Triple Knockout (Make Mine A Menage Book 3) Read online

  Triple Knockout

  Jodi Redford

  “Triple Knockout”

  Copyright © 2019 Jodi Redford

  Edited by JL Stalker

  Cover by Jodi Redford

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

  dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web-without permission in writing from the author.

  Allie Saunders has a dirty secret. Make that two fantastically filthy secrets: Beau Colton and Van Mitchell. The leading stars of her fantasies also happen to be her brother’s best friends. Hello, big fat hairy complication. It’s no mystery why her unrequited crushes insist on keeping her at arm’s length, but it doesn’t stop her from wishing for the impossible.

  When she discovers their dirty secret, the once forbidden is suddenly a tantalizing temptation and the key that could turn her dreams into a reality.

  In addition to being co-owners of a boxing gym, Van and Beau share mutual tastes outside of the ring—they’re both Doms. That’s partly the reason for their unbreakable Bro Code where Allie is concerned. She’s far too sweet and innocent for the edgy games they enjoy. Or so they thought. Their assumption—and willpower—is about to be tested. Big time. All courtesy of an annual Sub-For-A-Night charity event, and the irresistible, thoroughly off-limits woman who just stepped onto the auction block...

  Warning: This wickedly hot MMF ménage contains two deliciously dirty boxers, a not-so-innocent dirty-talking heroine, dirty rope tricks, and dirty ways to break a sweat. Who says exercise can’t be fun?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sweaty men pummeling on each other shouldn’t be this much of a hazard to her sanity. Her focus narrowed to Van Mitchell’s and Beau Colton’s incredibly buff torsos, Allie Saunders tried—and failed—to click pause on the fiesta of X-rated fantasies running rampant in her brain.

  How is it remotely legal to have that much hotness under one roof? At a minimum, the two sexy devils should be cited for giving countless women impure thoughts.

  The sleek muscles in his shoulders flexing, Beau tucked his gloved fists in front of his face, blocking Van’s lightning fast jabs before countering with his own straight punch followed by an uppercut. Both men continued circling each other in the small boxing ring, their fluid combative dance pure poetry in motion.

  She’d never been the type to be turned on by brute strength—much less a sport steeped in violence—but, come on, like there was any shot in hell of not popping a major lady boner when it came to Van and Beau.

  The small fact that the two men responsible for the damp state of her panties also happened to be her brother’s best friends? Hello, big fat hairy complication.

  She’d known Beau and Van pretty much her entire life. They’d lived on either side of the two-story colonial she grew up in on Grosvenor Square. Although they were five years older than her, and basically treated her like their surrogate kid sister, it hadn’t put a single dent in her adolescent crush on them. And she’d never considered it the least bit weird having two fantasy boyfriends. Didn’t every girl? It was just plain cruel to expect her to choose between them.

  Swiping the water bottle resting in the caddy, she sucked down a quick swig and ran the back of her hand over her perspiring forehead. Thank God there wasn’t a mirror nearby to confirm her complete inability to pull off the sexy sweaty look. She shifted her focus to the digital readout on the treadmill. She’d logged a whole whoppin’ ten minutes on the torture device. Jeez Louise, it felt like she’d been killing herself for at least two hours. Smothering a groan, she increased the volume on her iPod, the wailing guitar intro to Godsmack’s “Rocky Mountain Way” effectively drowning out the noisy soundtrack of the treadmill’s motor and the neighboring gym noises.

  Seeing how she could never get enough eye candy and personal torture, she resumed her covert creeping on Van and Beau. They were so stinking macho and gorgeous, it hurt to look at them. Not an exaggeration, considering the chaotic drumming of her heart. Of course, that condition could also have a teensy bit to do with the treadmill.

