Then they’d go to bed. They’d fuck (and D didn’t care which way this went, him all up in Mad or him taking monster cock from his boy—it was righteous however it went, and that “however it went” would be that it was righteous always). They’d sleep (not tangled up). They’d get up and fuck again.
Then onward to have their Saturday.
Without Molly.
That was what was bringing on the anxiety.
He was worried he didn’t know how to be alone with Maddox anymore.
No. That wasn’t right.
All had been good and would have remained good if Maddox hadn’t taken it there, as in there that night he was going at D at their sex club, the Bolt.
On the surface, since then, nothing had changed. They ate together, watched TV together, slept together (with Molly intertwined in between), woke up together, fucked each other and Molly, worked each other at the Bolt (but not Molly, they never worked her at the Bolt, she was theirs and no one got a good look at her).
But something had changed.
“Get it outta your head,” he growled at his windshield. “It’s Mad and D. Mad and D and Molly. Like it always has been. Like it always will be. Nothing’s changed.”
So yeah.
Beer and the game and a good solid fuck and sleep.
Tomorrow, maybe they’d catch a movie.
All normal, as it always had been and always would be.
That was all Diesel let stay in his head as he drove up the drive he and Mad had modified when Molly had moved in.
They’d widened it, put in the carport at the side as well as the door to get into the garage from the port. He and Maddox parked their trucks under the port. Molly parked her white Ford Escape in the garage.
Since Maddox owned it before he met Diesel, he and Mad had lived in that house together nearly two years before Molly came along and they hadn’t touched anything unless it needed to be fixed.
But after Molly . . .
They made it right for their girl.
New wood floors, the real thing. Breaking down walls and losing a bedroom to give her a great room with a new kitchen. Gutting the guest bath and master and putting in all-new. Using part of the dead bedroom space to build her a big closet.
It was where most of any extra money got to, and almost all of their vacation time, making that place a place that would make Molly happy and neither man gave that first shit.
It made her happy.
That was all that mattered.
Now it was just as she wanted, even to the point the yard was the shit.
But since her sister got engaged, Molly had been hinting around about their commitment ceremony and nudging about kids.
They’d talked about it. They had it down. They had their agreement. They all knew and were down with what they’d decided for their future.
They’d commit, do it in front of family and friends (or Mol and Mad’s families, not D’s—not that D’s wouldn’t be invited, in all likelihood they just wouldn’t show), and when it was time for kids, they’d both go at her after she got off the Pill and it wouldn’t be hard to know what popped out.
Maddox was dark, black eyes, black hair, lots of it, everywhere. Brown in his skin. Molly had auburn hair and from the pictures of her as a kid they knew she grew out of freckles. So if the kid was made of Maddox’s seed that dark would probably win out. Diesel had light-brown hair and light-blue eyes.
If the baby had Mol’s coloring (and D had to admit, he hoped for a little girl along the way with red hair and freckles), they’d do a DNA test.
So whoever knocked her up would have to go in gloved for as long as it took to knock her up the second time around.
If they decided more than two, and could afford it, they’d have to decide on four, so they could keep Molly happy, giving her all her Maddox she could get and all her Diesel.
It was time, he thought as he pulled his red Ram in beside Mad’s white F-250. They’d had Molly now over two years. They needed to make a move, for her, for them, toward a commitment that went beyond their three, toward a family.
But D could just see his parents’ faces when he came out with the fact that Maddox was not his hanger-on roommate who really needed to move out now that D had found Molly. But instead was his boy, D was Mad’s boy. They were a unit. They were not a couple, but came in three. And that was how it always would be.
Yeah.
He could just see that.
Which would be them saying serious vile shit to him that’d knock around in his head for, oh . . . he didn’t know.
Fucking eternity.
Right before they disowned him.
He couldn’t even think about where his older brother would take it.
He’d lose his mind and it would be far from pretty.
His little sister would show, though, with smiles and big boxes filled with presents.
And she’d try to take his back and she’d go to the mat for that.
Instead of splintering at losing D, in order to back his play, Rebel would break apart their family.
That particular thought heavy on his mind, Diesel got out of his truck, beeped the locks and headed to the door at the side of the garage with his keys in his hand. He unlocked it, moved through, locked it behind him and went through the empty space that was half where Molly parked and half of the other half was usually empty but the half that wasn’t was filled with big plastic tubs precisely packed with Molly’s bountiful holiday decorations and a whole load of other shit.
Truth was, both men with long cab trucks, they’d never been able to fit their vehicles in that little garage. It barely fit the length of Molly’s Escape. So the carport had been necessary two years before they met Molly. Four, counting how long Maddox had lived there.
He went in the back door and saw down the wide hall that served as the family entrance Maddox’s black head at the end of the couch where he was lounging with a bottle of Bud on his flat stomach.
“Yo,” he called and turned to toss his keys in the pottery bowl on top of a table there.
Molly pitched a fit if they didn’t throw their keys in that bowl. This was mostly because, if they didn’t, both men would habitually lose them which met with calls for all-out efforts to find the fuckers so they could go to work.
And this drove Molly insane.
He was realizing Maddox didn’t respond to his greeting as he turned back to head down the hall.
And found himself slammed chest first into the wall with a strong forearm shoved in his shoulder blades.
Before he could say a word, Maddox jammed his crotch against D’s ass and even through two pairs of jeans he could feel that colossal monster rigid against his flesh.
His partial hard-on went instantly super-powered, chafing painfully against his fly.
“Mad,” he murmured.
“Spread,” Maddox ordered, his deep, abrasive voice grating against D’s ear, that ride scoring down his back right to his ass which automatically clenched like it was taking a driving cock it liked a fuckuva lot.
What had done it for him when he’d first laid eyes on Maddox was his face and his body.
The man was seriously fucking easy to look at. He was just extremely good looking, but his face goddamned shouted, Don’t fuck with me! And since Diesel had wanted nothing but to fuck him and take that in return, it was a total turn-on.
Add to that, Maddox’s tall, broad-shouldered, strong, compactly muscled body was the shit.
And he had a great fucking head of hair.
What nearly had D dropping to his knees even before he’d seen the meat his boy packed and hiking that shit out to swallow it down his throat was hearing Mad’s voice.