Trinity (4 page)

I love it too much.

I realize I’m in way too deep.

And I don’t fucking care.

“You going to hold out on us all night?” Shane grinds his hips upwards, demanding my climax.

“Yes.” I throw my head back as Chase tunnels deeper into my worked little hole.

“You love it that much?” Shane’s voice is strained, his own orgasm dangling by a thread.

I’m disinclined to answer. I don’t want them to know how much I’m enjoying this.
Enjoying them.

Yes, I love it. I love the burn of their bodies in the enclosed little space. I love the way they grab me, possess me, even protect me. I love the way they overtake me and power over me, fill me up until I almost burst, leave me empty with remnants of a sweet ache, then repeat the spine-tingling process all over again.

“You don’t have to answer. I know you love it.” Shane grips my hair as Chase subdues my body. “We can feel how wet you are. How fucking tight. How fucking needy.” He grinds his pelvis against my clit until it’s unbearable. He wants me to come, and he’s going to make me one way or another. “Tell us how much you love it,” he demands.

“No,” I protest, my tendons as taut as a drum.

“Prideful little pixie.” Chase spreads my ass cheeks and burrows deep. So deep I gasp at the cavernous place he reaches inside me. A place I was unaware existed until this very moment. A place where the physical and emotional blur together. My resolve snaps as the two of them together kick me over the edge. A tag team effort to make me scream—and scream I do as my clit catches fire, my pussy fitfully contracts, and my stomach muscles twist.

“That’s it. That’s so fucking it.” Shane tenses beneath me, cords of veins bulging in his neck as I shower both him and Chase in a downpour of forced arousal.

I seize over and over, not one inch of my body left in my control as they garner every ounce of fluid, using it to propel their own release. They both growl and grunt viciously as they come. Like two wild animals ripping apart their prey.

Once the attack wanes and the prolonged tremors subside, I collapse forward onto Shane. The only ability I’m left with is to simply breathe.

With blurry vision, I make out Shane and Chase’s hands clasped tightly together against the stairs. Unconsciously, I place my hand over theirs and close my eyes, drifting off into a sex-induced coma.

I WAKE WITH THE SUN SHINING
in my eye. It’s peeking through the windows from the room at the top of the stairs. I don’t move straight away. My head is pounding, my body is stiff, there’s an ungodly ache between my legs, and two strange men are cocooning me in warmth.

What did I let happen? I fucked two strangers in the stairwell of the Corkscrew, and I’m not even ashamed. I should be, right? Isn’t that the way a respectable woman would react? Shocked she let something so lewd and scandalous happen?

But I don’t regret it. Especially now, waking up next to the two men who cracked my world open like an eggshell. In the sunlight, I can appreciate each of their features. The blond stubble on Shane’s chin and Chase’s long, black eyelashes fanning over his cheek. Little details I didn’t get to investigate last night. I commit this quiet moment to memory. I know it’s a brief hiccup in time. Last night was the only performance, and this morning is the final bow.

Shane stirs first, a soft moan escaping his throat. A moment later, he flutters his eyes open and looks around disoriented until his gaze lands on me. He unexpectedly smiles. “Morning.”

Wow, he is really gorgeous. His irises are a striking hazel with brown flecks, and his hair is a warm golden blond glowing under the sun’s rays.

“Morning,” I respond coyly, knowing my cheeks are flushed from just him looking at me. I’m still naked, and still tangled in both his and Chase’s arms. I have no idea how we slept like this. On the stairs, in the most awkward position ever.

“Never again.” Chase groans, wincing as he turns. “Bed, table, floor, beach, couch, shower, hell, even the backseat of a car, but never, ever on the stairs again.” He pops his eyes open and ogles me. They’re just as dark as they were last night, with a bit of mischief this morning.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just cranky when he wakes up.” Shane reaches over me and shoves him. “I say fuck on the stairs, just don’t sleep on the stairs.” Shane sits up and stretches, his muscles clearly stiff.

