Mind (Naughty Wishes #3) Read online

  “We’ll be here when you get back,” he promised.

  “That’s what makes it even harder to leave,” she responded. Sliding away reluctantly, she moved back toward the door. Her tote trundled across the linoleum behind her, a poignant noise that reminded him of a little girl trudging up her driveway with a painted wagon. Though the person who stopped at the door and looked back at them was all woman, sexy and mysterious, her eyes liquid pools.

  “I love you,” she said, and then she was gone. Silently, he and Geoff moved to the window to watch her greet Flo and the other two ladies in the car. They chatted in that way women did, like a cheerful congregation of birds in a birdbath. Their laughter was like the fluttering of their wings, the words the bright droplets scattering about them.

  “You know Flo’s a Mistress?” Geoff asked casually, keeping his eyes on the women. “Sam went to a couple of parties with her. That’s how she’s been exploring some of this. She told me that the other night.”

  Chris made a noncommittal grunt. They’d talked about Geoff’s Dom side several times before, Chris indulging his curiosity about it as a spectator and intrigued friend. Never in a way that would affect him, at least not consciously.

  Which was maybe why he made some vague comment and escaped to the yard, rather than encouraging further dialogue.

  * * *

  Returning to the present moment, Chris closed his eyes and turned his face up to the dying sun. Sam was with both of them. Sleeping with both of them, having sex with both of them. Ever since that first night, the significance of it had hit him at unexpected moments. While working with Esteban’s crew, while brushing his teeth, while lying with her in his arms or while she was sleeping way too far away in Geoff’s. No matter when or how he thought about it, it brought him a sweet, tight pleasure.

  What if that was all he wanted? What if he didn’t want to take it further? Sam had made it clear she would accept that, but there was an unspoken caveat. She could accept it as long as his insistence that that was all he wanted didn’t trip her bullshit meter. And he couldn’t even say it to himself without tripping his own.

  This was just the starting gate. While there was a whole territory to explore with her, it could crash and burn as quickly as it started if he and Geoff didn’t figure out how to relate to each other over it. He saw the worry about that in her face. However, unlike her, he knew he and Geoff were more worried about how a crash would impact her than the two of them. He and Geoff had had plenty of ups and downs as friends, yet there was a constancy to their relationship that would endure everything. Well, as long as they kept it in the lines where that constancy wasn’t challenged to become something else.

  He wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself. He was good at leaving things alone that really didn’t need to change for things overall to be okay. Trying to make something perfect was a pointless way to drive yourself crazy. But leaving this as is wasn’t going to be an option.

  Even so, he wasn’t like Geoff or Sam. He didn’t necessarily feel a problem needed an immediate solution. Sometimes you had to wait, give things time to play out to figure out how they wanted to work. It couldn’t be rushed or forced. Maybe that wisdom came from years of gardening, but what was natural and lasting should never be hurried or forced to grow in a certain direction. You could do it, sure, but it took constant vigilance to keep it going that way, unless you convinced the plant it would be happier climbing up that trellis than across the ground. If it insisted on its own way enough, you had to respect that.

  Now he was rambling off-topic. On top of that, he truly was bullshitting himself. The impulse he’d just had to wrestle Geoff in the dirt hadn’t been patient in the least. Rising, he went to shut off the water. He’d finish up out here, take a shower and stop being a pussy. There was no reason he and Geoff couldn’t bond in mutual Sam-absence misery as they usually did. They’d grab something from the grocery store and grill out.

  Geoff and Sam thought he was the most easygoing of the three of them, and he guessed he was. But maybe sometimes they overestimated his placid nature. Geoff surely did, because he came back out of the house . . . and he still hadn’t changed clothes. He’d stripped the tie and opened the neck of his shirt, loosening the cuffs and rolling them up. He’d run his hands through his hair, because it was tousled. The late-afternoon sun drew Chris’s gaze to the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. He looked like a cross between a Fortune 500 magazine ad, and a guy with whom Ray Liotta would share his 1812 scotch in a heartbeat.

