Page 30 of The Boys Next Door

“Oh, Brendan was doing it too,” Diana volunteered. “He was the one who taught me how to get both wheels off the ground.” At the surprised look on his parents’ faces, she couldn’t resist adding, “He told me I could handle the ramp and I just needed to watch him. He was an expert. He’d just go at it.”

“Brendan? Really?” Mrs. O’Brian looked disbelieving.

The twins exchanged glances. Brendan gave Diana a firm pinch on her hip, out of sight of Mr. and Mrs. O’Brian, and she stifled a gasp. She needed his hands to slide to her breasts, heavy in the satin constraints of her bra, and…

“Are you sure it wasn’t Ian, Di?” Brendan smiled down at her.

“Probably was,” Ian yawned, rolling over to watch the TV again like the conversation bored him. “Diana was hallucinating after she fell off her bike. She couldn’t see straight. Didn’t she start wearing glasses right after? Explains a lot.”

“Please,” she sniffed. She gave Ian’s shoulder a prod with her bare toes. He wrapped his fingers around her foot, flashing her a lazy grin. But there was something else in his gaze that she couldn’t read. More heat rushed to her face, and she wriggled her foot free of his grasp, tucking it firmly under her on the couch. “I don’t mix you guys up.”

“Well, we certainly never saw the kind of damage on Brendan’s body that we did on his brother’s,” their mother said doubtfully. Jesus, did they have to be discussing the twins’ bodies? Sweat pooled between Diana’s breasts. Brendan stroked her back reassuringly, his touch just inviting more wetness to soak her panties, while Ian smirked at her from the floor. Mrs. O’Brian went on, oblivious. “If there was a rewards card for going to the doctor…all those stitches, casts, and slings Ian racked up…we’d be in great shape now.”

When the O’Brians turned back to the TV, Brendan winked at her and put a finger on her lips. Diana blinked, then looked down at Ian. His eyes flicked up to hers, and he mimed zipping his mouth shut.

Fine. The good twin-bad twin game was Brendan and Ian’s business. She remembered the two of them now, crouched over her on the sticky asphalt after she’d fallen off her bike, their voices a jumble ofare youokayand urgent whispers over her head:we can handle this, Diana will be fine, no one needs to know.

More embarrassed than anything else, she’d insisted she really was fine. Brendan had been examining her scraped-up knees and elbows “to see if they’re broken,” acting like he knew what he was talking about, while Ian leaned over her, trying to annoy her with ridiculous faces. Then her mom had driven by, and all hell had broken loose.

Her parents had been so damn protective when she was little, Diana thought, and they hadn’t had the first idea what was going on that year they moved away.

An intimate squeeze on her shoulder pulled her back to the O’Brians’ den. It took every ounce of focus to breathe normally as Brendan’s knowing hand massaged her back. Ian’s gaze kept roving over her clinging t-shirt and the firm points of her nipples pressing against her bra.

When a male palm slipped under her shirt, caressing her bare stomach, she clenched her thighs together. Fingers teased the underside of her heavy breast, stroking her sensitive skin through the lacy cup.

She didn’t dare look at Brendan right now, so she looked at Ian instead: eyes right on hers, challenging her to keep quiet under Brendan’s touch. God, the good twin was feeling her up behind his parents’ backs, and if either Mr. or Mrs. O’Brian turned around—

“Are you turned on, Di?” Brendan’s whisper was so soft. Her throat went dry, and she managed a nod. “Thought so.”

Ian just yawned, but his eyes moved downward. Diana realized her thighs had slipped open again. “Turned on” didn’t begin to describe what was happening between her legs. This time, she left them open.

Leaning over, making sure Mr. and Mrs. O’Brians’ attention was glued to the amazing play on the screen, aware Ian was watching everything, she got up the nerve to whisper in Brendan’s ear, “Are you?”

Immediately, fingers pressed her palm over a firm bulge, bursting through soft cotton. Diana gasped out loud, pulling her hand away before her instincts took over and she yanked Brendan’s shorts off.

Mrs. O’Brian turned around, concerned. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Great!” she managed. Brendan’s arm rested on the back of the couch like it had been there all along. He patted her shoulder, looking equally concerned. “Best I’ve ever been.”

“Calm down, Diana.” Ian’s grin stretched from ear to ear, and she glared at him. “I know home runs get you excited. Keep your pants on.”

Once the game was over, Brendan ushered her out to the patio, chips in hand. Ian followed like he didn’t have anything better to do. Mrs. O’Brian brought them a watermelon, beaming like seeing the three of them together was the highlight of her weekend.

And for the next half hour, sitting outside getting college advice from Brendan and bickering with Ian while they spit watermelon seeds at each other and finished off the chips felt…normal. It felt nice. Familiar, even comfortable, if she just ignored the ache between her legs.

“When did you guys start?” she finally felt relaxed enough to ask, interrupting Brendan’s suggestions on how to get the classes she wanted, when she wanted, even when she was a freshman. “When did you start being good and bad?”

Both twins looked surprised. Someone squeezed her bare leg under the table. She wasn’t sure who, and she wasn’t going to peek underneath to find out.

Brendan smiled easily. “We’ve got a good thing going, Di. Don’t knock it. We’ve worked long and hard for this.”

“Okay, but how much is true?”

No one answered. Brendan’s eyelids closed halfway, a thoughtful expression on his face. And Ian— When she turned toward him, he spit a watermelon seed right at her chest. She swiped the nearest wedge of fruit, sucking out the seeds to retaliate.

But once the last of the strawberry lemonade had been drunk and the last crumbs of chips had been argued over, the conversation died down. Diana looked up to find two pairs of hazel eyes on her, waiting. A knee pressed against hers, a foot rested on her ankle. Ian reached over and took her glasses off, dropping them on the table without a word.

As soon as the O’Brians had poked their heads outside to say goodnight, the three of them had gone back to the treehouse. The things they’d done there, and whose mouths and fingers and cocks had been where, and the noises she’d made — it all blurred together in a hot sensual haze.

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