Party of Three: A H.O.T. Cops Novel (19 page)

And yet Rogan’s kisses threatened to consume her. So did his touch. And—oh Lord—she truly ached for that incredibly hard column of flesh she felt trapped behind his zipper.

With each seductive kiss, she was reminded more and more of what they’d shared, how strong it had been once upon a time. There had been a period during which they couldn’t even look at each other without wanting to fall into bed—or do it wherever they happened to be. They didn’t always, because sometimes they were in public or maybe they were supposed to be somewhere, but on the occasions they’d fought off the urges, the decision had always been hers. And right now … right now, despite herself, despite how much she knew she loved Ethan, despite the utter wrongness of it, she just wasn’t sure she had the strength to stop.

And … Lord, he’d brought Rogan here. He’d … dangled her old love in front of her, telling her she could have him, that he
wanted
her to have him. And she knew he hadn’t meant like this, but still … it suddenly seemed all too confusing, and what had felt extremely black and white just yesterday had now become a dark and intense shade of gray.

Rogan said nothing more, so she stayed quiet, too.

Because somehow … somehow that made surrender easier.

Since, no matter how horrible it was, that’s what she felt herself doing—giving in.

But again—oh God, what about Ethan? He’s making your birthday dinner right now! How can you possibly …

Yet that’s when Rogan’s hands closed over her ass, firm, and began to knead. And each stretch of his fingers seemed to vibrate all through her. She felt it in her pussy. And she felt it in the tiny orifice up above, in her ass. Where he’d always wanted to fuck her but she’d never let him.

And mmm, God, she couldn’t believe how good it felt right now—the sensation expanded like a rubber band being pulled in all directions, and she felt weak, like the clichéd putty in his hands. All rational thought left her then. All she knew was that her body wanted more, a deeper connection. And that he could give it to her. He could give her everything she wanted right now.

After he nipped at her neck, then ran his teeth down one earlobe, making her shiver, he murmured in her ear. “Goddamn, babe, I need that sweet little pussy wrapped around my hard cock before I lose my fucking mind.”

And still she said nothing, nothing at all.
You can still stop this. And you know deep down that you should
. But she’d begun to feel drunk on him, like the world was swirling a little and like the only thing that could save her was being pleasured, fucked, by the man who held her. She’d been brought here for sex, she’d been totally immersed in sex, and now here was
more
sex put before her, pulling her in to its pleasures, and her body remained crazily hungry for it in a way that defied her senses, her ability to reason.

But she knew it wasn’t just sex itself luring her. It was Rogan. Rogan had always turned her on,
always
. And maybe he didn’t know this if he thought she’d held back in bed—or who knew, maybe he did—but he’d possessed the power to seduce her almost from the moment they’d met. And he still seemed to possess that power now.

When he reached beneath the hem of her top for the drawstring on her shorts, she looked down, knew still that she should say no. But instead she simply found herself observing, taking it in, like watching a movie where you have no control over what happens on the screen in front of you.
Except you
do
have control. You can change this. It’s just that you want it. You want it to happen now. You need it to happen as badly as you need to breathe.

She banished that thought, though, as quickly as it came. And she focused on the way her body felt and the things she saw around her—anything to keep from thinking about what was right … or about what was wrong. She studied the tattoo on Rogan’s arm, which seemed to dance a little as the muscles beneath it shifted. His dark T-shirt stretching across his broad chest, his hands at the waistband of her shorts. Greenery and old leaves on the ground around their shoes. A bruise she’d picked up on her thigh.

And then
her
hands, working at
his
waistband. Undoing the button, pulling down the zipper. Her palm, pressing over the hard ridge just barely contained in another pair of black boxer briefs.

Rogan’s low groan bit through the air. She felt it in her gut as it mingled with the sound of her own slow, labored breathing. Her entire body hummed, as if being touched by some sort of electrical prod—until she was reaching out, forcing her fingers inside the front opening on his underwear, wrapping her hand firm and rough around his cock. Oh God, so big in her hand. Like holding on to some kind of power … like holding a lightning bolt.

