Too Much : Chapter 11

“HOLY SHIT,” Logan mumbles, devouring the skewers Thalia made. “This is so good.”

I forgot my tongue when he arrived with a hot babe on his arm. Tall, legs up to her armpits, blonde and gorgeous—standard Logan type. It’s not the first time, but it is a rarity for any one of us to bring a date. We’re not known for wooing women longer than an hour or two at the club. A few drinks, a few shallow compliments, and job done, but this girl might require more attention and adoration than Logan’s usual conquests.

Save for Cassidy, he’s never taken a woman out. At least not out-out. He’s brought a few to my place over the years, but nowhere public. I sure hope me fucking Cass first didn’t cost my brother a chance at something real.

“It is,” Jack agrees, dipping his skewer in tzatziki sauce. “You’re wasting your talent, babe. You should be a head chef somewhere.”

Everyone nods in agreement, making Thalia beam. I love it when she smiles like she’s achieved the impossible, eyes glowing, cheeks heating to the faintest shade of pink that’s almost untraceable on her olive skin. I’ve studied her perfect features so many times I know exactly what shade her skin usually is.

“Ares, come here,” she coos, luring the dog into the kitchen to feed him scraps. A mere second of my inattention and pans start clattering, water running from the tap.

“Don’t even think about it,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “You know the drill, don’t get fucking smart with me, omorfiá. I do the dishes.”

“Just get a dishwasher already,” Logan huffs but moves his eyes to Thalia, leaning back in the chair. “Our mother taught us well, honey. Sit down. Grab a beer. We’ll tidy up.”

Logan’s date, Lucy, runs her long, white nails up and down Logan’s arm, leaving pale lines behind. He pushes the plate aside and drapes an arm across her shoulders, yanking her closer, his lips pressing against hers for a short kiss.

There’s nothing tender about that peck. It’s a prequel. An introduction. A promise of more. They look like college sweethearts with his sporty, almost juvenile sense of style and her dainty features, but I know he won’t keep her for longer than tonight.

“Jared’s hosting an Unexpected Truth party in a few weeks,” Nico says, gathering the plates. “The Country Club is booked for the whole summer, so we’re hosting at my place this time. You all game?”

Ah, the famous Unexpected Truth party.

As stupid as it might sound, it’s fucking awesome. An invitation-only event, too mainstream for the posher crowd. Rowdy music, middle-shelf alcohol, and an unusual dress code—all white. Not without reason, of course. To gain entrance, you must write an unexpected truth about yourself on your shirt or whatever you decide to wear. And, boy oh boy, does it get fun as the night progresses.

People use black sharpies throughout the evening, adding truths to their clothes while the alcohol keeps flowing, making them courageous. Drunk people are honest people.

“Hell yes,” Shawn cheers, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t like Jared, but he sure knows how to throw a good party.”

My brothers help tidy up after dinner while Thalia wraps up the leftovers and gets more beers out of the fridge.

“Oh, I don’t drink beer,” Lucy wrinkles her nose, glancing at Logan. “Did you bring my wine, baby boy?”

Copper pennies dance on my tongue when I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to hold my laughter at bay.

I have ten different lines at the ready, but unless he provokes me, I won’t fuck up his chance at getting laid.

Logan winces at the endearment, careful not to make eye contact with me, Nico or Shawn. He knows shit will hit the fan if he dares to look at us right now. “Sure, honey,” he grinds out through his teeth clenched so hard I think they might shatter. “It’s in the trunk. I brought a game too.” Keys in hand, he disappears outside to come back with a bottle in one hand and a small orange box in the other. “I got this off Amazon last night. It’s a drinking game.”

Thalia steals a cushion off the sofa, throws it on the floor, and plops down, patting her thigh, silently encouraging Ares to crawl onto her lap. I’m starting to think he prefers her over me, even though he’s my dog.

“Come here, boy,” I say to test the theory. Sure enough, he doesn’t budge. “You stole my dog.”

“He’ll warm up to you.” She winks, taking a swig of her Corona. “You want to play a drinking game with beer?”

“No, babe,” Jack says, lifting a bottle of vodka off the floor by the couch where he stashed it an hour ago. “Shots.”

“In that case…” She runs to her room and returns with two big bottles of Ouzo. “Straight from Greece. I hoped to have someone I could drink this with when I bought them back in Thessaloniki.”

