Acres, Natalie - Sex Junkie [Cowboy Addiction 1](Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 3

  From a wealthy family, Morgan once held her head high and shoulders back. Now, the self-assurance she once possessed didn’t exist. She slumped in her chair, the air of confidence not at all obvious in the way she presented herself.

  “Where did you go after you left the dopehead?” Grant asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You said you’ve been clean a few days. You haven’t been here. Kit and Kemper just left yesterday. Obviously, you didn’t know that. Where did you stay?”

  “Kilo would’ve found me if I’d headed straight home, so I caught a bus to Nashville.”

  “Kilo is who?” Grant asked.

  “He was my boyfriend, dealer, whatever you want to call him.”

  “At least he had a name befitting of the business he represents,” Blake grumbled.

  “Anyway, we lived in Memphis—right outside of South Haven. I knew how important it was to get out of town as quickly as possible, so I went to the bus station. By the time I arrived there, he was blowing up my phone, sending text messages and leaving voice mails. By then, I was jonesing bad. I needed a fix, but the evil tone in Kilo’s voice alerted me to the obvious. If I went back there, he planned to kill me.

  “You have no idea how close I came to returning to him anyway. At one point, I wanted to die, or I wanted that fix. There was no in-between and I was certain if I returned to Memphis, I’d get both. He’d supply a syringe full of the drug I wanted, and the dose would send me to my grave.”

  “So then what?” Grant asked, moving the story along.

  “I went to Nashville and checked in at a rundown motel and started detox on my own, determined to ride out the storm until I could walk out of that room by myself.”

  “You could’ve died,” Blake pointed out.

  “She was too proud to call home.”

  “You’re right. I wanted to. God help me, I did. Still, I wasn’t sure Kit and Kemper would come for me if I had asked them.”

  “You could’ve called me or Grant.”

  “And both of you would’ve been willing to travel five to six hours for a drug addict who would’ve refused a rehab facility at that time?”

  “You know I would’ve gone to the end of the earth for you,” Grant told her. “At least I would’ve at one time.”

  Eyes as pretty as deep green emeralds filled with sadness. As quickly as they flashed with sorrow, they turned as cold as ice. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Lucky for you, I didn’t need you to meet me halfway, right?”

  “Morgan, he didn’t mean—”

  “Yes I did,” Grant interrupted him. “Let me tell you what I think, Morgan. I believe you’re here because you’re broke, desperate, and running from a thug who plans to bury you. That is after he gets his money. I’m a betting man. I’m gonna jump out here and place a nice wager on the possibility he believes you’ll come home, pitch this spiel to Kit and Kemper, and go back to Memphis with the money you owe him.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I think it is.”

  “That’s enough, Grant.”

  “The hell it is. She told me her story. Now she can listen to mine.”

  * * * *

  Grant lost a brother to drugs. He wasn’t about to let Kit and Kemper lose a sister. He thought too much of the friends he’d known since the first grade. Now that they had a chance to help her, he planned to save her, and he wouldn’t dance around his intentions. He wanted Morgan to know precisely how things would play out.

  Morgan should’ve anticipated an intervention from the moment they walked into the Keesling kitchen.

  “You know, my brother Scott died.”

  “I heard,” Morgan said. “I’m sorry, Grant.”

  “Who told you?”

  “I saw Mary Margaret down at the corner market when I first got into town.”

  “He’s been in the grave three years. It’s been hard, unbearable at times. I could’ve saved him, but I expected him to save himself.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Morgan said regretfully.

  “Sure it is,” Grant agreed. “And that’s why Blake and I will help you. You’ll lean on us, but we’re only offering our assistance with conditions. You’ll agree to do things on our terms.”

  She didn’t interrupt him, but she acted like she was going to say something before she settled against the wooden back of the large swing. She started swaying with the furniture, gliding forward, drifting back.

  “We’re gonna love you into sobriety,” Grant explained.

  “What?”