He used one bent finger to lift her chin, make her look at him. “Tell me you want it,” he rasped.

She nodded. She could hardly deny it, after all.

But that wasn’t good enough. “Tell me,” he insisted.

It struck her as cruel in a way—she was trying so hard not to speak, so that maybe later she could talk herself into believing his seductive charms were so great that she hadn’t really had a choice, that it had happened before she could stop it. And yet he was forcing her to verbally submit. “I want it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His answer was little more than a low growl.
But good. At least he isn’t asking any more of me.

No, instead of asking, he simply maneuvered her shorts down to her thighs.

Then he turned her around to face away from him and said, “Brace yourself on the well.”

As she pressed her palms into the old stone, she smelled moss and cool brown earth. She waited as he tugged her shorts farther, until they dropped around her ankles, then she instinctively lifted one foot out so she could part her legs a little.

And she was sure he’d plunge his thick cock into her then—she was dying for it, in fact—but that’s when a feather-soft touch came, starting high on the center of her ass and grazing downward—Rogan’s fingertip. She sucked in her breath, trying to withstand the almost tickling pleasure.

Only, when he reached her asshole, he lingered. Just like earlier on the little beach. She was forced to bite her lip.

He seemed to be drawing circles around it with that finger, making her crazy, filling her whole body with a frustration she couldn’t even quite understand. And then the warmth of his chest curved over her and he whispered in her ear, “Want me to fuck you in the ass, Mira?”

“No,” she said quickly, almost harshly. Finally, the right word, the one she should have been saying all along. Only she wasn’t saying it for the right reasons.

“It would be … mine,” he said, his voice deep and smooth as dark velvet. “The one spot on your body that only I would know. I want that, babe. For one little piece of you to belong to
me
. Me alone.”

God. It sounded like a dirty little secret. But almost like a
hot, exciting
dirty little secret. She bit her lip once more. Fought off the sensations, the temptation. “No, damn it.”

The tip of his finger still flirted with that tiny fissure. “Let me,” he said. “Let me show you how good it can feel.”

She shut her eyes. Stood her ground. “Not here. Not like this.” Okay, she wasn’t positive that sounded exactly like
not ever
, which was what she’d
meant
to imply, but at least it was still a refusal.

“Are you sure?” he practically purred, not sounding defeated just yet. And at the same time—oh!—he pushed the tip of his finger into her anus.

She cried out, gritting her teeth, wanting to claw at something to help stave off the strange yet frustrating pleasure. “God,” she whimpered. “Yes, damn it, I’m sure.”

Behind her he let out a sigh she could feel on her shoulder. “You’re just denying us both, babe,” he told her.

She turned to look at him, feeling a little desperate, wild, almost angry. “Please stop. You’re making me crazy. If you want to fuck me, then fuck me.
Now
.”

Their eyes met and she couldn’t quite read his. All she knew for sure was that they were both tangled up in mutual lust at the moment. And the next thing she felt was the head of his cock nudging against her cunt.
Oh God, yes. At last!

And as he slid it in deep, firm, solid, making her moan, he withdrew his finger from her asshole—but just a second later he pushed another back in! She thought it was his thumb, and the combined sensations had her instantly whimpering and trembling and begging. “Please fuck me, Rogan. Please fuck me. Hard.”

And that’s exactly what he did. He kept his thumb in place in her ass the whole time, the fingers from the same hand splayed across her ass, his other hand at her hip to keep her balanced. And then he pounded his cock into her over and over, each rough stroke echoing through her like thunder as she bit her lip, trying to keep from crying out in case it echoed through the woods and down to the lake. The pleasure was sublime and complete, stretching from her head to her toes. It required effort to keep standing, especially given how tired her leg muscles already were from earlier exploits—but she managed, withstanding every hot plunge, letting it reverberate all through her, giving herself over to the overwhelming sensation.

He never stopped, never rested, just kept driving and driving and driving that magnificent shaft into her welcoming pussy. Eventually each thrust came with a low grunt, by which time her eyes had fallen shut, her whole being taken over by sex. She could smell that now, too—the ripe aroma of sex now overpowered any scent nature had to offer.

