Brotherhood of Fire (8 page)

He looked up to catch sight of Garrett eyeing him. His gut lurched, expecting some sort of warning, until he recognized the slight slump of his shoulders, the downward twinge at the corner of his mouth. Maybe Garrett's look was more sympathetic than warning, but it didn't do a damn thing to make the sour taste in his gut lessen. He was in love with his best friend's wife, a secret that ate at him. Now not only in love with her but by some weird-ass twist of fate, Garrett had deemed it necessary to talk him into fucking her. Shoving the one woman under his nose who fulfilled his every desire. Except the only access he'd been granted was her body, their bed, and in total discretion. Fucked up, is what this was. A totally ironic, fucked up mess he didn't want to let go of.

"John! Over here!" A shout went up and hands waved in greeting. He nodded to Garrett and made his way to the crowded table, not really caring at the moment whether they followed him or not. Envy was always a bitter pill to swallow.

The feel of Carrie right behind him stealing a small brush against his back as the crowd closed in again sent a tremor through his body, settling not just in his groin but also in his chest. Taking small favors where he could, he savored her brief touch, the feel of her warm breath against his shoulder, her fingers brushing his back lightly, the scent of her skin filling his senses. He wanted her to wrap her arms around him, claim him in public. Put that hot little body of hers all along his back and show the world he was more than Garrett's mentor, more than his friend. He belonged to her too.

He sighed, checked his bullshit emotional drama, and grabbed the plastic cup of beer that had been passed hand to hand down the table to him. He glanced back to Garrett, who shrugged.

The fact that his best friend seemed to get exactly where his head was buried when there was no real possible way he could dropped another stone into the bottom of his belly.

"Fuck." He growled, tipping the cup and draining it as a cheer went up around the table below him from the half-drunk 's he called friends. Another cup of beer floated its way down the table. John grinned.

"Want one?" He turned to look down at Carrie, who still hovered behind him, talking to the girl sitting at his elbow. The girlfriend of some guy whose name he couldn't remember.

"Sure." She grinned back. He recognized the sly look, the appreciative glance at his face, and it gave him a new rush of adrenaline. A high filled him that he knew her intimately enough to begin to read her subtle moods.

"Here you go." Handing the cup off to her, he winked, then looked back to Garrett. "You don't have to babysit me; I'm not getting shit faced. We have water ball in the morning, remember? Want a beer?"

