Starved (F.I.L.T.H. Book 2), page 1
STARVED
F.I.L.T.H.
BOOK TWO
HANNAH MURRAY
Copyright © 2023 by Hannah Murray
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover photo by vishstudio (DepositPhotos), Cover Design by Hannah Murray, created on Canva.
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Created with Vellum
For anyone who’s ever loved from afar.
I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it—to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once.
HARUKI MURAKAMI
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Coming Soon
Author’s Note
People I Need to Thank
Also by Hannah Murray
About the Author
1
Colin slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, tiptoeing on cat feet down the ladder from the top bunk. He hadn’t slept well, but he hadn’t expected to. Deep, restorative sleep was something that eluded him at the best of times, and he was used to waking up tired.
He wasn’t, however, used to waking up on top of his best friend.
He stepped lightly to the floor, wincing when the ancient hardwood creaked under his weight. But Evan snored on, apparently undisturbed under the deep blue comforter that covered all but the top of his head and one dangling foot. So Colin quietly gathered his things, ignoring with the ease of long practice the twist of longing in his belly, and crept out of the room to the bath across the hall.
He emptied his bladder, splashed some water on his face, and used the toothbrush Esme had set out for him to get rid of the fuzz in his mouth. He’d known the round of shots with Spence had been a bad idea, but knowing he’d be lying above Evan all night had him desperate to delay going to bed. When he’d finally gone up, Evan had already been buried under his covers. Torn between relief and regret, Colin had climbed into the top bunk and spent way too long staring at the ceiling. He’d hoped the whiskey would bring oblivion, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the misery of unrequited love.
At least he wasn’t hungover, the two ibuprofen and glass of water he’d downed before bed having worked their magic. He had a faint headache, and he felt thirsty enough to drain Lake Michigan, but all in all, it was a small price to pay for his cowardice.
He winced and spat into the sink, deliberately avoiding his reflection in the mirror above. He didn’t like thinking of himself as a coward, but since after a decade and a half he’d yet to find the courage to tell Evan that he was in love with him, it was the kindest word he could come up with.
Teeth brushed and his belly once again tied in knots, he shoved the familiar self-recriminations aside and began to dress in yesterday’s t-shirt and jeans. They were wrinkled, because drunk Colin hadn’t bothered folding them the night before, and he hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes. A silly oversight in hindsight, but he’d been too preoccupied with the logistics of his first orgy to think of it.
He thought about asking Esme if he could throw them in the dryer for a few minutes to freshen them up, then discarded the idea. It was early, and though he was sure his hostess wouldn’t begrudge him the use of the laundry facilities, he didn’t want to wake her to ask.
After all, she’d had a busy day yesterday.
Dressed in the wrinkled clothes, his feet bare—because yesterday’s wrinkled jeans were one thing, but he drew the line at yesterday’s socks—he put on his glasses and slipped out of the bathroom. He passed the spare room Tuck and Esme had turned into a library, the door closed on a no-doubt still sleeping Jude, and made his way downstairs.
Spence was sprawled on the living room sofa, one leg stretched out over the coffee table. He was fully dressed, right down to his boots, with a throw pillow over his face and a blanket clutched to his chest. He didn’t stir when Colin walked past.
He stepped into the kitchen, letting the door swing gently closed behind him. A glance at the clock on the stove confirmed that it was still shy of eight o’clock, the sun barely above the horizon. The sky was a typical Michigan winter gray, though according to the weather forecast the early morning gloom would give way to sunshine before long. They were also calling for more snow, which meant he'd be shoveling his driveway again this afternoon.
But first, coffee.
As comfortable in Tuck and Esme’s kitchen as he was in his own, he got a pot of coffee going, then poked into the fridge for something to nibble on. Tuck had promised to make bacon and waffles for breakfast, but Colin always woke hungry, and it would be a while before the rest of the house stirred.
Deciding an apple would hold him over, he grabbed one and nudged the refrigerator door shut just as the kitchen door swung open.
Esme stopped short with a squeak, one hand pressed to her chest. “Oh!”
“Sorry,” Colin said, wincing when the door swung back and hit her butt with a thump. “Sorry.”
Esme waved a hand, her hazel eyes bright. “No, no, it’s fine. I just didn’t know anyone else was up.”
“I can never seem to sleep in,” Colin admitted. “I thought you would, though.”
“Me too,” she said with a laugh and moved forward, her oversized robe playing peek-a-boo with her stockinged feet. “But my bladder woke me up, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“I hate when that happens,” he said over the beep of the coffee maker. “Hope it’s okay that I made coffee.”
“Pour me a cup and we’re square.”
“Deal.”