“Aw fuck. I’m gonna come,” he muttered—and for a brief burst of time he rammed into her wetness even harder, almost violently, and it was all she could do to absorb what he delivered, the tender skin on her palms being pressed more roughly into the stone she held on to. He growled his orgasm behind her—his final thrusts jolting her again, again, again—and when it was done, together they sank to their knees in the dirt next to the wishing well.

They stayed that way a long moment, Mira leaning forward to rest her head against the cool stone. He was still inside her, although he’d removed his thumb from her ass—she’d felt it leave and missed it when it was gone.

“I didn’t make you come,” he finally breathed against her shoulder.

“I don’t care.” She meant it. Not because she wasn’t still suffering frustration—mainly from the anal play—but because now that it was over, she was
thinking
again, and she had much bigger things on her mind.

She’d gotten this magical new gift of freedom—but was it too much? Had it just led her down a dark, dangerous road? This sense of sexual liberation had seemed good, healthy, earlier today—yet maybe it wasn’t. Maybe a little restraint was a healthy thing, a smart thing. Ethan had
given
her this glorious freedom from a place of generosity and wanting to bring them closer, yet now it had made her do something that would wound him if he knew.

“How can you not care?” Rogan finally asked, clearly still stuck on the idea of orgasm.

She began to separate their bodies, his cock leaving her as he placed his hands on his hips to help her rise upright onto her knees. As she maneuvered her shorts back on, still facing away from him, she said, “I can’t believe we did this.” Her own voice sounded hollow to her.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he argued. And that sounded like a typical thing Rogan might say, yet … she heard something in his voice just then, a tiny little catch when he’d spoken, that made her almost … not quite believe him.

She turned around, lowered her butt to the ground. He was sitting now, too, though his pants remained undone. “It
is
a big deal,” she said.

He tilted his head, eyes half-shut, the set of his mouth grim. “What does it matter? Who did it hurt? It was just … a fuck. Just old animal attraction that didn’t mean anything.”

But she watched his eyes as he spoke, and she knew for sure now that she saw something more in his gaze, more than his words or voice relayed. “You’re lying,” she said. She was that confident about it.

“What?” he asked, dark brows knitting

“It’s … more than that, more than old animal attraction. That was more than just a fuck, Rogan, and you know it.”

They just looked at each other for a long, quiet moment in the shade of the green canopy overhead, the air around them growing darker as time passed and the night grew nearer.

“Say something,” she finally demanded.

And he let out a sigh. “Okay,” he said, sounding irritated. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m having some old feelings for you. Only they feel … new. Happy now?”

A big whooshing breath left her. As if she hadn’t felt weak
enough
a minute ago. “No, I’m not happy at all. Rogan, you can’t … have those kinds of feelings for me! You have to stop it. And you certainly have to stop acting on it. Right now.”

Facing her, he gave a nod, appearing sure, like a man in full agreement. “I know.”

For God’s sake, how had this happened? Rogan had feelings for her again? And … and had she ever
really
given up all her feelings for
him
? She’d thought she had. He’d been the one to break things off, after all. She’d wanted more than he could give her. And she knew Ethan was the right man for her now, of course—she knew that to the marrow of her bones. But … just to hear Rogan say that, that he was having feelings for her—it shook her inside. To the core. She wasn’t ready for this.

“We need to go,” she said. “I’m sure dinner is ready by now. We’ve been gone too long.” And Lord, remembering that was enough to panic her even without the news Rogan had just shared. They had to go eat dinner with Ethan. They had to pretend they hadn’t just had rough, animalistic sex in the woods. She had to act like Ethan was the only man alive who truly moved her.

Though as she pushed abruptly to her feet and began to brush off the back of her shorts, praying she didn’t look too disheveled, her guilt almost mingled with a sense of anger at Ethan. This was all his fault, after all. If he’d never brought Rogan here, the last half hour wouldn’t have happened. Everything would be fine. But suddenly nothing felt fine at all.