  “Hey.” Geoff strode across the grass. “That meat loaf Sam left us. Do you remember if she said to heat it in the oven, or can we chop off a couple of slices and nuke it? I was going to stick it in the oven while I changed if—”

  Chris rose to his feet, pivoted to face him. Geoff had some of today’s mail in his hand, flipping through it as he asked the question. Chris moved forward. “She said the oven makes it taste better.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Just didn’t know if I wanted to trade out taste for speed. I have to do some shit after dinner and . . .”

  Geoff had acute intuition. He sensed danger before it happened. His head came up abruptly, his expression registering that Chris was bearing down on him with only a couple of steps to spare.

  “Do not, you son of a—”

  Chris hit him midbody, taking him off his feet and back several yards, tumbling them into a bank of leaves he’d piled up for mulching. Geoff’s snow-white shirt was a good contrast to the gray and brown tones of the dried leaves. His shiny shoes had no traction, so he couldn’t get his feet underneath him to push up. Chris usually played fair with him, but he wasn’t in the mood. Geoff figured that out pretty damn fast and responded accordingly.

  Chris grunted as the male managed to buck, roll and slam his elbow into Chris’s mouth, splitting his lip. It jarred him enough that Geoff slithered free and jumped on his back. Chris could shake most opponents like a Rottweiler, but Geoff was like a Jack Russell terrier. A Rottweiler would chase you out of his yard. A Jack Russell would pursue you to the edge of a cliff and then jump over it with you, just to make sure you ended up dead on the bottom.

  He’d intended to flip Geoff on the roll, get him under him again, but instead, Geoff got his feet on the ground, clamped his hand on Chris’s wrist and twisted. It was a sure pin, the pain of the angle discouraging movement. Chris was able to throw Geoff off enough to escape it, narrowly. Pain lanced up his arm. As a result, when he threw them both over backwards, he misjudged his toss.

  Instead of Geoff ending up in the leaves, his friend landed on the much more unyielding ground of the yard, with a solid thump. From football, Chris knew the look of a person who had had his wind knocked out of him. A sudden disorientation as the abdomen slammed into the solar plexus, a quick expulsion of air, followed by panic as breathing suddenly didn’t work as it should.

  Geoff being Geoff, he didn’t look panicked as much as confused and then pissed, but either way, Chris was instantly beside him, hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

  “Jesus. Sorry about that, man. Just relax. It’ll pass in a minute.”

  “Fucking . . . tank. Like a circus bear . . . in a china shop . . .”

  “It gets better faster if you don’t try to talk.”

  In answer to that, Geoff grabbed his shirt and yanked him down so their faces were nearly nose to nose. “Paid . . . two hun”—wheeze, wheeze—“hundred dollars for this shirt . . .”

  “Well, you’re a dumbass. That’s too much. It’s just a freaking shirt.”

  Geoff’s breath smelled like the cinnamon Trident he liked to chew throughout the day. If Chris touched his stubbled jaw, it would be rough like his own. Well, not exactly like that. Geoff’s would be more like fine-grain sandpaper, whereas Chris’s was coarser.

  His mind snapped away from that as Geoff’s fingers tightened in the collar of his T-shirt. Geoff was moving his fingertips over Chris’s collarbone and the stray chest hairs at the base of h
is throat.

  Geoff’s breath was evening out, whereas Chris’s was suddenly harder to find. Geoff’s hazel eyes, which Chris had noticed one night were like ginger ale behind green glass, were fixed upon him. Because of Geoff pulling him down like this, Chris had one hand braced against the earth by his shoulder, the side of his other hand pressed up against Geoff’s belt and the summer wool beneath it.

  When he tried to draw back and Geoff’s grip only increased, the pounding in Chris’s ears grew louder. The blood from Chris’s split lip had gotten smeared on Geoff’s shirt. Geoff was going to murder him for that, when he noticed.

  “Get off of me,” Geoff said quietly.

  Yeah, he’d gotten his wind back. His eyes were sharp again, the mouth tight. Chris lifted a brow, wondering if he should point out that Geoff was holding him, but since Geoff’s grip eased as he spoke, Chris moved back. He really didn’t know what had gotten into him, didn’t know how to explain it, but . . .

