Page 57 of Carnival Mayhem

Nash sets his unopened beer on the table, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. “We need to talk about the fact we sucked each other’s dicks and how we both fucking loved it.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I nearly choke on my beer, setting the can down with shaking hands. Trust Nash to be so direct, to strip away all pretense and lay it bare.

“Nash...” I start, but my voice trails off. What can I say? He’s right. The memory of that night floods back—his mouth on me, my hands in his hair, the sounds he made when I returned the favor. The way it felt so right.

“Don’t,” he cuts me off. “Don’t try to explain it away or make excuses. I saw your face that night. I felt how hard you were when you rubbed that beautiful cock against my dick. You wanted it as much as I did.”

I grip the edge of the counter behind me, knuckles turning white. The truth of his words burns my chest.

Nash takes a step closer, his expression softening. “Listen to me, Colt. What we have—it’s special. Not just the friendship or the performances, but everything. And now with Flora...”

I swallow hard, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

“I care about you,” Nash continues, his voice gentle but firm. “Have for years. And I care about Flora, too. She needs us, both of us. Together, we give her everything she needs—protection, understanding, love.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. “Nash...”

“Think about it,” he urges. “The three of us, supporting each other, caring for each other. No more pretending or holding back. We could be a real family, Colt. All of us together.”

His words strike a chord deep within me. The possibility of having both of them, openly and completely, makes my chest tight with longing.

“Flora brings out something in both of us,” Nash says. “And what we have—you and me—it’s always been there, just waiting. We could build something beautiful, something perfect.”

I let out a shaky breath, processing his words. The truth of them resonates in my soul. Flora fits so perfectly between us.How natural it feels when we’re all together. And Nash—my best friend, my partner, the man who knows me better than anyone else.

I run a hand through my hair, my heart thundering in my chest. The truth claws its way up my throat, demanding to be heard after years of silence.

“Fuck, Nash. You think I haven’t wanted this? Haven’t wanted you?” My voice comes out rough. “For years, I’ve watched you. Every time you move on that silk, every time you spot me during practice. The way your muscles flex, the grace in every motion.”

Nash’s eyes darken, but he stays silent, letting me continue.

“I’ve laid awake so many nights, thinking about your hands on me. Imagined what it would be like to touch and taste you.” I let out a shaky breath. “But I couldn’t risk what we have. Our friendship, our act—it means everything to me.”

Moving closer, I meet his intense gaze. “Then Flora came along. And fuck, Nash, she hit me like a freight train. That same raw need, that desperate connection I’ve only ever felt with you.” My hands clench at my sides. “Watching her with you, seeing how perfectly she fits between us—it’s like something clicked into place. Like she was meant to complete this.”

The confession hangs in the air between us for a heartbeat. Then Nash surges forward, his mouth crashing into mine. His lips are firm and demanding, and I respond instantly, years of pent-up desire exploding in this moment.

My hands grip his hips, pulling him closer as his fingers tangle in my hair. The kiss deepens, turning desperate and hungry. Nash tastes like mint and something uniquely him.

A groan escapes my throat as his tongue slides against mine. His body presses me back against the counter, hard muscle against hard muscle. This isn’t gentle or hesitant—it’s raw and primal, filled with years of suppressed want.

I bite his lower lip, drawing a harsh sound from him that shoots straight to my groin. His hands tighten in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss further. Every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips speaks of possession and need.

My heart pounds against my ribs as Nash consumes me. His body fits against mine like it was made to be there, like we’ve been doing this forever instead of just these few explosive moments.

I meet Nash’s challenging gaze, my breath heavy from our kiss. The familiar competitive spark ignites between us—the same energy that makes our aerial performances so electric.

“You going to be a good boy for me, Colt?” Nash’s voice carries that dangerous edge. “Get on your knees?”

I grip his hips harder, pushing back against his body. “I don’t take orders from you,” I growl.

Nash’s fingers tighten in my hair, testing my resistance. “No? Seems like you want to.” His other hand traces down my chest, teasing. “I’ve seen how you watch me during practice.”

“Maybe you’re the one who should kneel,” I counter, spinning us so he’s against the counter. Our bodies press together, neither willing to submit. “You’re not the only one who knows how to take control.”

Nash’s eyes darken with desire, but I see the flash of defiance. He’s never backed down from a challenge, especially not from me. His hand slides to my neck, thumb pressing against my pulse point.

“Make me,” he whispers against my lips, the words both invitation and challenge.

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