on me as I hit a mind-blowing completion. Klay shoves Wendy’s hips down and holds her still while I moan brokenly, pressure exiting my body in a mad rush. Halfway through my orgasm, Klay gets so turned on that he starts pounding again, his fingers sneaking around to rub Wendy’s clit—and they both follow me over the edge.

“I love you,” I manage around the emotion in my throat.

“I love you both so much.”

Klay and Wendy settle on either side of me, arms and legs wrapping around bodies to keep one another as close as possible. Forever. Forming one unit that will never be broken. “We love you, too,” they murmur at the same time, all three of us drifting o to the lulling rhythm of the ocean, our future brighter than the Mexican sun.

THE END For a full catalogue of Jessa Kane titles, visit: https://www.jessakaneauthor.com OUT NOW If you liked Caught by the Convicts, you will also enjoy Their Summer Intern…

Zoe was only planning to work for her powerful stepbrothers, Jacob and Bridger, until she could gather enough cash to take the adventure of a lifetime. But the first time all three step-siblings are in the same boardroom together, an entirely di erent adventure begins to take shape. One that’s a little twisted…and a lot satisfying. Zoe struggles against letting these formidable men overwhelm her too completely, but they’re more than willing to fight the battle until she surrenders…and becomes theirs forever.

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