Wild Dreams: A Friends to Lovers romance (Wilder Irish Book 12), Mari Carr [motivational books for men .TXT] 📗

its former glory, making it not only look the same but even better, it was the Moretti brothers. She’d spent years watching Tony, Joey, Luca, and Gio work their magic, and she’d said so to Oliver countless times since the fire. She wasn’t sure it helped much, though. Too many times over the past week, she’d catch a glimpse of his face—unguarded—and the sorrow she saw there cut her like a knife.

Oliver dipped out three plates while Gavin refilled her wineglass, plus two more. They all carried their wine and plates to the table. Conversation between the three of them was never an issue, though typically she was the one doing the majority of the talking.

Tonight, that role fell to Oliver, who kept them entertained, retelling silly stories from past holidays with his cousins. She forced herself to listen but found her thoughts constantly drifting as she considered the night to come.

Erin glanced down after several minutes, shocked to discover her plate empty. She couldn’t recall what the meal had even tasted like, too distracted. She wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or nervousness—probably both—that had her palms sweating, her heart racing a bit too fast.

Oliver’s long sigh captured her attention. “We should have skipped dinner. It’s obvious the two of you didn’t enjoy my efforts.”

“Sorry,” Erin said sheepishly, aware she should probably feel guiltier than she did. In truth, she was glad the meal was over, excited to move on to the next part.

“Me too,” Gavin called over his shoulder. He must have felt the same because he was halfway to the kitchen with his empty plate before she’d even risen.

Oliver chuckled, then reached for her hand, pulling her up. “You’re happy, right?” he murmured.

“So happy,” she whispered.

He leaned close and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Me too,” he said, repeating what Gavin just said.

They followed Gavin to the kitchen, each of them just putting their dishes in the sink.

“We’ll clean up later,” Oliver said.

The three of them walked down the hall, no one speaking. It should have felt strange, awkward even, but Erin had never felt more certain, more comfortable. While Oliver had told her of his desire for a relationship like the one his parents had, he’d convinced her that dream had changed once he met her. And he’d never—not once—made her feel like she wasn’t enough. They’d had more than a few heart to hearts about his childhood and how it had felt to be surrounded by the love of not two but three parents.

Every time they had that conversation, it always ended the same way. With Oliver telling her how much he loved her, how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and how she would always be enough for him.

And she’d never doubted the truth of those words because she had felt the same way.

She knew now they’d both been lying to themselves and to each other. There had been a piece missing.

As they entered her bedroom, Gavin turned and reached out for her. Drawing her close, he kissed her deeply, passionately, and she suddenly realized he’d been holding back earlier.

When they parted, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Oliver leaning against the doorframe—watching them but apart.

He shook his head at her curious look. “Not tonight.”

Before she could question him about that, Gavin cupped her cheek and turned her face back to him, resuming the kiss. It was clear Gavin and Oliver had talked about this, about how things would go. And she was more than happy to follow their lead.

“Take off her shirt,” Oliver murmured from the door.

Gavin broke their kiss, never taking his eyes off her, as he reached for the hem of her top—she was still in her scrubs—and pulled it over her head. She recalled doing the exact same thing last night, standing before him in just her bra, so that she could wash out the stain.

However, unlike last night, Gavin didn’t look away, didn’t try to avoid looking at her body. Tonight, he drank it all in. His gaze felt like a caress as his eyes drifted lower, taking in every part of her.

“Touch her,” Oliver whispered.

Erin had been a fool to think Oliver wasn’t a part of this. He might not be touching her, but every word he said fueled her arousal, turned her on more.

Gavin ran the tip of one finger along the lace at the top of her bra, gently stroking the curve of one breast, traveling to the valley between, then starting the journey back over her other breast.

Erin took several shallow breaths, suddenly struggling to draw air into her lungs. It was a simple, almost innocent caress, but it packed a punch.

Gavin lifted his hand to her shoulder, slowly drawing her bra strap down, before repeating the same process on the other arm. Using both hands, he drew the lace lower until her breasts were completely revealed.

“Stroke her nipples,” Oliver said. “Run your fingers over them. Feel how tight they are.”

Gavin responded to everything Oliver told him to do, allowing him to guide them through this experience. Oliver was an intense lover, his dominance in the bedroom completely opposite from his easygoing attitude everywhere else. She, like Gavin, trusted him to know exactly how this should play out.

Erin gasped slightly when Gavin touched her nipples, first with the back of his fingers, then again with his fingertips.

“So tight,” he whispered. Erin wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Oliver or, God, maybe himself.

“Pinch them,” Oliver said, his voice suddenly husky. He was still in the doorway, too far away, but it was obvious he was feeling the heat, the sexual tension in the room thick as a heavy fog.

Gavin’s gaze left her for a moment, traveling over her shoulder to Oliver.

Oliver chuckled softly. “She likes a rough touch. Trust me.”

Gavin resumed stroking her and then, he did exactly as Oliver suggested, pinching both of her nipples firmly.

Erin’s hands flew up and she gripped Gavin’s