  “Love you into sobriety. And Morgan, you really don’t have a choice in the matter now. You’ve been clean five days? So what? If this Kilo character comes here and sees you doing well, he’ll hand you the needle and give you your final dose. Is that what you want?”

  “I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need it.”

  “Well, you happen to be at our mercy. Scott lost his battle with drugs. I don’t want you to do the same, Morgan. Maybe you didn’t ask me to help you but I don’t need your consent. I’d like to have it, of course, but the only reason you’ll have options here is because Blake has this notion that your compliance is necessary. Then again, Blake hasn’t lost a brother to drugs. I could care less if you give us your permission or not.”

  “But by the time this is over, I’ll need yours, right? Is that where this is going?”

  “That’s exactly where this is headed,” Blake answered for Grant. “And we’ll try to make your recovery as painless as possible.”

  “By switching one addiction for another?” she asked, arching her brow. “No thank you. I’ve been there and done you.” A beat later, she looked at Grant, too. “And you.”

  “Glad you mentioned that,” Grant said as smugly as possible. “Because since you have a nasty track record of returning to previous habits, you shouldn’t have a problem readjusting to the environments you know best.”

  “Which is what exactly?” she asked, a spark of interest settling in her eyes.

  “Our beds.”

  Chapter Three

  Morgan would’ve been mad as hell if she hadn’t been somewhat intrigued. Before she returned to Blountville, Tennessee, she thought of countless scenarios. She’d imagined her brothers turning her away at the door. She’d envisioned Kemper dragging her off to rehab. She’d thought they might call the police, or ask Blake to talk to her, especially since he’d always been the one who could somewhat control her.

  She’d never contemplated something like this.

  “What are you suggesting?” she finally asked, almost afraid to hear their reply.

  “It’s pretty obvious,” Grant said. “Don’t you think?”

  “We’ll take care of you, Morgan,” Blake assured her.

  “And you’ll take care of us,” Grant told her.

  “You mean sexually,” she said quietly.

  “Exactly,” Grant quickly responded, his lips thinning as if he were negotiating a done deal.

  “Why would you do this?”

  “Because we both happen to love you,” Blake replied. “I never stopped.”

  Her heart soared with his beautiful confession. She could’ve cried then, only she was still processing, coming to terms with their offer.

  “It’s a one-time deal,” Grant explained. “Blake and I have discussed this many times in the past. We know what we want, and both of us are willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy and see you well. We’re both still in love with you, Morgan. There hasn’t been anyone else for either of us since you left.”

  “I’m not the same person you once knew.”

  “We aren’t either,” Grant stated flatly.

  That much was obvious. She could see the notable changes, especially in Grant. While he still looked the same with his pretty-boy appeal, worry had obviously aged him. His forehead was strained with tight wrinkles. His bow-shaped mouth was lined with the signs of burdensome times. Premature crow’s feet encased those unique blue eyes M
organ had always adored. Grant was hardened, and that no-nonsense approach he possessed, the one she once found appealing, now came across tougher, jagged, and raw.

  There wasn’t any question. Grant Fowler wouldn’t put up with a drug addict’s self-centered shit.

  Grant would bend her over his knee and wear her ass out if she crossed him. Then, he’d fuck her silly, leave her to play with a few toys, and dare her to put a drug in her vein again.

  “What if I can’t do it?” she asked, fully aware of just how strenuous their rehabilitation regime would potentially become.

  “You won’t have a choice,” Blake replied. “You will, however, have one chance to accept or decline our offer. Once you agree to do things our way, you belong to us. Whatever we tell you to do, you do. No questions, no whining, just obedience.”

  “I’m not some kind of whore-for-hire.”

  “We never implied you were,” Grant told her. “Besides, who said you’d get paid? You won’t have a dime to your name. If you don’t have any money, you can’t buy your dope.”

  “I don’t want any,” she assured him while cursing herself for dishonesty. The cravings only intensified with these two around.

