by Ella Frank
Julien’s shoulders and left bicep were decorated with intricate swirls of ink, and across his left pec the word Amorè was written in script. As he pulled the sweater off, the tattoo shifted and made Priest want to get to his feet so he could trace it with the tip of his tongue. But when Julien tossed the garment to the floor, impatient, Priest growled at the move and smoothed his hands up Julien’s sides until he reached his nipples and pinched both of them—hard.
“Putain.” Julien shut his eyes as he thrust his pelvis forward.
“Stunning,” Priest said in such a reverent tone that Julien’s eyes opened back up. “You are stunning, Julien.”
Julien pulled on his hair, angling Priest’s head back, and the arousal both of them had been denying themselves was displayed in Julien’s eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Prove it,” Julien said, and Priest ran his hands over Julien’s ribs and around to his ass until he held a firm cheek in each palm and tugged him forward so he could scrape his teeth along Julien’s hip.
Julien grunted at the sting of pain, and Priest burrowed his nose into the V of his groin and inhaled, loving the freshly showered scent mixed with the heady fragrance of Julien’s sex.
It was times like this that he wished he knew how to temper himself. But with the adrenaline coursing through him, Priest knew if he got inside this man, it wouldn’t be an easy ride.
As Julien urged Priest’s face closer to the neatly trimmed curls surrounding his cock, his erection brushed up against the short scruff Priest had grown this winter and a tortured sound of ecstasy escaped him.
“C’est bon,” Julien said, as Priest moved his cheek up and down his sensitive flesh, and judging by the sound that rumbled out of Julien’s throat, it felt really fucking good. “Suck me, Joel.”
“Ask me nicely, and I might.”
“Suck me, Joel. S’il te plaît?”
Troublemaker, Priest thought, and looked up at the mischief swirling in Julien’s eyes. He took note to later punish Julien for that as he moved to swipe his tongue over the slick pre-cum gathered at the head of Julien’s cock. That was when the intrusive sound of a ringtone echoed around the room.
Julien froze in place as Priest raised his head and pinned him with annoyed eyes.
“Je suis désolé. I thought it was on silent.”
“And you know better,” Priest said, as he got to his feet. “It should be off. This isn’t a movie theatre; you shouldn’t need reminding. For that, and your lack of manners a second ago, you can wait here like this until I’m done with whoever is on the phone. Then I’ll decide whether or not you still deserve to come.”
“That’s just mean. Even for you.”
“Keep it up,” Priest said, aiming his eyes at Julien’s erection as he walked over to the kitchen where the phone sat on the counter. “Or I’ll make it a week.”
“Salaud.”
“Yes, I am,” Priest said, and when he looked down at the screen, the name and number flashing across it had his annoyance somewhat dissipating.
“Well?” Julien asked.
Priest aimed a pointed look Julien’s way. “I believe you’re going to like this little turn of events.”
Julien looked down at his angry cock and shook his head as Priest walked back to him with the phone in hand. “Highly doubtful.”
Priest wrapped a hand around his husband’s stiff length, making Julien grab at the dining room table for support.
“Don’t you know by now, you should never doubt me.” Priest then hit accept on Julien’s phone and brought it to his ear. “Robert Bianchi. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s poor form to call another man’s husband this late at night?”
Chapter Two
CONFESSION
French accents and bossy assholes make me stupid…and hard.
AS HIS NAME registered through the haze of alcohol, Robbie told himself to end the call. He’d known this had been a terrible idea from the second he’d hit Julien’s number, and now that Priest had answered, it was confirmed—worst idea ever.
He sat there with his phone plastered to his ear and tried to crush the jolt of awareness he felt at hearing Joel Priestley say his name. Ever since Robbie had met the jackass while he’d been trying his cousin Vanessa’s case, Priest had been busy calling him princess or sweetheart in that condescending tone of his. But my name, in that voice? Oh. My. God.
“Robert?”
Snap out of it. You hate him, remember?
“It’s Robbie. And didn’t you ever tell your husband it’s poor form to give out his number, if he’s not single?” he said, rather proud of the fact that his voice didn’t waver—not much, anyway.
“When we first met, you introduced yourself as Robert, did you not?” Priest said, ignoring Robbie’s little dig at Julien. “I like that better.”
That seemed like forever ago, but in the short months since, Robbie had managed to relocate his backbone along with his personality, and he wasn’t about to let Priest or anyone else start telling him what damn name he should go by.
“Like I care what you do or don’t like?” Robbie snorted. “It’s Robbie, and I didn’t call to talk to you anyway.”
“That’s right,” Priest said in an impossibly calm tone. “You called to talk to my husband.”
Robbie looked from either side of himself, suddenly feeling guilty for calling up a married man to see if he wanted to— Wait a second. Why should I feel guilty? I didn’t make Julien give me his number.
“Would you like me to get him for you?” Priest asked. “He’s right here.”
Wait, no. Somehow that felt…wrong.
“Robert?”
“No, I don’t want you to get—”
“Bonsoir, princesse. I’m so glad you called. Your timing is parfait.”
