STORY EXCERPT

Clay sat next to Jace and watched as Quinn shut the bar down. He had an early shift in the morning, so he’d have packed it in already, but he wanted to see what was coming from the girl in the corner. Like as not there was a scam in the making, and his buddy Quinn, God love ’im, was just a bit too easy.

So he’d left his ass on the bar stool and Jace had stayed by his side. That one always had radar for when something interesting was about to happen. And like a damn bulldog, he’d sniffed up some interest in the looker.

Quinn said good-night to the last of the regulars. He’d built a fine bar out of Mach One, a good place where a lot of different people felt comfortable. It was a natural for all the fliers in the area, of course, but the cowboys came in, too, and the lawyers, and students. Long-timers and new transfers, pretty much everyone who drove a truck or a Subaru, an equal mix between new rigs and beaters with odometers that had rolled over at least once.

Quinn finished wiping down the bar—a ritual for him, Clay knew, a sign of the care he had for his place—before he addressed the pot of trouble in the corner. “Bar’s closing, ma’am.”

The woman stood up slowly, casting a regretful glance at Clay and Jace. No surprise, she’d been waiting for them to leave.

She slung her bag—it was nice leather, pricey, like her clothes were, even if they were just jeans and a light sweater—over her shoulder. She was some kind of class. So Clay was surprised when she lifted her glass, used the slightly damp napkin under it to wipe the table, and brought both along with her.

She came to the bar, a couple stools down from Jace, and handed the items over to Quinn. “I was hoping to talk with you alone,” she told him.

Clay left his stool and moved to stand beside Jace. Not exactly hemming her in, but enough so it made her uneasy.

Nerves showing, she looked back from that movement to Quinn.

Quinn spoke in that way he had that gentled wild things. Horses loved the dude. “My buddies here are a lawyer”—he lifted a finger toward Jace—“and a cop. Maybe they can help, too.”

“I wasn’t asking for help.”

So she had some pride and a little temper. Nothing wrong with that, to his mind.

“I—”

Clay watched her do a little stop check.

“Maybe you’re Jason Parsons, then.” Her eyes moved over. “And Clayton Wilder.”

Clay exchanged looks with the others and then had another good gander at the woman. It took a couple seconds, but he realized he’d seen those big browns and sleek blond hair before. And that put a whole other spin on it. “Hey, guys,” he said softly. “I think we’re looking at Cap’s baby sister.”

Cap was their fallen soldier. It was his death in a stupid and, the three men were all sure, negligent accident that had them all mustering out of the Air Force. Pilot error, their asses.

The woman’s smile was unsteady at the edges. Clay remembered it had been just the two of them, brother and sister. The father had been a pilot, too, and he and the mother had died in a glider accident Cap’s second year at the Academy. Cap had nearly quit then, thinking he had to take care of his kid sister.

Clay had been one of them who’d talked Cap down. He’d even helped find a boarding school for the kid. She’d been thirteen.

He’d always felt a twinge of guilt about that, but it was Cap who was his buddy, not the girl. And he’d understood it had worked out okay. She’d gone on to college—nursing school—and then become a…midwife, maybe? Something like that.

What the hell was her name? Something goofy, a match to Capricorn James Walker. Apparently, the parents had had their own brand of crazy.

She helped him out. “Gemini.”

Oh, yeah, that was it.

More quietly, she added the rest. “Walker Tomlinson.”

So she’d married—an abusive dick, by the look of it. He could see the bruise at her shoulder now, where the leather strap of her bag pulled an edge of sweater aside. Her marriage would be the reason they hadn’t found her when they’d all gotten back in-country after Cap’s funeral.

Clay felt a twinge of guilt. Apparently, they hadn’t looked hard enough. It was clear now they should have done more. He had the skills to find her if he’d really tried.

He sighed heartily, if silently. He knew for certain what Cap would expect of them.

The others would know it, too. Every one of them let a heavy silence pass. Soft-hearted Quinn broke it.

“Hey, Gemini. You’re right about those two—Jace and Clay. And I’m Quinn Cavanaugh.” He put a hand out and gently held the woman’s. “Any sister of Cap’s…”

Shit. Did he have to say it?

Clay rolled his eyes at his pal for form’s sake. “You look like you’ve had some trouble, Gemini Walker Tomlinson. You need a handout?”

She took her hand back from Quinn and turned a slightly sour eye on Clay. Clay wasn’t moved by it, and after another moment she turned back to Quinn.

