Oliver climbed onto the bed, claiming the other side of Erin. “Spank her again,” he said.
Gavin started to insist that Oliver take over, wanting to watch as much as do, but Oliver had other plans.
Oliver drew his fingers along her slit, the touch enough to zap the strength in Erin’s arms. Her upper body collapsed to the mattress while her ass remained high, ready.
Before Gavin could read his intent, Oliver pressed two fingers inside Erin’s pussy. “Fuck, she’s wet.”
Oliver’s fingers were lodged deep, all the way in, but he didn’t move them. Instead, he raised one eyebrow at Gavin, his expression pure “get the fuck on with it.”
Gavin lifted his hand again and resumed his spanking. As he peppered her ass with swats, some hard, some light, Oliver fucked her with his fingers.
Erin met them blow for blow, her hands flat on the headboard, the hold adding strength to her backward shoves.
She came within minutes, her body jerking roughly as her legs gave out the same way her arms had. She cried out loudly, gyrating in the most sensuous dance Gavin had ever seen. Men didn’t fucking move like that when they came. If anything, they stilled, turned to stone. He preferred her way.
He ran his fingertips along her spine, loving the way she gave herself to the experience completely.
Neither he nor Oliver moved as she lay facedown on the bed between them. He wasn’t sure how long they looked at her prostrate form, their own personal nude goddess.
Erin broke the silence, slowly shifting to her back. Her eyes were soft, almost dreamy, when she lifted her arms to Gavin. “I want you inside me.”
Oliver lay down next to her, his elbow bent, his head supported on his hand. He reached out to her, cupping one of her breasts.
Once he was in position, he wiggled his eyebrows at Gavin.
“Comfortable?” Gavin said, his voice deadpan.
Oliver chuckled, but Erin didn’t reply.
Again that fear, that uncertainty, crept into her eyes. Gavin hated seeing it there. He was determined to drive it away, once and for all.
He glanced to the side of the bed. Erin had two nightstands. For all their planning, he and Oliver had forgotten one pretty important part. “Condoms?” he asked Oliver.
Oliver twisted and opened the drawer of the nightstand closest to him. “Oops.”
Gavin started to take it from him, but Oliver shook his head. “Nope. If you get to change the plan, so do I.”
Gavin went light-headed as Oliver tore the wrapper open with his teeth before pulling the condom out.
Oliver sat up, grasping Gavin’s dick.
“Fuck,” Gavin murmured, closing his eyes as Oliver slid the condom in place. “Have mercy, Ollie.”
Ollie chuckled, kissing Gavin on the jaw quickly before resuming his spot on the bed next to Erin.
She was slowly coming back to life after her second orgasm. “I’ve just glimpsed our future,” she said softly. “And it’s fucking hot.”
Oliver cupped her breast once more, but this time he lowered his head, sucking her nipple into his mouth before murmuring, “Yeah, it is. Need directions, bro, or do you think you can take it from here?”
Gavin narrowed his eyes, exchanging a glance with Erin. “Next time, it’s his ass we’re spanking.”
“Deal,” she said with a giggle.
Gavin moved as Erin parted her legs, making room for him between. Oliver released her nipple with a pop, scooting over a bit to give Gavin plenty of space.
He gripped his dick in his hand, guiding it to the opening to her body. They shared one more look, both of them smiling almost shyly, before he slid inside.
Gavin took his time, savoring every silky inch as he claimed it. “God, Erin,” he whispered. Her name felt like a prayer.
She cupped his cheek, pulling him lower, drawing him into a kiss. He pressed her lips open with his, his tongue finding hers, even as he continued his journey to heaven.
Fully seated, he lifted his head, struggling to believe he was really here. That this was happening.
He’d actually been worried that this wasn’t really attraction.
He’d been a fool.
“Erin,” he said again, her name somehow freeing him. He lifted his hips, withdrew almost all the way, then powered back in. Erin lifted her legs, locking her ankles around his waist. He felt her fingers on his back, knew she was feeling his scars. In the past, that idea would have repulsed him, but now…he wanted her hands on him. Everywhere.
He moved faster, taking her hard. Part of him wondered—worried—if it was too much. He paused for just a fragment of a second, but Oliver’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“Don’t stop, Gavin. She’s almost there.”
Gavin didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes, but they flew open when he felt Oliver’s knuckles brush against his stomach. Looking down, he watched as Oliver found her clit, stroking it.
Erin’s back arched as yet another orgasm rushed through her. Her inner muscles clenched tightly, dragging him down with her.
“Fuck,” he shouted. “Holy. Fuck!” The words were ripped out of his chest as jet after jet of come erupted, filling the condom. He briefly wondered what it would be like not to use one. He’d never fucked without a condom, but with her…
God. He was never going to get enough of her.
He felt Oliver’s soft kiss on his cheek. He turned, wanting more. Oliver’s lips met his, the two of them kissing roughly, hungrily.
“So perfect,” Erin whispered, her words drawing their attention.
“Perfect,” Oliver repeated.
Perfect, Gavin thought as he withdrew from her, pulled off the condom, dropping it to the floor before he fell to his back, utterly replete and physically exhausted in the best possible way.
Fucking perfect.
10
Oliver swallowed heavily as he looked around the pub. The place had been completely gutted, all the soot, debris, charred wood, destroyed furniture, and shattered glass cleared out. Fortunately, Caitlyn’s husband, Lucas, had a good relationship with the building inspector, who’d come to check out the building two days after the fire. Once he’d given them the all clear, assuring them the building was safe to enter, they’d gone to work on the cleanup quickly, aware that time wasn’t their friend when it came to the threat of mold and mildew.
All that remained now was an empty shell, no walls, no ceiling, nothing to reveal what this place was or had been.
In his mind’s eye, he let himself imagine the pub as it was just a month earlier, one night while he’d been doing a happy hour with Erin and Gavin. The place had been crowded with patrons, watching hockey on the big screen with enthusiasm—alternating between cursing and cheering. He, Erin, and Gavin had been drinking pitchers of Guinness, laughing, talking. Pop Pop had been in the middle of all the action, as always, holding court in the center of the bar, while Emmy’s fingers flew over the keyboard of her laptop from her spot at the end of the long mahogany counter, a half-full glass of white wine beside her. Padraig had been pouring drinks, telling tales, entertaining everyone with jokes and sports trivia.
Every inch of wall space had been adorned with sports pennants, antique tin signs advertising different beers, autographed and framed photos of every famous person who’d ever walked into the pub, as well as old black and whites of Pop Pop and Grandma Sunday, back in the early days. It was incredible how many years’ worth of memories had been packed into this building, a lifetime of amassed treasures.