Chapter 31Goldie

Chapter 31

Goldie

I blink, hoping Rusty won't notice the tears, because this is supposed to be a friendship-and-sex vacation and I don't want to bring my baggage into it.

He has to practically bend himself in half to hug me properly.

"No," I say before he can even get me enveloped in those beefy arms. "You'll all need chiropractors bending down like that to hug me and kiss me."

"I could drag in a stepladder from the yard?" he offers and then adds, "Probably not the most practical solution, though. Let's try this."

Then he picks me up and gives me the warmest, strongest embrace of my life. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs dangling in the air. Pressing my face into the crook of his neck, I inhale the Smells Like a Man! scent of him.

Rusty squeezes me against him and I find myself thinking, Don't ever let me go .

But he does, because we've got work to do, gently putting me down. "I'm glad you're back," he says.

"Me too."

"And you'll let me help you with lunch?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, Rusty, you can help."

As discreetly as possible, I wipe my eyes.

"Good, because I'm afraid you're greatly underestimating how much bacon we're gonna need." He chuckles and picks me up again, this time moving me away from the stove. "I'll fry that up, you slice the bread."

"Uh…how many sandwiches do you think we should need?"

"Well, let's see…since we're not having stew or soup, four or five a piece should be good. And then however many you'd like," he says.

Four or five a piece. Okay. This is not normal-sized bread, but these are not normal-sized men, and I definitely want them to keep their energy levels up!

With Rusty expertly manning the frying pan, the cabin quickly fills with the mouthwatering smell of sizzling bacon intermingling with a warm, comforting, old-fashioned sort of kitchen smell I don't recognize. Maybe the lard? I slice the loaves and slather sunflower seed butter and jam on half the bread, setting aside the rest for BLTs. Every now and then, I sneak a glance at Rusty. There's something so soothing about his presence, about working together in comfortable silence. It's…nice, actually, and I almost forget the cameras. Almost.

Just as I'm setting down the last plate, stacked high with sandwiches, the door bursts open, and in come the rest of the brothers, loud and boisterous as ever.

"Damn, it smells good in here," Nash says, sniffing the air. "Is that lunch, or have you gotten even more delicious, Goldie?"

"Both," I say with a grin. Then I hand over the first plate, announcing, "Sunflower seed butter and plum jam sandwiches. And BLTs."

"Man, I love me a good BLT," Buck says, reaching for one.

"We washed up with the garden hose," Ash assures me.

The brothers crowd around the table, grabbing sandwiches left and right, laughing and chatting. Even Luke. I stand off to the side for a moment, watching them devour the food I made with Rusty's help.

Luke glances at me. "You might wanna eat before all that's left is crumbs."

"Get over here, woman, and enjoy the spoils of your labor," Hunter says, pulling out the empty chair next to him.

Brooks catches my eye and winks as he takes a bite. After chewing and swallowing, he says, "You did good, Goldie. Real good."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Rusty asks.

"Aww, Rusty, you did good too," Clay says, patting him on the head, which sets off a few minutes of them jabbing each other with their elbows.

The sandwiches couldn't have disappeared quicker if the Bj?rnssons were magicians, towering plates emptied in the blink of an eye, and glasses of tea we'd set out drained and refilled and drained again.

"And now, we'd better get back to that roof," Ash says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "It's gonna rain tonight, if not sooner."

"Are you sure about that?" I tease.

He pauses, clearly thinking. It's so cute how I can almost see his thoughts loading, like an internet site back when dial-up was a thing and things didn't just pop up instantaneously.

"What about a little bet?" he asks, finally, a daring glint in his piercing green eyes pinning me in place and sending a burst of chills throughout my body.

"Accepted."

Hunter puts his arm around me on the back of my chair, his hand on my shoulder. The gesture feels equal parts protective and possessive and I like it. I like it a lot. "Don't you want to find out the terms first, sunshine?"

"Nah, because this sunshine knows there's not gonna be any rain. I'm gonna win."

Ash strokes his shiny black beard. "Alright, then. I win, you use your mouth on me. You win, I use my mouth on you."

The flush that spreads through me is both fast and furious. He isn't talking about kissing, obviously. Spontaneous orgasms are a thing, right? Because I feel like one is definitely within the realm of possibility at the moment.

"Deal," I say, lifting up out of my chair a bit to reach across the table and offer him a handshake. "Because either way I win."

I blow him a sassy little kiss and there's a tremendous amount of catcalling and hooting.

"Alright, alright," Luke interrupts, his voice firm but not grumpy. "What you all do in your free time is your business. But work first, play later. Goldie's gonna be cleaning up around here while she's with us. And what she tidies, I expect you to keep that way. Don't make her do it for nothing. And obviously, she's going to need some help, because two weeks is not a lot of time."

Brooks is the first to speak. "Two weeks?"

Luke nods. "That's how long she's going to be staying."

The room goes still for a moment, all eyes flicking from me to Luke. I can't help but notice that all of them wear slightly disappointed expressions when they look at me, and slightly annoyed expressions when they look at Luke. As if they think he made this decision, put a deadline on us.