“I can go along with that.” Both men zero in on me. I suddenly feel like I’m under a bigger spotlight than the sun.

“We’re very happy to hear that.” Shane’s velvety timbre caresses every inch of my bare body. My naked flesh starts to roast as all the things they made me feel last night come rushing back in a carnal wave.

But just as quickly as my body responds, it contests as I catch a glimpse of the time on Shane’s mammoth watch. I grab his wrist for a better look and panic when I see it’s ten to eight.

“Shit. I have to go.” I jump up and collect my clothes, dragging them on as I barrel out of the door into the main room of the restaurant. I have an extremely important meeting in exactly one hour.

I take a quick survey of the place. Not nearly as bad as what I was expecting. I wonder what time everyone cleared out? I grab my purse from behind the bar and search frantically for my keys when I hear a very loud, “Ah-hem?”

I look up to find Shane and Chase standing there, arms crossed, clearly not amused. “You going to run out on us, just like that?” Chase asks matter-of-factly.

I smile guiltily, walking backward. “Yes. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

They both chase after me, catching up to me just as I put my hand on the front door.

“Can we see you again?” Shane presses, imprisoning my forearm.

I study both of their handsome faces. My heart and stomach and pussy flutter. “You know where I work.” I dangle the carrot alluringly, then disappear out the door.

That was so mean, but I can almost bet money I’ll never see either one of them again. I don’t have much faith in people, men especially. I know what last night was. What I am to them. A story to tell. Sex with the trashy bartender in the stairwell of the dive on the Jersey Shore. And I’m fine with that. It was an adventure. A sexual experience I can check off my bucket list.

Funny how a threesome with a hot bi couple wasn’t on my bucket list until last night, but hey, c’est la vie. Chase was right, though. No more steps—my back is killing me.

I hustle the three blocks home. My apartment isn’t much. A three-story walk-up with a sliver of an ocean view. If you stand on a chair and lean to the left, you can catch a glimpse of the dark blue sea out the kitchen window.

I shower quickly, using way too much shampoo because I’m not used to the short haircut yet. I blow dry, powder, and deodorize. Then dress in my nicest button-up shirt, pencil skirt, and conservative heels. Ugh, I hate business attire. I take one last look in the mirror, brushing my wispy bangs aside for the umpteenth time. Maybe I should have waited on the pink. The haircut
is
sexy; it’s definitely growing on me. For a moment, I flashback to last night, remembering the stranglehold Shane had on my short locks while he fucked me. My tummy twinges. Damn, that was hot.

I shake the aroused feeling off as I rush out the door. I can’t think about them right now, even though all I want to do is lie in bed all day and touch myself, reliving last night over and over again.

I hop in my vintage—okay, old-ass—Civic and head over to the north side of town where redevelopment of the beachfront has been running rampant. Tons of new condos, shops, and restaurants have been erected in the last three years. Our sleepy beach town is becoming a new hotspot, and the tourism is thriving. Don’t get me wrong, I like the changes. I just don’t like how they’re going about them.

I pull into the parking lot of a satellite office of Winters Travers, the biggest housing redeveloper in the state. They’ve built beachfront homes worth millions upon millions of dollars on the pennies of property and homeowners. Swindling them by buying their land at a fraction of what it’s worth with bogus comps and lowball appraisals. It’s highway fucking robbery, and no one tries to stop them or even stand up to them . . . until today.

I march through the double doors of the building and straight up to the receptionist, who is gleefully farming phone call after phone call.

“Name?” she asks sugary sweet while sizing me up.

“Jennifer Reeves to see Mr. Winters. I have an appointment,” I announce confidently. She can judge me all she wants. She’s a woman who puts one bra strap on at a time just like me, regardless if hers comes from Victoria’s Secret and mine from Walmart.

She checks something on the computer in front of her and then smiles, disingenuously. “Mr. Winters is waiting. You’re late.”

I glance at the clock over the receptionist’s head. It’s five after nine.
Give me a break
.

“Shit happens,” I sneer. “Where am I going?”