Excitement skyrockets as my brothers grow keen to try it.

Thessaloniki. So that’s where she’s from. Her eyes fog over for a second as she glances my way, checking if I caught the tiny piece of information she clearly didn’t mean to share.

I did, omorfiá. I pay attention to everything you say.

Logan takes a moment to convince Lucy, who pouts like a little diva, refusing to try Ouzo. He must really want in her pants to put up with that shit. “Are we good?” He unpacks the cards, shuffles, picks one, and smirks, turning it over for us to see. “Everyone drinks.”

“Let me.” Thalia crawls to the table, her perky ass on display as she lines the shot glasses on the table, filling them with one flick of her wrist. “Cheers.”

“Oh-oh… looks like we’re up against a pro,” Jack says, full of awe. “Where did you learn that trick?”

“I used to work the bar for a few months.”

The liquid burns its way down my throat, the sweet taste of anise both pleasant and odd.

Shawn takes the next card, eyes skimming the few lines printed across it. “And here I thought this would be PG-rated. Alright, demonstrate your favorite sexual position on a person of your choice. Fail, and you drink, succeed, and they drink.” His eyes land on Thalia. “Come on, girl. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

She shoos Ares off her lap, not a trace of hesitation or embarrassment on her face. Thalia’s always game; keen to try something new. We’re skydiving next week, and it didn’t take an ounce of work to convince her. I didn’t even need to explain I’ve successfully not died sixty-nine times. Too bad I didn’t join Nico when he trained to be an instructor. I could use a license now because it’d mean Thalia would tandem jump with me, but completing over five-hundred jumps to get qualified wasn’t high on my list back then.

Shawn grips Thalia’s hand, eyes focused, nostrils flaring. He spins her around and shoves her flush—as flush as her big boobs allow—against the patio door, holding her wrists behind her back in one of his hands.

She faces the terrace, thick, dark curls obscuring the profile of her face, but her body language speaks volumes. The way she swallows hard, her eyes hooding over slightly and the blooming shadow of a gasp on her lips betray she likes it rough.

Shawn clasps her hair in one hand and tugs until she exposes her throat. “How about that, babe?” he breathes in her ear, thrusting his hips once. “You’re drinking.”

“Jack?” Thalia murmurs, still in the same position, her voice playfully breathless. “Can I borrow your fiancé for a little while? Half an hour at the most.”

“You’d tap out after two minutes, babe.” Shawn releases her wrists, backing away to fill her shot glass.

I try to erase the last minute from my mind as I would data off a hard drive, but the visual keeps fueling my imagination with images of my body pinning Thalia to the glass. I jerk off every day with her on my mind, but it’s not enough.

I need to go clubbing with Logan and get laid before I do something stupid and run her off.

“Everyone removes all clothes in the color of my choice. Whoever refuses, drinks,” Nico reads, casting a sideways glance around the room. “Let’s go with black.”

“Asshole,” Logan rumbles but strips out of the t-shirt and jeans, all American muscle, flawless like Ken. He heaves an irritated huff when his Barbie shakes her head a firm no, refusing to lose the skirt.

Nico yanks his t-shirt over his head, and so does Jack, but I don’t give a damn about any of them. I’m wearing blue and white, so I stay put, my attention on Thalia. She’s on her feet, hands behind her back, under the navy top, fiddling with the bra clasp.

“You want help with that?” Jack asks, shimmying out of his chinos.

She shakes her head, pulling the straps down her arms. Not even five seconds later, a black lacey bra lands on the armrest of the couch, an inch from my elbow.

Fuck. Me. Dead.

It smells like her perfume and body lotion, the big cups right there in my peripheral vision.

“Panties to match?” Nico questions.

She flips the button on her high-waist jeans, sliding the right side down, pulling on a flimsy white strap of what must be a thong. “Not today.”

Nico checks who did and who didn’t take every black piece of clothing off, then pours the losers their shots.

“Everyone confess how long it’s been since you’ve had sex.” I read, my dick pulsing to remind me it’s been almost two months since it tasted pussy. “Whoever hasn’t seen any action the longest drinks and chooses another person to drink with them.”

“Ah shit.” Thalia snaps on a sigh. “Nineteen months is the one to beat. Anyone?” She crawls to the coffee table to grab the bottle. “No?”