  He’d left himself unguarded, and that was his mistake. Geoff tackled him while he was resting on his heels, so Geoff had the benefit of balance. When he knocked Chris down, he had his knee planted between Chris’s legs, enough weight resting on Chris’s balls to keep him there, and his hand was partially wrapped around Chris’s thick throat. Before Chris could think to struggle, Geoff stroked two fingers along the carotid, a firm pressure that was oddly arousing and then started to change the world, making Chris’s head swim.

  Geoff’s gaze locked on him as he kept up those tiny movements. The light-headedness made all of this feel really weird to Chris, but okay, too. It took him a while to realize when Geoff had changed the pressure of his touch so that he was now tracing Chris’s throat lightly with his knuckles, his other hand resting on his chest. When Chris tried to move, Geoff mashed his balls and cock harder beneath his knee. He let out a soft curse. Geoff tilted his head.

  “Yeah, hurts some, doesn’t it? If you’re feeling a little dizzy, that’s the carotid massage I just gave you. Learned it from a Dom in San Francisco one night. It can kill someone if it’s done wrong. He said I was about as precise and focused a Dom as he’d ever met, so he knew he could trust me with it. Done right, it can give a sub a lovely sense of euphoria, float some of them right into subspace.”

  He could shake him. He could. But despite Chris’s jaw being clenched, a reflection of the tension in the rest of his body, it was as if his mind was in stasis, waiting. Geoff leaned closer, visibly studying his reaction. His mouth was so close Chris pressed his lips together, resisting a compulsion he didn’t want to face.

  “My mouth wouldn’t be soft and tender like hers, would it?” Geoff observed. “When I kiss you, you’ll feel the heat, but it won’t be sweet or female. I’d lick that blood off your lip, then bite you again. When my tongue’s in your mouth, your ass will clench, because you’ll think about my tongue there, as well as curling around your cock. Sam’s all sweet, all female. Can’t kiss her mouth without thinking about her pussy, because it’s the same slick heat. You like fucking Sam, don’t you, Chris? You love being inside her. You can’t wait to do it again.”

  Chris snarled as Geoff shifted, sending a shot of pain through his balls with that knee. “You remember what I told you that day when you and I were standing in her bedroom?”

  Sam had dashed off to the bathroom. Geoff had looked at him, then spoken in a low voice, full of lust and promise. “The first time I take her ass, I want you inside her cunt.”

  Geoff’s eyes bored into Chris’s. “Next time you sink your cock into her, I’m going to be balls deep in your ass.”

  “Get off me,” Chris said, repeating Geoff’s own words.

  “In a minute.” His knee shifted, trailing over Chris’s length. “You’re hard. No surprise there. When you’re thinking about sex with me, you pick a fight.”

  Chris shook his head, shutting his eyes. Though it only made Geoff’s point, he threw Geoff off. He paid for it, gritting his teeth through the agony of Geoff’s kneecap rolling over his dick as he flipped him. They both had fast reflexes, so they were on their feet facing each other in an instant. The problem was that surge of adrenaline coupled with the carotid thing made Chris react like a drunk. Hell. He couldn’t stand up.

  He managed to drop to his knees rather than crashing like a cut tree, but only because Geoff caught and took him to that position.

  “Easy, man. Fuck, we’re a pair of idiots, aren’t we?” Geoff ran a hand over Chris’s hair, because he had his head lowered as he tried to even out. He used Geoff’s touch and voice to steady himself. “Time-out, I promise. Forgot one of the most important things about that technique. Making sure whoever you’re doing it to doesn’t freak out. You okay? Just nod.”

  Chris nodded, realizing he was gripping Geoff’s forearm across his chest.

  “Okay. Okay.” Geoff’s forehead touched the back of his head, his breath a sigh across Chris’s neck. “Crap. Sorry about that. How about a truce, big guy? Ice for your lip and we eat some meat loaf.”

  Since staying out in the backyard and trying to kill each other for reasons Chris couldn’t articulate wasn’t as appealing an option, Chris offered an agreeable grunt. As he steadied, he didn’t want Geoff to help him up, so he pushed him away. The brief flash of hurt on Geoff’s face was like a screwdriver twisting in his gut. He got that tight look, the set to his jaw that said Geoff was thinking he should have coldcocked Chris and left him sprawled in the yard. That might have been preferable. But Sam’s meat loaf was good. If Chris was unconscious, Geoff would eat it all just to spite him.