She cocks a penciled eyebrow. “Elevators. Third floor. The door on your right.” She points with the tip of her pen.

“Thanks.” I continue to march, if for no other reason than to retain my confidence.

I ride the elevator up to the third floor and walk through the glass door on the right. I’m met with yet another perfectly prim receptionist.

“Ms. Reeves?” she asks cheerfully. Genuinely. She reminds me of Shayna. Blonde, bubbly, and doe-eyed.

“Yes.”

“He’s waiting.” She motions to the double doors behind her. I suck in a deep breath and prepare for war as I waltz through the entrance and into a gargantuan conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a backdrop of the glimmering Atlantic Ocean.

“Ms. Reeves. Please have a seat. I’ve been waiting.” I’m reminded once again. Five minutes. You’ve been waiting five fucking minutes. Get over it. I walk assertively across the room and sit down adjacent to the impeccably dressed man. Ty Winters is nothing like I imagined. He’s much younger than I pictured, dictatorially handsome with his copper hair and bold green eyes, and way more intimidating than I was prepared for.

“I was expecting a Mr . . .” He opens the red folder in front of him, disinterested. “ . . . Nathaniel Jackson.”

“Mr. Jackson is presently in a nursing home in poor health. I’m here to speak on his behalf.” I latch on to the thin rope of poise I have.

“Are you his power of attorney?”

“In a matter of speaking.”

“Ms. Reeves.” Ty sighs as if I’m wasting his precious time. “I’m uncomfortable talking contracts and negotiations with someone who isn’t legally authorized to speak on Mr. Jackson’s behalf.”

“That’s fine, because I’m not here to talk contracts and negotiations. I’m here to tell you we’re not selling.”

“Ms. Reeves—” he immediately protests.

“Don’t waste your breath, Mr. Winters. The Corkscrew isn’t for sale.”

“I advise you to reconsider. It’s a generous offer.”

“It’s a crap offer, and you know it,” I snap.

His green eyes sharpen to pin points. I surmise the young Mr. Winters isn’t used to people talking back to him. It’s clear he’s incredibly accomplished, well-educated, and an Ivy League asshole who wants for nothing. His suit is probably worth more than my life is. But I’m not going to let that intimidate me. Just because he’s powerful doesn’t mean he can ride in and steal from the poor to give to the rich. One percent of the population in Newhaven Beach can afford the condo compounds he’s building. Before Winters Travers swooped in, this area was peaceful and quiet. An unblemished coastline escape. Now, with all the new development, taxes are rising, the community is changing, and people whose families have lived here for generations are being pushed out because they can’t afford their beachfront homes anymore. I don’t know when the shoreline became strictly for the rich, but it fucking blows. That’s why I refuse to give up the Corkscrew. I have plans for the little restaurant, and I’m not going to let some greedy developer ruin them.

“It’s the best offer you’re going to get. I urge Mr. Jackson to reconsider. Change is coming,” he threatens, vehemently sliding the folder in front of me. “The town wants this redevelopment, and your little establishment isn’t going to get in their way. Persuade Mr. Jackson to accept the offer.”

I narrow my pale blue eyes at Ty Winters. “I don’t have to persuade Mr. Jackson to do anything. We don’t accept. So you can take your shitty offer and shove it up—”

My tirade is interrupted when the door to the conference room suddenly swings open.

“Ty, I have specs I want to show you—” A tall blond man in a tan suit barges in with a tablet in his hand. He stops short when he looks up to find Ty isn’t alone. Our eyes lock, and suddenly, I want to throw up. “I didn’t realize you were still in a meeting.”

“He’s not. We’re done.” I jump up, sick to my stomach. I race past Shane without uttering a word and bang on the elevator button like it’s going to magically open the doors.

“Jenn?” Shane voices my name from behind. I slowly turn around with a defensive look in my eye.

“You work for him?” I hiss. “Is that why you came into the Corkscrew last night? Recon?”

“No,” Shane contests. “Chase and I just got back into town. We’re starting on our next project.”