The past few weeks have been . . . Adventurous. I’ll admit Reese keeps me on my toes. Especially now that he’s stronger and moving around more freely. In an unforeseen twist, Dev has backed off. I don’t know whether I rejected him one too many times or what, but he hasn’t cornered me in weeks. Don’t get me wrong, he and Reese are still two of the biggest, fattest flirts around, but at least, they’re bearable. What’s unbearable these days are my dreams and the vivid sexual acts played out with not just one Dane, but two. You know that old saying, double the pleasure, double the fun?
Yeah. I’ve woken up drenched in sweat with soaked panties almost every night.
Explicit images that carry over into the daytime and hound me relentlessly. Dev’s lips on my skin . . . Reese’s hands around my waist. Sometimes, I can literally feel them sandwiching me between their bodies. The two of them simultaneously fingering, fondling, and fucking me. Pulling my hair and pushing my desires straight into the red.
But how insane? Two men? Brothers, no less, sharing one woman? That isn’t reality, that’s a porno. A wet dream, a filthy fantasy.
My filthy fantasy. One I plan to keep to myself. Buried deep in the recesses of my subconscious. Where it’s safe.
The doorbell rings, snapping me out of my daydream. I know exactly who it is. He stops by several times a week. I open the door to a grinning Gary.
“Morning, Kayla” The UPS man knows me by name.
“Morning.” I pull the box into the house.
I didn’t realize the level of celebrity Reese was until the outpouring of gifts started to arrive. Dev’s house is overflowing with food, fan mail, flowers, and . . . panties. Boxes and boxes of them from his fan club.
One night, while I was alone, bored, and curious, I Googled him and tumbled down a Reese Dane rabbit hole. He’s beloved. Hundreds of thousands of Twitter and Instagram followers, pages and pages of articles written about him and his career. A flashy website with bells and whistles, live interviews, and even international TV commercials. Hot ones of him advertising sports drinks and motorcycles in street clothes, leathers, and even a suit.
I’ll give it to him, Reese can clean up nicely.
Over time, I’ve come to realize the worldwide phenomenon that motorcycle racing is.
The culture, the fandom, the cult following.
Every race has more spectators than the Super Bowl. That’s insane. And at the center of that universe is Reese. I sort of understand the snobbish attitude now. Not that I condone it, but when you’ve traveled the world and experienced things most people only dream about, rural Maryland doesn’t hold much of an appeal.
“So what do you think it is?” I carry the good-sized brown box into the kitchen. Reese’s cast has been downsized to under his knee so he is moving around on crutches much more easily. So well actually, he barely ever sits down until I force him. Sometimes it feels like I’m babysitting a toddler with unlimited amounts of energy. If he’s this wired injured, I can’t even imagine what he’s like at one hundred percent. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” I toy with him. I love this game. Guess what the deliveryman dropped off today? Last week, a fan sent him chocolate from Belgium, and I think I ate half the box. Have you ever had chocolate from Belgium? Yeah, me neither, until that day. Reese did nothing but tease me as I moaned through the velvety goodness. I don’t know when, but one day, I’m traveling to Belgium and eating my way through every chocolatier in the country. I’ll backpack to keep the pounds off.
“How heavy is it?” Reese asks.
“Not very.” I shake it easily. We exchange a knowing look.
“Dear Lord, not another one.” I rip open the box, and low and behold, it’s filled with provocative panties. “Don’t these women have anything better to do than stuff boxes upon boxes with what I hope is brand new underwear?”
“Ah . . .” Reese picks up a purple lace pair and sling shots it at me. “There are all different ways to show love.”
“I can tell you, it doesn’t matter how much I love someone, I don’t think I’ll ever UPS him my panties.”
“To each their own.” He shrugs. “You have to at least let someone get at your panties before you take the overnight delivery step.”
I pause, placing my hands on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean? I let people get at my panties.”
“Who?” he ridicules doubtfully.
“People,” I reply defensively, closing the box.
“If that were true, you would have been riding me weeks ago.”
“I’m highly selective but have occasional lapses in judgment.” I don’t want him bringing up the hand job incident.
“Do I intimidate you?”
“Intimidate me?” I scoff. “Intimidate me how?”
“Think there’s too much power under this hood?” He thrusts his pelvis.
“Spare me. More like too many miles and not enough gas.”
“Oh, I can drive.” He hobbles over to me. “All night, baby,” he hisses in my ear.
I hide how much the mere thought of that turns me on.
“We’ll keep you garaged, so you’re well rested for all your adoringly slutty fans.”
“Hey now. Daisy Mae, a sweet grandmother from Ohio, would take offense to you stereotyping my fans that way.”
