by J. P. James
Fyre smiles, and a chuckle escapes his lips. He walks to us, leaving the ropes on the bed, and kisses each of us tenderly on the lips.
“I trust you. Both of you. Completely,” he says, touching our arms and chests. “I know you won’t hurt me. That’s why I’m asking. You’ll take care of me.”
I still can’t find the words, but I step towards him before I think better of it. My hands cradle his neck, tilting his head to meet my eyes. I kiss him hard, and when he grants me access, I slip my tongue between his lips and consume a moan from deep inside him. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I needed to feel him, to feel grounded before I do this.
Fyre kisses Jordan deeply as well, before he pulls away from us and settles on the bed. He peels his clothes off, starting with the baseball hat.
He’s right about the hat hair, but he’s still the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen.
Jordan and I share a look before we peel our own clothes off in record time. Fyre takes the rope out of the packaging and holds it out for us.
“Follow my lead,” Jordan tells me. I nod, trying to calm my nerves and focus on the trust between us.
Following Jordan, I wrap the rope around Fyre’s arms and chest. Soon we secure his arms. We angle his elbows out and pin his wrists at his hips.
“How’s the pressure?” Jordan asks, placing a tender kiss on Fyre’s forehead.
Fyre tests the restraint. When he can’t move his arms even an inch, he groans something deep and filthy.
“It’s perfect,” he tells us. “You’re both perfect.”
I step aside, hoping Jordan takes the hint. Thankfully he does, stepping up to Fyre at the edge of the bed.
“How do you want this?” he asks.
Fyre thinks for a moment. “Turn me around and bend me over.”
I shudder, watching Jordan handle Fyre with care. Jordan grips one of the ropes and gently pushes Fyre forward. Fyre’s on his knees, his ass bare and beautiful, while his torso leans forward, held in place by my brother.
“Wow,” I say, taking in the sight.
Jordan grabs the lube on the bed and preps Fyre. It doesn’t take long. I think Fyre’s worked this up in his head all day, and it only takes a minute before he’s whimpering under Jordan’s hands.
“Are you ready?” Jordan rasps.
“Yes! Give it to me,” he begs.
Jordan pushes inside him. The moans that rip through the loft have me pressing firmly at the base of my dick. If his moans are enough to make me want to come, I don’t think I’ll last long.
“Yes,” he whines as Jordan thrusts.
I watch Fyre’s cock bounce between his legs. It doesn’t take long for me to push my pants down and climb on the bed in front of him.
I take our dicks in hand, and stroke them together slowly.
“Oh my god,” he hisses, leaning his forehead against my chest.
I kiss anything I can reach for, his neck, his shoulders, wanting to bite and taste as much as possible.
“You’re doing great, baby,” I tell him, his body rocking against me with each of Jordan’s movements.
Fyre lifts his head to look at me, tears in his eyes.
“Are you alright? Do you need to stop?” I ask him gingerly.
He smiles, as a tear breaks free. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Anything for you, I think to myself. I capture his lips with mine, swallowing his moans as Jordan fucks him. The way he responds to us, the way he takes what we have to give him, it’s beautiful to watch him come undone. We come together, our breaths choking on each other’s air as I milk us of every drop of cream. Jordan follows soon after, rutting into Fyre as he chases his aftershocks of pleasure.
Fyre is a babbling, giddy mess as we clean him up. Jordan undoes the knots while I wipe us down with a warm towel. Fyre curls up once we join him in the bed. He rests his head on my chest while he presses his hips into Jordan. I give Jordan one final, meaningful look before I turn the lights out. His eyes are full of the same emotion I’m feeling. I know it’s soon, but I know love when I feel it.
13
Fyre
Two months later
“What do you want for dinner, babe?”
Jordan’s voice calls from the other side of the twins’ apartment. I look at the pages of scribbles before me. I have at least six pages of lyrics, which is more than enough for my next executive meeting. I tuck the loose papers into my notebook and head out of the makeshift office.
I’ve been back in the city for a couple weeks now. To say I’ve turned over a new leaf is an understatement. It feels more like I’ve planted a new grove of trees. The second I stepped into baggage claim at JFK, Jordan and Jameson were waiting with open arms. Since then, I’ve barely been home. I have a penthouse that overlooks the Hudson River, but I’d rather cozy up in this brownstone on the Lower East Side. I only need two things these days, and they just walked through the front door.
