In MIB Custody [The Service Club 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (8 page)

“Damn, Dannie, you taste good.”

Sure, rub it in, asshole.
Lowell gritted his teeth and forced himself to breathe.

“So wet, so hot.” Zane’s words were muffled by her pussy.

Lowell’s self-control was tempted further by the sounds of Zane’s tongue lapping at her juices. His mind jumped tracks, already planning his friend’s demise. The payback for this one was going to be a real bitch for Zane.

“Give me one of your hands, Dannie. Lowell won’t let you fall.”

Lowell tightened his arms around her for good measure as she slowly unlaced her fingers. She kept one hand locked around his neck as she brought the other one down for Zane as he had told her to do. She lifted her head, and Lowell followed her gaze, watching as Zane guided her hand between her legs.

“Touch yourself for me.” Zane sat back on his heels, careful not to unbalance her with her foot still on his shoulder. “I want you to feel how hot and wet you are.”

“I already know. It’s always like this.” Torment shook her voice and wound a band around Lowell’s heart.

“You mean when you dream of us, darlin’? Are you always this hot and wet when we visit you in your fantasies?”

“Yes.” The word was barely audible over the rush of breath that expelled from his lungs.

“Show him,” Zane ordered her. “Get your fingers nice and wet and present them to Lowell.”

Danica angled her head and looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and consumed with passion. The hand she lifted in front of his face trembled slightly, but she apparently had enough strength to still be naughty. Her lips unfolded in a vixen grin as she painted his mouth with her juices.

Lowell held her gaze, warning her with a hard look that he wouldn’t allow her to tease him like this for long. He moved his head in a half circle, caught her fingers with his lips, and sucked them into his mouth. He licked them free of her thick, sweet cream before allowing them to fall from his mouth with an audible pop.

Triumph flashed in her eyes before they widened in surprise, then closed once more. Her head fell back to his chest, her hand returning to his nape with the other. Nails started biting into his flesh, the sharp sensation ricocheting straight to his balls.

The slurping sounds from before returned, and Lowell knew Zane had gone back to eating her cunt. Whatever he was doing to her this time had her clawing toward the edge.

Don’t let her come.

Danica’s nails dug deeper into his nape as her soft moans grew louder. She jerked against him, attempting to gyrate in his arms, and he knew she was almost there.

He didn’t bother to warn Zane. His friend could read a woman as well as he could. Zane proved him right a nanosecond later when he pulled back, eased Danica’s foot off his shoulder, and straightened in front of her.

“N—” Danica caught the word before it spilled from her lips as her eyes shot open and she found Zane gazing down at her.

A sinful smile tilted one corner of his lips. “There’s a reason I chose that particular safe word, Dannie. It keeps you from protesting, even in a situation where a safe word wouldn’t be necessary anyway. We want you begging, screaming, but not arguing about what we do to you. If it becomes too much, you have your way to stop it. But, if you want it to continue, you won’t complain.”

“You’re more vicious than he is.” She jerked her head back, meaning to use the move as a way to point to Lowell since her hands were still locked around his nape and his hold on her hadn’t loosened an inch. Instead, she nearly smacked him in the nose.

Zane dragged his thumb beneath her lip, then cupped her chin. “No, I’m as determined as he is to show you as much pleasure as possible tonight.”

“You’re determined to keep me pissed off tonight,” she shot back. Damn it, the burn in her pussy was so intense it felt as though it were searing its way through her soul. She couldn’t stand this, always getting so close and then having it so ruthlessly ripped away. They did it to her in her dreams, now they had done it to her again, and she knew for a fact she was fully awake this time. “I was just about to come, damn you.”

“About that.” Lowell slid both his arms to her waist and cuddled her close. Zane’s hand dropped from her chin as Lowell turned her slightly and leaned over until they were nearly face-to-face. “Why don’t we call a truce for tonight?”

“Why don’t one of you make me come and I’ll consider it?”

Lowell threw back his head and laughed. He lifted his head again, his laughter slowly fading, and the depth of the emotions she saw consume his eyes took her breath away. “God, I missed you.”

Danica’s vision blurred, and she quickly blinked back the tears. Not quickly enough. He had seen them this time. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck!

“Not now, okay? I’ll agree to this truce, but it has to include this, too.”

He nodded once, and she swore she could almost see his heart in his eyes. “Truce. Got it. Then how about we eat?”

She waggled her brows. “That all depends on what I get to eat.”

Yes, she was flirting. So what? She had to do something to break the tension that out-of-the-blue declaration had caused. Gods, she had missed him, too. Being in his arms again, feeling his body against her, knowing that he and Zane were really there with her, had everything inside her twisted into one great big knot.

“Food, Dannie.”

The humor in Zane’s voice drew her attention to him. He was good for her and Lowell. He could be equally demanding and ruthless as Lowell, but he had a more sensitive side Lowell often lacked.

Used to lack, she corrected herself. She had seen more sensitivity in Lowell tonight than she had known the man possessed.

“I found a few boneless chicken breasts in your freezer. I had just finished defrosting them in the mic and was about to cut up some vegetables for fajitas when we heard you moaning.”

Danica shook her head and peeled herself from Lowell’s embrace. “We’ll include that particular conversation in the truce, too, okay guys?”

“I can live with that,” Zane agreed.

“And I can live with trying those fajitas you were about to cook. Let’s find out if you’re as good of a cook as you claim.”

He had told her he could cook during one of their hours-long phone conversations. The subject had gotten sidetracked, and she failed to ask where he had learned.

Danica snagged her thongs from the floor and adjusted her nightshirt on her shoulders. Zane’s hands closed over hers when she began refastening the buttons.

“That’s not necessary.” He pulled her hands back. “You won’t be needing this.”

Behind her, Lowell’s hands came to her shoulders, and he peeled the nightshirt down her arms.

