They warned me. Told me I was on private property and I needed to obey the law…or I would be punished.
The idea of them both punishing me, pleasuring me, kept tormenting me. I couldn’t want them. I shouldn’t. But I did.
I didn’t mean to trespass again. I thought I could retreat without notice. But they’re coming for me.
To show me the pleasure in pain. To show me just how right forbidden can feel. And to love me twice as hard as I ever fantasized.
I pick up the teapot. A rumble vibrates beside us. The teacup rattles on the saucer. A waft of exhausts hits me mid-inhalation. I choke, setting down the teapot to straighten the cup.
A giant blue pickup pulls in front of the tea house, blocking the quaint town view. Excellent. I wave in front of my face, clearing the last of the fumes, then fill the teacup.
What kind of asshole parks—
The door opens. I set the teapot down with a clunk. That kind. My pulse skips. Clarke emerges from the pickup.
Then the other one, Luke, climbs from the passenger side.
Luke, who saw me naked in the fucking forest.
My breath catches, this time nothing to do with fumes and everything to do with them.
Two hunters here among pastries and teacups and I’m still not sure, yet, if civilization takes me off the menu.
Clarke turns, his attention coming to land on me. He smiles, tight-lipped, and one-sided, and completely of the devil. My chest somersaults. Luke looks at me. He brushes his thumb under his bottom lip like he’s just eaten—or is about to.
A rumble fills my belly, making my hand fly to my stomach.
The table jerks to the side as Pippa lunges toward the men. Her bark snaps.
I grab on to the table top, holding it down. “Settle, Pippa.”
She strains her leash, her bark a series of high sharp shouts. The table slides another two inches. I hold on as best I can, given Pippa weighs not much less than me.
The table tips.
“Sit.” The deep command rings out.
The table falls back into place with a rattle. Pippa drops, lying flat to the ground, face right between her paws, as low as she can get.
I pant, then look up at Clarke standing beside my table. His devilish expression spreads to his eyes. Why? I grip the edge of my seat, then look down in horror. I dropped down to sit just like Pip. Yes, I did. He could’ve just as well have barked the command at me, given how well I obeyed him.
“That’s a good girl,” he says, and bends.
Wait, what me? Nope, not hardly, but right now I almost want to be.
He reaches toward Pippa.
Alarm blasts through me. She’s my dog and I don’t want her confused as to what side she’s supposed to be on. “Wait—”
He scratches the top of her head, ignoring my protest.
She accepts his touch as though she’s been drugged into submission. Luke comes to crouch beside Clarke, and pats Pippa’s back. Great. Now they’re all best freaking buddies. She’ll probably follow them home and forget I exist. I glance between them. Luke whispers something to her under his breath. Hell, maybe I’m wrong about them.
I’ve found people who are nice to animals are generally nice to people, as well.
Pippa rolls over, wrapping herself in her lead. Little whore. Not that I blame her, with all that attention and their big hands all over her. I’m suddenly a little jealous of my dog.
Maybe they’re not that bad. Maybe they just take trespassing really seriously.
“Husband joining you?”
My mouth opens. That’s right, my husband. My tongue flicks out. He stares at me, and that look he has on him…he’s one-hundred percent evil, and oh so smug. Like he knows there’s no man here with me, coming for me, or joining me.
Attraction pulses thick, making my mouth water. Now who’s a whore? I want to feel guiltier than this, but I can’t.
“Why do you think that?” The question is better than the possible responses, such as, “Actually I’m all alone and you’ve seduced my only companion.”
“You have two pastries on your table.”
I glance at the scattered food. One of the pastries has departed the plate. Yes, there are. I ordered two Danishes right off the bat without even seeing if one would do. Disobeyed instructions. Was greedy.
I clear my throat. “I like having two of a good thing.”
Luke straightens to standing. There’s something too intense about him. He still hasn’t said a word, but the way his attention hones in so sharply on me now, is bolder than anything I’ve ever been told. It’s a knife through butter.
“Do you?” Clarke’s voice is huskier than before. I look back at him and reexamine what I just said.
I like having two of a good thing.
My blood goes combustible because now I’m picturing two of a good thing. I’m picturing being the soft apple center in their man-pastry.
I’m picturing things a decent woman would never dream of.
I clear my throat, and reach for the tea.
Clarke stands, and the two of them take a nearby table, taunting me with an image I can’t forget.
Two of a bad, bad thing.
She lives with her husband and children in semi-rural Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a kangaroo bounce by.
Amber is an award winning writer, Amazon Bestselling Author, and member of Romance Writers of Australia, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild, and Writers Victoria.
Hi there! I’m a mom and wife by day (and night), aspiring writer (in my dreams), and an avid reader (every day of the week). This is my little corner of the web to post about ALL things books. I live in Copenhagen, but I am a Canadian girl (born and raised) at heart.