  Feeling like the most out of shape sloth on the planet, she covertly lowered the speed a few notches, leveling off at a strolling pace that could be easily outdistanced by a geriatric tortoise. Meanwhile, it appeared Beau and Van were about to wrap up their sparring round. Seizing the opportunity for one last ogle-fest, she eyed the sweat-soaked happy trail leading down to the waistband of Beau’s navy training pants.

  How many times had she fantasized about running her fingers over his rock-solid six-pack? Same could be said for Van’s muscular chest. Those sculpted pecs played a starring role countless times in her erotic reveries.

  On the occasions she really wanted to amp up her torment? She imagined both men’s hands all over her. At the same time. She’d be sandwiched between their hard, ridiculously fit bodies, her head swimming from a dizzying cocktail of manly musk and testosterone as Beau’s tongue teased her nipples and Van’s cock rubbed along the slick flesh of her labia.

  Stroke. Lick. Glide. Suck.

  Her shaky exhale slipping loose, she stumbled on the treadmill’s running belt. Her internal temperature fired by a wicked mix of embarrassment, arousal, and physical exertion, she grabbed the rail, steadying herself. No doubt Van and Beau wouldn’t appreciate her breaking her neck on one of their machines. And having to explain the cause of her clumsiness? Yeah, not happening in a million years.

  She pushed the big red stop button on the treadmill and yanked her earbuds free, leaving them to dangle against her tank top. After collecting her towel and water bottle, she wove her way toward the boxing ring. Several of the resident gym bunnies had already gathered to watch Beau’s and Van’s sparring match. Unlike Allie, none of the women had a single hair out of place or sported sweat stains the size of Alaska. Then again, the official gym bunny exercise routine seemed to entail prancing around in skimpy figure-hugging workout clothes and flirting with the guys. Real grueling stuff.

  Battling the desire to hide her far-from-washboard-flat stomach behind the safe concealment of her towel, Allie hung back from the crowd, gawky and conspicuous as humanly possible. She was way out of her element. A gym saturated with the stench of sweat and jam-packed with beautiful bodies? Not her usual scene, by a long shot. Maybe turning down Beau’s offer to drop her off at work early wasn’t the brightest idea ever. Eric usually got the honor of schlepping her around whenever her Nissan was in the shop, but that was out of the question, seeing how he was currently overseas on a business trip.

  On the bright side, it did give her all of this extra time with her fantasy boyfriends. Not a hardship, by any means. The two men wrapped up their match amid a boisterous chorus of good-natured jibes from the onlookers. Prying off his gloves, Van peered over the sea of heads and caught her eye. He tossed her a wink.

  She killed her goofy smile before it could rat her out. Good grief, I’ve got it bad.

  Agile as a cat, Van climbed through the ropes and jogged down the short stairway. Two of the bunnies waylaid him on the las
t step. Apparently they had a pressing need to grope his beautifully sculpted biceps and the colorful tattoos inking his powerful shoulders and upper arms.

  Allie struggled to keep her eye-rolling in check. Yeah, you’d never catch me doing such a thing. Snorting at that blatant lie, she patiently waited for Van to untangle himself from his adoring harem. He hauled short in front of her, the wicked sparkle in his blue eyes the first clue to his nefarious intentions.

  Bouncing a step backward, she shot up her hands in protest. “Don’t even think it, Mitchell.”

  “Can’t have you strolling out of my gym without any sweat on ya, Al. Bad for business.” With no further warning, he hiked her up into his arms and rubbed his perspiration-soaked face all over her neck.

  Outraged yelps competing with her helpless laughter, she swatted at his sweat-slickened shoulders. Her wimpy, half-hearted efforts only earned her a tickling slide of his damp ink-black hair over her chin. Don’t stop. Please, don’t ever, ever stop.

  As if he’d plugged directly into her thoughts and was determined to defeat her raging horniness at every turn, he plopped her onto her feet and ruffled her hair exactly like he would his favorite pup. Or kid sister.

