Page 141 of The Charlie Method

I need to be in a place where I don’t have to pretend or keep up appearances. Somewhere I can just be me. I feel like I spend so much time fighting myself. My own nature. I don’t have to do that when I’m with my boys. They get me. And the more time I spend with them, the more I’m starting to getthem.

The drive to Hastings and the walk to their front stoop is a blur. By the time I ring the doorbell, I’m buzzing with pent-up frustration. A live wire ready to detonate.

When Will opens the door, I waste no time rushing inside.

“Take your pants off,” I order. “Now.”

“What? Why?”

“I need it.” I release a strangled sound of impatience. Desperation. “Now, Will.”

Although he chortles loudly, he doesn’t need to be asked twice. And that’s how I end up in their living room, getting fucked from behind by Will, who grips my hips tight enough to hurt. I’m draped over Beckett’s lap, his long fingers twisting my hair around his fist as he guides my mouth up and down his cock.

Will reaches around and rubs my clit. He bends over me, changing the angle of penetration, and I cry out, the orgasm blasting through my body. The boys aren’t far behind me.

Afterward, I collapse on top of Beckett, catching my breath for a moment before climbing off the couch and ducking into the hall bathroom to clean up.

When I return, I find two Briar hockey players staring at me in disbelief.

“What?” I say.

“What do you mean, what?” Beckett chuckles. “You just blew in here like a tornado and fucked our brains out. No explanation?”

“Do you need an explanation when the end result is you getting laid?”

“Good point.”

Rather than put on my own clothes, I grab Will’s discarded T-shirt and slip it over my head. The soft material falls past my knees. It smells like him, that heady, spicy scent I can’t get enough of.

Beckett tugs me back onto his lap. I rest my head against his shoulder as Will grabs my legs and pulls them into his own lap. Will rubs my right foot, and I groan from the pleasurable sensation.

They’re both still shirtless, but their dicks are tucked back into their sweatpants, condoms disposed of. I love how neither of them batted an eye at me showing up on a Wednesday night demanding sex like a crazed, wide-eyed lunatic.

“So I don’t usually discuss exes with guys I’m seeing,” I tell them, “but I just want to say thank you for taking my libido in stride.”

Will looks amused. “You’re welcome. But it’s really not a chore to make you feel good.”

“It was a chore to my ex,” I say with a shrug.

“Who? Macho Mitch?” Beckett drawls. “Of course he couldn’t handle someone like you. You’re a majestic thoroughbred, and he’s one of those sad, tired horses they make the tourists ride on beach resorts.”

I snort. “I think this might be the second time you’ve compared me to a horse.”

He nuzzles my neck. “Yeah, but, like, a really hot horse.”

Will laughs, switching to my other foot and digging his fingers into the arch.

“I used to text him the way I texted you guys tonight, saying I was on my way over and practically begging him for sex. He hated it. Said he couldn’t perform on command, and I was selfish for always making it about me.” Guilt pricks my stomach.

“I guess he’s right about the performing on command part,” Will concedes. “But you also don’t strike me as the kind of person who would force the issue if you showed up and he told you he really wasn’t in the mood.”

“Of course I wouldn’t force it. I’d just go home and get the job done myself.”

“And I don’t think it’s selfish to make your needs known,” he adds. “Sounds like you just weren’t with the right person. You said it yourself—it was a mismatch. Someone with a high libido wouldn’t even blink.”

“Like you guys,” I say.

“Hockey players are horny,” Beckett agrees.

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