Sold To The Dragons (A BBW Paranormal Romance Book 1) Page 14

  But I didn't work hard enough. Because once the three of us were in the kitchen, Blake gave me a faux-stern look with a shake of his head.

  "Do not smile, Kira. Remember...you're above all temptation. We're your enemies now, because you've decided not to enjoy physical intimacy with us any longer, which certainly puts us at odds. So, don't you dare smile. Don't you dare enjoy yourself."

  I snorted. "I'm not. Not even close. And as far as being above all temptation, you got that part right. The two of you haven't even seen just how far above temptation I can be."

  Steven, who was standing just two or three feet away from me, suddenly peeled his shirt off. "Is that a fact?"

  Faced with the sight of his bare, broad chest and its hard, muscular ridges, I couldn't manage to respond right away.

  But eventually, I nodded. "Yes. Yes, that's a fact. I'm miles above temptation. I'm actually light years above it."

  I wanted that to be true. I hoped that would be true. But right then, I was having a very difficult time keeping my gaze from Steven's chiseled pecs and washboard abs. And I was only able to look away when Blake peeled his shirt off as well, diverting my attention.

  He flung it away to a counter top before looking at me. "I, for one, am personally glad to hear that you're so far above temptation. Because I can't promise that Steven and I won't lose more clothes over the course of this dinner. And in fact, I can almost guarantee we will. Because for one, this is a dinner designed with your torture and discomfort in mind. And for two, Steven and I believe that chefs should be allowed to be as comfortable as they like while they cook."

  I pulled my gaze up from Blake's chest to his face with great difficulty. "But isn't the food already cooked?"

  He shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Your two room service chefs were delayed at a council meeting, so instead, we had to bring over all our dinner ingredients on this cart. Though maybe that was best, because now, we're going to cook for you shirtless while you sit and watch, completely above all temptation, as you've assured us you are."

  So, I'd lied. I certainly wasn't light years above temptation; I wasn't even miles above it. I was wondering if I could even manage to remain inches above it now.

  Especially when Steven took me by the shoulders, his touch firm and warm, and led me over to sit at the casual dining table in the kitchen. "We'll eat at the formal dining table, but for right now, you can just have a seat right here and enjoy a glass of champagne."

  He seated me and poured me a glass, and I sipped it while he and Blake got to work cooking sirloin steak with mashed potatoes and sauteed vegetables for sides, one of my favorite meals.

  After chopping a carrot and putting the pieces into a pan, Steven grabbed a long, thick zucchini and pointed it at me. "You just continue relaxing, giving no thought at all to temptation, okay?” Ignoring him, I took a sip of my champagne. I really didn't know how to respond. I'd never had a zucchini pointed at me before. And I couldn't help but realize that it was just about the same thickness and length as Blake and Steven's rods when fully erect, which made me recall exactly how good it felt to make love to them. Which I was absolutely positive had been Steven's intent.

  I watched him and Blake while they fixed dinner, each of them shirtless, each of them barefoot, each of them wearing jeans that hung low on their slim hips. I began fighting not to recall the night the three of us had shared passion together, and how exciting it had been. I began fighting not to think about how easily that shared passion could likely become a reality once again, if I just said the word.

  After putting cream, butter, and boiled potato halves in a bowl to mash, Steven paused in his task, set the potato masher down on the dark granite counter top, and seemed to speak to no one in particular. "In order to really get into this mashing, I think I need to be completely comfortable. And I can't ever be fully comfortable in jeans. They just always feel a tad constricting, for some reason."

  I turned my gaze away and took a sip of my champagne, knowing what was coming next. And when I next looked up, which I did almost against my will, I saw that I'd been correct in my guess about what Steven was going to do. He now stood dressed only in a pair of midnight blue boxer briefs that matched his deep blue eyes. His jeans had been tossed in a corner of the stone-floored kitchen.

  He wagged another zucchini at me. "You just continue relaxing over there, okay? Don’t pay any attention to any temptations that might be present over here. Which...I probably didn't even need to say that to you. Just because of how many light years above temptation you are."

  Again, I didn't respond to him. I wasn't really even paying much attention to his words or his zucchini. At least, not the one in his hand. The outline of the one in his boxer briefs, however, I was having a difficult time looking away from. It wasn't at all erect yet, though I knew that could change with just a kiss or a simple touch from me. I took another sip of my chilled champagne, because the kitchen was suddenly getting very warm.

  After putting our steaks on a broiling pan in the oven, Blake lost his jeans as well, and the kitchen got even a bit hotter. Clearly, I thought, he and Steven were very serious about torturing me.

  Soon, Blake came over to me at the table with a wineglass and a bottle of Merlot. "Would you like to switch to red wine for the meal?"

  I didn’t know. With him standing so close to me in his underwear, with the bulge beneath the fabric only a foot or so from my face, I could barely even think. I was only able to vaguely recall that I enjoyed the nontraditional pairing of champagne with steak, and I shook my head.