Jordan and Jameson may have ended their stint with me, but that didn’t mean we were over. We’ve been dating for the last few weeks, but keeping a low profile. I have fans that want to know every juicy detail of my personal life, and Jordan and Jameson have their blue-collar jobs to consider. Polyamorous relationships aren’t exactly lauded in our society, and it’s safer for all of us to keep things under wraps.
Still, I couldn’t be happier. Thanks to Philly, everything changed for us. They weren’t just by my side. We were together, in every way imaginable. It made this tour my best one yet. In fact, everything has been smooth sailing since Fishtown. We haven’t seen or heard from Percy, and most days he doesn’t cross my mind.
“Evening,” I shout from the backroom.
I walk into the kitchen to find my two guys arguing over dinner plans. As soon as they spot me though, Jordan walks my way and plants a chaste yet all-consuming kiss on my lips. Leave it to these guys to turn a soft kiss into jagging want.
Jameson’s already rummaging through the fridge. I pad over to him, grab him around the middle, and kiss him at the base of his neck.
“Evening,” he tells me, turning around to plant a kiss on my cheek. “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”
“No way,” I half-lie. I know they didn’t mean to disturb my productivity, and I don’t want them to feel bad. “The words keep flying out of my head and landing on the page.”
Jameson beams at me, kissing me again on the head. “Here, you pick something,” he tells me.
I lean into the cold, eyeing every vegetable, condiment, and takeover container I can see.
“Everything-but-the-kitchen-sink fried rice?”
Both guys snort, but they go to work, pulling out a pan, chopping board, and every nearly expired vegetable out of the fridge.
“How were your shifts?” I ask, taking a seat at the small bar that divides the kitchen from the living room.
“Pretty standard,” Jordan says as he chops onion, garlic, carrots, and green beans. “There were a few calls around the East Village. One was at a lingerie store.”
“One of their incandescent lightbulbs burst, and a display table caught on fire,” Jameson says with a smirk. “I shouldn’t laugh, but no one got hurt, and I know they have insurance to cover the damage.”
“Makes you wonder if God hates overpriced panties though,” Jordan remarks.
“I don’t see anything wrong wanting to dress sexy,” I say. They both nearly drop their cookware. “Especially when I have someone to impress.”
I haven’t seen either of them all day, and I’m starting to feel it. My cheeks flame, and I let my eyes rake over their bodies. They need showers, but their sweat-slicked arms are anything but off-putting.
“If I weren’t starving, I’d pull you into the bedroom right now,” Jordan says.
“Later, bro,” says Jameson. His eyes rake me in return, and I feel the heat in my cheeks flush to the rest of my body.
“Promise?” I ask, feeling frisky.
“Depends. When are you
going to tell about the music you’re working on?”
I look away, but they can see my cheeks turn red. Most of it is about them. I know it’s crazy. We’ve known each other for a little over a month, but they’ve crept into my heart and made a nest in it. I’m being secretive about my music because I don’t know how they’ll react to being my muses. I’ve also been painting more, and it’s because of them too. My head has never felt so clear, so open to the world around me, and I have these guys to thank for that.
“Well, I’m dying to hear whatever you have,” Jameson says, blushing slightly.
“You blush? I didn’t think it was possible,” I joke.
Jameson growls, looking me up and down. “Anything’s possible when you’re around, Fyre.”
Ugh. Why do we need to eat dinner again?
“So you’re a singer and a painter,” Jordan teases. “Maybe someday we’ll see your stuff in one of Manhattan’s finest galleries.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about what I want to do after music.”
“I was kidding, but are you serious?” Jordan asks.
“You aren’t going to sing forever?” Jameson wonders. I can hear a smidge of sadness there.
“I’ll always sing. In fact, I’ll sing for you guys whenever you want,” I say with a wink. “I just don’t think I’ll do this professionally forever.”
“You could if you wanted to,” Jordan adds. “If this is about confidence, I know people will love you well into your golden years. Look at Elton John!”
I chuckle, my shoulders shaking freely without a care. “It’s wearing me down. This whole heartthrob persona is too much sometimes. Plus, what if my career doesn’t age well? Just look at New Kids on the Block.”
