Tate

---

I wonder if Corin could tell how affected I was, right then? Could he tell how aroused I was? Did he know how close I’d come to an orgasm just from wrestling, from feeling him above me, from having his hand over my breast, from the sharp pinch to my nipple? When I told him I had crazy sensitive nipples, I wasn’t kidding, and I was actually understating things a bit. That pinch he’d given me had actually hurt quite a lot, so much so that I was still stinging and aching; the pain of it was so darkly erotic that I was fighting the need to squirm, to press my thighs together. I was a live wire in a room full of dynamite just waiting for a single spark to make me explode. Even now, if Corin so much as brushed my breasts innocently, I’d probably start gasping. If he touched me between my thighs? I’d come. No doubt, no holding it back…I’d just come.

What I hadn’t told him was that while I’d never had an orgasm solely from nipple stimulation, it had played a major factor in several cases of having multiple orgasms. I think if he’d known that, he’d have tried to push me over the edge.

The boys had been Aerie’s and my best—and, really, only—true friends during middle school and high school, serving as our confidants. We’d told them everything, and they us. When Aerie and I had, separately but on the same night—at our sophomore prom—lost our virginity, the first people we’d told were the boys.

And that same night, they’d lost theirs and they told us. It was truly odd, looking back, that all four of us had, without planning it, lost our virginity on the same day. I mean, I hadn’t planned it. Obviously, Aerie and I had talked about the possibility, and talked about whether we were ready for that, and decided mutually that we were, but it wasn’t planned, for either of us. When the dance ended and a big group of us had gone out for milkshakes and fries afterward, we’d all scattered in different directions with our dates, and things had happened. The next day we’d convened with Cor and Cane and unloaded our news, and they told us their news.

After that, whenever anything new happened, dating someone new, sleeping with someone, we told each other. Often, I wouldn’t even tell Aerie until we were together as a quartet. Of course, she always knew anyway because you can’t really hide things like that from your twin—I just didn’t tell her outright.

My point is, the boys know Aerie and I are very sexual women, and we know the same to be true about them. I just…I never expected it to be this intense. When Corin turned those wild, hungry mocha eyes on me, I never expected his very presence to make my pulse race, never expected a simple touch, like holding hands, to make my skin burn and tingle. I never expected the rasp of his voice to make my thighs quake, and the erotic promise in his words to make my core throb.

I’ve desired plenty of men in my life. Most of them, I’ve gotten. There was only one person I’d truly wanted and not gotten, and that was because although he’d been sexy—he had been a model—it turned out that he was a despicable person and that had put my desire for his body on ice. I’ve wanted and slept with models, actors, random guys at bars…all kinds of men, across the spectrum of sizes, ethnicities, and occupations.

I’d never felt this kind of need before, the need I felt for Corin in this moment.

I need him to touch me again. I need to feel his hands on my skin. I need to feel his mouth on mine. His tongue. I need to hear his words, hear him encouraging me to come, making promises, thrilling me with dark and dirty words. I need to feel him above me, beneath me, inside me.

Fuck, fuck…fuck, I need him.

It was so sudden, so intense, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Where did this come from, and how could I stifle these feelings? I wanted him so bad my vagina was actively aching, the dampness of need making me slippery and hot. I crossed my legs, one thigh over the other, and tried to surreptitiously press my thighs together to alleviate the ache. It didn’t really help. If anything, it only made it worse. So I tried rubbing my thighs together while pressing, and that sort of helped, but the friction and pressure only served to intensify the throb of arousal.

My nipples were sharp, hard points inside my bra, painfully hard. My stomach was doing flips, and my pulse was rabbit-fast.

I glanced at Corin; he was fighting a similar battle, I realized. He was studiously not looking at me, and he was rubbing one thigh against the other as if trying to shift his package inside his jeans, trying to get a painfully hard cock to unbend against his zipper, all without actually touching himself. He was breathing deeply, sucking in huge lungfuls and holding the breath, and then letting it out slowly, and his empty hand, the one not holding mine, was flexing, opening and closing compulsively.