He got a couple of mugs down from the cupboard while she pulled cream from the fridge, then crossed the kitchen to the breakfast nook. He followed with the coffee, sliding hers across the table before reaching for the sugar bowl.
He was adding his customary four teaspoons to his cup when he caught her wince. “Still sore?” he asked, then bit his lip. “Sorry, was that rude?”
She poured a dollop of cream into her coffee. “No. Why would you think it was?”
He shrugged and stirred his coffee, hating that he felt so uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
She lifted her cup, eyeing him with amusement over the rim. “You mean because you, my husband, and three of our good friends all fucked me last night?”
Some of the knots in his belly unwound at her easy tone. “Yeah, that.”
She lifted a hand to his face, her fingers cool against the heat that had flooded his cheeks. “You’re so sweet, Colin.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I mean it. You know I love you, right?”
“I know.” He lifted his eyes to hers, soft with affection. Her hair tumbled down her back, raven black with cherry-cola streaks at her temples providing a sharp contrast to the soft white of her skin. She looked so much like she had the first time he’d met her, all those years ago in college, and a wave of fondness for her washed over him. “I love you, too.”
“Do you regret it?” she asked, a hint of fear clouding her gaze. “Last night?”
He covered the hand on his cheek with his own. “No.” He said it firmly, so she’d have no doubts. “No, last night was amazing. You were amazing. That you and Tuck would trust me to be part of that, help fulfill that fantasy? It was…”
“Amazing?” she filled in, and made him laugh.
And with it, the rest of his tension faded away. “Yeah.”
Her smile was relieved. “I’m glad.”
“I just want to make sure I’m not…that you don’t…” He blew out a breath. “I don’t want things to be weird between us now.”
“We won’t let it be,” she told him. “All right?”
Going with impulse, and because it was something he’d have done B.O.—Before the Orgy—he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Deal.”
“Good.” She patted his cheek, then pulled her hand back and picked up her coffee. “And to answer the question, yes, I’m still sore, but it’s manageable.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What’d you guys do after Tuck and I went to bed last night?”
“Watched another movie. Evan wanted a Marvel marathon, but he got outvoted, so we watched Glass Onion.”
“Again?” She propped her chin on her fist. “You’ve seen that a dozen times at least.”
“Yeah, but Spence hadn’t. So we watched that, then Evan went to bed and Spence and I did a few rounds of shots.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You did shots with Spence?”
“It was a bad idea,” he admitted sheepishly and smiled when she let out a trilling laugh. “I threw in the towel after number four.”
“Smart,” she said, still laughing.
“It’s not bad, considering. I took two ibuprofen and drank a glass of water before bed.”
“The magic formula,” she quipped.
“Still works, thank God.”
“You don’t usually drink like that.” She gestured with her mug. “At least not at Spence’s weight class.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t ready to go to bed yet.” Wasn’t ready to lie above Evan in the dark, trapped by his cowardice.
“Hmmm.”
There was a wealth of knowledge and understanding in that hmmm, but to his relief, she just sipped her coffee.
With his cheeks burning anew, he cleared his throat. “You got plans for today? Hitting any of the Black Friday sales?”
“God, no.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “You couldn’t pay me to set foot in a mall today. I do all my Christmas shopping online.”
He nodded. “Me, too. My sister always does an Amazon list for her boys, so that’s just easiest. Hell, half the time I end up just sending them cash.”
“They’re teenagers now, right?”
“Fourteen and sixteen.”
“Wow.” She toyed with the handle of her coffee cup. “I remember them in diapers, and you babysitting on the weekends before they moved to Chicago.”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? How much time has gone by?”
“I know. We’re in our thirties, Col.”
“But still hot.”
She belted out a laugh, throwing her head back. “Definitely still hot,” she declared and tapped her mug against his.
“What is this, a mutual admiration society?” someone said, and Colin turned to see Evan standing in the kitchen doorway.
He raised his cup to his mouth for a drink and tried to ignore the longing that filled him at the sight. Evan stood in yesterday’s jeans and faded Yesterdog t-shirt, both hopelessly rumpled—and in the case of the t-shirt, inside out. His hair was a wild, tousled halo of burnished gold curls, the stubble of his beard a shade darker against cheeks still faintly flushed with sleep. His bright blue eyes were heavy lidded and sleepy, his full mouth soft. He reached up and grabbed the door frame in a long, hard stretch, gave a jaw-cracking yawn, then smirked. “What’s up, sluts?”
Esme let out a peal of laughter as Colin sputtered and choked. “Jesus, Ev,” he muttered and scowled at his now coffee-stained shirt.
“What?” The smirk deepened. “Too soon?”
“You look like you’ve just rolled out of bed after a night of hedonistic debauchery,” Esme told him.
