Bella

Dillon leans on his arm against the wall, giving me one of those sexy, disarming looks that somehow slides its way down my body right into my panties. My knees give out slightly, and I shuffle a little on my feet to try to hide it. For some reason I don’t want him to know the effect he has on me.

“Maybe we should go upstairs,” he says softly, reaching one hand out to me. His forearm is strong, veiny, tanned. He’s rolled up the dark blue sleeve of his shirt to just the right point where I’m dying to see more. The collar of his shirt is open too, and hints of his chest are showing. I want him bad. I might as well just admit it to myself even if I don’t want to admit it to him.

Something buzzes in my back pocket. I’m so lost in desire for him that it takes me a minute to realize it’s my phone.

“Just a sec,” I say, as I look at the screen. It’s his brother, Emmet. The other most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life. “It’s your bro. He wants to know what we’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Dillon, says, turning. He walks over to the bar cart and pours a couple drinks. “He said he’d try to come by if he finishes his meeting early enough.”

My stomach jumps. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “He did?” I ask nonchalantly.

Dillon walks back over, a drink in each hand. “Yeah, sure. We like to share. Didn’t he mention that?” He hands me one. I take it with both hands and sip it gratefully. The brown liquid burns a little and then the fumes filter through my mind. It feels good.

“I-- I -- I think he might have said something,” I stammer. Fact is, even though I thought it might be a joke, I’ve been dreaming of nothing else but to be shared by these two twin brothers. But as a virgin, the whole sex thing is new to me, and I don’t want to get ahead of myself.

Just add that to the list of things to stop lying to myself about, I suppose.

“So text him back. You can let him know we’re at my place,” he says smoothly. I nod and quickly fire off a text. Just as I’m pressing send, he leans in, and as his fingers go into my hair, he softly kisses my lips. He tastes of a combination of whiskey and salt. His lips are soft, wet, and a little cold from the ice in his drink. I’m stunned and motionless for a moment, then I begin to kiss him back, my tongue tentatively tracing his. He stops, then takes my drink which I’ve been holding, and puts both aside, on the kitchen island.

In one smooth movement, he takes me in his arms and props me up on the island. The marble is cool against my legs, against my ass, and his hands are hot. They roam over me, awakening each part of me they touch, making every cell in my body want him. He tips up my chin, covers my mouth with his, and his kisses grow faster; more voracious. I can’t help but respond. My hands tangle in his hair, then slide over his wide shoulders and down his back. The muscles of his back move under his shirt and I find myself pulling the fabric up out of his pants. I need to touch his soft skin.

“Easy, Bella. Shouldn’t we wait for Emmet?” he asks, grinning wickedly. Then he pulls me toward him and devours my mouth with kisses. I’m moaning, melting into him, sliding my fingers under his shirt to feel those muscles move. Yes, Emmet. I want Emmet too.

I don’t know how long we’re kissing but at some point I feel fingers slide up my leg, when Dillon’s fingers are already occupied, one hand on my cheek and the other cupping my breast, fingers closing around my nipple. I look over his shoulder and I see Emmet. He must have let himself in? He gives me a panty-melting look as he trails his fingers further up my thigh. Dillon turns to him.

“Hey man,” he says to his brother.

“Are we ready to go upstairs already?” Emmet grins. “I know I am.”

Dillon doesn’t have to be asked twice, so when I nod, he spins me around and into his arms. Emmet leads the way as Dillon effortlessly carries me up the stairs down the hall, and into the bedroom. We fall onto the bed, while Emmet is taking off his shirt slowly. It’s a kind of reverse striptease, because he’s staring at me when he does it. He looks so handsome in his pressed shirt, gold watch, and pale chinos. Or should I say, both in and out of them. I watch as he bends, angles moving under his skin, and steps out of the pants, then throws them over a chair. Now he’s in just his shorts. They’re boxer briefs, hugging his lines.

I crook my finger at him. “Don’t keep me waiting.” I don’t know where I got this confident persona from… probably a result of having two gorgeous men act like I’m their prize. Speaking of which, Dillon has slipped off my top and is working on the bottoms, while Emmet lies down beside me in bed.

I’m surrounded by masculinity. Muscles. Clean, musky smells. Stubbly cheeks framing soft lips. And most of all, their hard, throbbing, shafts, pressing against me, wanting to press into me. As they descend on my nipples, each sucking one, I lean my head back and moan. Someone’s fingers slide down over my mound and slide inside, stroking me. Another hand is circling my clit. I writhe, unable to control my body. I want both of them as much as I can have, at once.

And I want it now.

I’ve never felt like this about a man before. Or, I guess I should say, about two men. I’ve always stayed innocent. My virginity wasn’t something I was saving for something special, for marriage or anything. I just knew that getting involved with men was more trouble than it was worth. That being with a man led to pain, most of the time. Nobody was worth that pain.

But I never counted on two men wanting me at once.

That changes the equation. Completely.