He glanced at me, caught me staring at the huge bulge of his tented zipper, and then his eyes went my breasts, and he saw my nipples poking out through the bra and T-shirt, and he saw my thighs rubbing together.

His eyelids lowered, hooding his gaze, and a knowing smirk curved his lips. His hand squeezed mine, and he intentionally flexed his hips. I returned the gesture, not taking my eyes off of him, flexing my hips in a teasing, sexual gesture.

He let out a sharp breath, wincing as he shifted yet again, trying to alleviate the pressure in his jeans.

In front of us, Aerie and Canaan were exchanging similarly heated glances, their hands still tangled, thumbs rubbing. Aerie was flushed, I could see, and—like me, she has super sensitive nips—she would be rocking serious double headlights right now, I’d bet any money.

Making sure their attention as on each other and not on us, I leaned over to Corin and brushed my lips against his ear. “Just reach in and fix it, Cor,” I breathed. “I promise I won’t mind.”

He leaned back against the bench, lifting his hips slightly, and shoved his hand into his pants, his eyes on mine as he adjusted himself. When he withdrew his hand, there was still a noticeable bulge behind his zipper, but now it was a long, thick, prominent ridge.

“If we were alone, I might have fixed that for you,” I whispered to him.

“If we were alone, that’s not all that would happen,” he answered, his gaze going to my chest. “Looks like you might need some help fixing things, too.”

“You have no idea, Cor,” I breathed.

“Are you aroused, Tate?” he asked, pressing his mouth to my ear so he could murmur it so quietly I had to strain to hear him.

“So much,” I answered.

“How much?”

I rubbed my thighs together. “So bad it hurts.”

“I don’t want you to hurt, Tate.”

“You could make it feel all better, I bet.”

His eyes flashed. “I could make you feel so good, you don’t even know.”

“I can imagine.”

He shook his head, grinning. “No, Tate. I don’t think you really can,” he murmured.

“Challenge accepted,” I said, grinning mischievously.” I cut my eyes to his obvious and enormous erection, barely contained by his jeans. “That looks pretty painful,” I whispered.

“You have no idea.”

“I could make you feel so good,” I said, echoing his words from moments ago, “you don’t even know.”

He laughed. “God, Tate, you’re killing me, here.”

“Same.”

He leaned his head against the seat and twisted to gaze at me. “Shit, Tate. What I wouldn’t give for twenty minutes alone with you.”

“We’ll get it, Cor,” I said, touching my forehead to his.

“Promise?”

I smiled. “That’s about the only thing I can promise, is that we’ll get time alone, and soon.”

“Thank fuck, because I’m going crazy over here.”

I huffed a laugh. “God, me too.” I winked at him. “But Corin, why only twenty minutes?”

He licked his lower lip, flicking his tongue ring against his lip ring, a move that was somehow so erotic to me that I barely suppressed an audible moan, settling instead for a short, sharp sigh. “Because, Tate, twenty minutes is the very minimum amount of time I’d need to make you feel everything I want to make you feel.”

“How long do you think I’d need to make you feel what I want to make you feel?” I asked.

He snorted. “Um, in my current state? Ten seconds, max.”

“Wow, that’s…really fast,” I said.

“Yeah, but after that?” It was his turn to wink lasciviously. “Hours, baby. Hours.”

“At a time?” I breathed, almost squeaking.

He chuckled. “I might need a few minutes to recover here and there.”

“Oh. Good, because I’m not sure I could handle you for hours at a time.” I lapsed into a whisper so quiet it barely counted as speech, my mouth moving against the shell of his ear. “It’s exhausting coming that many times in a row.”

He hooked a thumb in the waist of his jeans, tugging away to further alleviate the pressure, and because I was, um, looking for it, I caught a glimpse of something round and pink and glistening, pre-cum poking out the top, before he draped his shirt back over it.

“You’re good for multiples?” he asked.

“Oh god, Cor, you have no idea.”