  Her heart sank in a free fall. The bittersweet disappointment wedged against her sternum doubled in size when she caught the patronizing glares of the nearby gym bunnies. One of them had the nerve to openly snigger. Ignoring the woman, Allie returned her focus to Van. “Just you wait. Revenge will be mine.”

  He flashed a roguish smile capable of disintegrating the most stalwart of chastity panties. “Oh yeah? And what exactly does that maniacal brain of yours have in store for me?”

  She sniffed. “Like I’m going to spill the beans and give you a chance to thwart my brilliant plan.”

  A crafty gleam entered his eyes. “I have ways of making you talk.”

  Ooh, I hope they’re sexy ways. She squeaked in surprise as he scooped her up again and tickled her beneath the ribcage. Gasping, she squirmed to escape his clutches. “That does it! I’m going to pay Beau double to knock you out next time.”

  “Shit, that’s your revenge plan?” Grinning obnoxiously, Van plunked her down. “Save your money, babe. He doesn’t stand a prayer.”

  The statement might have been sheer arrogance coming from anyone else. In Van’s case, he had room to brag. His powerhouse punches and lightning reflexes made him a nearly indestructible force in the ring. He could have gone pro, easily. Instead, he’d honored his mom’s pleas to pursue a less dangerous livelihood, and he’d invested in Beau’s gym, turning half of the old remodeled warehouse into a training center for area boxers. They’d ultimately relaunched the gym as Haymakers. Wise choices all around, if the gym’s raging success was anything to go by.

  “What’s never happening?” demanded a whiskey-smooth baritone behind Allie.

  She pivoted and discreetly eye-molested Beau as he dragged a white terry cloth towel over his dark blond hair, leaving the strands a rumpled mess. His glorious chest glistened with sweat. Rather than reeking to high heaven, he smelled positively lickable. Somehow she resisted the urge to test her theory and instead loosened her tongue from the roof of her mouth with an audible gulp. “You kicking Van’s ass in the ring.”

  “This is what I get for going easy on the old man.” Grunting, Beau slung his towel over his shoulder and pulled her in for a one-armed hug. He squeezed her nape affectionately and took a step back before she could manufacture enough courage to feign an accidental slippage of her hand and covertly grope his rock hard six-pack. “Give me a sec to get presentable, and then we’ll head over to Wicked Delights.”

  “Take your time. I already told Jana I might be a few minutes late. She doesn’t have a problem with it.”

  “Good. Otherwise, I’d have a talking to with my coz,” Beau groused with a stern look.

  She doubted her employer would be the slightest bit intimidated by Beau, but she wasn’t about to wound his ego by pointing it out. “I need to get cleaned up too. Jana probably wouldn’t approve of me scaring off customers with my Eau de Van Stinkaroo toilette.”

  Amusement danced in Van’s eyes. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a huge hit with the ladies. Should sell that stuff for a million bucks an ounce.”

  No doubt it’d fly off the shelves. Counterbalancing her inner musings with an exaggerated pinching of her nose, she started to spin in the direction of the lockers. Beau grabbed her arm gently, stalling her. “You can use our private shower.” He lowered his voice. “It’ll give you more privacy.”

  She scanned his face, hoping against the impossible that the concern softening his features wasn’t a side product of pity. Right on cue, the faint scar snaking the length of her left calf began itching. It was an entirely psychosomatic response. It’d been eleven years since the accident. Her injury was long healed. Still, every once in a while it insisted on reminding her of its presence. As if she wasn’t already plenty aware of the fragile balance of life, and how easily those you loved could be torn away from you.

  Refusing to be dragged into the mire of melancholic thoughts, she gave Beau a grateful nod. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” She booked it to the locker room before he could witness her discomposure. Pausing at the entrance, she risked a glance over her shoulder. Beau and Van were watching her, twin images of sympathy plastered on their faces. Shit. Bad enough pity coming from anyone. She especially didn’t want it from them. Seeing her as a kid sister and a pathetic charity case? God, shoot me now.

