Page 16 of Eternally Devoted

I don’t know if the adrenaline wearing off is taking away some of my good sense. I don’t know if it’s the two most virile, hunky, sweet men I’ve ever met in my entire life tenderly taking care of me, as if I’m their porcelain doll to keep safe. I don’t know exactlywhatit is.

But for the first time in my life, Iwantto spill my guts about everything.

The fear that they won’t accept me is the only thing keeping me from doing it, though. I love these guys. I want them andhave wanted them in all the erotic, sensual ways that a sexually starved, deprived woman craves a man.

A quick perusal of packages—something Iusuallydo when my sunnies are on—tells me that we may be on the same page. Despite my reservations and hesitations,nowis my time to make a move.

And as nervous as I am to cross that bridge for the first time, it’s a much easier leap than coming clean. For now, at least. And the longer I can distract them from reality, the better. Because I don’t think I’m ready for the consequences.

They’ll leave me.

“Please,” I whisper again, this time moving through the apartment on weak feet, cradling my hurt hand to my chest as I circle the counter. From the fridge, I retrieve a jar ofJuni’s Peach Party. With the jam tucked under my arm, I use my good hand to twist off the top. The metal lid pings onto the kitchen floor as I make my way back to them. Neither Sterling nor Dash have moved from their spots on the couch, knees still spread wide, elbows resting atop as they steeple fists below chins, both deeply contemplative.

I take them in for a second. Sterling, a strapping man with his strawberry hair, the slight softness around his waist reminding me of the power and dominance he yields. Dash’s body is defined by lean muscle, promising stamina and strength. The most erotic dichotomy.

“I need you both,” I admit, the hushed words heavily lined with an unbearable ache. Dash’s eyes linger, and when I look at Sterling, he’s laser-focused on the jar of jam in my hand, and my two fingers as I plunge them inside.

With preserves sticky on my fingertips, I slowly settle between them on the couch, facing Sterling first. Sliding my bandaged hand under his chin, our gazes collide, brimming with unspoken tension in the electric silence. He wants me. I can seeit now. He never asked me out but there's no question, searching his hazel eyes, that he wants me.

Slowly, I tip my face toward him until I feel the hot press of his mouth and the soft swipe of his tongue along mine. His sizable hand cups the back of my head tenderly. His kiss is electrical, hot and sizzling, while somehow also being velvety soft and ultra tender. The perfect contrast of emotion and passion. His kiss is everything I knew it would be. When I have the courage to pull back, I replace my tongue with my fingers, and lower my voice to a husky whisper. “Suck.”

Sterling’s lips wrap my fingers, the noise of him swallowing my jam tears across my skin in raised bumps, somehow intensifying the hot and uncomfortable ache between my legs. Pulling my fingers out clean, I kiss and tongue the traces of peach off his lips, relieved he isn’t too proud to let me hear him moan. I love his moans. I could live off of them as sustenance, they’re so hearty and dense.

“Goddd.” His voice rattles and rumbles between my legs.

Facing Dash, I break into a smile when I find his eyes wide, and a hand guarding his crotch. I’ve long wondered about Dash’s feelings, and tried to never focus on the reasons why he didn’t or wouldn’t ask me out. I always wondered if Sterling wasn’t one of the reasons. Because he looks at Sterling the very same way I do.

Sliding over an inch, I bring my covered hand to his chin and smile, our eyes tangled in shared thought.

I want this, I swear I hear him saying it by the way his gray eyes flit between mine, the way his nostrils flare with each hitched breath, and his subtle nod as I bring the same two fingers up to his mouth.

“First, a kiss,” I whisper, fusing our mouths in a kiss so incomparably different from the one I shared with Sterling. Dash doesn’t cup the back of my head but rather, collects myface in his hands, sweeping his tongue through my mouth over and over until I’m so worked up I have to pull back.

“I’ve been dying for a taste,” he says finally, out of breath, “it feels like I’ve waited an eternity or longer.” I don’t know if he means my mouth, or Sterling’s, or both.

Both, I hope.

I plunge my fingers into his mouth, and my eyes roll closed as his tongue wraps around them, his lips creating a tight seal to suck. The back of his tongue is soft and hot as he searches for remnants of Sterling or peach jam on my fingers, and when he’s done, he takes my wrist and pulls my hand back.

“I can’t say it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, because there are a few things I’ve yet to taste that will definitely take the cake,” he rasps, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. I cup my good hand there, sweeping my thumb over his lips where happiness lifts them.

Getting to my feet between them, I nudge their little coffee table back to make room. Sterling is always a gentleman, and when I reach for the hem of the too big t-shirt that has kept me so comfortable, he levels a wobbly palm between us.

“Juniper, you don’t?—”

“I do,” I say, dead to his refusal. Hewantsme. I see it in his eyes. In Dash’s eyes too. I know how to read men’s eyes. When they’re lying, when they’ve deceived, when they say they’regoing to do better if I let them go,but I know they’re just saying what they think I want to hear.

My assumption that they haven’t asked me out because they don’t like me? I think I was wrong.

Maybe Sterling has a good reason for never asking me out. Dash, too. And maybe their reasons are as twisted as mine—maybe they’re hiding a darkness, a secret, a handful of histories so big they could destroy lives.

I don’t know.

But tonight, it doesn’t matter.

“I need youboth,” I repeat, and this time, they stay silent. After my admission, my pants join my shirt on the floor. The white bra and panty set that waxed lackluster and boring when I put it on this morning suddenly feels like the most seductive and alluring thing I’ve ever worn.

But this doesn’t end with simple stripping of clothes. Because I have plans, and jam and cotton don’t mix. The bra and panties have to go.

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