First off, I'm part of NOR'S Winter Wonderland Hunt. If you're here for that, feel free to look around or hop right to the Undercover Lovers page to find out the answer to my question. :)
It's almost time to get UNWRAPPED. That's right, this Tuesday Dec 6th just happens to be the release day! I'm not excited at all. I mean, I don't love, love, love friends to lovers stories. And I don't like office romances. I especially don't enjoy hot man loving between two guys I ended up falling in love with right along with Cait. She's one lucky girl is all I gotta say.
So I figured I'd post a little of Chapter One. See what you think and come back next week for prizes and other fun stuff as I celebrate UNWRAPPED's release (and my birthday!)
Cait strolled down the hall that
branched off into three sections. Matt’s was first, hers in the middle. But
instead of heading straight for her set of rooms, she hesitated.
It was too quiet. Unnaturally so.
A line of sweat trickled down
between her shoulder blades. Slowly, she unwound her scarf. She’d forgotten to
take off her outer clothes. No wonder she was hot. She had no reason to be
nervous in her own house.
Did she?
Then she heard a heavy scraping
sound, like furniture being moved, and she pressed her back to the wall. Oh
God. She’d known something was wrong. The lights were off, so who the hell
would be moving furniture? Maybe someone had broken in and overpowered the
guys. They could be tied up even now or worse. Maybe the serial killer was
rolling their bodies up in the rug in Tristan’s living room.
She shoved her fist into her
mouth to keep from making a noise. The smart thing to do would be to run
downstairs and get help. Maybe the police would arrive in time.
A groan ripped through the air,
disturbing the silence so fully that the sound echoed. And it sure didn’t seem
like pain. Well, not regular pain. She’d heard that particular sound before
when guys --
Again. A long, low sound of
pleasure. She bit down on her knuckles, forgetting the cheese puffs she held
under her arm. The bag clattered to the floor, but whoever was boinking in the
bedroom couldn’t hear. Not when they were now screwing so loudly that the bed
was moving. Tristan’s bed. That had
been the noise she’d heard. They were going at it so hard that the frame kept
slamming against the wall.
Creak.
Creak. A pause. Slam.
Her stomach twisted, hard. The
beer suddenly tasted rancid on her
tongue.
Why should she be jealous?
Stupid. He was a talented lover. Of course women wanted him. Matt too. Women
wanted Matt, she amended, only half-aware that her feet were carrying her
closer to the bedroom instead of away.
The door to Tristan’s section was
shut. Though this level had been split equally into three distinct areas, the
doors that separated them from one another were usually only closed when someone
had a girlfriend or boyfriend over. Even then Matt in particular could be
counted on to leave the door cracked, as if he got off on the idea of making
his roommates listen to his bedroom antics. He was noisy as hell in bed,
grunting and yelling with the best of them. Honestly, she envied him. She sure
hadn’t ever experienced anything to elicit sounds like he regularly made.
Moans, sure. But grunts wrested from the depth of her soul?
That would be a no.
She stopped, her throat convulsing
at the new groans reverberating down the hall. That wasn’t Tristan. No way.
Matthew was in Tristan’s apartment, but why? Did they have a girl in there?
Were they having a threesome? They’d never told her they did stuff like that,
but single guys in their late twenties were apt to do any damn
thing.
More than ever, her virginity
felt like a giant weight pressing down on her chest. And other overstimulated
parts of her body.
If they were having a threesome,
why hadn’t they asked her? She was their frigging best friend. The one who
cleaned them up and dumped them into bed when they’d had too much fun on
Saturday night, the one who picked out presents for Matt’s mom because he hated
to and sent out office Christmas cards because Tristan’s handwriting looked
like a mass murderer’s. They were a trio, and as such, if they’d progressed to ménages,
it only made sense that she be the third spoke of their sexfest.
She rubbed her knuckles against
her hip and inhaled deeply. Wait, what? What in God’s name was she thinking?
She didn’t want to have a threesome. With them or anyone. Ordinary twosome sex
was vexing enough.
Fisting her hands, Cait continued
on until she reached Tris’s door. She pushed it open as quietly as possible and
stepped inside the darkened living room. Silence prevailed but only briefly.
Then the bed banging erupted again, more violently than before. The moans that
sliced through the night mixed and mingled, though each was distinct and
completely recognizable.
Jerks.
