On the screen, Charlotte suddenly moans softly, which pricks my ears. I turn the volume up a little, and I groan when I realize what she’s doing.
“Oh, fuck me,” Ben hisses. “I can take a lot, brother, but this?”
“Yeah, fuck,” I grunt.
Because sure enough, there on the screen, Charlotte is fucking moaning as she rubs her hand over her slippery pink pussy. The girl—our mark—is fucking touching herself, with one of our hidden surveillance cameras watching the whole damn thing in high definition. My cock aches for release, my balls swelling with cum as I watch the blonde goddess on the screen. And all I fucking want is to feel her against me. All I want is to taste those lips—the ones on her pretty face and the ones between her thighs.
All I want to do is feel her come with my cock balls-deep in that little cunt.
I’m already shirtless from the shower I took earlier, and my muscles coil as I reach down to cup my cock through my jeans. Next to me, my brother’s also shirtless, in just a pair of boxers. We’ve been cooped up in this room for a few days watching her, and the restlessness is getting to both of us. Ben tried to push it aside by doing a bunch of pushups and crunches earlier.
He groans, and when I look again, I chuckle when I see his hand in his boxers, stroking his cock. I grunt, sliding my own hand into my jeans to do the same, but it’s too damn constricting.
Fuck this.
“Fuck this,” I mutter out loud before popping my jeans open and yanking the zipper down. On the screen, Charlotte is moaning eagerly as she rubs her pussy, and there’s no fucking way I can take another second of this without jerking my cock.
Ben chuckles, glancing at me as I shove my jeans down and let my thick cock spring free.
“You got no self-control, you know that?”
“Speak for yourself, fuckin’ wanker,” I mutter back. I mean the guy’s doing the same shit as me, just in his boxers. I pay him no mind as I wrap my hand around my swollen cock and hiss in pleasure as I start to stroke. Fuck it, there’s nothing hidden between us. Hell, we’ve shared enough girls, and we’re fucking brothers for shit’s sake.
“Alright, prick,” Ben finally mutters as he starts to yank his boxers down. “Fuck it.”
His big cock springs free against his abs, and he growls as he wraps a hand around his shaft and starts to stroke. I kick my jeans the rest of the way off, sitting back on the single bed with my eyes fixed on Charlotte as I stroke myself. In the single bed next to mine, Ben does the same, his muscles rippling as he jerks his erection while we both watch the gorgeous blonde goddess touch her little pussy on the screen.
FBI agent or not, I know we’re both hooked. And I do mean hooked. This isn’t just raw lust, or us being cooped up for too long. No, watching Charlotte these last few days has fuckin’ awoken something in both of us. It’s ignited a fire and kindled a hunger neither of us have ever really known. She leans against the tiled wall of the shower, her fingers rolling her clit while her other hand teases a nipple. And I can see she’s getting close—I can see she’s about to fucking come right in front of us.
My cock swells, my balls tightening. Ben grunts, and I glance over to see he’s fuckin’ close too. My eyes slide back to Charlotte as I feel the cum boiling in my heavy balls, and I can feel the imminent release about to explode through me.
And then, all fuckin’ hell breaks loose.
Though the wall, we hear the crashing sound of a wood being wretched from hinges, yanking us right out of our lust-filled stupor. Ben jams the remote, flicking back to the camera in her hotel room, and we’re both lunging out of bed instantly at the sight of three men with guns charging into her room.
Charlotte screams and goes to slam the bathroom door shut, but my heart clenches as I see her slip and crash to the floor instead, and the men are charging right for her.
I have no idea who these fuckers are. I know we need to stay the fuck out of this. But I also know that after three days of watching her, Charlotte doesn’t just feel like a mark.
…She feels like mine. Like ours. And there’s no way we’re letting these fuckers, whoever they are, even touch her.
We move with practiced precision—Ben tossing me the gun, and me catching it, chambering it, flicking the safety off in one motion. We’re both still bare-assed naked, and shit, we’re both still mostly hard. But fuck it, there’s no time for modesty, not when they’re about one second away from breaking through the bathroom door to Charlotte.
We bolt for the locked connecting door between our room and hers, and without even breaking stride, Ben’s shoulder slams into it. The door on our side, and the one on hers go exploding into her room as we come charging through—guns blazing, cocks out, and one thought and one thought only in our heads:
Charlotte is ours, and we’ll do anything to protect her.
Chapter Two
Charlotte
My panties drop to the ground, and I stretch again as I kick them aside, feeling the air over my bare body.
Fuck has it been a day. It’s been a week, actually. No, really, it’s been three weeks. What I should be doing, if life were in any way normal right now, is the shit we all do day-to-day. I should be at work at the hospital, or grocery shopping for dinner. Maybe online, shopping for new shit for my apartment I don’t actually need or cleaning my bedroom or something.
You know, since it sees so much action these days.
Not.
But instead of being home in Nashville, here I am in Boston, in quite possibly one of the shittiest hotels in Southie, looking for Keily, my little sister. Keliy’s always been the wild child, versus me who’s always been the one hitting the books and trying to stay on the most narrow path possible. But this is beyond anything she’s ever done before, by a mile or three.
Four weeks ago, Keily said some guys kept coming into the Irish bar she bartends at to harass her. Three and a half weeks ago, she said it was getting bad. Three weeks ago, she sent me super random text in the middle of one of my nursing rotations at work that just said “going away for a little bit. Love you.”
And that was it.
It’s just been us since our parents passed away six years ago when I was nineteen and Keily was fifteen. The car wreck brought me home from college to take care of her, and it was then that I got into nursing instead of whatever I was going to do at college before. So, I worked, I studied my butt off, and I made sure Kiely had as close to normal teenage years as possible. Sure, she might be a little wild here and there, but this is something new.
This is something bad.
Five days of not hearing from her at all, and I snapped. I took vacation time at the hospital, flew to Boston, and I’ve been looking for her ever since. Her roommate at Boston University was a little flighty, and it didn’t seem like they were all that close anyways, so that was a dead end. A few of her professors seemed concerned, but only in kind of a surface way. The freaking police didn’t even think it was anything to worry about. Yeah, they took a statement and made a report, but the guy in charge of the case mostly just shrugged and told me she was probably “on spring break.”
Fucking what?
Finally, it was one of her regulars at the Irish bar she works at that gave me the first real tip. The guy said he’d seen a couple of “rough types” coming in to harass her on the job. That much I knew, but the guy was also a local Southie resident, and gave me a little more information on these guys that sent a chill through me: they weren’t just drunk dickheads who liked cat-calling bartenders. These guys were gang affiliated.