  “Didn’t you say you’d still take the needle over a hot cup of coffee?” Blake asked.

  “Yes, but…”

  “No buts,” Grant interrupted her. “Unless, of course, you’re offering up yours.”

  She glared at them then. “Just who do you think you are, talking to me like this?”

  “I’m the man who will lie down beside you and keep you safe at night.”

  “So will I,” Blake assured her.

  “You expect me to sleep with both of you? That’s insane!” And the most delicious suggestion she’d ever heard.

  “No it isn’t,” Blake objected. “You’ve always been a junkie, Morgan. In high school, you were an adrenaline junkie. You moved on from there. Now, if you want to get high, you’ll get a rush from us.”

  “By going to bed with one of you and then jumping in bed with the other fella the very next night?”

  “Oh no,” Grant drawled. “That’s not how this works. You misunderstood. You will be in bed with both of us at the same time and you will submit to our every desire.”

  “This won’t work. You both know it.”

  “Why?” Blake asked.

  “It just won’t.”

  “Give us one good reason,” Grant said.

  “You mean outside of the obvious?” Morgan asked. “Let me remind you of how possessive you both are.”

  “Why don’t you,” Blake teased.

  “Blake, we may have been young when we were together, but you were impossible. A young man—or heaven forbidden, his father—might look my way, and you were ready for a street fight.” A beat later, she turned to Grant and said, “And you? How many black eyes did you give, all in the name of love?”

  “We’ve shared women before,” Grant told her.

  That confession was like taking a shot through the heart.

  “Quite a few times,” Blake added.

  Correction, a dagger. Several at one time.

  “Well screw me for being in the dark.”

  “We will,” Grant teased. “Whenever we get the chance.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, ignoring his attempt at humor. “You’ve never shared me before. I came in between your friendship once, I won’t do it again.”

  “You couldn’t anyway. We’ve already discussed this at length, Morgan. Blake and I are too busy for a committed relationship. What woman would be happy with either of us?”

  “Oh, I get it. Separately, you’re bound to fail at pleasing a woman. Together, you can offer a gal everything she hopes to find in one man.” She shook her head. “Only instead of one, I’m forced to accommodate two?”

  “That’s right,” Blake replied. “Believe me when I tell you, I don’t think you’ll view us as an imposition.”

  “No,” Grant said, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. “We’re hardly asking you for a personal sacrifice.”

  “You’ll be taken care of at all times,” Blake said, offering another round of reassurance.

  “I need to lie down.”

  “Not until you give us an answer,” Grant remarked.

  “I can’t give you one until I think about it.”

  “You have less than a minute,” Grant informed her, looking at his watch. “Starting now.”

  Morgan felt like she was being backed in a corner. She wasn’t sure why they were doing this, but she was pretty clear on what they wanted from her. They were after her body. They wanted sex, both of them, at the same time. What the hell was that?

  She compared men. Grant was the epitome of a cocksure cowboy. He possessed a dark and mysterious confidence, the kind of attitude a woman wasn’t sure she loved or hated. He’d changed considerably since he’d lost his brother. His natural smile, always indented with dimples, made him easy on a woman’s eyes, but underneath the outer layers lived a man she didn’t know.

  Grant wore his hair off his face, pulled back in a ponytail. He had layers of curls when he released the rubber band, and she remembered all too well how much she loved running her fingers through the soft locks.

  Blake, on the other hand, was tall, dark, and handsome, not quite as intimidating as Grant. Then again, Blake had known her since she was a small child. He often treated her like one, not that she minded. She remembered the way he’d loved and adored her, careful to give her a gentle kiss and an easy touch. Blake and Grant ruined her for all other men.

  Why then was it so hard to imagine the two of them taking her to bed?

  Her nipples throbbed as she considered the possibilities. The loving would undoubtedly be incredible, second to none. Her pussy clenched. But how could this work? She was so small in comparison to one of them, much less two.

