Oliver wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Caitlyn insists there’s plenty of room for all of us to celebrate at her new house.”
“She’s not wrong,” Gavin said. “We could have put two of the pubs in that mansion of hers.”
Oliver’s oldest cousin, Caitlyn, had married billionaire, Lucas Whiting. They’d had their first child last spring, at which point Lucas insisted they needed a bigger house. Caitlyn still joked about the enormity of the house he’d found for them, proclaiming they could both roam around for weeks and never find each other.
Lucas said he wanted to make sure there was plenty of room for their seven kids, while Caitlyn reminded him that they were stopping at two. The Collins family had a wager going over whether or not Caitlyn would hold firm to that number, the majority of the bets in favor of Lucas coming out on top.
Their first child, a little girl named Gretchen, already had her father wrapped around her finger, and Lucas was ready to start working on baby number two. For a man who’d spent the first thirty-nine years of his life amassing wealth and determined to hold on to his bachelor status, Lucas had done a complete one-eighty now, declaring there was nothing like life as a family man.
“It’ll only be for one year. By this time next year, we’ll be back in the pub. Back in the apartment above,” Oliver said.
Gavin nodded but not necessarily because he agreed. Now that Erin and Oliver had taken the leap and moved in with each other, he couldn’t see them going back to the way things were.
Which would, once again, thrust him into the position of odd man out.
After dinner, they cleaned up the dishes and watched the hockey game on TV, he and Oliver pissed off when the Caps lost to the Bruins in double overtime.
“That’s me for the night,” Gavin said, standing up and stretching. “I’m worn out.”
“Yeah, we won’t be too far behind you,” Oliver said.
“Night, Gavin,” Erin said, smiling at him just the same as always. He was relieved she wasn’t suddenly viewing him with pity. That would have killed him.
Then, he wondered briefly if she would tell Oliver what had happened in the kitchen. It didn’t matter one way or the other. If she didn’t, he would. And then he’d tell the two of them about his mother being released from the psychiatric hospital. He still hadn’t dropped that bomb, but tonight didn’t feel like the right time, considering he’d only just told Erin she wasn’t dead.
Gavin trudged down the hall to his room. Oliver and Erin shared her bedroom. Climbing into bed, the exhaustion he’d felt in the living room vanished as he tossed and turned restlessly. It was annoying because he truly couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong with him. Instead, his mind leapt from one thing to the next, never landing on anything for long.
For the last hour, the apartment had been quiet. Obviously, Oliver and Erin had gone to bed.
Gavin stood up and quietly opened the door to his room, prepared to raid the fridge. Maybe a midnight snack would help settle him down.
Erin’s apartment had an open plan, the doorway to the kitchen to the left, while the living room and dining room were one big space.
He’d just reached the door to the kitchen when a noise—heavy breathing and a low moan—captured his attention and he looked toward the couch.
He froze when he saw Erin, naked, on top of Oliver. Riding him.
Gavin stood there for several minutes, waging an internal war with himself. He should turn around and go back to his room. That was the sane, rational, respectful thing to do.
However, the voyeuristic side was winning.
Big-time.
Erin’s hands were on Oliver’s bare chest, her fingers stroking his pecs as she slowly rose and fell. Oliver’s hands were on her breasts and he was plumping them, toying with her nipples, which were hard, erect.
“Lean down,” Oliver said, his voice deep, sexy. “I want to taste you.”
Erin shifted until her breasts were just above Oliver’s waiting mouth. Gavin watched his best friend suck one of her nipples, his cock stirring at the sound of Erin’s aroused groan.
“God, Ollie,” she whispered. “So good.”
Oliver continued to suck on her tit as one hand stroked down her side, settling on her hip.
“Suck harder,” Erin urged.
Oliver obviously found the sweet spot, his rough suction spurring Erin to ride him faster. Oliver released her nipple with a pop as Erin pushed herself upright again.
“So deep,” she murmured. “You’re so deep inside me.”
“You feel so good, sweet girl.”
Sweet girl.
Gavin reached down and ran his hand over his erection. He’d gone rock hard the second Oliver had sucked Erin’s nipple into his mouth.
He shouldn’t be here.
God, he shouldn’t be here.
But he couldn’t look away. He stroked himself as he watched them.
No.
Not them.
Her.
Erin’s body was lifting and falling, her breasts bouncing, as Oliver’s large hands spanned her tiny waist. They fit together perfectly. He’d never seen a naked woman, never felt that desire. Every lover in his past had been male, all his porn man on man, but there was no denying she was gorgeous, sexy.
Then he recalled her hug earlier, how soft her skin and her body had felt. Men were built harder, rougher. She’d felt like a silk pillow, one he wanted to stroke with his fingertips, to rub his cheek against, nestle close to.
“Say it, Erin,” Oliver urged. “Need to hear, to know…”
“God. Ollie.” Erin’s breathing grew more rapid, then it stuttered for a moment as her eyes drifted