I shake my head quickly. "I decided on two weeks. It gives us plenty of time. But then I need to get back to real life. But it was one-hundred-percent my decision."

But then Luke adds, "Nash, Buck—I'd like the two of you to help her with the cleaning today."

I start to say I don't need help, because what I need is five minutes alone in this cabin, but glancing around, I realize I do need help. I need all the help I can get. The thought of giving these men an environment where they have room to move without tripping over a pile of something, a clean dwelling they can be proud of and comfortable in, makes me downright giddy.

"Couldn't think of anything I'd rather do," Nash says.

"And keep in mind, I said help with cleaning, not help with getting her pants off," Luke adds.

"Work first, play later," I echo Luke's words, a teasing grin on my face as I glance between Buck and Nash. "Everybody keeps their pants on."

"What I'm hearing is shirts are optional," Nash says.

Clay looks like he might actually cry, but I know he's faking it. "Topless cleaning? If those tits are gonna be out, I demand to switch. Bucky can gut the fish."

"The tits are not gonna be out," I tell him. At least not while we're cleaning. But tonight, in bed…the girls would love some attention from Clay.

The rest of the brothers scatter, thanking me and Rusty for lunch as they head outside, each of them seeming to know exactly what their next respective chores are. There's order in this chaos. Luke and Ash exchange a few words before making their way back to the roof, with Ash making sure I hear him doubling down on his prediction that it's going to rain this evening. As most of them leave, the cabin feels quieter, though not by much. With Buck and Nash still here, the energy is…electric.

Buck cracks his knuckles, giving me a sweet grin. "So, where do we start, Goldie? Uh…it's kind of overwhelming, ain't it?"

"Is it even possible?" Nash asks.

"Is it going to be easy? No. But possible, definitely."

I look around. I wish I could just rent one of those big garbage dumpsters, have it brought up here, and just get the boys to start gathering up stuff by the armful and hauling it out of the cabin and into the trash. I don't even know how to broach the subject of what a knickknack nightmare this place is—they may have sentimental value and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I can't breathe with all this clutter and I don't know how they do, but…baby steps.

The books definitely mean a lot to them, and they're mostly scattered all over the floor, which is a shame. They could very well have some super rare priceless first editions getting stepped on for all I know. "We're starting with your books."

Nash leans against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "You sure you don't wanna start with something more…fun? We could make up the beds?"

I wag my finger at him. "You aren't getting me into the bedroom."

But oh, sweet Lord, it takes all my willpower to turn down that offer.

"I'm pretty sure cleaning up this mess will be fun for me," I reply, tilting my head. "And maybe if you two behave yourselves, we'll actually get to the ‘play' part later."

"I promise I'll be on my best behavior," Buck says. "Well," he adds with a sheepish grin, "I'll try my darndest."

"That's all I can ask for." I give his bicep a squeeze I hope comes across as innocent, because I don't want to start revving their engines when it's taking enough effort to keep myself on my best behavior.

"Where do we even start?" Nash asks.

I look around. "Give me a minute to formulate a plan. How do you want your collection organized? By color, alphabetically, by genre?"

We'll get them sorted, then I'll figure out how to store them.

"Size?" Nash suggests, walking over to me, scooping up some stray novels in his path.

My eyebrows go way up. "Size?"

I start to ask how that's going to help them find anything, but honestly, organizing by color won't help with that either. It would look aesthetically pleasing, though.

Nash chuckles, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath tickle my ear. "I dunno, darlin'. There's something appealing about things fitting just right, don't you think?"

A shiver skirts down my spine, and I elbow him gently in the ribs. "Nice attempt at distracting me, Nash, but try it again and I'll show you you're not too big for a spanking."

Oopsie. That slipped out.

"Who's distracting who now?" he asks. "But if you're into spanking, I could be convinced to put a handprint on that fine ass of—"

I was not, to my knowledge, into spanking, but my ladybits say, yes, yes, I just might be.

"We're going by category," I say. "Fiction over here, nonfiction over there. Got it?"

Buck salutes dramatically. "Yes, ma'am. Let's categorize the chaos."

I step toward the nearest stack of books, running my fingers over the dusty spines. Most of them are in pretty good shape, though clearly well-read. They've probably been passed around between the brothers, each one adding his own wear and tear to the pages.

Where do they get all these books, I wonder. Certainly not from Amazon.

Buck picks up a stack of paperbacks, flipping through one of the dog-eared novels. "Here are a bunch of our Agatha Christies already together. You like murder mysteries, Goldie?"

"I'm more a fan of romances," I tell him. "But if you have a favorite mystery, I'd love to read it. Keep one out for me and I'll start it tonight."

His grin widens, and he leans in again, his voice dropping to a low, sweet, intimate whisper. "And then maybe you can sleep in my bed again?"

Yes, Buck. Yes, I can sleep in your bed again. Sleep and…whatever else you have in mind. More than anything, I want him to hug me, the way Rusty did.

But. Work first, play later.