Garrett gave him a dead-eyed stare, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. He shook his head no, with that indiscernible grin on his face.
John turned back to the sea of 's. His brethren, his family. The family that had accepted him in without question, like they did every new brother who committed to the job they did, and made him one of them. Just like he had Garrett his first day on the job. Who could have known that Carrie, showing up just days after and making his gut drop to the floor the instant he saw her, would end up being part of the equation? That having her in his life every day—even with Garrett attached—was something he had started to crave?
Shaking his head, he drained half the second beer, reminding himself this would be the last. The danger of turning into a blubbering idiot if he got drunk and blurted his true feelings was a real fear. He didn't excel at holding his emotions in, a fact he was fully aware of and needed to guard against. He wondered that Garrett didn't already realize every time he touched Carrie a rush went through him, a tremble, the ultimate pleasure that he held what he wanted most. Even sharing her with the man she loved and feeling that connection created a fulfillment he hadn't expected. The desire to know what it would be like for her to turn and look at him like she did Garrett left a knocking pang of need in his gut every time he thought of it.
His hidden feelings for her were connected with his dick now more than ever and in danger of spilling out all over the place. Still, he'd risked his true feelings being revealed to come here, hadn't been able not to take that chance. Once he'd felt her, been in her, part of her, he knew there was no way he'd ever be able to turn down the opportunity to feel her again and again. To be able to pull that amazingly warm, soft body against his. Bury himself and pretend—at least for the moment—he had some claim on her besides just being able to have her body for the brief time Garrett was willing to give it to him.
The idea he would be falling asleep next to her hours from now and waking up next to her in the morning sent a chill through him, sent a jerk to his cock, and he shifted on his feet so the entire table didn't get a look at his jeans tenting out.
A voice drifted in his head. Sultry, sweet. Feminine but not girlish, a little loud, full of laughter. Carrie. "Hell yes! I can't wait!"
"You know they spray us, right? Don't
even
wear a white T-shirt like I did last year. Benji never told me," the girl said back to Carrie, laughing and slapping her boyfriend on the arm. Benjamin—that was his name. Benji, as she called him, grinned that shit eating grin all men who are up to something get and laughed.
"Worth every minute, babe." He winked up at Carrie. "You should wear one for us this year, let us get a look at those perfect tits all wet, give us all a good reason to win that prize."
John felt a twinge of jealousy surge through him, shot through with bitterness. She wasn't his wife to protect from flirts or over-zealous drunks.
Carrie apparently didn't need anyone to protect her, as she cocked an eyebrow at the guy, throwing his grin back at him. "How about you guys line up in some nice, thin cotton boxers then, and we'll get some beer ready? Sound fair to you?"
Benji stood, his grin widening. "Hey guys, how about a little wet dick competition. Who's in? Miss Firecracker here wants to wet us down!"
A roar went up from the table, the women cheering in encouragement.
"Oh hell no!" "Fuck." "Do it!" The crowd's exclamations came loud and excited.
Carrie giggled with Benji's girlfriend.
No one else stood to back Benji up, so he lifted his hands and shrugged. "I tried sweetheart, but hey"—he reached for his belt buckle—"here you go, babe, if you want to see, I'm all yours."
"Benji!" The girl gasped, laughing but looking like she was worried he may not stop.
Carrie looked to John, the flash of
this might have gone too far
clear on her face.
"Sit your ass down; we don't want to see your wet cock." Garrett's booming laugh barely hid the clear warning as he leaned in over John's shoulder at the same time he threw his arm possessively around Carrie and stared Benji down.
"What? Afraid your wife might find out there's somethin' better out there, O'Neal?" The guy laughed at Garrett, half joking, half drunk, and primed to take it further if anything set him off.
John took a deep breath. He wasn't on their department, and that made it all the harder to keep from punching the guy in the face for no reason other than he had a deep and newly minted sense of possessiveness toward Carrie that had nowhere to find a home, no place to be acknowledged. He tightened his hands into fists, waiting.
"Not in
your
pants, Benji. Do yourself a favor; sit down and stop embarrassing your girl friend." Garrett warned.
The angle they stood at left John staring Benji straight in the face, Garrett behind him. He put a hand on the guy's shoulder.
"Look, man, I don't want beer all over me, and I'm stuck in the middle here. Why don't you just chill and enjoy the night? No big deal, we're all friends, right?"
"What, you his little bitch gotta keep him from getting in trouble? He can't take care of his own wife, you have to hold his hand?"
Benji was getting a little red in the face, his chest puffing out.
"No, he can take care of himself, and I don't think she needs me to take care of her, but maybe your girlfriend might if I kick your ass all over this place." His voice seethed with the anger. He leaned in close, face inches from Benji's, his hand hard on his shoulder. "We're all brothers here, aren't we? You really want to do this? I'm just pissed off enough right now that I won't stop until you're as bloody as I can get you."
"Benji, don't!" The girl was trying to push between them, and her timing couldn't have been more perfect.
He felt Carrie's hand on his back, trembling, and saw Benjamin take the momentary distraction as a way to back out. "Since she's here, I'm not going to take you up on that, Brenner. But tomorrow during the competition, watch your ass. I won't be so nice." Benji gave him a bitter smile, grabbed his girlfriend, and with a weaving gait wandered away into the crowd.
John took a deep breath and let the tension ease out of him before he turned to look at Garrett. His eyes were nearly black, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Let's move on," Garrett said quietly.
Nodding, John turned from the table. It may have been Garrett's call, but he was thinking the same thing. The slight amount of resentment that rose up in him tempered. Easily. Because Garrett not only nodded to him in acknowledgement that they needed to worry about Carrie first, but for a moment, he put his hand on John's shoulder and John felt the almost imperceptible shift of Garrett pushing Carrie between them. A physical reminder in the middle of everything that was Garrett's way of saying,
hey, no one knows but us, but she's yours too.
At least that's how John chose to take it.
He grabbed her hand, and to hell with the consequences, pulled her behind him, checking to see that she had Garrett's hand locked in her other one, and he was bringing up the rear.
Yeah, he could do this.