  Her stomach queasy, she ventured to the metal locker where she’d stored her belongings after walking the few blocks to the gym this afternoon. She fished the key from the pocket of her baggy sweatpants and inserted it into the lock. Her jeans, bra and powder blue fleece sweater rested on the lowest rack. Bypassing those items, she dug in her purse and pulled out her wallet. Fingers trembling, she thumbed through the plastic dividers separating the photos until she came to a dog-eared, faded picture. She stared at the image of her mom and pop, the pinch in her heart expanding into a dull ache. The photo blurred, and she blinked, bringing it back into sharp focus. Throat thick with emotion, she carefully snapped her wallet shut and returned it to her purse.

  Shoving her bangs back from her forehead with a rough scrape of her nails, she sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. The phantom echo of squealing brakes and metal rending at impact with the oncoming car ghosted to the forefront of her conscious, overriding the piped strains of the heavy metal tune pounding through the central speakers. Her chest constricted. Knees shaky, she gripped the edge of the locker door and counted to ten. The panic eased by six, but the heaviness pushing against her diaphragm refused to budge.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Beau tried his damnedest to tune out the seductive shush of water coming from the other side of the door. Difficult as that feat proved to be, it was nothing compared to the continual flashes of a wet and naked Allie insistently tormenting his brain.

  She was probably soaping every inch of her creamy skin right this very instant. Sudsy bubbles clinging to her nipples and dribbling down her belly, creating a slick, meandering path toward her—

  “Eric would kick your fucking ass if he knew what’s going through your head, pervert.”

  Beau jerked his gaze to Van. “Nothing’s going through my head.”

  “Bullshit.” Van leaned back in his ratty office chair, his expression assessing. “You’re drooling.”

  “Don’t be a moron.” Despite his grumpy response, Beau swiped his hand over his chin the second Van wasn’t looking. Damn, he was drooling.

  “Know your problem?” Van said, cutting through Beau’s private grumbling.

  Besides having one hell of a hard-on for the last woman on earth he should have the hots for? “Can’t wait to hear this one.” Not that he’d have much of a wait. Van wasn’t shy about dishing out advice or opinions. Fucking annoying, to say the least. Especially since Beau had a bad feeling where this conversation was headed.


  Van propped his sneakered feet on the corner of his desk. “You’re long past due to get laid.”

  And there it is. He glared at Van over the stack of fitness magazines threatening to topple onto the floor. “Any particular reason you’re keeping tabs on my sex life?”

  The flash of interest glimmering in Van’s eyes stirred a prickly wave of discomfort in Beau’s gut. A few moments of silence ticked by, heavily weighted with the weird intensity that constantly crackled between them lately. He fully expected Van to comment on it. The fact that he never did only made it more aggravating—like the world’s worst case of jock itch. A fitting and disturbing metaphor when it came to his body’s unwanted response to Van.

  “You get surly when you go too long without.” Van stroked his chin, his unwavering gaze glued to Beau. “I damn well don’t want you snapping at our members because you’ve got a bad case of blue balls.”

  Relief percolated inside him. He could handle Van’s accusations of orneriness. Better than opening that other can of worms. “I’m not snapping at anyone.”

  Van rocked in his seat, spurring an indignant squeak from the casters. “You’re snapping at me.”

  “My life wouldn’t be complete if I couldn’t snap at you. Fucking crybaby.”

  Rather than rising to the bait, Van offered one of his patented grins that did nothing to ease the uncomfortable buzz deep in Beau’s belly. The sensation was only slightly less alarming than the occasions when he reacted to the magnetic pull of Van in full dom mode at the club. It was one of the main reasons he’d stayed away from Arabesque the last few months. It had nothing to do with any lost interest in sex on his part—as his current boner situation was all too eager to attest. But lately, he’d been sucker punched by strange desires and compulsions. Urges so foreign to him, he’d wake up drenched in a cold sweat on the nights his odd fantasies leeched into his dreams.