Page 96 of Donovan's Men

I tilted my head as Hamish headed for the door.

Tyson watched him go for a moment, then turned back to me. “Food. We ordered Vietnamese. Plenty of choices, so hopefully something you like.”

“I’ll eat just about anything right now. Lunch is a long-distant memory.”

Hamish entered the expansive living room with the most heavenly smelling food I could ever remember scenting. Probably helped I was so hungry that I’d have eaten cardboard pizza and been grateful.

“Tyson, can you get the plates? Donovan, you’ll need to wash your hands.”

I nearly laughed but realized he was right. I hadn’t stopped moving once I’d called a halt for the day. “Can I use—”

“Of course.” He pointed off down the hall. “Spare one. I mean, you can use the ensuite—”

“Spare is fine.” I headed down the hall and found myself in a luxuriously appointed bathroom that rivaled Cole’s guest bathroom. I pissed carefully and washed my hands thoroughly.

By the time I returned to the dining table—which was an organic part of the main room—Hamish had three heaping plates of food, and Tyson was placing three glasses of water on the table.

Hamish waved for me to sit at the head of the table. Absurdly, the gesture touched me.

I obeyed. And chuckled inwardly since that was likely the last command or suggestion I’d acquiesce to.

Tyson sat to my left. After another few moments of fussing, Hamish sat to my right. Both men looked to me.

I picked up my fork, scooped up some rice, and ate it.

Hamish poked his pho with chopsticks while Tyson dug into his lemongrass chicken.

Some time passed before I ventured to speak. “You two not eat today? You’ve got quite an appetite. Or were you busy doing…physical exertions?”

Tyson snorted. “No, yes, and not what you think. We fooled around, ate lunch, and had a snack during our walk around Stanley Park.”

I dropped my fork. “In the middle of winter? Are you nuts?”

Hamish giggled. “That’s what I told him, but he insisted we needed to get out of the condo or…” He pinkened. “Uh, fucking…might happen.”

Tyson nearly choked on his rice. “Did you just drop the f-bomb?”

Our third straightened. “Well, I suggested a museum—you insisted onrealphysical exercise.”

“Andfooling around? I mean, you don’t have to—” But I so wanted them to.

“I gave Tyson a blow job. He wanked me off. We showered and—” Hamish did some weird hand gesture.

“Lunch, physical activity, and no fucking.” Tyson grinned.

“I suppose a brisk walk counts as physical activity.” I took a sip of my water. And adjusted my cock at the idea of blow and hand jobs. I regretted not being here to watch—and participate. I also liked the idea they were comfortable getting intimate without me here. Sometimes I traveled for work. Sometimes—perish the thought—I was too exhausted after work to want to fuck. I eyed my men.I’ll have to be nearly dead for that to happen.Still, I had to give them space. “You’ll probably be too tired to—”

“Oh fuck no.” Tyson pointed his fork first toward Hamish, then toward me. “I risked my job for this, and he’s facing a disciplinary hearing. As pleasant as the idea of sitting around talking is, I want action. The sooner, the better.”

Hamish’s chopsticks clattered to the table. “Yes, please.” Said in a hoarse whisper.

I pointed to his food.

He pushed his bowl away.

Tyson shoveled the last of the chicken into his mouth.

I grinned.