“I’ll write a personal apology,” I respond dryly.
Reese flashes me his signature cocky smile. “God, would I love to see you on a bike.”
“Dream about it.” I walk past him and open the fridge.
“Baby, I do.”
The thought of getting on a bike hits me right in the stomach for so many reasons. I hide behind the door, catching my breath, hoping Reese doesn’t notice the change in my demeanor. Unfortunately for me, he does.
“Kayla?” He pokes his head around the stainless steel door.
“I’m good. Just looking for the lettuce.” I grab the head out of the crisper drawer. “Here.” I slam it into his chest. “Start the salad.”
He looks down curiously at the ball of green then back up to me. “Okay.”
I mutely pull out a slab of steak and begin to marinate it while Reese chops the lettuce. I concentrate solely on what I’m doing, grinding down the simmering feelings and painful memories.
“Kayla. Kayla?” Reese waves his hand in front of my face.
“Huh?” I snap my head up.
“Where the hell did you go? I just had a five-minute conversation with myself.”
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “Must have been daydreaming.”
“About what? Me? My butt? Were you mesmerized by my Adonis-like physique?”
“Holy cow.” I gape at him. “Your ego needs its own area code. I was thinking about running.”
“For real?” He doesn’t buy my bull for a second. “No one thinks that in-depth about running.”
“I do. And I missed my last two workouts. You and Dev are eating up all my time.”
“There are worse things that could eat you out.”
“I didn’t say eat me out, Reese!”
“I’d love to eat you out.”
“Please stop talking.”
“I can’t. It’s compulsive.”
“This is why your fans send you underwear. You’re lewd.”
“And fucking horny.” He grabs his crotch. “I think this is a record.”
“Maybe we can submit an application to Guinness World Records.”
“Ya think?” he asks, dead serious.
“Get the fucking tomatoes.” I ignore him and turn on the oven.
Fuck my life.
By the time dinner is done, Dev is walking through the door. I don’t know how I end up cooking every time I’m here, but I’ve learned it keeps Reese busy and out of my hair.
“Smells good in here.” Dev appears in the kitchen entryway and inhales.
“Steak and salad,” I announce. “All-American meal.”
“I thought that was steak and potatoes?” Reese tosses in his two cents just to be a pest.
“Not in this house,” I set him straight.
“Looking a little thick, bro. Been upping your weight?” Dev slaps Reese’s arm as he goes for a bottle of red wine on the counter. I’ve learned this is his unwind glass after a long day.
Reese flexes his bicep, and I almost pass out; he’s wearing a tight, white muscle shirt that accentuates every effing bulge and ripple. I turn away and pretend to fiddle with anything within reaching distance.
I hear chuckling and sneering behind me and can only look up at the ceiling for salvation. These two. These fucking two.
“Okay,” I announce, flustered. “Everything is ready. All you have to do is eat.” I turn and look at them. They both pin me with the same wicked stare. Time to go. Now.
“Aren’t you going to stay?” Dev stalks me on one side while Reese blocks me on the other.
“I’d love to, but I really need to get a run in.”
“After we eat,” Reese pushes. By no means does he mean eat dinner. He means eat me.
“Not tonight.” Usually, I stay. But red flags are waving.
“C’mon. Dinner is no fun without you.” Reese brushes up against me.
Fuck.
“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be sustenance. Which you clearly need.” I motion to his cast. “You’re still healing.”
“I’m fine. We go back to the doctor next week for the aircast. I’m practically healed.”
“You’re not practically healed,” I argue. “You have another four weeks in the aircast. Then you will be healed.”
“Go inside and sit down,” Reese orders. “I say when I’m healed.”
Dev laughs.
“Do you think Mr. Bossy is being funny?” I ask, cross.
“I do. Because you always seem to listen to him. Makes me wonder about you.”
“Makes you wonder what?” I question.
“If you like to be dominated in bed,” Reese answers bluntly for Dev.
My jaw drops slightly. “Do you like to dominate?” I fire back inquisitively at Dev.
“Sometimes,” he answers candidly.
“Nice to know.” I push past them. “That is about all the information I need tonight. See you tomorrow.” I hightail it outta there, my hormones running on high octane. I swear my pussy aches more and more every time I leave that house. I know what’s in store for me when I go to bed tonight. A vision of Dev in leather pants wielding a whip, commanding me to come.
I know I should just quit. Rid myself of the lecherous Dane brothers and never look back. But if I’m honest, I’m a glutton for punishment. I’m both a sadist who denies herself of her desires and a masochist who revels in the depriving pain.
And those two are my biggest sexual temptation to date.