Bad Girl by Night (43 page)

“I know I haven’t been a great boyfriend lately,” he began. “And I know it’s driven a wedge between us. I want to fix things, Mira. I want to make things right. I want to prove that making you happy is my top priority, starting now.”

She still just blinked up at him, taking in his features, everything handsome and sexy about him. She’d always loved his olive skin, and his dark hair, as black as night, traits left over from an Italian ancestry that had faded in name a generation or two ago but showed up in his family’s coloring. Now that dark hair stood out in bold contrast to the soft greens and browns above him, the trees that nestled their weekend hideaway and made it feel so deliciously remote. But the moment continued feeling utterly unreal—especially as he went on.

“I thought a lot about how to prove that—what I could give you to make up for how wrapped up in my practice I’ve been.”

She felt the need to interrupt. “You don’t have to give me anything more than this. Just spending time with—” But he pressed gentle fingers over her mouth, quieting her.

“I know that, but . . . I guess I wanted to make a grand gesture, something big. And so . . . I thought about your fantasy.”

Yes, it had been vague, but she’d told him as much about it as she could that night—it
was
about having two cocks inside her at once. It was about being caressed by two pairs of male hands, having her body kissed by two men’s mouths. It wasn’t about control—keeping it or giving it away. But it
was
about . . . maybe being a little overwhelmed. In a good way. With masculine power. With sex itself.

“And I want to make it come true,” he continued. “I want to give you that. I want you overcome with pleasure. I want you to have orgasm after orgasm in a way I could never make happen on my own.”

Mira blew out her breath, poleaxed by the very idea. Strange how fear and stark desire could mix. And they both swirled inside her now as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that he was offering this to her. Not as a fantasy, but as reality. Even though they weren’t that kind of people. They were mainstream, middle of the road; they were dependable and responsible. Yes, a little dirty talk in the bedroom, but that was about as kinky as it got, and she’d always been perfectly pleased by what they shared. “We have great sex,” she felt the need to remind him.

“I know we do,” he told her, now cupping her cheek in his palm. “But I want this weekend to be . . . something beyond normal for us, beyond great. I want it to be something new, something extreme, something that’ll bring you more pleasure than you can even imagine.”

Okay. It was beginning to sink in that this was really happening, that he was really planning on this. But he didn’t know her as well as he thought if he didn’t realize . . . “Ethan, I can’t have sex with just anybody. I mean, you know I haven’t been with that many guys.” She’d always been in serious relationships. She’d never had a one-night stand in her life. And she’d never been intimate with anyone she hadn’t gotten to know first. For her, good sex was about trust, about knowing the person you were with. “So I can’t imagine who on earth I’d really want us to—”

“Rogan,” he said simply—and that’s when her world changed once more.

Oh Lord. Rogan Wolfe was . . . Well, God, what
wasn’t
he? Ex-boyfriend, tough cop, bad boy to the bone—and the man who had taught her to love sex. She’d never told Ethan that part about her relationship with Rogan, but while, before him, she’d liked sex just fine,
with Rogan
she’d found her true sexual being, and she’d loved how much he’d drawn that out of her. In fact, she credited her good sex life with Ethan in part to her time with Rogan.

Still, she was stunned to hear this was who Ethan had in mind. “Rogan? You don’t even
like
Rogan.”

At this, though, her boyfriend just shrugged. “We get along all right.”

The fact was, Ethan and Rogan went back a long way, all the way to the police academy and the Hostage Ops Team on which they’d been placed and where they’d trained together. And she’d always been keenly aware that, in some aspects, the three of them were closely, weirdly intertwined.

She’d met Rogan when he’d joined the Charlevoix police force a little more than five years ago. She hadn’t even known Ethan yet, but he and Rogan had worked together on the force and even now, they still played on the same summer softball team.

And what had led Rogan to Charlevoix in the first place? He’d been looking for a new position and, after reaching out to the other H.O.T. members, who’d kept in touch over the years, Ethan had let him know there was an opening there.

So she’d have never met or dated Rogan if not for Ethan’s involvement in bringing him to town. And maybe she’d have never met Ethan—despite their both having been born and raised in the Charlevoix area—if she hadn’t started coming to Rogan’s softball games when she’d been dating him.