As Julien’s sensual voice replaced his husband’s, Robbie’s cock became instantly hard, and when he realized Priest was still over there somewhere listening, he had to press the heel of his palm to his groin in an attempt to squash the crazy arousal that licked through his veins.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, what’s the matter with me? This is not hot. They’re married, Robbie told himself. But then he pictured the both of them as they’d looked at Mitchell & Madison’s Christmas party, in their suits, staring him down with an intensity he’d never felt before and, yeah, okay, it’s totally hot.
But he had his pride, damn it, and Julien had recently made a fool out of him. “I don’t want to talk to you.” Can’t you tell, by the way I called?
“Non?” Julien said, and drunk or not, Robbie could picture the half smirk, half smile that had been splashed all over the television during Julien’s run on the reality show Chef Master.
“No. I’m still angry at you for what you did. Flirting with me when you’re married.”
Julien’s raspy laugh made its way through the phone, and as Robbie bit down on his lip, trying to hold back a sigh, he swore that laugh turned to a groan before Julien cleared his throat.
“Don’t be like that,” Julien said. “I was there by my husband’s request. And I’m glad I was. You are…lovely.”
“Don’t try and sweet-talk me,” Robbie snapped, when what he really wanted was to invite Julien to come and meet him at the bar. Ugh, those Bitches. He really should’ve stopped at the margaritas tonight, or given Elliot his phone. He wasn’t of sound mind to be making decisions. Especially if Julien was going to keep groaning in his ear like he was. Why is he groaning?
“I’m not joking, Julien. I don’t want to talk to you. You made me feel like an idiot. You both did.”
“We know. And we apologize. But you see, you called my phone—”
“And your husband answered,” Robbie said. “I’m pretty sure that’s a sign this was a bad idea.”
“Yet you did it anyway.”
Robbie felt his face flush from mortification—and alcohol.
“Do you do that often?” Julien asked.
“Do what?”
“Thin
gs that are a bad idea?”
“I’m still talking to you, aren’t I?”
Julien chuckled, and the sound was so sexy that Robbie was surprised he didn’t melt off the seat into a puddle on the floor. He knew he should end this. He was chasing trouble by even thinking about the possibilities here. But for whatever reason—maybe the third Bitch?—he stayed on the phone.
“Oui, you are. And I can be bad, Robbie. Tu n’en as pas la moindre idée.”
Shit. What does that mean? Robbie wanted to ask. But it didn’t really matter. Every time something French came out of Julien’s mouth, Robbie’s pulse skyrocketed. It was so fucking hot.
As he tried to think of something to keep his wandering mind off Julien naked and hard and being, well, bad, the first thing that came to him was: “Where’d your other half go?” There… Think about how much you hate his husband. That should do the trick.
“Priest?”
“Well, yeah,” Robbie said, rolling his eyes. “Unless there’s someone else with you right now.” When another groan met his ears, Robbie’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. Is there someone else with you?” Then he hiccupped as the alcohol caught up with him the same time his outrage did.
“Non, no one else is here but ahh…Joel,” Julien growled in his ear, and Robbie quickly looked around to see if anyone else had just heard what he knew was a fucking sex groan. “Can you hang on a second, princesse?”
Is he serious right now? Robbie thought, the liquor making it difficult for all of his crazed imaginings to make any sense.
Are they? No… Oh my God. They so are.
The cursing. The heavy breathing. The groans. He was no stranger to the sound of hot sex, and as the two at the other end got louder, Robbie knew exactly what he was listening to.
End the call, he told himself. There was no way he should sit there and listen to Julien get off to God knows what. End it now.
But he didn’t, and he decided he’d blame that on the alcohol. Instead, he slipped off the stool and looked around for a dark place to go and— What? Enjoy this?
Hell fucking yes, who am I kidding? I totally wanna enjoy this.
Robbie headed over to an alcove away from the bar and dance floor and leaned his back against the wall as Julien said, “Oui. Encore. C’est tellement bon, Joel… J’y suis presque,” and Robbie couldn’t stop himself. This time, instead of putting a hand against his erection to stop the ache, he began to massage his palm up and down his throbbing length.
He had no idea what had just come out of Julien’s mouth, but it sounded sexier than anything he’d heard in his life. Then Julien went and added in Priest’s name, and the images in Robbie’s head had him close to coming—just as he suspected Julien was. Which got Robbie wondering—what exactly was Priest’s role in all of this? Robbie couldn’t hear the other man, so maybe his mouth was…full?
And sweet mother of all that’s holy, that thought had him—
“Fuck me,” Robbie said, and squeezed his eyes shut as he ordered himself to let go of his dick, and then dug his nails into his palm until it hurt.
It wasn’t until his breathing calmed that he realized the other end of the phone was now silent, and then he heard, “Is that an invitation?”
As the no-nonsense voice filled his head, Robbie realized he was no longer talking to Julien but to the man who troubled him most of all—Priest. With Julien, Robbie knew he could flirt and joke around and no harm would come of it. But Priest? He was another story. An infuriating, uptight, intimidating story. Not in the sense that he would hurt Robbie, but in the sense that he could see right through him.
“Robert? Is that an invitation?”