  Morgan took a deep breath and considered the facts. Kilo was coming after her. He would find her when she was the weakest, and he would kill her unless she had someone to stop him.

  She studied the only two men she’d ever loved and thought of the looming dangers. Kit and Kemper wouldn’t be back for at least a week. She didn’t want to stay by herself while she awaited their homecoming. Then again, she didn’t want to place Blake and Grant in the line of fire just because of the choices she made.

  “I can’t do this,” she blurted out without further consideration. “You might get hurt.”

  “I don’t think so,” Grant said, winking. “I haven’t met a dog yet that I can’t put down if the notion strikes me.”

  “Either you want to get better or you don’t,” Blake told her gently. “If you do, we have a fail-proof way to ensure you’re protected. You won’t return to the drugs. You won’t see Kilo again. And you’ll be back to feeling like yourself sooner than you might think.”

  “Why are you doing this again?”

  “She’s stalling,” Grant muttered. “Come on, Blake. We can’t help her if she’s unwilling to help herself.”

  “Wait!” she exclaimed as they turned to walk away. “I’ll do it.”

  They didn’t wait for her to change her mind, and they didn’t ask her if she was sure. Instead, they swapped one of those knowing stares men often share.

  Then, they pursued her.

  * * * *

  “What happened to the nap you promised me?” Morgan asked as Blake secured her arms, binding her hands to the bedposts.

  “You said you needed to lie down. We said as soon as you gave us an answer, you could. Did we tell the truth or not?”

  She set her jaw. “I’m not well enough for this.”

  “You’re not sick,” Grant said. “That’s what used to drive me insane about my brother. In his final days, he acted as if he were terminally ill. Yes, you are unwell because you have a drug problem. Yes, you’re an addict. But you aren’t terminally ill. You aren’t dying, and if you were ever in any immediate danger, it was when you were detoxing by yourself. You surviv
ed that. You’ll survive anything.”

  “Even this?” she asked, her gaze darting between men.

  “Especially this,” Blake said, his lips hovering over hers as he propped up her head, placing a short stack of pillows under her neck and shoulders.

  “I don’t have the energy I used to have,” she said, squirming as Grant grabbed her right leg.

  He removed her sandal and caressed her ankle. “You’re so thin, Morgan.”

  “She needs to put on some weight,” Blake agreed.

  “I eat.”

  “What? Lettuce and a carrot?” Grant asked, tying her leg to a post. When he secured the other one, he added, “Ah hell, I forgot how limber you are.”

  The longing strummed through his voice as his fingers marched up and down her lower leg. His ravenous touch heated her pussy, making her yearn for more.

  “I didn’t,” Blake said, moistening his lips. “She could work those legs better than a pretzel twists.”

  Grant jerked. “Hmm, I can’t remember.”

  “Liar,” Blake said, chuckling.

  His lips skimmed across hers. Morgan found herself stretching for a better sample, a little peck to let her know this was more about her and their feelings for an old love they’d never forgotten rather than about making her well, keeping her sober.

  “How do you think I can get away if Kilo comes here?” she asked, yanking her arms up and sideways only to discover there was very little play in the rope securing her. “You’ve tied me up and left me vulnerable.”

  “Do you see either of us leaving this room?” Grant asked.

  “No.”

  “Then don’t doubt either one of us again,” Grant said, tickling her toes.

  She giggled then, and the release of laughter felt good, completely refreshing. In recent weeks, all she’d done was cry.

  She’d sobbed over the loss of Kilo, not because she loved him, but because she needed him. She’d cried when she’d left Memphis, fearing she’d never return to the city she’d loved at first sight. Then, she wailed like a baby, throwing tantrums and fits as the detox process brought her to her knees.

  Now, if anyone ever told her to go to hell—as Kilo often did—she could tell them she’d seen the glow from its dancing flames, truly experienced its unforgiving fires, met the devil, shaken his hand, and even gotten to know a few of those who’d gone before her.