“You keep saying that.” He bit his lip and closed his eyes briefly before glancing back at me. “I plan on finding out, though.”

I had to swallow hard, seeing that little peek I’d just gotten flashing through my mind over and over. “I plan on showing you.” I met his eyes again. “Especially if you play with these,” I said, flicking a thumbnail against one of my nipples, which then caused me to suck in a sharp gasp, because I was so turned on. I was this close to shoving my hand down my own pants just to alleviate the ache, Canaan and Aerie be damned.

“What are you two whispering about back there?” Aerie asked, twisting in place.

“Hockey!” I shouted the first thing that came to mind, jerking abruptly away from Corin.

Canaan barked a laugh. “Hockey? None of us give a shit about hockey, T. You lyin’, girl.”

Corin fell away from me, laughing hysterically. “No, it’s true. We were talking about hockey.”

“Yeah,” I said, and then went into an exaggeratedly breathy voice, as if unbearably turned on. “Pucks…and Sticks…and—and nets…”

“Ice skates!” Corin said in a guttural grunt.

Aerie was laughing now. She tossed her hair and ran her hands down her front, shrieking, “Oh yeah! Jerseys!”

Canaan, I noticed, was watching Aerie very closely as she pretended to orgasm, kind of like Melanie Griffith in When Harry Met Sally.

Then it was Canaan’s turn, and he gripped the steering wheel in both hands, thrusting his hips crazily. “Offsides! Icing! Faceoff!” he bellowed, and then let out a comically exaggerated grunt as if coming.

Which, uncomfortably, for me, was hot.

I also noticed Corin’s eyes had gone to Aerie during her little display, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I couldn’t fault him, because if he was attracted to me, he also had to be attracted to her, as we were identical. Same thing for me and Canaan. Which only raised further complications, because I felt like I knew Cane better than Corin. Growing up, if I ever had a private conversation with one of the boys, it was always with Canaan, and the same with Aerie and Corin.

We all knew who the others had lost their virginity to, but Canaan had only told me that he’d embarrassed himself by coming too soon, that night, and had tried to leave abruptly, but Haley, the girl he’d been with, hadn’t been a virgin and had reassured him that it was normal and she didn’t mind, and had shown him how to make sure she came first the next time. I think Canaan had only ever told me that story.

Whereas, I had no idea what Corin’s first time was like.

Similarly, I’d told Canaan, and only Canaan, not even Aerie, that during my second time with Benjamin—to whom I’d given my virginity—I’d farted on him by accident, and he’d been so weirded out by it that we’d never hooked up again. In my defense, I’d been holding it the entire night, and Ben had made me come and I’d just not been able to keep it in. I’d been so embarrassed I’d gotten up and left right then, and had called Canaan right away. We’d met at a nearby diner and I’d poured out the whole story to him, and he’d laughed—not unkindly, and had then reassured me that it was totally fine and cool and normal, but had then advised me to maybe make an excuse to visit the bathroom beforehand next time. That was good advice I’ve never forgotten, and I have used it frequently in my life.

There are lots of other examples of this—things I know about Canaan but not about Corin

Which made it weird that although I can see the attraction to Canaan, the intense sexual need I feel is solely focused on Corin.

The confusion comes in when you add in the little game we’d just played, pretending to orgasm to hockey terms. It was funny, hysterically funny—I was still laughing at all of us—but when Canaan had pretended to come, I’d had an uncomfortably erotic image of him orgasming. It had been an involuntary flash, a brief, vivid vignette: Canaan jerking himself off, his hand sliding roughly up and down his thick cock, head thrown back, eyes closed, shouting a grunt as he came, a white stream of cum shooting over his knuckles.

Conflicted arousal is a strange thing.

Glancing sideways at Corin, I noticed his expression was somewhat shuttered, his brows drawn, his gaze on Aerie, as if he was experiencing a similar moment of disoriented arousal.

God, this was complicated.

Corin’s eyes shot to mine, and I think we exchanged an unspoken understanding: yes, this was very complicated indeed.

