Out of nowhere, Aidan came up behind her, his lips dangerously close to her ear. “Let me help you with that.”
His lemon-scented aftershave teased her senses, made her feel lightheaded. Why did he have to smell so good, damn it?
He opened the cupboard, pulled out a ceramic bowl and held it out.
She accepted the bowl with a soft “thank you”.
And without meeting his eyes.
“So what are your plans for the day?” Dylan asked her as she ducked into the pantry for a box of Corn Flakes.
“I wanted to hit the mall to do some Christmas shopping.” She prepared a bowl of cereal, then sat at the opposite end of the counter and started to eat. Quickly. Because the faster she ate, the faster she could leave the kitchen and pretend she’d never seen—
Nothing. You saw nothing.
“Want us to drop you off before we head to the base?” Aidan offered.
“It’s six-thirty in the morning, Aidan. The stores don’t open until nine.”
“Right. My bad. You’ll be okay taking a cab, then?”
“I’ll be just fine.” Crap, that sounded a tad snippy. She almost lifted her head to shoot him an apologetic look, then thought better of it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw that Dylan had drained his coffee and was sliding off his stool. He strode toward the dishwasher and opened the door, then bent over to place his empty cup in the tray.
I want you in my ass.
Dylan’s desperate plea to Aidan echoed in her mind, and a hot shiver scurried up her spine. Oh God, the way he was bending over like that, his ass hugged by those camo pants… But there’d been nothing covering that ass last night, not unless you counted Aidan’s muscular thighs pressed up against Dylan’s buttocks as Aidan’s cock slammed into—
“You okay there, sweetheart?” Aidan inquired in a gratingly cheerful voice.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“If you say so.”
But she was the furthest thing from fine. Now that she’d allowed that one memory in, the rest were buzzing in her head like a swarm of bees.
Aidan on his knees, his lips stretched around Dylan’s cock.
Dylan begging to be taken.
Aidan taking him.
Both of them coming.
The whole scene had replayed in her dreams last night, the filthiest, sexiest, raunchiest dreams she’d ever had in her life. She’d woken up between each one, panting, sweating, quivering from what she suspected had been actual orgasms. And each dream had ended the same way—with Dylan’s green eyes burning with ecstasy as he held her gaze and orgasmed.
God, he’d seen her. He’d seen her standing there, and yet he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t sought her out last night, wasn’t mentioning it this morning.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“All right, we’re taking off.” Aidan’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Call my cell if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.” She kept her gaze firmly on her empty cereal bowl.
As they shuffled toward the doorway, Claire couldn’t believe she’d made it through the entire exchange without a single look in their direction. She was about to give herself a mental pat on the back when Dylan’s silky voice drifted her way.
“Hey, Claire?”
Her head lifted involuntarily, causing the accidental meeting of their eyes.
“Yeah?” she said warily.
“You were moaning in your sleep last night.” Chuckling, Dylan sauntered out of the kitchen.
“Who do you think would win in a fight, Costner’s Robin Hood or Crowe’s?” Aidan stretched his legs out and absently glanced at the TV, which was playing the Russell Crowe version of the aforementioned film.
Dylan was lying on the other couch, his head propped up by a throw pillow. “That’s a trick question,” he said immediately. “The real winner would be Cary Elwes’s Robin Hood from Men in Tights.”
Aidan burst out laughing. “Why?”
“Duh. Because he speaks with a British accent.” In an impressive move, Dylan recited the line in a British accent.
“Shit, that’s actually a badass British accent, bro.”
“I know, right?”
They turned their attention back to the screen, but Aidan wasn’t particularly interested in the movie. He was too busy wondering what Claire was doing in Dylan’s bedroom. She’d been hiding away all night, same way she’d done last night, and the night before, and the night before that.
He had to give her credit—the woman had successfully managed to avoid them for three days now, a damn near impossible feat considering they were living in the same condo.
Aidan knew all about Claire’s initiation into the wonderful world of voyeurism, and damn, he wished he’d gotten to see her face that night. Dylan insisted she’d liked everything she’d seen, and judging by the blush that had graced her cheeks ever since, Aidan suspected his roommate was right.
“She’s only got a week and a half of vacation time left,” he murmured.
“I know.” Dylan sounded as glum as Aidan felt.
“I don’t want her to go.” The confession slipped out before he could stop it.