“Nineteen months?” Jack exclaims, eyes wide, eyebrows hitting his hairline. “Jesus, you poor thing… I’ve changed my mind. You can have Shawn tonight.”

We laugh when Shawn cringes at the idea of sticking his dick in a woman.

“Why so long?” Lucy speaks my mind, her voice slurring.

“Long story…” Thalia deflects, pouring two shots and hands one to me before she picks a card. “Choose a person to strip down to their accessories. If they refuse, you drink. If they agree, everyone drinks.” She scans the room, wondering who’s most likely to lose their clothes.

We’re all suddenly very interested in one another, the floor, ceiling and the dog, avoiding Thalia’s scrutinizing gaze as she’s making her mind up who’ll flash his dick. She sure won’t pick Lucy, who’s almost see-through, hiding behind Logan’s back.

And then, without warning, Thalia yanks her top off with a quiet huff. Boobs the size of my fucking head spill out of their confinement, bouncing proudly. The pink areolas and candy-hard nipples drive me wild in an instant.

I’m hot.

Feverish.

Hard.

My head is fucking spinning.

It takes me a split second to understand what’s about to go down when she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans. Next thing I know, she’s in my arms.

How I jolted to my feet, took five steps, and pulled her flush against me will forever remain a mystery. I hold her pinned to my chest, shielding the hottest body I ever glimpsed with my own, making sure no one can take another peek, or I’ll knock everyone the fuck out.

“You’re crazy, Thalia,” I rasp, my cock twitching when I let myself feel her bare breasts pressing against me.

A millimeter.

That’s all.

One millimeter of my t-shirt’s fabric separates my skin from hers, and the realization has my stomach twisting like a wrung-out rag. “You win. We all drink. You were supposed to pick someone, not strip.”

“I picked me. None of you has the balls to do it, and this game is about getting everyone drunk.”

Shawn stops beside us, holding Thalia’s t-shirt in hand, then pulls it over her head. I take over, eyes focused on hers when she pushes her hands into the sleeves. For a reason I can’t understand, sliding that scrap of material down her body, the tips of my fingers caressing her sides, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever done to a woman.

“You Americans are such prudes.” She chuckles, setting the shot glasses in line to fill them.

Every time I blink, the clip of her boobs bouncing happily plays at the back of my eyelids like some porno movie screening, worsening the hard cock situation in my pants. I manage to get it under control during the next few rounds while we all get progressively drunker.

Lucy nears her cut-off time, giggling and slurring her words. She suddenly remembers about taking black clothes off and strips out of her skirt seven rounds too late.

“Pick two people,” Jack begins. “Both need to say or do something they think will convince the other to agree to anything. No-holds-barred. Refuse, and you drink. Succeed, and everyone drinks.” He glances around the room, trying to decide who to pick. “Nico and Thalia.”

Muscles in my shoulders and neck tense when they rise to their feet in sync. Neither is prone to losing or giving up. They’ll see through whatever shit they think will get the other one hot and bothered.

“You want to start?” Nico asks. My thoughts halt as all six-three of him towers above her. “Or should I?”

“Let me.” Her face and posture turn helpless. Clueless. She’s a good actress but a shitty judge of character. Nico likes his women confident. Overly confident, even. Cocky. Catty.

The room falls silent, save for the quiet music seeping from the sound system. “Temptation” by WYR GEMI fills the room, uninterrupted for what feels like a week while Thalia lifts her hand to Nico’s bare stomach, feigning uncertainty.

She traces his muscles, the touch featherlight as she inches closer, craning her head to meet his eyes. Hers are big, doe-like. There’s too much intimacy in her touch for Nico’s liking. Too much caution. She ghosts her fingers higher, over his shoulder to the crook of his neck, and weaves them in the hair at the back of his head, gently caressing his scalp.

Nico’s tense shoulders sag. Eyes hood over.

That’s when she slowly rises on her toes as if second-guessing her moves. She brings her lips to hover over his, their kiss a breath away. “Please,” she whispers, grazing her nose across his cheek. “I… I need you.”

What the hell is happening?

Right about now, Nico would bow low enough for his forehead to brush her feet if she told him to.

How the hell did she get in his head like that?

I want to push him away, drag Thalia to my room, and bolt the door, but I’m curious how this will play out. I trust all my brothers, but if I were to point to the one I trust with my life, Nico’s it. He’s got more honor than the rest of us combined, and he’d never break the hands-off rule.