“Getting along isn’t the same as liking,” she pointed out to Ethan. Because, despite the things the two men had in common, they were very different. Almost like night and day, in a way. And despite their both being part of a tight-knit group of old friends who got together once or twice a year, apart from the H.O.T. affiliation, they weren’t at all close. They might drink a beer together with the rest of the team after a game, but otherwise, they didn’t socialize.

So the fact that Ethan was suggesting bringing Rogan into their relationship in such a radical way felt at once ironic and . . . almost fitting. Almost—dare she think—like a thing that made sense on some level, a thing that was supposed to happen?

“I can like him fine for a weekend,” he told her. “And he was the only guy I know who I thought you’d be comfortable with. For this.”

This.
The mere word brought her back to the matter at hand, the threesome he’d suggested—and she swallowed sharply, the aftertaste of wine in her mouth now turning a bit stale. The fact was, if Ethan had gone so far as to select Rogan, her ex, to join them in his threesome plan, it meant that he’d really, seriously thought this through. It wasn’t some off-the-cuff idea he’d concocted a few days ago. And it meant . . . “Um, about Rogan. Does he . . . know about this? I mean—”

“Of course he knows. He’s on his way here right now.”

“Holy crap,” she whispered. Because this made it . . . real.
Really
real.

And he was already on his way? When there was so much to consider, so many questions to ask?

“Ethan,” she began, “what if . . . what if you think of me differently afterward? I mean, how could you
not
think of me differently?” Because a woman who could do that, who could be with two men at once . . . Well, Mira had never seen herself as that woman. Even after her dream and the hazy fantasies. Doing it was different from dreaming it. If she did this, she would be changed forever. She
would
be different, a different person—at least in some way—than she was now.

“I won’t,” he told her. Again, as always with Ethan, all confidence. And it assured her once more that he really
had
thought this through, but . . .

“What if you’re wrong? What if I do this and . . . and it kills something between us? What if somewhere deep down inside you, it . . . makes you think I’m slutty? In some ugly way. What if you can’t help it? I mean, once we do this, we can’t take it back.”

He narrowed his blue gaze on hers and she realized that—Lord, the fear and desire from a few minutes ago . . . both ran deeper now, fuller. She could almost feel the two conflicting emotions consuming her at once. Was she really considering doing this?
Could
she? And not just from a morality standpoint, but . . . could she overcome her fear enough to pull it off? To be
that
sexual?
That
self-assured? When deep inside she was scared to death?

“Look, honey,” he said, his voice going tender, “I understand what you’re saying. But I’ve thought about this a lot. I thought about it for weeks. And the fact is . . . it’ll be a gift
you’re
giving
me
as much as a gift
I’m
giving
you
.”

She blinked, and her voice came out light, high-pitched. “Huh?”

A solemn sigh left him as his eyes sparkled darkly on her while the sun shifted in the sky just enough to immerse them in shade. “The fact is, the more I thought about it, the more it excited me. The more I realized that
I
want it, too.” His voice went deeper then. “I want to see you that way. With another man. And with both of us at once.” Her skin flushed with warmth at his words. “And once we share that, it’ll bring us even closer.”

Mira’s heartbeat pulsed all through her body. Her cheeks, fingers, breasts tingled with odd heat. She hadn’t thought about it like that—that it could somehow pull the two of them closer together, that it could bond them in a whole new way.

And somehow . . . somehow
that
began to make it feel . . . possible. Like a thing she could maybe really do.

Just then, he leaned over her, the heat of his body warming hers, his palm curving around her neck, as he whispered in her ear, “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

She bit her lip, her pussy pulsing against her blue jeans. Did she? Did she want this? “M-maybe,” she heard herself stutter. “I—I think,” she went on. Then, “Yes.
Yes
.”

She’d heard herself say it. So it must be true.

Lacey Alexander
’s books have been called deliciously decadent, unbelievably erotic, exceptionally arousing, blazingly sexual, and downright sinful. In each book, Lacey strives to take her readers on the ultimate erotic adventure, and she hopes her stories will encourage women to embrace their sexual fantasies. Lacey resides in the Midwest with her husband, and when not penning romantic erotica, she enjoys studying history and traveling, often incorporating favorite destinations into her work.

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