I sit up straight. “You lead your MC?” It’s not surprising, given their personalities, but I’m startled by the brothers’ complete lack of any need to boast about it. They clearly don’t get their self-esteem from external factors.

“We assumed the leadership around the same time we bought the bar.”

Bacon’s sizzling on the stove now. “How do you like your eggs, sweetness?” Jake asks.

“I could probably eat them raw this morning,” I tell him. “Any way you’re fixing them is fine.”

The casual, contented smile he gives me in response does something funny to my stomach.

I never pictured any of this in my wild biker dreams. A normal kitchen, a typical breakfast, the everyday intimacy of being together in the morning. Not that there’s anything typical about these two beautiful men.

But outside of the bedroom and the biker bar, I’m struck for maybe the first time with the realization that they are real men. Not bad boy fantasies, but real men.

Living out my crazy fantasy was supposed to get the biker type out of my system, but I’m afraid the opposite is happening. If I’m not careful, my impractical, unsuitable yearnings could become something much more real.

Luckily — outside of last night’s adventure — I am the careful type.

It’s not long before Jakes sets a delicious-looking plate of food in front of me, along with toast prepared by Deke. The two of them work together seamlessly in the kitchen, which doesn’t surprise me after witnessing their teamwork in the bedroom.

“Eat up, sugar. You’re gonna need your energy,” Jake says.

I ignore the innuendo — still not sure how and when I can make a graceful exit — and dig into my breakfast. Jake made a scramble, incorporating bacon, cheese, and even some herbs that I think might be chives.

“This is delicious,” I tell him, certain that I’d find it equally as good even if I weren’t starving.

He nods his thanks as he and Deke join me at the table. We’re all silent for several minutes as we refuel our bodies. Busy battling my unruly desires, I don’t meet their eyes directly.

I was certain this freedom-loving pair would be happy to say goodbye after our marathon night. Even though their focus has been on my pleasure, they’ve had theirs too. But I underestimated their stamina, and — ironically — their freedom to rearrange their schedules on a whim.

And that’s all this is, a whim. They’re having fun with me, and they’re not ready for it to end yet. Maybe, for once, I should ignore my responsible nature a bit longer and give in. My whims are usually about shopping or food, not sex, but there’s no reason I can’t indulge this once.

“Heavy thoughts?” The question comes from Deke, who’s been watching me while seeming not to. Very observant, these twins, and not just of how my body responds to them in bed.

I know “It’s nothing” or “I’m fine” won’t fly with him. Out of delaying tactics, I opt for honesty. “I’m a very responsible person.”

“I’m getting that.”

There’s no censure in his tone, but I feel myself flush. “I just mean something like this is … a real departure for me. I’m fighting myself on it.”

“Ah.” Understanding and mischief mingle in his eyes. “You want us to help you make up your mind?”

“No,” I say, laughing. “I know exactly how you’d ‘help’.”

Jake takes my empty plate and his own to the sink. Are the muscles in his shoulders tense, or is that my imagination? He doesn’t speak. “Jake?”

He turns, staying where he is, both hands resting casually on the counter behind him. There’s no anger in his face, and I let myself relax. And then he says, “Yeah, sugar.” The heat in his eyes matches the pure sensual invitation of his tone, and I start to melt.

I’ve never known a man who could seduce me without even touching me. “You’re dangerous, you know. If you could bottle that voice, you’d make millions.”

The slow smile he gives me in response makes my toes curl. And then Deke leans in and brushes his lips against the side of my neck, and I have to close my eyes against the onslaught of need and sensation.

Jake joins us, and the time for discussion — and being able to form a coherent thought — is over.

* * *

It’s hours later when the brothers decide it’s time for a break. True to their word, they’ve kept me in bed all day. They’re insatiable, creative, and always considerate.

I finally persuaded them to let me take care of them a little … so now I know what it’s like to give Deke a blowjob while Jake goes down on me from behind. And then, of course, they traded places and we did it all again.