Besides… it’s just a game.

Just a fucking game.

The atmosphere shifts to the other end of the spectrum when Thalia moves away, and Nico gets in character.

From sublime delicacy to crude control.

He closes his fingers around the column of her throat, backing her against the wall, and cuffs her wrists, holding them far above her head. His other hand digs into her hip, knuckles white with the effort for a second before he traces the curve of her waist, and stops on her ribcage, thumb under her breast.

He dips his head, mouth below her ear, teeth grazing the soft skin. “On. Your. Knees.” He orders, each word quieter but more powerful than the last. His hold on her wrists loosens as if he expects her to obey.

And when she sinks, I don’t know if I want to kill Nico or be Nico. I want his confidence because I sure as shit wouldn’t be able to pull this off.

He curls his fingers under her chin before her knees touch the floor. “Good girl,” he says quietly, caressing the line of her jaw, then breaks the spell by cupping her shoulders to help her up. “You’re not submissive. You like to control as much as you like being controlled, right?”

She nods, elbowing his ribs. “You’re not a Dom, per se. At least not in the traditional sense. Nothing kinky, but you want to be in control in and out of bed.”

He doesn’t respond. I’m sure it’s because he has no fucking idea. Thalia showed him a part of his character even he didn’t know existed. Nico will need a long time to mull it over.

We down the shots. Then, we drink two more. First one because Logan’s card says You choose who drinks, and he chooses everyone, and the second when Lucy’s card reads Everyone drinks if you flash them, and she is so drunk that she doesn’t hesitate.

She and Logan leave a moment later. Considering they didn’t call a cab; they’re probably fucking in his car. I wouldn’t put it past him to use my bathroom for a quickie, but Thalia’s presence must’ve tamed his obnoxiousness.

Good to know. I might use that to my advantage.

Within the next half an hour, the chauffeur for the night, Conor, arrives to take Shawn, Jack, and Nico home. Thalia clears the table of shot glasses and empty beer bottles when we’re left alone.

“There are still a few shots in there.” She points at the bottle of Ouzo. She’s right. There are about four fingers left. “You want to play until we finish?”

According to my half-assed, tipsy calculations, she drank the most, but she’s as chirpy and sober as a bluebird on a Sunday morning.

“Yeah, sounds good. You want another beer?”

“I’ll grab it. Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m full.” Now that Thalia’s moving about, Ares hops on the couch, curling beside me, his head on my lap. “Look who remembered who he belongs to,” I smirk, patting his head.

“He sees more of me than you.” Thalia hands me a bottle of Budweiser and a shot glass, an identical set in her hands.

“He’s a dude, and he likes women. Simple as that.” I gesture to the cards. “You start.”

She grabs a card, reads it, then grabs another one, and then one more before she pushes them aside with a huff. “This won’t be much fun when it’s just the two of us. Most tasks are meant for group play. Let’s just go with the truth. Why did you stop me from stripping out of my jeans?”

Because I would’ve needed to knock out four guys, and I’m not that tough. “If I knew what you were about to do before you took your top off, I would’ve stopped you sooner.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Theo.” She leans over to pour me a shot. “I hope I haven’t embarrassed you in front of your family.”

“Embarrassed? You’d be picking your jaw up off the floor if you heard what we’ve done over the years. There’s nothing embarrassing about your girls, trust me.” I sip from the bottle, a question about her past on the tip of my tongue. It stays there, unasked. She shuts me out whenever I start prodding, and I’m not ready for the evening to end. “How did you know Nico would fall for tenderness?”

“I had no idea. Don’t laugh, but he scares me a bit. I was worried about his reaction if I did something he didn’t like.” She pulls her eyebrows together. “I’m not even sure what happened. He comes off like a man who likes confident, sexy women, and I expected him to laugh.”

“So did I. You don’t have to be afraid of him, you know? He’s intense, careful, and arrogant half the time, but he’s a good guy once you get to know him. That mind-trick you pulled on him? Do that on me. I want to know how you see me.”

I drew a thin line in the sand where Thalia and I are concerned. I make sure to stay on the right side of it, the safe side, but this request… it sure is on the other side, out in the danger zone. I’m pushing my fucking luck here, but I’m defenseless against my own curiosity.

