Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(19)

He steps forward right as Caleb steps back, and he pushes on my wrists as Caleb pulls on my belt loops, and I’m walked backward toward the bed. And then suddenly both men are in front of me and I’m being pushed onto my back on the quilted mattress, and then Ben is crawling over me with predatory grace as Caleb settles next to my side. Ben’s hair is long enough to hang around his bladed jaw and equally sharp cheekbones as he does, sending dancing shadows across his sinfully curved lips before he leans down and kisses me.

Hard.

I gasp up into his mouth, not prepared for the onslaught of his kiss after the rather gentle one he gave me in the barn. But I can tell by the way he settles over me, by the way Caleb groans at my side, that this is how Ben likes to kiss, with cruel pressure and deep, possessive strokes of his tongue, giving me no quarter. I can barely breathe, but I don’t want to breathe, not if it means turning away from this kiss, a kiss that says this mouth is mine now.

You are mine now.

Ben breaks off the kiss to turn my face to Caleb, who kisses me just as deeply but more gently. More sweetly, though the subtle scratch of his short beard keeps it from feeling tame. It’s like a reward for enduring Ben’s punishing mouth, but if Ben’s the punishment, then sign me up for a lifetime of being punished. I’m practically writhing underneath them in need, my body aching to be filled after Ben’s claiming touch and then aching even more at Caleb’s worshipping mouth.

Ben wedges his thigh between my legs as he lowers himself to his forearms to kiss me even harder, a look of dark pleasure moving across his face as my hips lift of their own accord to chase the friction. “Poor peach,” Ben murmurs. “Isn’t she a poor girl, Caleb, reduced to fucking my thigh because she’s so hard up for it?”

“It’s too bad,” agrees Caleb. His hand drifts down to my chest, fingers circling one erect nipple, and even through the fabric of my shirt and my bra, it’s excruciatingly good. “Wonder if we can help her with that.”

Ben leans down for another kiss, and this one has biting. He nips at my lips and sucks my tongue and bites along my jaw. He sinks his white teeth hard into my lower lip, and I arch up into him with a cry, and then he turns my head for Caleb to soothe it better, which Caleb does with attentive licks and strokes and sucks.

On and on it goes—a kiss of darkness and near-pain from Ben and then a rewarding kiss of earnest passion from Caleb—one man leaving me wrung out and shaking and then the other man putting me back together again. Until I think I can’t stand it anymore, until I think I might perish with the emptiness low inside me. Until I’m begging them shamelessly, with my pelvis rocking up against Ben’s thigh and my hands clutching blindly at arms and shoulders and my voice quietly pleading against the rain, “More, more, more.”

Ben lifts himself, and with some kind of wordless communication, he and Caleb both shift to peel my clothes off my skin. Ben is efficient, clinical even, but Caleb can’t stop his hands from wandering over each new naked inch, and I’m grateful for the darkness. I catch his hand before he can move it from my sternum to my belly, a flush now burning my cheeks at even the idea of him touching me there. His caresses have been so worshipful, so eager, but will they change when he touches that part of me? Without the semi-smoothing barrier of a shirt or jeans, without anything between his fingers and my skin? My breasts and my ass and even my hips… They’re the parts of me that are easiest to like for a man, I’m sure. The parts that could almost be like a Kardashian’s body—sleek and flat-tummied, a two-dimensional hourglass.

But I’m not sleek. Not in my arms or thighs and definitely not in my belly, which is not two dimensional in the least. And it’s stupid, given that Caleb has already pressed against me, given that nothing about my clothes earlier hid my body, but something about my naked belly feels more real and intimate than anything else we’re doing.

I don’t know if I’m ready to share it with these men. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to share it with any lover, come to that, but especially these two? As fit and tight and hard as their bodies are, how could they still want me if they know how soft and loose I am?

I guide Caleb’s hand back to my breast, which is still covered by my bra, hoping to distract him from my belly, and he palms it with the awed happiness of a teenage boy, but I should have known Ben wouldn’t miss it. I should have known Ben would see, even in the dark, the things I try to hide. He seems like the kind of man who’s very good at seeing what people hide.

He also seems like the kind of man who’s good at hiding himself.

Ben finishes tugging off my jeans and panties and then climbs back over me with glittering eyes. “All,” he drawls. “Any. Those were your words, peach.”

“Yes,” I say with a dry throat, because I think I know what’s about to happen. And it does.

Ben puts his hand over Caleb’s and slowly pushes it down from my breast. Down to my belly.

I suck in a breath.

“You can say stop,” Ben says in a voice that almost sounds indifferent, but in the haze of the nightlight, I can see the rapid pound of his pulse in his neck. He’s aroused. He’s edgy.

He likes this, I realize, and I realize also that it’s not just the obvious—making out and now having me nearly undressed—but also him moving Caleb’s hand. Him nudging me toward something that feels awfully like a boundary. Something scary.