Yummy.

We’ve showered — together, this time, which was all kinds of slippery fun — and eaten another meal, grilled chicken, potatoes, and salad. Simple but delicious.

We're cleaning up the kitchen, and through the window I can see it's nearly dark outside, when Jake announces, “We need to check in at the bar.”

A twinge of sadness flickers. Time to get back to the real world.

“I'll get my stuff.” I find my purse in the bedroom and make sure my phone is still inside. It is, but it’s dead — I should have asked if I could charge it, but I’ve been too distracted by hot bodies and hotter sex.

Jake is waiting for me by the door. Outside, we find Deke in the driveway straddling a big, beautiful Harley. The sight of him on it stirs some primitive response in me. It must be how women used to feel, seeing a warrior astride a horse. Despite our sexathon, I’m getting turned on again.

It must be written all over my face, too, because one corner of Deke’s mouth curls up in a way that makes me want to kiss him until he hauls me back inside the house. He’s got shades on, but if I could see his eyes they’d no doubt be melting my panties right off my body.

I wish I could join in him on the bike — I've always wanted to ride but I've never had an opportunity — but I'm not exactly dressed for it in my denim skirt from last night.

Jake opens the door of the truck for me. “Hop in, sugar.” When he gets in, he asks for my address.

“My car’s at the bar,” I remind him.

“It'll be safe for the weekend.”

The weekend? A thrill runs up my spine even as I automatically protest. “What are you talking about?”

“You don't have to work tomorrow, do you?”

“No, but—”

“The club’s going for a ride — to Hathaway. Ever been?”

He’s inviting me to go for a ride with the MC? I glance out at Deke, looking sexy as hell on his Harley, and imagine myself wrapped around him, feeling the wind on my face and the rumble of the bike beneath me.

Going on a ride with them would be the full biker experience — though, sexually, these past 24 hours have already been the fullest experience I’ve ever had in my life.

“No, I’ve never been there,” I say cautiously. Hathaway’s a small town near the base of the mountains — an artsy tourist spot with quirky shops and restaurants, from what I’ve heard.

“How ‘bout I take you to your place? You can grab some clothes, I’ll check in at Wheels, then the three of us can come back here and pick up where we left off.”

I’m still staring at Deke, then I look over at Jake. I’m surrounded by twin perfection and I’m reluctant for things to end, even though I know they should. I didn’t have any plans this weekend. I can’t think of any good reason to say no. And I know if I agree, later I’ll be saying, “Yes, oh yes!”

Jake seems to read the agreement in my eyes. “Where to?”

After I give him my address, we’re quiet during the drive, but it’s a comfortable silence. Fifteen minutes later, we pull up outside my apartment.

“You’re just about halfway between me and Deke,” Jake says musingly. When I shoot him a look, not sure what he’s getting at, he hitches one shoulder and smiles a little. “Handy.”

Is Jake imagining some kind of future for us three? More marathon bedroom sessions? I’m not sure how I feel about that. Parts of me are very sure how they feel — my skin is tingling in response to his words — but what would it mean?

At my apartment, I invite Jake in. He looks even more mammoth in my little one-bedroom unit.

“Can I get you anything?” He shakes his head. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

I change my clothes and quickly pull together a few small personal care items. When I return to the living room, he’s at the shelf, looking over my collection.

“What are all these?” he asks.

“Music boxes. You can wind them if you like.”

“You have a lot of them.” I watch him turn over one that features a ballerina, and I smile at the incongruity of this big, burly, tatted man holding the delicate porcelain dancer.

“I’ve been collecting them since I was six.”

“Cool,” is all he says, turning back to face me. “Jeans. Good.” He nods approval at my appearance — denim and a black shirt. I’ll fit in at Wheels this time. “Got stuff for the rest of the weekend?” he asks.

When I nod, he adds, “Don’t know why I’m asking. Aside from the ride, you won’t be needing clothes.”