  “I’ll stick with champagne. But, thanks."

  With a little smile, he turned to get the champagne bottle off the counter, giving me a spectacular view of his tight rear covered only by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. The kitchen became even a bit hotter still, and I covertly fanned my face. Or, I thought I'd done it covertly, but Steven had seen.

  He gave me an innocent sort of look. "Getting a little hot? Understandable with the broiler on. You're welcome to get comfortable along with us, and lose your top if you'd like. Or your pants. Or both. Whatever."

  Picking up the champagne bottle, Blake gave him a mock-scowl. "Steven, stop. You know she's light years above temptation, so I highly doubt she'll be removing any clothes at all. No matter how hot the kitchen gets."

  Staring at the broad expanse of Blake's chiseled chest, I forced myself to move my head in a nod. "That's right. All my clothes are staying on. Because I'm not making love to either of you, or both of you at the same time. I'm not going to let both of you...run your hands all over my body, or...." Realizing what I was saying and to what direction my thoughts were spinning off to, I pulled my gaze up to Blake's face, using every ounce of my strength to do it. "All of my clothes are staying on."

  He came over with the champagne and began refilling my glass. "Glad to hear it. Because we'd definitely hate to see one as strong-willed as you give into any sort of temptation. And we'd hate to see one as strong-willed as you abandon her reasons for doing so. Which...by the way. Tell me your reasons again for not wanting to make love?"

  I struggled to remember. I knew my reasons had something to do with me, and motherhood, and cowardice, and proving something, but right then, I couldn't quite seem to put all the pieces together.

  I gave my head a little shake, lifting my gaze from Blake's long, muscular thighs to his full mouth. "I don't know. I guess I just want you to...I guess if you're just going to stand around my kitchen nearly naked like this, you may as well kiss me."

  My resolve was crumbling, and the fact wasn't lost on me. But it had been one very long week since I'd seen Blake and Steven nearly naked. And I supposed the sight was more than any mere mortal woman could be expected to take. Even one who'd thought she could somehow manage to keep herself above temptation.

  With a decided twinkle in his dark gray eyes, Blake set my champagne flute on the table. "No...no, sorry, no kisses for you right now. After all, this is a torture session. And
it's about to get a lot more intense."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Blake, Steven, and I moved out to the formal burgundy-and-cream-decorated dining room to eat our meal. They'd already set the table with cream-colored linens, which contrasted beautifully with the deep red color of several red roses in a crystal vase. The room was dimly lit, with only an electric crystal chandelier set on low hanging above the table, and two red taper candles in silver holders serving as light sources. I couldn't deny that it was all terribly romantic.

  I was seated at the head of the candlelit table and then Blake and Steven seated themselves, one of them on either side of me. Their bare chests glowed with golden light, as did their impossibly handsome, strong-jawed faces. I wasn't quite sure how I was expected to focus on the meal. But then again, I knew their intent was that I wouldn't.

  After I'd politely thanked them for making the food, and after they'd lifted their champagne flutes in a toast to my "at times, almost maddeningly strong will and almost indescribable beauty," as Steven said, the three of us began eating in near-silence, the only sounds being some soft violin music Blake had put on and the quiet clanking of our silverware. I had to admit I felt a bit silly eating such a formal dinner in lounge clothes that could really even be described as pajamas, though considering the two men with me were almost literally naked, I didn't feel too silly.

  The food was delicious. Somehow, despite seeming to be quite focused on my torture while in the kitchen, Blake and Steven had managed to cook an outstanding meal. The steak was like butter; the vegetables were perfectly crisp-yet-tender; and the mashed potatoes were the best I'd ever tasted in my life. There was also salad and bread, though I soon became too full on steak and champagne to much enjoy either of those items. And not long after that, I became too distracted by the sight of Blake and Steven's bare, glowing chests to even completely finish my steak. Like the kitchen had, the room became a bit warm, and I asked Blake to please refill my champagne glass.

  With his dark gray eyes glinting in the candlelight, he knocked back the rest of his own champagne and then looked at me with the corners of his delectable, full mouth twitching. "I'll gladly give you a refill. But you know what the tradition is, don't you? Whenever a woman requests a third glass of champagne, she must move to sit on the lap of the pourer while he's pouring it. She must also remain sitting on his lap the entire time she's drinking her third glass of champagne."

  I'd never heard of that "tradition" in my life, and I had serious doubts about whether it actually existed.

  Actually rolling my eyes a bit at Blake, I snorted. "Well, I've never heard of that tradition."

  "No surprise. It's only a local Ashcrest tradition. No wonder you never heard of it back in Quincy."

  I was still more than a bit dubious. But at the same time, I wanted a bit more champagne. And also, the thought of sipping it while on Blake's lap was making me slightly dizzy, and dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the champagne I'd already consumed. I realized I couldn't pass up the opportunity to participate in this "tradition." And so, against my better judgment, of which I was wondering if I even had any left, I nodded.