“What I need is a job.” She glanced over, clearly still wishing she had Quinn alone. “And a place to live, until my first paycheck.”

ADULT EXCERPT

“Let me in.”

That was Clay, standing now at Jace’s shoulder. Gemini was pretty sure he’d said it before, that he’d made some move to nudge Jace out of the way before either of them had noticed. He lifted his head to look at her in question.

“No,” she said, too weak even to shake her head. “No more.”

“You wanted all three of us,” Clay said. He pushed in alongside Jace and cupped her face with his big hand, turning her to him. “Say yes, babe,” he told her. “Say yes, damn it.”

It was clear he wouldn’t do more without her consent. Gemini tried to gather her wits, tried to come back to herself. She’d made wild, taking love to one man, and then let a second use her, have her, in the same way. He was still inside her, still made one with him by the presence of his cock in her pussy, and yet, she was considering this.

Clay’s eyes were light blue, almost silver, and compelling. She felt mesmerized, outside herself.

And she knew she’d given the word he wanted when Jace left her, whether by his own power or Clay’s, she didn’t know. But he was gone suddenly, abruptly pulling out of her pussy and backing away.

He was gone and Clay was there instead. He’d worn a black tee that was off now, his muscular chest and arms bare. His black fatigues were already open, his cock hard and thrusting out. And large, again, like it was required for membership in this little club of theirs.

He didn’t touch her except to turn her around. “Hands on the bar,” he instructed. With no more than that, he gripped her hips, lifted her a bit to accommodate him, and thrust into her from behind. He met her gaze in the mirror over the bar and watched as he thrust roughly again, pushing further, grinding in.

Holding there, his gaze went to her breasts. He fucked her again and she knew he watched as her breasts jiggled with the force of it. Seeming to like that, he did it some more.

Then he paused again, waiting for her to bring her reflected gaze to his again. When he was satisfied he had her attention, he moved one hand until his finger pressed at the opening to her ass. Slowly, he began to work his way in.

“Oh. No.”

He paused, somehow keeping pressure up there without moving any further. Something about it—his hot gaze in the mirror, that foreign, gritty feeling of slightly indecent invasion—something impelled her to give in.

“Yes.”

Victory gleamed in his eyes. He shoved his finger in, following it with a thrust of his cock that pushed him deeper. He wrapped a dark arm around her, his big hand covering her breast. She arched back against him then, giving him what he wanted. Offering herself.

With a triumphant growl, he pushed another finger into her.

She took it with quiet acceptance, even as he scissored his fingers, reaming her. His hand was hidden between their bodies. He watched her carefully in the mirror. Somehow, she knew this base sort of domination, the way he penetrated her ass, was just between them. Quietly allowing it, she entered into illicit collusion with him.

He gave her little time to consider the significance of that. He simply went about fucking her, as though he hadn’t just breached her in the most profound way. As though any part of her was his, for his use however he wished.

Hard fucks into her drove his fingers further. She was stretched around him nearly to his last knuckles. It resulted in exquisite simulation, causing extreme stretch of her pussy and tightening of her clit. He worked vigorously into her, apparently after nothing but his own satisfaction.

There was no gentle concern for her. No suggestion that he held himself back, considerate of her needs or awaiting her orgasm. Silently, he watched her in the mirror. The soft grunt of his exhalation as he pumped into her, and the slap of his body against her ass were the only sounds. He didn’t use her name or call her “baby.” He didn’t tell her how hot or tight she was, how good she felt.

It didn’t matter. This rough, silent taking was more erotic than anything she’d ever experienced. He spoke only once, when she felt so overcome, so exposed that she dropped her head down.

“No,” he said, and pinched her nipple hard.

She knew what he wanted. She lifted her head, allowing him to see the ravagement on her face. Falling back against his shoulder, she let him watch.

He knew what he was doing to her, she was sure. He knew he didn’t have to tend her. If he kept his grip on her nipple, if he pinched and tortured it, it was for his own pleasure. His carnal aggression, his determination to use her body for his own purpose were enough to drive her wild. More than enough.

She started to shake, every muscle quivering with shattering tension. Her breath keened out.

Like it didn’t even matter to him, he kept fucking into her. He was on a mission, which was his own gratification, the satisfaction of his own sexual greed. And a part of that was to exert domination over her. To make clear his power, his ownership. To let her know he used her as a vessel for his pleasure.

She allowed it. Submitted to it. She wanted to be his, wanted him to own her body. She gave over to the wicked edge of indecency.