The bare mattress was more than enough to accomplish this dare.
Who was she fooling? The game was over.
Her response to Roman’s question had been the truth. And while they’d only known each other a few weeks, her initial physical attraction to them had given way to full-blown desire as she got to know them better.
Tate reached for the hem of her shirt, yanking it off her in one quick, smooth pull. Roman shifted behind her, unhooking her bra, which landed on the floor with her shirt. Tate and Roman each pulled off their own shirts, the pile of clothing growing as they each added their jeans, then her panties, and their boxer briefs.
“Get on the bed, Scarlet,” Tate said.
She dropped to her knees on the mattress, her eyes locked with Tate’s.
“Beautiful,” Roman murmured as he reached out to run his hand over her hair. “Lay down. On your back.”
She was already halfway there, too impatient to play coy, to pretend she wasn’t exactly where she wanted to be.
She lay down in the middle of the mattress, gazing up at the two sexiest men she’d ever seen. Roman and Tate knelt on either side of her, looking but not touching. It was as maddening as it was arousing.
When neither man made a move to advance the game, she parted her legs. “Dare you,” she whispered.
Tate responded as if she’d fired a shot from a starter pistol. He shifted until he knelt between her outstretched thighs, reaching beneath her knees to lift her legs, opening her even more.
Roman remained next to them, his gaze following Tate’s movements.
She gasped at the first stroke of Tate’s tongue against her clit. Then he swept it along her opening, prompting her to moan. Tate was a man of action, and he didn’t seem compelled to ease her into anything. His thumbs held her open as he licked and nipped and stroked. Scarlet writhed beneath him, unable to hold still under the tantalizing assault.
Roman continued to watch but didn’t seek to join in. It appeared their mild-mannered accountant was a voyeur at heart. She started to reach out, anxious to take his thick cock in her hand, but Roman moved backwards, shaking his head.
“The dare involved a few dozen orgasms this way first.” His comment captured Tate’s attention, and he lifted his head for a second to see what had prompted it. Satisfied with what he saw, he bent down once more, but this time he pressed his tongue inside her.
Tate gripped her upper thighs, holding her tight to the bed, helpless to do anything except give herself over to him. She was right on the precipice of coming when she realized Tate’s tongue was fucking her in time with the beat of the song. The pace was intense, manic, amazing.
Lick my clit, do do, do do do do. Lick my clit...
Chapter Five
Roman watched as Tate drove Scarlet out of her mind, certain he’d never seen anything so incredibly sexy in his life. Reaching down, he firmly gripped his own dick at the base and slowly stroked the length of it.
Up and down. Up and down.
The pace never increased even as Scarlet got closer and closer to her climax.
Her expressive, beautiful face was flushed red, as was her upper chest. The name Scarlet was suddenly quite fitting. Her body had begun to gyrate in time with Tate’s tongue, with the beat of his fingers inside her. She thrashed her head from side to side, drawing his attention to her long auburn hair. He longed to reach over for a handful of it, desperate to see if it was as soft, as silky as it appeared.
The power of this moment was not lost on Roman. Scarlet had asked Tate during the game if he’d been “practicing his ménages.” Tate answered affirmatively. If she’d asked the same of Roman, his response would have been different. And perhaps that would have surprised both of them.
After all, he was a legacy of the Trinity Masters. He’d known what his future would hold in terms of how many people would be in his bed since his initiation when he was just twenty years old.
And if they’d questioned his reasons for not engaging in threesome sex before today, his answer would have been simple.
Time and opportunity.
He’d had neither.
Roman was what charitable-minded friends would call driven. Those who didn’t feel the need to be as kind about it—like his mother who worried about him constantly—would have said he was a workaholic. He’d spent the last fifteen years of his life focused solely on his career because he could.
Being a member of the Trinity Masters freed him up from the pressure of actively seeking a life partner, of having to date, of having to divide his focus between his personal and his professional lives. He’d climbed the ladder at work quickly because, unlike his colleagues, every bit of his attention was on the job.
However, as he knelt on the edge of this mattress, watching Tate and Scarlet, he wondered if perhaps his reasons for not “practicing” were actually the result of fate intervening, distracting him until this moment in time when so many pieces finally started to feel like they were falling into place.
It was a romantical, fantastical explanation, and Roman internally shook his head at himself for even thinking it. He was a numbers man, the type of person who went through life with both feet planted firmly on the ground. He believed in things he could prove through mathematics, through logic, and he had never—never—used destiny or fate to explain anything.
But as he looked at Scarlet and Tate, it seemed very much as if he was staring his destiny right in the face. And some of the annoyance he’d been feeling toward his cousin for