  "All right. If this is your 'tradition' here, then fine. I'll drink my third glass of champagne on your lap. But if a woman has to do this to get a refill, then I think the man should be responsible for making it happen. I think you should have to use your shifter strength to pull me onto your lap, because right now, I just feel a little too dizzy from my first two glasses to even get up."

  And just a bit dizzy from the sight of his glowing, nearly naked, candlelit body as well. Not to mention that I knew a display of his shifter strength would increase my lightheaded feeling in the best possible way.

  After a quick glance at Steven, Blake pushed his chair back, giving me a sexy half-grin that turned my insides to jelly. "Your suggestion that the man specifically pull the woman onto his lap? I think we'll definitely include this as part of the tradition from now on."

  With an arm around my back and one behind my knees, he pulled me onto his lap, the task not seeming to strain him in the least. The feel of his strong arms around me, lifting me, made butterflies riot on my stomach.

  Then, once I was comfortably and very securely seated on his lap, he poured me some more champagne and handed my glass to me. "Now, you enjoy, while Steven gets our dessert."

  I hadn't even been aware there was going to be any dessert, and I wasn't sure I still had room for any. While Steven got up from the table, I told Blake this, but he just lifted his muscular shoulders in a slight shrug.

  "We won't make you have much...just a taste. Because now with you on my lap like this, I'm thinking that I may just want to feed you a little bite or two. Which is part of the third-glass-of-champagne tradition as well. The man with the gorgeous woman on his lap also gets to feed her a bite of something sweet as well."

  I was full, though not that full, and I couldn't deny that the idea of being fed a bite or two of dessert appealed to me. Though food was quickly becoming the very last thing on my mind. The first thing was the feel of Blake's already-stiffening manhood beneath my rear. I knew it could become an instrument of torture very soon. It was already making me squirm a bit just as it was.

  Once Steven had left the room, Blake lowered his voice a bit, his expression surprisingly serious. "Steven and I know you have a lot on your mind lately, and we know you've been doing a lot of serious thinking, which we respect. But whether you think you're worthy of being a mother yet or not, we think you are, and we think there's no reason you should deprive yourself of the lovemaking required to make that goal happen. And so, as I'm sure you've caught onto by now, we plan to torture you into it.

  “Though just know, if you're really not into being tortured, just say the word at any time, and we'll leave. Immediately. Just say, 'Blake and Steven, stop. I don't want this.' And we'll go. But until then, we'll stay. Just in case you'd like to give your self-denial skills a workout. Just in case you'd like to see for exactly how long you can withstand torture."

  I had a sinking feeling I wasn't going to be able to withstand it for long. I had a sinking feeling that my "self-denial skills" maybe weren't as strong as I'd thought. However, knowing that Blake and Steven surely thought this, too, I thought I might steel my resolve and surprise them a bit. Even if the night was going to inevitably end with the three of us in my bed, I could at least surprise them by how long I could hold out. Maybe I could even turn the tables and tease and tempt them to the point of torture. And suddenly, the idea very much appealed to me. In fact, I found it irresistible.

  Only breaking eye contact with Blake for a moment or two, I lifted my top over my head and tossed it on the marble floor. "I bet I can withstand torture longer than you think. And I don't want you and Steven to leave at all. In fact, now that I'm in the mood to get comfortable and lose a few articles of clothing myself, I want you both to stay for as long as you'd like. However, if either of you begin to feel overly tortured at any point or it gets to be too much, just tell me right away, and you're more than free to leave immediately. Does that sound good?"

  With my arms around his neck and my chest pressed against his, I awaited a response, though I didn't get one right away.

  Shifting his hips almost imperceptibly, he studied my face with his eyes glassy for a long moment before responding. "That sounds just fine to me. Though I have to seriously question whether you have it in you to be a torturer. You see, I think Steven and I each have a cruel streak you might lack."

  "Oh, really? Well, how's this for having a cruel streak?"

  Though his manhood had grown much harder, making me want to stay put and feel it continue to stiffen, I hopped off his lap, took off my pants, and then hooked my thumbs in the sides of my red lacy underwear.

  "See anything you like? See anything you'd like me to take off my underwear for so that you can take an even closer look?"

  “Yes.”

  Blake's breathing had suddenly become so heavy
that it was almost comical. His gaze was locked on my front, specifically on the little scrap of red lace that covered my feminine parts.

  But, proving I had a cruel streak just as wide as his and Steven's, I just laughed. "Oh, sorry. But I think I'll just go ahead and leave my underwear on for right now."

  Blake's frown was so immediate and pronounced that it reminded me of a child who'd had a toy yanked away by a schoolyard bully.

  Completely unable to help myself, I laughed again. "You can just consider that payback for when you refused to give me a kiss earlier."

  He sulked for just a split-second, drawing his dark brows together, before pulling me onto his lap so suddenly I gasped. "You can be a very, very naughty little thing, Kira. Do you know that?"