Comfortable in her own skin, she didn’t bother to put up a fight. It was her house. Generally, she played by her own rules. There had been plenty of times when she had spent the day walking around buck naked. She knew she had a few more curves than a supermodel and the extra pounds to go with it. She wasn’t fat by any means, but she wasn’t a scarecrow either. She liked herself that way.

Head held high, she shrugged it off and led the way to the kitchen, putting an additional swing in her hips for the men’s view. Hey, they had called a truce for the night. She might as well have fun with it while she could.

“You’ve got one amazing ass, darlin’.” Lowell palmed said ass as he caught up and gave it a squeeze. “I’m gonna enjoy taking it later.”

Anticipation snaked from her still sodden pussy to her ass. “As long as you make me come, I don’t care where you take me.”

“How long’s it been?” Lowell drawled.

Danica saw Zane glance at her on his way to the refrigerator. She stopped at the small rectangular breakfast table, turned to lean against it, and faced Lowell.

She considered not answering. They had agreed to table this kind of discussion, not exactly this particular one, but the kind that her answer would lead them into. Then again, it was the perfect way to see how well Lowell would hold up his end of the bargain.

“Five years.”

Instant understanding swept through his eyes along with a keen male satisfaction that nearly made her laugh. Yes, he had been the last man, the only man, to ever fuck her ass.

Well, outside of her dreams. In her fantasies, it was usually Kalkin taking her from behind while she rode Lowell, but she didn’t see the need to tell either of them that right now.

Lowell held up his end well. He stared at her unspeaking for a long moment, then simply nodded. “We’ll need to prepare you before we do it.”

Devilish whips of heat slashed from her anus to her clit at that statement. She knew how a man prepared a woman for that. He had done it to her before, and it had been nothing short of maddening bliss.

She held his gaze for a moment longer and simply breathed in an effort to calm the anticipation making her want to be for him to please, please,
please
get started now. She knew better. He was just vindictive enough to make her wait if he knew how badly she wanted it. He and Zane were already holding her orgasms from her, and they knew damn well she needed that.

“So, where did you learn to cook?”

Zane had pulled open the refrigerator and was in the process of removing vegetables from the drawer. He had bent at the waist, affording her a view of his supremely tight, spectacular ass.

She licked her lips and dragged her gaze to his as he looked at her over his shoulder. His attention dropped to her mouth, followed the path of her tongue, and she imagined his cock jumping in his sweatpants at the sight. His eyes certainly heated, the bright blue darkening with a rapidly approaching sexual storm.

“Our housekeeper.” He turned his focus back on the refrigerator. “Her name is Madeline, but I always called her Maddie.”

“You grew up with a housekeeper?” She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had grown up on a ranch like most of the people in Horn Hill. Lowell had grown up with his grandparents on a ranch, and they’d had a cook. He had sold the ranch after his grandparents had passed barely two years before he had left town. He might be a cowboy from the brim of his Stetson to the toe of his boots, but he hadn’t wanted any part of owning a ranch. He had been hell bent on upholding the law.

Too hell bent.
She squashed the thought before it went any further.

“Didn’t you tell me you were raised in the city?”

“I did and I was. Washington, DC.” Zane straightened, pushed the refrigerator closed with one knee, and moved to the counter to offload his findings.

“He tends to think if people know he’s independently rich, they’ll think he’s a snob.”

“People do treat me differently.” Zane didn’t take his focus off his chore. “Very few people know, including those in the bureau, and I plan to keep it that way.”

Danica curled her fingers around the tabletop beneath her bottom and watched him. He moved gracefully around her kitchen, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing as he sliced, mixed, seasoned, and sampled. Every movement he made was decisive. Muscle and sinew on his forearm tightened as he opened a bottom cabinet, pulled out a nonstick skillet, and set it on the stovetop. He didn’t ask where she kept anything, leading her to believe he had already figured it out earlier when he had gone in search of something to fix, or she simply stored everything in the most obvious places.

“Just how rich are you?” She didn’t care. He could have two pennies and a dime to his name, and she wouldn’t care any less. Yet, the way he made it would like he was the sole heir to Bill Gates’s fortune did stroke her curiosity.

“Enough I would never have to work a day in my life if I didn’t want to.” He dumped the sliced chicken and sauce mixture into the pan, set the stove eye to medium heat, and dug in a nearby drawer for a spatula. “I come from a long line of miners, oilers, brokers, and bankers. All businessmen who worked or still work for the money that continues to grow and feed our family tree.”

“Is the FBI starting a new branch on that tree or making one stronger?”

He shot her a half smile over his shoulder as he reached for the plate of vegetables he had sliced. “Nice analogy.”

Danica shrugged. “I’m a writer. My editor tells me I should stay away from them, but I rarely listen. I do attempt to steer clear of the clichéd ones, though.”

“If my family has their way, my branch will fall off the tree when I’m gone.”

“Black sheep, huh?” She could relate. She had been the black sheep of the whole town her entire life. Not that the townsfolk really treated her as such. Still, she was the different branch on the town tree, the one most prayed no one else decided to follow no matter how successful she became.

“There seems to be one in every family. I’m ours.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you much.” She saw Lowell look at her out of the corner of her eye, the expression on his face telling her it stuck in Zane’s craw far more than he would ever admit.

“Why should it? It’s their problem, not mine, right?”

Who was he trying to convince, her or himself? Danica got the impression it was the latter, and the poor darling had been working to convince himself of it most of his life.

“Damn right it is,” Lowell said before Danica got the chance. “You didn’t go to New York like you always said you were gonna. What stopped you?”

It took Danica a moment to realize Lowell had changed the subject and that the spotlight was back on her. Making the transition took her additional time when he traced a fingertip around her softened nipple as he spoke.