Page 121 of Stolen Faith
Izabel gave them an exasperated look. “Right now? We’re in the middle of dinner.”
“Quesadillas are better cold,” Brennon lied.
“Bullshit,” she said, with no conviction whatsoever.
Rowan circled the table, taking Izabel’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “You’re the one who googled it, Iza, so it’s a little late to play hard to get.”
Izabel didn’t deny it, her hands finding Rowan’s hips as she lifted her face to his.
The three of them had shared good-night kisses every night since landing in L.A., but they’d been gentle shows of affection.
Neither of his fiancés was looking for affection now. Rowan gripped Izabel’s face in his hands, kissing her hard, their tongues clashing. Izabel, cognizant of Rowan’s ribs, tucked her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, using them to pull his body against hers, his erection creating a large bulge in his jeans. Brennon had seen Rowan’s cock before—just once—in the cabin. It had been flaccid then, but still impressive.
Watching them was a total fucking turn-on.
“Get over here,” Rowan grumbled, his lips still on Izabel.
Rowan was going to be demanding in the bedroom, there was no denying it, but that was something that suited Brennon just fine, as he’d always found himself drawn to dominant lovers.
Brennon stepped closer to them, both Rowan and Izabel drawing him into their tight circle. He placed a kiss on her cheek, then on Rowan’s scratchier one. Izabel twisted her head toward him, kissing him with the same passion she’d just shown Rowan. She tasted delicious—cheese and beer. His favorite combination.
While he and Izabel kissed, Rowan shifted slightly, cupping the back of Brennon’s neck with one hand, Izabel’s with the other.
“I think we should move this to the bedroom,” Rowan murmured, his lips next to both of their ears. “Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Izabel wasted no time walking back to the kitchen door, but she turned around when she realized her men hadn’t followed. Twisting to face them, she caught sight of Rowan stopping Brennon with a strong hand on his forearm. She sucked in a sharp breath as she watched Rowan draw their fiancé in for a kiss. He was dominant and aggressive in all the best ways.
How amazing was the sex going to be when Rowan was fully healed? Just thinking about it got her all hot and bothered, her impatience kicking in.
“I’m waaaaiting,” Izabel singsonged, reminding them she was still there. Their kiss ended as they both looked over. She was leaning against the doorframe, trying to look calm, cool, and collected, but watching them together was too fucking arousing.
Rowan’s sinful gaze and smirk told her that if they didn’t get inside right now, they’d wind up giving the neighbors one hell of a show.
She turned before they could reach her, quickly making her way to Brennon’s—no, their—bedroom. She and Brennon had been sharing the bed without Rowan, using it for nothing more than its boring purpose—sleeping. Tonight, at last, that was going to change.
Rowan stopped next to the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. He’d opted for button-downs this week as lifting his arms over his head to pull T-shirts on was unnecessarily painful.
Brennon and Izabel stood side by side, watching the show. Rowan was fucking built; his abs had abs, something neither she nor Brennon failed to appreciate during those first few days in L.A. when they’d taken turns helping him get dressed. Rowan claimed that he didn’t normally look like that, the days of limited food having meant he’d burned through some fat reserves. They’d both told him that if that was the case, he needed to eat until they couldn’t see his muscles. He’d grumbled about being fussed over but hadn’t exactly turned them away either.
Rowan shrugged the button-down off his broad shoulders, and Brennon shot her a knowing grin when she gave herself away. Her sharp inhalation was loud enough to prove she was a fan of their soldier’s body.
Rowan started to tackle the button and zipper on his jeans when he realized neither of them had moved. “Am I the only one getting naked?”
“For now,” Izabel said, lifting her chin, indicating that he should keep going.
Her gesture was a test, a way to see how far she could push him before his natural instinct to take control emerged. For a moment, she thought maybe she’d done it when Rowan’s eyes narrowed as if he had something to say about her imperiousness. She had to admit she was a little bit disappointed when he merely shrugged it off and unfastened his jeans, shoving them over his hips, letting gravity send the denim to his ankles. He was going commando tonight, so all he had to do was toe off his jeans and he was completely naked.
“Damn,” Brennon breathed. “The full Monty.”
“Seriously,” Izabel murmured, too mesmerized to laugh.
Rowan shook his head, though there was no denying he was amused—and pleased—by their comments. There were still way too many bruises on Rowan’s body, and the fact his hadn’t hit the same yellow stage as Brennon’s told her just how deep and brutally painful they must have been.
Not that Rowan seemed to be suffering now. Or at least not from his injuries. Though Izabel suspected Rowan’s thick, rock-hard dick was probably causing him some discomfort.
Hello, Mr. Well Endowed.