Rhett watched the yes fire up her eyes before it lifted her lips. The light, piercing as dawn through autumn leaves, mesmerized him just as thoroughly—until she turned to give its magic to Reb—Who was just as worthy of the words.
Christ. He’d never seen Moon look like this. The man illuminated rooms no matter where they went, but his luminosity always copied the celestial satellite he was nicknamed after, borrowing the glow from something else. Now, for the first time in their friendship, the joy on Rebel’s face was an inner thing, inspired by something that was purely his…
Magnified as they locked eyes once more.
The guy’s happiness ricocheted at Rhett like a rocket, decimating his chest with its intensity. Rebel had gotten it—thank God. Had understood everything Rhett was trying to communicate with this proposition. Though he couldn’t give Reb that extra step in their relationship—fuck, regular friendship still wasn’t something he knew how do correctly—this was his way of trying. A bridge, in the form of this beautiful, passionate woman, to at least connect them halfway. And God only knew, all three of them needed reconnection right now. No guilt. No strings. Just heat, desire, bonding, fulfillment. Just this. Just now. It was a win-win-win.
He really liked those odds.
Brynna’s query reminded him that Moon hadn’t verbally weighed in on things yet. Psshh. A formality, really. Rhett almost bellowed the hell, yes on behalf of his friend.
Damn good thing he didn’t.
Whoa. Rebel really had become a different person. The usual Moonstormer would have been jumping on this invite like it was engraved in gold from the Playboy Mansion. A let’s-get-naked playdate, with Brynna and him, no regrets or rear-views attached? Why the idiot wasn’t dropping trou this second, instead of taking a step back from them both, was a deepening mystery.
“Reb?” Rhett issued his own cautious prompt. “You down or not?” And did he really have to voice it?
Rebel looked up—exposing the bright blue flashes in his gaze. “Oh, I’m down.” He moved back in, slipping one hand over Brynna’s, before spreading her fingers over his crotch. The swell beneath his track pants visibly jumped, stretching a cock-shaped silhouette into the black cotton.
Rhett barely stopped himself from swaying.
Goddamn, that was a stunning sight.
A gulp pounded down his throat. How the hell had this happened? He’d always been an open-minded guy, but as a whole, cock did nothing for him. In prep schools since the age of ten and cross-country at RIT, he’d been in enough group showers to know it as a sure thing. Pussy was definitely more his thing. Soft. Supple. Tender. Tasty.
But the cock in those pants wasn’t just any cock. It belonged to the guy who knew him better than anyone else. The man who’d seen enough ugliness in his life not to be bothered about the strange journey of his. The guy who understood what it was like to take life in chunks of now instead of pining for the past or stressing about the future, because none of it mattered if a bomb blew your face away. The man who was more his family than the people with whom he shared DNA. His brother in arms, his friend in all times of need—and in so many ways, his soulmate.
Who’d understand, more than anyone, his need to deal with this shit by making light of it. “Looks like you’re up for it too, dude.”
Rebel didn’t laugh. Or react in much of any other way. The fucker was still an enigma, his face a taut mask as he caught Brynna’s other wrist in his hold. He pulled her hands between their chests with a low growl. “Let’s be very clear. I want to do this with you as badly as Rhett does, little cher…”
“But?” She supplied the implied word.
“But this time, I won’t be able to control myself as much as I did on the airplane. I won’t be able to hide so many of my…special preferences.” One side of his mouth kicked up—finally—when his revelation goose-bumped her flesh. “You’re a very bright girl, aren’t you? You’ve already figured out what they are. Maybe even thought about all the…creative ways…I could play with you.” His thumbs stroked her inner wrists. “Control you. Then pleasure you.”
Rhett palmed the shaft now pushing at his own pants. “And I won’t be able to hide what that does to me.”
Rebel nailed him with a hot glance. “I sure as hell hope not.”
Well, that made things official. Track pants really could be torture devices.