“Cuz I did,” Evan drawled, and with another yawn, crossed to the coffee pot. “Why don’t I smell breakfast? Tuck promised us bacon and waffles.”
“He’s still sleeping,” Esme said.
Evan scowled at the mug he was filling. “I’m hungry. Go wake him up.”
“No,” Esme replied serenely and sipped her coffee.
“Come on, E,” Evan wheedled, dropping into the chair next to Colin. “I’m starving.”
“You could make breakfast,” she suggested.
“But he’s the one with the super-secret waffle recipe.” Evan aimed a sad-eyed pout at her. “And also, he promised. Please?”
“That’s not going to work,” she informed him, then laughed when he added a plaintive whine and fluttered his eyelashes. “Okay, fine.”
He beamed at her. “You’re the best, E.”
“Stop buttering me up,” she said, smothering another laugh, and pointed a finger at him. “I’ll wake Tuck for the waffles, but you have to do the bacon.”
He kicked back in his chair, a satisfied smile curling his lips. “I can handle that.”
“And set the table.”
Even gestured with his coffee mug. “Colin can do that. Right, Col?”
“Sure.” He gave Esme a nod. “You want to eat in here, or in the dining room?”
“Here’s good.” She rose and crossed to the coffee pot to refill her cup, then came back to the table and planted a smacking kiss on Evan’s cheek. “Bacon’s in the fridge. Make mine crispy.”
“You got it, gorgeous.”
“Flatterer.” She turned to kiss Colin. “Don’t do all the work for him.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
“Right.” She straightened and headed for the door. “And you boys keep it down, okay? The longer Spence sleeps, the better off we’ll all be.”
“Agreed,” Evan muttered as she swung out the door, then pushed to his feet. “Okay bacon, let’s do this.”
Colin sipped his coffee and watched Evan rummage around in the refrigerator.
“Aha!” Evan emerged, holding a large package wrapped in white butcher paper. “He sprang for the good stuff. Now I just need a frying pan.”
“Use a baking sheet,” Colin suggested.
“Huh?”
“It’ll take too long in a frying pan,” Colin explained, and setting his coffee aside, rose. He opened the narrow cabinet next to the stove and pulled out two full-sized sheet pans. “You can do it in the oven, all at once.”
“Cool,” Evan decided and tore into the package. “So. Last night.”
Colin pulled out a roll of parchment paper and ripped off a sheet for the first pan. “What about it?”
“It was pretty wild.”
“Yeah.”
“Not your usual vibe,” Evan went on. “You okay with everything?”
“Sure.” He turned to hand the pan to Evan, caught his knowing glance, and blew out a breath. “I thought it might be weird with Esme, and I guess it was at first. But she smoothed it out.”
Evan took the pan. “So you guys are good?”
Colin tore off a second sheet of parchment paper. “Yeah.”
“And you and me?” Evan asked as he began laying bacon on the baking sheet. “Are we good?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Colin asked, hyper-aware of the heat climbing up the back of his neck.
Evan shrugged, his eyes on his task. “We’ve never fucked the same girl at the same time before. You know, together. You in her pussy, me in her mouth—”
“I knew what you meant,” Colin interrupted, and tried to ignore the knots reforming in his belly.
“Spit-roasted her,” Evan went on, a gleam in his pretty blue eyes. Then he frowned. “Can you call spit roasting when she’s not on all fours?”
“I have no idea,” Colin admitted.
“Tag teamed,” Evan decided. “I’ll just say we tag-teamed her. No, that doesn’t work either, because a tag team is when you take turns, and we were both fucking her at the same time.”
Colin had no idea what the proper term for what they’d done was, so he just responded with a non-committal hum.
“I’m going back to spit roasting,” Evan declared, and with the first pan full, began laying bacon out on the second. “It sounds dirtier. And hotter. And you fucking Esme while she was blowing me was really fuckin’ hot.”
The experience fresh in his mind—and that was one memory that probably wouldn’t fade with time—Colin could only nod.
“And,” Evan added with a pointed look, “not just because Esme is smokin’. Which she is.”
“No argument.” Colin busied himself putting the parchment paper away, then checked the coffee to see if he needed to make another pot. “But I know what you mean. The whole orgy thing took it from hot to scorching.”
“Well, yeah,” Evan allowed. “But that’s not what I meant.”
His back to Evan, Colin opened the cupboard for plates and glasses. He needed to keep busy, so he’d set the table. If he just kept busy, everything would be fine. “No?”
“I was talking about you,” Evan said and sent Colin’s pulse scrambling. “You and me.”
Colin bobbled the stack of plates, wincing when they went clattering to the countertop. His head felt light, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. “You and me?” he croaked out, and unable to help himself, turned to face his best friend and secret love.