It's nothing short of a miracle, but we all manage to focus and before long, all of the books are off the floor. The dining table is piled high with nonfiction, while the couches and chairs are all filled with fiction. Buck is surprisingly efficient, stacking the books with precision. Nash's work is a little more haphazard, and of course, he tries to charm me as much as possible while we work. But they're both helping, and I appreciate it.

"Luke's gonna lose his mind if he comes in to make supper and the table is like this," Buck says, finally.

"And if there's no place to sit after supper," Nash adds.

I nod. I know we can't leave the books where they are. But where the heck are we going to put them, other than back on the floor?

As tactfully as possible, I say, "Well, you have plenty of shelves in here we could put the books on, but the shelves are all kind of, well, stuffed to the gills with knickknacks and bric-a-brac and, uh, treasures?"

"Yeah, those are all our Ma's," Buck says.

Time for some more tact. "Um, Ash told me your Ma doesn't ever come onto the mountain? So maybe we could carefully pack them up and store them for her? And actually put books on the shelves?"

"Pack them up how?"

"Store them where?"

Okaaaaaaaaaay. I chew on my lip, noticing that my PureGold has done its job. My mouth is plump and plush once again.

"Hmm." I survey the living area. Then I turn and march purposefully to the pocket door to the bedrooms, pushing it open.

As I step inside, Nash says, "You read my mind, girl. I, too, think it's time for a little break. Let's just lie down and close our eyes for a quick spell—"

"Follow me, but nobody's lying down and nobody's closing their eyes. I will, however, reward both of you with a very quick kiss for all your hard work thus far."

I turn to Nash first, my heart racing. He steps forward, his soulful brown eyes darkening with desire, desire I feel in my core. Without warning, he scoops me up, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back. I let out a little squeak of surprise, wrapping my arms around his neck for balance.

"I'm ready to accept that reward, darlin'," he murmurs, his lips hovering just inches from mine.

I nod, unable to form words. Nash closes the distance between us, his mouth meeting mine in a mind-melting kiss. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against mine with a hunger that makes my toes curl. I part my lips, inviting him deeper, and he accepts eagerly, his tongue sliding against mine in a sensual dance.

The taste of him—a hint of bacon from lunch and something uniquely Nash—floods my senses. His beard tickles my chin, adding another layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience. His arms tighten around me, pulling me flush against his chest. Am I imagining it, or can I feel the rapid beating of his heart matching my own frantic pulse? My fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into my mouth.

All too soon, Nash breaks the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. He sets me down gently, steadying me as my wobbly legs threaten to give out.

"Damn, Goldie," he says, voice husky. "That was some reward."

"You didn't have to stop," I whisper. "I—"

He brushes some stray curls off my face, tucking them behind my ears. "Darlin', if I didn't stop then, I don't think I would've been able to."

"Yeah," I agree, panting, my lungs working overtime to keep breathing, my heart a wild thing between my ribs. I want him inside me so bad the emptiness between my thighs physically hurts. Or maybe that's just soreness from being taken by Brooks and Hunter earlier? No. No. It's a void, a need. A painful, painful longing that's as much about my soul as it is my body.

Friendship and sex, I remind myself.

Before I can fully recover, Buck is there, his massive hands spanning my waist as he lifts me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, my arms looping around his neck. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair as I press closer, desperate for more.

"My turn?"

I nod. "Your turn. Please."

I'm not just rewarding them—they're rewarding me too.

Where Nash's kiss was all passion and fire, Buck's is slow and deep. His lips move against mine with deliberate intent, each brush and caress sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me. I whimper into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Buck's tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him eagerly. As our tongues tangle, I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between us—his strong hands gripping my thighs, my breasts pressed against his broad chest, the heat of him seeping through our clothes.

I lose myself in the kiss, in the feel of Buck's solid warmth surrounding me. It's only when the need for air becomes desperate that we finally part, both of us panting.

Buck rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. "Sweet Jesus, Goldie," he murmurs. "You're gonna be the death of me."

As he sets me down, my legs give out entirely. Both men reach out to steady me, concern etched on their faces.

"You okay there, darlin'?" Nash asks. "Is it your ankle?"

I nod, still breathless. "No, I'm good." I haven't even thought about my ankle in hours, as if the touch of my mountain men has made it good as new. Sexual healing, indeed. "I'm great, actually. Just…give me a minute."

But I have to grip one of each of their arms to keep from stumbling, my head spinning and my heart pounding. I'm overwhelmingly aware of the dampness between my thighs, my body thrumming with arousal.

The sound of hammering outside signals Luke and Ash still working on the roof, a much-needed reminder that we still have so much to get done inside to have the dining table and chairs cleaned off before supper prep can begin.

"Well," I manage to say. "I think that was a sufficient break. Back to work?"

I try to sound no-nonsense, but my voice is breathy, spilling over with lust. Every cell in my body, every inch of my skin is tingling, alive. We're really going to need to pick up the pace with the cleaning, because I'm afraid if I don't get fucked again and soon, that's gonna be the death of me.