  * * *

  Chris ate his in front of the TV, Geoff at the table. Geoff should have opened his laptop and handled that work he needed to do, but he didn’t feel like it. Chris had the TV on Mike & Molly reruns, which they all enjoyed, but when some of their favorite punch lines happened, Chris didn’t register them. Geoff couldn’t say he was hanging on every word of it, either.

  Instead, he kept replaying every step of what had happened in the backyard. Once he’d been sure Chris truly was steady on his feet, Geoff had gone into the laundry room and left his shirt there. When he came back through in a T-shirt and jeans, he’d seen Chris squirting some of the OxiClean on it that Sam said worked for almost all stains, but Geoff knew it was pointless. The shirt had a jagged tear in the back, because a branch hidden in the mulch had punched through the fabric.

  “I’ll pay you for your shirt,” Chris said suddenly.

  Geoff pushed aside his plate and turned his chair around to face him. Putting his ankle on his knee, he took a sip of his beer. “Damn straight you will.”

  His casual tone relaxed Chris a little. Maybe Geoff should leave it alone tonight, but his gut suggested otherwise. “We’ve avoided talking about it long enough. Spit it out. What’s on your mind?”

  Chris’s gaze flicked to him, then away. He didn’t say anything for several long minutes, such that anyone else other than Geoff or Sam might think Chris wasn’t going to say anything. Geoff just waited until his friend gathered his thoughts and finally spoke.

  “The first time, how did you know I’d take her in her room instead of mine?”

  “Besides the fact you have no proper bed? It’s like taking a team down on their home turf.”

  “You’re the competitive one.”

  “It’s not about competition. It’s about territory.” Geoff drew on his beer, studying Chris. “You’re not competitive, Chris. But it doesn’t change the fact you feel like she belongs to you, and you have some definite topping qualities. Along with a few nontopping qualities.”

  He didn’t call it bottoming, because Geoff already knew it wasn’t that straightforward with Chris. He had an intriguing area that would give way, like a mighty oak for the wind, yet that didn’t stop him from being an oak. He just respected the laws of the wind.

  Geoff wanted to be the wind.

  He’d gone back and forth on it a hundred times this week. He still wasn’t fully decided on how his Dom
nature would fit with Chris, about how far he could take it between them, but the wrestling match in the backyard had given him a big clue that Chris had been thinking about it just as hard. Quite a bit, whether he acknowledged it consciously or not. And while Chris might be feeling messed up some about it right now, Chris’s reaction to everything Geoff was doing when he was on top of him had left Geoff feeling as honed as a lethal knife.

  They’d both shied away from it until now, far more than either one of them had in their imaginings about Sam. There were more walls here, more tricky areas. But Sam’s desires had reached the point where she’d made the leap. Maybe it was because feelings and hormones had taken her to a Fuck it, it’s worth a shot point, but Geoff knew she was no more willing to risk their friendship on a whim than Chris or he was. Yet perhaps her initiative had been the key to helping them feel their way toward one another.

  “She belongs to us,” Chris corrected him.

  Geoff smiled. Chris’s declaration had circled his own thoughts. He lifted the bottle in a salute. “She belongs to us.”

  They’d both accepted it, though Geoff expected they’d always enjoy some friendly rivalry over it. “And to each one of us. Just as we belong to her, together and separate. Heart and soul, mind and cock.”

  Chris sent him a curious look, then his mouth eased into a smile. “Yeah, there’s that. Does it seem weird to you? I mean, most guys aren’t into sharing a woman.”

  “Does it seem weird to you?”

  Chris shook his head. “I just wonder if it’s supposed to seem weird for us not to be that way about her. Like you say, there’s some competition, but it’s not about that.”

  “Yeah.” Geoff studied him. “We could share her, simple as that. Stay friends who happen to be in love with the same woman, and who happen to have the unique situation of not making it a competition, because she loves us both. That’d probably work out for a while, though we might have to set up a schedule so we don’t wear her out. She didn’t say so, but I think she was hobbling a little bit toward the end of the week. I told her it was your fault.”