He pulled her along through the heavy crowd, smiling and shaking hands here and there when he encountered a familiar face. When there was a break, he let go of the hold he had on her hand behind his back, feeling conscious of how visible they were now that there wasn't a crowd surrounding them. It wouldn't be odd to help your best friend's wife through the crowd, but someone might think twice if he kept hanging onto her when her husband was standing there with him.
"What do you want to do?" he yelled over the noise to Garrett.
He got a shrug in answer. His own selfish reasons sprang up as he thought what he'd really like to do is go back to the cabin, back to the quiet, and take Carrie back to bed. It was the male pig in him talking, he'd already taken enough today. To ask for more would be unreasonable, greedy. Likely, she was sore and tired from having to keep the both of them satisfied.
He broke out of his thoughts to see her staring up at him, leaning back into Garrett. Garrett's muscled forearm rested across her chest just above her breasts, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. Wouldn't you just know he was staring at him too.
"What?"
Garrett stood to full height, talking over the top of Carrie's head. "Really want to be here?"
He shook his head, catching sight of her satisfied smile, the way she melted back into Garrett when he answered. At least he wasn't the only one obsessing on the amazing connection going on between them.
He watched Garrett lean closer into her, whispering in her ear. She gave a slight head shake, then her smile deepened.
"Let's get the hell out of here. We've done our duty and made our appearance. These guys will never know we left. They're all getting wasted anyway." Garrett leaned close so he wasn't shouting. "Right?"
He nodded, words being the last thing filling his head. Turning toward the exit, feeling Carrie fall in close behind him again, he let thoughts of the rest of the night finally sink in.
Getting warm and comfortable next to Carrie was the only thing he wanted right now, likely would be the only thing he'd be wanting for a good, long time. Even without sex, the idea of curling up next to her for the next two nights took him over. A white burst of anxiety broke in when he wondered what the hell he would do when they went home, and he went back to his own empty bed, but he didn't dwell on the thought. Not when the entire weekend stretched before him.
The three of them spending every waking minute together, sharing the same bed, Carrie watching them in the water ball competition, watching him too, not just Garrett. It all filled his mind and pushed out thoughts of anything else. Damn the consequences. For the first time he had her, all of her, all day and all night, and nothing was going to ruin it.
Reaching the truck, he opened the passenger door to lift her up to the bench seat, tracking Garrett heading for the driver's side.
"I know you're not drunk, but you still had two beers in the last half hour. Better safe than sorry."
He nodded, jumped into the passenger side of his own truck, and tossed over the keys. Remembering the feel of her snugged tightly between them on the way here, he wondered what he would manage to do to keep his hands busy now that he wasn't driving.
Twisted away from him, she gave him a good view of her perfect, round ass framed in her faded jeans as she leaned into Garrett and he whispered in her ear. The sight had him swallowing back a groan, and his cock jumped to attention. He heard a low giggle as he tried to wipe the thought of taking her like that from his head. Garrett might have said nothing was off limits, but that didn't mean he felt at ease to assume anything. Hell, he hadn't seen Garrett even touch her ass; for all he knew, she would have a heart attack if she knew he was thinking about burying his brute of a cock in there. He wiped the perspiration that sprang up on his forehead as Carrie settled herself between them, a wicked looking little smile and a slight blush on her face.
Garrett started the truck, wound his way out of the jammed parking lot, and headed out on the dark road. One thing about being in northern Michigan at night, when it got dark, it was dark. Black dark.
"Go on, baby, don't get all shy now. We've gone a little too far for that, don't you think?" Garrett urged Carrie.
John stiffened. Only an idiot would misunderstand there was intent behind his words, or that he wouldn't be some way involved in whatever Garrett had been telling her.
Her slim fingers on the button of his jeans as she looked up at him told him all he needed to know. Her eyes just a little wide, the color indiscernible in the dark cab of the truck, she needn't have bothered with the whisper. "This is for taking care of me back there."
"Thanks for what you did, John," Garrett added.
"No big deal." The words came out a low grunt as Carrie reached into his boxers, and her warm hand circled him, pulling his dick free of the confinement. He almost laughed at the absurdity of being thanked when he should be on his hands and knees giving thanks for Carrie's mouth inches from his cock.
"Wow," she breathed. "Is it ever not like this?"
He barked out a short laugh. "Not with you around, hell no." He lifted his arm to the back of the seat and slid his hips lower, looking down at her as she held him, her fingers beginning to move up and down on the shaft. Tensing, he struggled to keep his breathing steady while she looked him over, every inch, studying how he moved in her hand. The whole thing was so simple but sexy as hell, watching her checking out his cock without the slightest bit of hesitation. He stole a glance over at Garrett, who appeared to be trying to watch the road while sneaking glances at his wife getting up close and personal with John's cock. The idea of how hot watching her with either one of them was came back to him as he had a brief flash of watching Garrett sliding into her wet pussy on the bed at the cabin.
"What did you just think?" Carrie asked, sounding a little breathless and a whole lot intrigued.
He realized his cock had jumped in her hand, and she looked up at him, a grin crooking up the corners of her mouth.
"You. Garrett. Earlier." His jerky answer matched the slow stroke she had started with her fingers.
Smiling, she watched him struggle for the words.
"You both seem pretty turned on by seeing what the other one is doing. I don't get to sit back and watch, so I have no idea, but I'm not complaining, that's for sure."
"You realize how weird this is?" He chuckled, leaned his head back, and let out a low groan as she squeezed him tighter. A thick bead of pre-cum oozed out of the slit. "What's weird?"
Her face leaned so close to him now he felt the brush of her breath over the head. The skin there felt hot and tight, he felt every little puff of air, and it made him ache all the harder.
"This. Us sitting here in my truck, your husband driving while you're about to stick my cock in your mouth, and we're having a conversation ab—Ah, fuck!"
The muffled laugh that came from her vibrated over his cock as her lips closed over him, her tongue swiping down over the head and sending a deep, hot jolt of pleasure shooting through his entire body.
"Uh, about that conversation." Garrett chuckled. "Might want to give it up."
He merely groaned and pushed his head into the rest, trying to hold back on the urge to grind his hips up and shove his dick farther down her throat. She was doing a damn good job of trying to swallow it as it was. Shock and heat flushed him as she got more than half of it in on her second pass. Gentle but eager, her tongue and lips pressed harder with each stroke down, testing his response.