Robbie blinked several times and then automatically reverted to his usual ammo with this particular man—bitchy sarcasm. “You wish.”
“Yes. I think by now you know that I do.”
Caught off guard by that admission, and the way the vodka was making his head spin, Robbie swallowed, trying to keep up with the conversation. But Priest didn’t wait for him. Instead, he kept right on talking.
“You have a pistol for a mouth, Mr. Bianchi. You shoot to kill regardless of who’s around. I admire that. And here I thought our most common interest was in fucking Julien.”
A shocked sound left Robbie, but then he managed to relocate his tongue, attitude, and several brain cells. “Which apparently you just did. And for the record, I don’t shoot to kill. I just say it like it is.”
“As do I. And I didn’t fuck him. I sucked his cock while you listened,” Priest said conversationally, and then he switched gears. “How much have you had to drink tonight? You sound different. Mouthier than usual.”
“Uh, try none of your damn business,” Robbie said, his spine stiff with irritation and his cock now stiff with something else entirely.
“Robert, you can either tell me now or when Julien and I come and get you.”
Robbie gnawed on his lip, unable to decide if the idea of those two coming to get him made him excited or nervous. “There’s no way I’m going home with you,” he said, but knew it wouldn’t take much to change his mind. “I’m sorry if you need a third to keep your man satisfied, but it’s not going to be me.”
“Is that what you think? That I can’t keep Julien satisfied without the aid of another?”
“I don’t think about you at all.”
“Right,” Priest said, and then paused just long enough to have Robbie’s hand creeping back down to palm his erection. God, he was still so fucking hard. “And how long are you going to lie to yourself about that, Robert?”
“I’m not lying to myself about anything, Joel,” Robbie said, which was the biggest lie of all. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore. So if we’re done here, I’m going to hang up, go home, and get in bed.”
At the mention of his bed, Robbie had a sudden image of Julien looking sexy as sin as Priest sucked his— No. Damn him.
“I hate you,” Robbie said.
“I know. Which means we have a bit of a problem, you and I.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“Yes, you do. You don’t like me.”
“Hello, I keep trying to tell you that.”
“I know. But the problem is, you distract me,” Priest said. “You distract me, and you make my husband hard.”
At that little announcement, Robbie found it difficult to swallow. Not something that was usually an issue for him. “Well, your marriage is certainly not my problem,” he said, although his dick suddenly wanted it to be.
“I agree. But it’s become apparent we both want you to be the solution.”
“Ha. Ha ha ha. I’m sorry. You just said that like you were asking to borrow a cup of sugar. Sorry to break it to you, but I’m not interested in helping solve your marital problems. Plus,” Robbie said, holding up a finger to make his point, as if Priest could actually see him, “I don’t make it a habit to play with those joined in holy matrimony.”
“But you make it a habit to lie, I see. That’s twice now,” Priest said. “That’s something we need to work on.”
“I’m not lying. And we are not working on anything. I’m hanging up.”
“So if Logan were to ask you to join him and Tate in their bed, you would say no?”
Would anyone say no to that? was Robbie’s immediate thought.
“See,” Priest said, “I was right, it all depends on who is tied in holy matrimony. Therefore, you lied.”
Flustered by his own weaknesses being thrown at him, and this entire phone call in general, Robbie couldn’t think of one damn thing to say.
“Don’t fool yourself, Robert. You’re interested in what I’m saying. Julien and I intrigue you, or you would’ve hung up the second I got on the phone. You’re hard right now, aren’t you?”
That finally had Robbie responding. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Sometimes. But I think you like that, don’t you?”
Do I? Robbie thought. Shit, ma
ybe I do. Why else would I still be on the phone with him?
“Where are you?” Priest said.
“Like I’m telling you.”
“Isn’t that why you called? To ask Julien to come and take you home?”
“Actually,” Robbie said, deciding that two could play the game of shock and truth, “I was hoping he’d take me home and then come. But he’s already done that, so—”
“Julien would have no problem taking you anywhere or coming, despite having done so once tonight already.” Priest’s voice then dropped several intimidating octaves. “So if that’s what you really want, stop fucking around and tell us where you are.”
Robbie’s heart skipped a beat at the commanding tone as it washed over him. “Are you two crazy?” he whispered.
Or am I, for even considering telling them where I am?
“I assure you, we’re of very sound mind. Where are you, Robert?”
Robbie looked out at the crowded dance floor and knew what he was about to do would likely be the biggest mistake of his life. But that didn’t stop him from finally giving in.
“CRUSH.”
Chapter Three
CONFESSION
It’s hard to make good decisions when the bad ones look like Julien and Priest.
STOP WATCHING THE door, Robbie ordered himself thirty minutes later as he sat at the far end of the bar with his eyes glued to the entrance of the club.
Quit looking so damn desperate. This isn’t your first hookup. It sure felt like it, though, as he glanced nervously at his phone, expecting it to light up any second now with Priest telling him he’d just been dicking him around about meeting up.
God, Robbie wished Elliot hadn’t warned the bartender about the drinks, because he really could do with another shot to help him forget the fact that he was dumb enough to have told Priest where he was tonight.
