A Lesson in Thorns (Thornchapel #1)(92)

“She can’t go into the shower like this,” Saint points out. “She’ll fall and crack her head open.”

“I’m going in with her,” Auden says.

“Like hell you are.”

Auden’s arms tighten around me. “You have no idea what she needs right now,” he says coldly. “I do.”

“You can pretend with her, but you can’t pretend with me. You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing.”

Auden’s about to shoot back when I say—my voice muffled by Auden’s chest—“Why don’t you both come in with me?”

It makes total sense to my dreamy, subspace brain, but the answering silence is tumescent with horror. I force my eyes open and see Saint kneeling on the floor next to me, looking like I asked him to cut off a limb and toss it into the sea.

“Or not,” I suggest on a yawn, closing my eyes again. “I can just shower tomorrow . . .”

“No, you can’t,” they both say at the same time.

“You have mud in your hair,” Saint says.

“And you have blood on your thighs,” Auden says, his voice going hoarse again.

“You can’t sleep like this,” Saint adds.

I pout against Auden’s chest. “Fine. But no more fighting. Too tired.”

The plaintive note in my voice does the trick, and there are reluctant noises of assent from both men. Auden gently presses me back into his arms, and Saint trails us as we go into the bathroom. Auden sets me down on the edge of the tub, and I blink and yawn like a sleepy kitten while he and Saint start undressing. And then there’s a long blink, one of the long narcolepsy blinks I know so well, and I open my eyes to see both of them staring down at me wearing nothing but tight, dark boxer briefs.

It’s the most I’ve seen of either of their bodies, it’s the first I’ve seen of their strong, muscled legs and wide, naked chests and lines of hair disappearing into the waistbands of their underwear. The first I’ve seen of their warm skin, their flat nipples, their lean stomachs lightly corrugated with tight bands of muscle.

Fuck, they’re sexy. I want to have sex with them. Both of them, right now. I don’t care about being sore or sleepy or still floating in subspace—I want to fuck until I can’t move my body anymore.

But when I lift my head to tell them this, I have another long, narcolepsy blink and nearly fall off the tub. It’s Saint who catches me this time, scooping me up and then walking me over to the ugly brass-trimmed shower stall in the corner.

“You have a nice body,” I mumble to him as he sets me down and turns on the water. “I like it.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he says dryly. “Although this isn’t exactly how I planned on showing it to you.”

Auden steps into the shower too, just as the water starts spurting out of the showerhead. It’s freezing and we all shriek and jump back—or at least try to jump back, since the stall was only made for one person, and now there’s three people inside, and two of those people are big boys with long, muscled bodies. Their shoulders are so wide I feel like I’m in a second stall made of men instead of glass.

The water runs warm finally, and I relax, swaying back into a solid, unmoving chest. Saint. Two big hands go to my hips to steady me, and I sigh with contentment and lean farther back, until my head is tucked under his chin. I look up at Auden. “You’re getting your boxers wet,” I tell him. “You two should be naked like me.”

“That’s not a good idea,” he responds at the same time Saint issues a flat, “No.”

“Fine,” I sigh, stretching my arms up behind me to lace around Saint’s neck. I can arch my back like this and feel the water running hot over my stomach and over my no-longer-virgin pussy. It feels good, but the effect it has on Auden and Saint is even better. Saint freezes into a tower of granite behind me, and Auden’s hands brace on either side of the shower stall, as if to keep from grabbing me.

Within seconds, the plump head of Auden’s erection is stretching the waistband of his boxers, sticking out of the top like the world’s most delicious forbidden fruit.

“I could suck on it,” I tell him, my voice drowsy and husky all at once. “I could suck on it until you come.”

With his arms outstretched like this, I can see the struggle of his restraint quivering through every part of him—his arms and his chest and even his belly. His cock is bigger, duskier now, begging to be seen too.

But when he finally answers me, his voice is controlled. “Not tonight,” he says. “Not like this.”

“Why not?” I complain.

“Just not like this,” he repeats, in a tone that brooks no argument, and then he looks at Saint. “We should wash her.”

It’s ironic that just a few hours ago, the idea of bathing together seemed far too intimate to even consider—a little taboo even—and now I’m lazing against Saint as he and Auden pass things around and apply creamy body wash to loofahs and shampoo to the other’s waiting palm. Saint holds me while Auden carefully and thoroughly washes every fold and tuck of my body. He scrubs the mud from between my toes, cleans away all the streaks and spatters of it everywhere else, and he gently sponges the blood from my wrist and hand. Saint holds up my leg so Auden can kneel down and wash my inner thighs, and for a moment, I think he might lean forward and kiss my pussy because he can’t keep himself from looking at it. He licks his lips and I nearly die with wanting him to press that crooked-grin mouth against my cunt.