Page 12 of Stolen Faith

“Yes, I do.”

Brennon cupped one luscious breast through the dress, his thumb sweeping over her nipple.

“There’s too much fabric, I can’t feel that,” she complained.

“Oh?” Brennon’s smile was wicked. “We could strip your dress off you…or leave it on.” Brennon looked up at Rowan. “Keep her frustrated.”

“Bastard,” Izabel breathed. “Just don’t forget what I said.”

* * *

“What you said?” Brennon asked, confused.

Apparently, Rowan understood. He cleared his throat, drawing Brennon’s attention, leaning over the back of the couch and catching Brennon’s jaw, tipping his face up.

Before Brennon could finish connecting the dots, Rowan kissed him. Kissed him the way Brennon had kissed Izabel, slow and deep.

Rowan took his lips with the same confidence that seemed to radiate from every single pore in his body, but there was also something else there.

Something curious? An exploration?

Brennon reached out, his hands finding Rowan’s shoulders, his fingers sliding to his neck, as he wished the couch wasn’t a barrier between them. He was dying to feel Rowan’s body flush against his, to see if there was a hardness in his pants like the one in Brennon’s.

He hadn’t expected tonight to travel this path, the three of them virtual strangers, but now that they were walking it…it felt natural. Right.

They were panting when Rowan straightened.

“You’re both so gorgeous,” Izabel breathed.

Brennon resisted the urge to pinch himself, just to be sure it was real. He had a great imagination, always had. But never in his dizziest daydreams could he have conjured up something as wonderful as this.

As them.

Brennon wasn’t a stranger to sex with men, his bisexuality emerging early. He’d dated both guys and girls throughout high school and college, so when the invitation to the Trinity Masters arrived, he had seen the arranged menage marriage as an opportunity to have the best of both worlds. He’d known, of course, there was a chance he’d be assigned two wives, but deep inside, he’d always hoped for this.

Rowan’s gaze held his and Brennon suddenly understood the curiosity behind the confidence.

“Am I the first man you’ve ever kissed?” he asked.

Rowan nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Izabel shifted closer. “Do it again.”

Brennon wasn’t sure what he expected Rowan to say, but it certainly wasn’t something as simple as “okay.”

“With you this time,” Brennon added, looking at her.

Rowan circled around to the front of the couch as Izabel and Brennon stood, the three of them stepping close. This time, they didn’t cage Izabel between them, rather they formed a circle, their arms entangling in a three-way hug, their bodies shifting closer until Brennon could feel their breath on his face, feel the heat radiating from them.

He’d never felt an attraction so…instantaneous, so overpowering.

Rowan leaned toward him, initiating their second kiss, just as he had their first. The confidence was still there, but this time, there was no exploration. Rowan wasn’t just a soldier; he was a conqueror. Brennon had never been kissed with such outright possession.

Rowan’s tongue pushed into his mouth, stroking in a way that felt like he was planting a goddamn flag, proclaiming that land his forever. His hand gripped the back of Brennon’s neck, the firm hold strong enough that Brennon couldn’t pull away if he wanted to.

Not that he wanted to.

Fuck. He could remain right here, locked in this kiss for years.

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