“Back to dares?” She chuckles, setting her beer aside. Amusement fades from her features when she draws her lower lip between her perfectly straight, white teeth. “Sex is an adventure for you.” She flips the mass of curly locks over one shoulder, the air around us laden with sexual tension as she crawls across to where I sit until our faces are level, mere inches apart. “You like your girls wild,” she utters, fisting my t-shirt.

In a slow, sensual move, she flings one leg over mine, knees digging into the couch on both sides of my hips, back arched, lips grazing my ear. She moves my hands onto her hips, and I can’t help but hold on tight.

I’m gone. Swaddled by a thick, heavy blanket of lust, wrapped around my skin so tight it’s hard to breathe.

“You want them to ride you, moaning so loud they’re basically screaming. You want them to push through the sting of their muscles burning with the effort. You want them to fight exhaustion until they make you come.”

Her words come out breathless, almost strained. I think the images she summons into my head affect her as much as they do me. I’m sure she feels my rock-solid cock digging into her when she grinds her hips, pressing her clit to the zipper of my jeans, pupils blown, arousal in the highest gear.

Sweet Jesus…

Blue balls for-fucking-ever.

This was a bad, bad idea. I’m so hard my cock could break through fucking concrete like Thor’s hammer.

I squeeze the beer harder and picture hurling the bottle across the room to free my hands so I can cup Thalia’s face. I imagine weaving my hands into those thick, dark curls and thrusting my tongue inside her warm, silky mouth, but I don’t.

I just keep squeezing my beer so hard my fingers ache as she stares me down for three heartbeats. And then, the silent dare-laced look morphs into a broad smile—teeth and all, as she slides off my lap.

“How was that?” she asks on an exhale, eyes glossy.

“Pretty close to heaven,” I admit, my mouth dry, heart racing. “My turn.”

Why? Why the fuck did I say that? I should finish my beer, get up and lock myself in my bedroom, but no… I’d rather play with fire.

And I won’t just get burned.

I’ll turn to fucking ashes.

Thalia scoots back to the corner of the couch, waiting for my move and fidgeting impatiently. For a moment, I sit still, reconsidering, even though I know I won’t back out.

I treat myself to a long, detailed look, my eyes roving down her body, stripping her off the navy top with ease now that I know the heaven she’s hiding underneath. I move quickly, twisting my fingers in the belt loops on her jeans and yank her closer, loving the sight of her sprawled on the couch, knees spread wide open.

She looks ready.

Willing.

This is torture…

My face hovers just above the zipper of her jeans as I hook her legs over my shoulders, inhaling the intoxicating, sweet scent of her. I push up the thin fabric of her top until it just about covers her nipples, my fingers stroking her ribs. She squirms when I scrape my lips along her abdomen.

“There’s a difference between hard and fast, little one.”

I slide my hands lower, back to her waist, grab a handful of the soft flesh and flip her over, my moves fast but precise, tearing a half-gasp, half-moan out of her lips.

She definitely likes it rough.

Once she’s flat on her stomach, I cover her body with mine, crawling over the beauty, lips on the nape of her neck, her hair tickling my face. I press one hand to her head, forcing her cheek against the cushion.

My thoughts don’t line up. Every time I align one, it tumbles, scattering the rest, and my brain melts into a buzzing mess of thick and sticky lust. The primal, animalistic need to take, claim, and bury my cock deep inside her wreaks havoc on my composure.

“Can you handle hard?” I whisper, digging my fingers into her pelvic bone, my chest tight.

It’s the most dangerous game I’ve ever played. We’re tipsy, hot, and bothered. A mistake hangs in the air, pressing onto us from all sides… and that’s the only reason I summon my rational thinking and retreat. No way I’ll fuck her when she can’t give me clear, sober consent.

“Close?” I ask, careful not to let my tone of voice show how unstable I feel.

“Pretty close to heaven…”

She’s not had sex in nineteen months, and it shows—her pretty face painted with a burning need. If not for the alcohol in our bloodstreams, we’d spend the most amazing night together. Were compatible on so many different levels that I’d bet my entire portfolio that sex would be off the charts. But in a way, I’m glad we’re not thinking straight right now.

Relieved. That’s what I am, and it’s the most bizarre feeling. I’m so hard it’s painful, and the idea of relieving the tension in her pussy sounds like a fantasy come true, but no. We’re not going there.

Not tonight, and hopefully not ever…

She’s so much better than a one-night stand.