---

After a good thirty-some minutes of driving, we reached the cabin crunching and bouncing down a rutted two-track path through the thick Alaskan forest away from the highway. It was early evening, now, the sun low in the sky, still bright and yellow but going golden, shedding a magical glow on the forest. The leaves shimmered and twisted and sent dappling light onto the forest floor. Canaan parked up next to the cabin, shut off the truck and we all piled out, scattering in different directions, staring up at the ceiling of leaves, smelling the summer in the air, listening to the steady whispering susurrus of the leaves in the gentle warm breeze.

The cabin was a snug little old thing, made from hand-hewn logs, topped with a red tin roof, a hand-stacked stone chimney, three wood plank steps up to a small porch, with a big picture window to the right of the door. The two-track path led into a clearing about a hundred yards in diameter, with a grassy patch in the center. Off to one side of the cabin was an old red pump with an upturned wooden bucket sitting in the grass beneath it, and behind the cabin I could make out the occasional glitter of sunlight on a pond or small lake.

“Oh my god,” I said, extending my arms and twirling in a circle, absorbing the beautiful, picturesque serenity of the spot, “This place is incredible!”

Corin was standing in the middle of the grassy patch, turning in slow circles, admiring the view. “Wow, no kidding, man. It really is fuckin’ amazing.”

“Bax really scored when he got his hands on this place,” Canaan said.

Aerie glanced at Canaan. “This place belongs to Baxter?”

“Right?” Canaan said. “I would never in a million years have pegged him for the type to own a cute, rustic little cabin in the woods like this.”

“He bought it?” I asked.

Corin shook his head, trotting up the steps and lifting the corner of the woven-rope welcome mat, revealing a key. “He accepted the deed to this place in exchange for a fight.”

I frowned as Corin unlocked the door and led the way inside. “What do you mean, in exchange for a fight?”

“Oh, I guess you have no way of knowing, huh?” Canaan said, from the very back of the line trooping inside the tiny cabin.

It was picture perfect. The back right corner was dedicated to a kitchenette, with a tiny sink, an antique olive-green refrigerator, a stovetop oven, some counter space, and a couple of cabinets. Beside the kitchenette was a postage stamp-sized bathroom, and then the back left corner of the cabin contained a hand-carved four-poster bed, complete with a knitted quilt and pristine white pillows. There was a quaint, rustic-scene oil painting on one wall, some crossed snowshoes on the other, a jackalope head on another, and an antique oil lamp hung on the wall above the doorway to the bathroom. It was a warm, cozy, rustic little space, and I was in love with it.

“He’s an underground MMA fighter, now,” Canaan continued. “Undefeated, and getting pretty big in that particular world. Makes pretty solid bank at it, too.”

“Baxter beats up people for a living? How shocking!” I joked.

“Oh, stop,” Aerie said, “he’s a big old teddy bear and you know it. Remember how he used to work with special ed kids? He was so sweet with them!”

Corin glanced back at me in shock. “He what?”

I laughed. “You guys don’t know this? His whole senior year—our freshman year—he volunteered his last period of the day working with the special ed kids. I don’t think very many people know that about him, and the only reason Aerie and I do is that we had a woodworking class in that same wing that same hour, and we found out. He made us swear not to tell the rest of you, or anyone else.”

“But that’s so cool of him!” Canaan said. “Why would he make you promise not to tell anyone? Was he embarrassed or something?”

Aerie shrugged. “I think it had to do with his reputation and football. I don’t think he was embarrassed, per se, so much as it was just something he did for himself, because he wanted to, and it didn’t need to be public knowledge. He was the cool kid at school that year, and it would have complicated his rep if people knew what he was doing.”

“I feel like there’s so much about you brothers we don’t know,” Aerie said.

I laughed. “Oh my god, there’s so much.”

An awkward silence stretched out, then, as we all stood in the cabin, none of us sure what to do next.

Corin, still holding the alcohol, barked a laugh. “There’s nothing to break the ice like doing some shots, huh? Who’s in?”