Chapter 2: Double-Teamed Confessions
The silence after Liam’s question was brittle, stretched thin enough to snap. Clara could feel the pulse in her throat, a frantic drumbeat against her skin. Ethan shifted from the sink, his movement lazy, deliberate. A predator not bothered by a new arrival in his territory.
“Just finishing up inventory,” Ethan said, his voice a smooth lie. He nodded toward the ruined cupcakes. “Clara had a little accident.”
Liam’s eyes didn’t leave Clara. He placed the beers down slowly, one by one, the glass clinking against the steel. He’d seen. Of course he’d seen. The flush on her chest, the way her dress was still crooked, the intimate charge in the air so thick it was suffocating. His gaze was a physical touch, cooler than Ethan’s, more assessing.
“Inventory,” Liam repeated, his tone flat. He cracked open a bottle with the opener on his keychain, the psst sound absurdly loud. He took a long pull, his throat working. When he lowered it, his expression had changed. The easy-going mask was gone, replaced by a quiet, startling intensity. “Looked more like a quality control issue. Hands-on testing.”
Ethan chuckled, a low, dark sound. He crossed his arms, leaning back. “Something like that.”
Clara found her voice, but it came out too high. “Liam, it’s not—”
“On your knees, Clara.”
The command cut through her words, clean and sharp as a knife. It wasn’t loud. It was worse than loud. It was absolutely steady. Liam’s blue eyes held hers, and the heat in them was unfamiliar, a banked fire suddenly roaring to life.
Her breath hitched. A confusing surge of rebellion and raw want tightened her stomach. “What?”
“You heard him,” Ethan said, his grin widening. He seemed amused, intrigued. A new variable in their game. “He wants a demonstration. Seems fair. I got the preview. He gets the show.”
Liam’s attention shifted to Ethan, a flicker of something dark passing between them. “You fucked her here?” Liam asked, his voice still deceptively calm.
“Bent her over this very table.” Ethan’s smile was all teeth. “She came so hard she ruined a dozen cupcakes.”
Clara’s face burned. The vulgar recounting, the way they were talking about her as if she weren’t there, should have infuriated her. Instead, a treacherous lick of excitement coiled in her gut. Liam’s jaw tightened. He took another swig of beer, his eyes never leaving Ethan’s.
“Yeah?” Liam said. He set the bottle down with a final click. His hands went to his belt. “Guess she’s still warm for you, then. Good.”
The shush of his zipper was the only sound. He pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough, freeing himself. He was already hard, thick and eager in his hand. He gave himself a slow, languid stroke, his eyes back on Clara, pinning her in place.
“So show me,” Liam said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Show me what you were doing while he was fucking you. On your knees. Now.”
Her legs moved before her mind could fully protest. The cool floor bit through her stockings. She shuffled forward on her knees, the gritty texture of flour and sugar grinding beneath her. The smell was overwhelming up close—yeast, clean soap from his skin, the hoppy scent of the beer on his breath. He was inches from her face.
“Go on, sweetheart,” Ethan murmured from behind her. She could feel his gaze like a brand on her back. “Show him what that pretty mouth does best. You remember.”
She did. They all did. A drunken, blurred night months ago that they never discussed. The memory flashed, hot and vivid.
Clara closed her eyes for a second, then opened them. She leaned forward, her hands resting on Liam’s thighs. They were tense, muscles coiled under his jeans. She didn’t use her hands on him. She just opened her mouth and took him in, slowly, letting her tongue flatten against the underside as she sank down.
Liam hissed, a sharp intake of breath. His fingers tangled in her dark hair, not forcing, just holding. “Fuck,” he breathed.
She found a rhythm, head bobbing, her lips stretched tight. She used her tongue, swirling around the head, then taking him deep until he bumped the back of her throat. She relaxed into it, the act itself a strange, power. She could hear Ethan moving behind her, could sense him watching, and it only made her take Liam deeper, suck harder.
“That’s it,” Liam grunted. His hips gave a small, involuntary jerk. “Just like that. Jesus, Clara.”
“Tell me,” Ethan’s voice came, closer now. He was standing beside them, looking down. “Tell me how he fucked her, Liam. While she’s sucking your cock, tell me exactly how it was.”
Liam’s grip tightened in her hair. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the stretched corner of her mouth. “He said he bent you over,” Liam started, his voice gravelly with pleasure. “Said he pushed your skirt up and just took you. Was he rough?”
Clara moaned around Liam’s length, the vibration making him curse.
“He was,” Ethan answered for her, a dark pride in his tone. “She likes it rough. Don’t you, Clara? You like being used on your own fucking table.”
“Did you come?” Liam demanded, his thrusts into her mouth becoming more purposeful, less controlled. “When he was pounding into you, did you come all over his dick?”
She nodded, a desperate, eager motion. Saliva dripped down her chin.
“She screamed,” Ethan supplied, his hand coming to rest on the back of her neck, a possessive weight. “Loud enough I thought the windows would break.”
Liam’s breathing was coming in ragged pants. “Yeah? And after? After he filled you up, what then? Did you just stand there, dripping, thinking about me walking in?”
The question, the raw jealousy in it, sent a shock through her. Her eyes flew up to meet his. They were glazed, hungry, full of a pain she hadn’t expected.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his hips stilling, holding himself deep in her throat. “You thought about me seeing you like that? All fucked out and messy?”
Tears welled in her eyes, from the strain, from the brutal intimacy of the question. She managed another small nod.
It was all he needed. With a guttural sound that was almost a sob, he pulled her head forward and came, hard pulses hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed, the taste bitter and essential. He held her there until he was spent, his body shuddering.
Slowly, he softened and slipped from her lips. Clara knelt back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing heavily. The kitchen was silent again, heavy with the smell of sex and beer.
Liam tucked himself away, zipped up. His fingers, trembling slightly, tipped her chin up. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. Then he bent and kissed her, deep and slow, tasting himself on her tongue.
When he broke away, he turned to Ethan. The two men stared at each other over her head. The competition, the friendship, the years of unspoken things were a live wire in the air.
“Next time,” Liam said, his voice quiet but clear, “you wait for me.”
Ethan’s smirk was gone. He just looked at Liam, then down at Clara, a new, calculating light in his green eyes. He didn’t agree. He didn’t disagree.
He just reached down, took Clara’s hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Come on,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You need a drink. We all do.”
He led her toward the front of the bakery, leaving Liam standing by the counter, surrounded by the silent, smiling cakes and the ghost of what they’d just done. The night outside the windows was black and deep, and inside, nothing was the same.