Chapter 89

These two are killing me. Can't a girl have two minutes before her panties get completely wet? Apparently not, because between Jeremiah and Ezekiel, wearing a white T-shirt and black pants that show off his penis mark all too well, there's no relief in sight for the desire threatening to take over me.

"And what food awaits me?" I ask.

"We've prepared pesto chicken with grilled green beans and cherry tomatoes for the royal lady." Jeremiah bows at the waist, giving an exaggerated bow.

I chuckle. "Now we're talking. And dessert?"

—We can do whatever you want.—

—I like a man who commands me.—

Ezequiel smiles mischievously. "Well, that's Jeremiah's business. When it's my turn, you'll do whatever I want."

And so, the sexual tension in the room soars, sending heat to my pussy. Without a single caress, I'm ready to moan right here, right now, just thinking about what's coming next.

Jeremiah chuckles, making me look at him as he says, “Take off your shoes. Stay a while.”

I kick my shoes off my toes as I watch them head back into the kitchen. Taking my time to finally look around the living and dining rooms, I finally make it to the kitchen. Ezekiel is stirring something in a pan while Jeremiah sets three plates on a smaller table in the corner of the kitchen. Jeremiah pulls out a chair for me and I sit. Then, he walks over to the refrigerator, so I turn my attention back to Ezekiel turning off the stove. He glances over his shoulder so quickly I don't have time to look away. The bastard winks at me. It sends the dirtiest things through my mind. Him giving me that same wink while I cum on his tongue, or while he slides his cock deep inside me.

—Looks like you need it—, Jeremiah laughs.

He places a glass on the table and even though I want to stare at it, I end up blinking when I see that it's my favorite drink.

—How did you...— I faint.

"I realize a lot of things," he says simply.

I watch Jeremiah walk away again, but it's not desire that fills me now, although I feel it too. It would be fine if it were just that, but it's mostly interest, curiosity... like... I can't feel any sympathy for him or Ezequiel. What they do to me, what they do to me, but not them.

"Wow, those wheels never stop turning, don't they?" Ezequiel shakes his head, approaching with the frying pan.

\-What do you mean?-

"You make this face when you're thinking," he replies. "And anyone who thinks that much is thinking about things they shouldn't. Or at least that's my experience."

I raise my eyebrows and gasp. “Do you think...? Wow! You keep surprising me.”

—You're trying to irritate me, but instead, you just turn me on.

I gulp as Jeremiah joins us. Ezequiel places the pan on a cloth and ladles a generous amount of chicken onto each plate before Jeremiah adds the green beans and tomatoes.

"That looks good," I say. "Thanks."

"I think those are the most civilized words you've ever said to us," Ezequiel says.

I look at him through my eyelashes, knowing, without even thinking, that he's right. Politeness feels too close to kindness. And just like I feel when I'm around them, kindness feels too risky. Maybe it's possible, but I'm too afraid to find out. Ezekiel's words make me wonder if he can somehow read my mind.

“Can I ask you to log off for the night?” he asks. When I don’t answer, he continues, “I won’t ask what’s going on up there, but here, right now, we’re just three people enjoying a nice meal. And when we’re done, we’re going to go to the bedroom and show you the exact reason you missed us all week.”

That makes me laugh as I roll my eyes and pick up my fork. I'm not sure I can completely shut off, even though I sense the problem is real, but I tell him I'll try anyway. The conversation flows naturally, but I manage to quiet my mind every time he tells me I'm wading into dangerous waters. I can separate them: the men I'm eating with and the men I'll be naked with later.

"How did you get into the gym business?" I ask. "Wait a minute, how many do you have?"

"Three," Ezequiel replies. "One here and two in neighboring states."

"Our mother got us into this," Jeremiah laughs.

"Did your mom put you in the gym?" I ask.

“My mom is the type to never just sit around and do nothing,” Jeremiah begins. “She believes in turning pain, or whatever, into action. So, after our father left us—” “Not her, but us. God, I know exactly how that feels.” “—she started working out... a lot. She took us with her. The gym let us play on the machines, within reason, while she was there. Then they started paying us to clean the machines, odd jobs here and there, until, as teenagers, we became full-time employees. Plus, we’d started working out a lot, too. So, when the owner of the gym decided to retire, we offered to buy him out, and here we are.”

—Does your mother still exercise?—

Ezequiel laughs. “Since then, she’s done a lot. She likes to be very busy; she hates inactivity. So she’s done cycling, pottery, gardening, hiking, rock climbing, and much more. Right now, her latest hobby is photography.”

—As her children, you better equip her with the best cameras.

"Of course," Jeremiah nodded. "What else are children for?"

—Oh, so you're mommy's boys?—

"Proud to be one," Ezequiel says. "And your mother?"

I swallow, trying to think of how to respond to that without the conversation taking an unexpected turn.

—Ah, ah, ah—, Jeremiah clicks his tongue. —Don't get upset.—

I shrug. “Well, I guess the easiest way to explain it is that I felt like I raised my mother, not the other way around.”

They both raise their eyebrows and yes, this took a turn.

"Are you two close?" Ezequiel asks.

We talk every Sunday, religiously. Sometimes a little more. We know what's going on in each other's lives, but I feel like that's all we know. If that makes sense.

“Yeah. That’s how it is with our dad,” Jeremiah says. “Or at least that’s how it was before he stopped coming around altogether. He was in our lives before our parents’ divorce, but barely. He was never really there, never really present.”

I nod and put more chicken in my mouth.