Jameson laughs fully, echoing through the apartment. “You’re much more of an Elton John than you are a New Kid on the Block. Let’s just make that clear.”
We all laugh at that, and I admire the guys as they place their chopped ingredients into the frying pan.
“I think what we’re trying to say is, you’re smart. You know what you’re doing, and we support you,” Jameson says.
I look at them, my own heart on the verge of losing itself in the tide of love and affection coursing through my veins. “I love you,” I tell them.
Jordan almost drops the cutting board. Both of them stare wide-eyed at me, and I watch their smiles bloom fully on their lips.
“I love you too.”
That’s it. My heart explodes from the rush of adrenaline. My cup overfloweth, completely, and I can feel the love spilling out and filling up every fiber of my being.
Just then, my phone pings like crazy. Ding after ding after ding sounds through the apartment.
“What the hell,” I mutter as I reach for it.
My Instagram and Twitter accounts go crazy, flooding with new notifications and retweets. I click on one of the incoming messages and gasp when I see the tweet.
We Need to Protect Fyre from His Bodyguards: My Observations as a Bonafide Fyrefly, reads the tweet.
There’s a link attached to it, and when I click on it, the page opens to a website. It’s pretty plain, so my eyes dart right for the damning evidence scrolling down the page.
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
The boys turn off the stove.
“What is it, Fyre?” Jordan asks.
They stand behind me, and together we look at the pictures and journal entries on the website.
“These were taken in Philly. This was at the Barnes Foundation,” Jameson observes.
“Percy,” Jordan growls.
The next thing I hear is his fist coming down hard on the counter.
“Jordan, please!”
He cradles his hand as he looks at me, taking sharp breaths.
The farther down I scroll, the sicker I feel. He didn’t just stop at Philly, but he has pictures from every stop on the tour. Some pictures are just me, but others show Jordan and Jameson.
“These pictures aren’t bad,” I hear myself say to calm down. “You guys have your hands on my back or shoulder, but that’s it.”
Jameson groans at my side, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s the thing about the Internet. Everything can be taken out of context, and Percy’s already accused us of hurting you.”
Jameson and I continue to read the entries as we scroll to the bottom of the page. Percy accuses them of taking advantage of me. He says we’re in a relationship, but only because they want me for my money and fame. He says they weaseled their way onto my security team after they agreed to sleep with me. All of it sounds like a melodrama gone horribly wrong, but it’s my life, plastered over the Internet.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I say as I lose balance.
Jameson scoops me up and takes me to the couch, while Jordan grabs a large bowl from the pantry.
They rub my back, letting me catch my breath before we say or do anything else. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to at least get my breathing back under control.
“Thank you,” I tell them, tears stinging my eyes.
“We’ll find him and take him down,” Jordan starts, still seething with rage.
“Please, before we do anything rash, I just want to talk this through,” I beg them. “I’m just mortified.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jameson says, wrapping me up in his arms.
Jordan also leans over us, hugging the both of us.
“I can’t believe what he’s saying,” I mumble into their shoulders. “Not just about me, but you guys. He thinks you were paid to sleep with me–,”
Damon.
I jerk out of their embraces so fast that I feel sick all over again. Still, I have to take a step back and see for myself. I climb over the couch until I’m away from them.
“Fyre?”
“Please,” my voice rattles as my body starts to shake. I hold my head up, feeling the tears drip down my cheeks and neck. “Tell me one thing. The night you met Damon, did he ask you to be my companion?”
Their gazes harden, but their eyes never leave mine. I watch Jameson’s hands drop, and both of their shoulders hunch. They stand quietly for what feels like forever, leaving me in the dark.
“Yes,” Jordan admits.
“Damon asked us to be your companions,” Jameson confirms.
And just like that, my world goes up in flames.
14
Jordan
“Fyre,” I tell him. My voice trembles as he backs away from us.
“Fyre, please,” Jameson tries.
Fyre doesn’t stop until he backs into the wall with a start. His hands shake as he crumbles to the floor.
Jameson steps forward, but it’s the wrong move.
“Don’t touch me!” Fyre screams, trying to back up further, like he wants to sink into the wall and disappear.
Jameson looks at me.
What do we do? His eyes ask, seeking guidance.
Usually Jameson has all the answers. He’s the one that’s always thought things through. His backup plans have backup plans, and he never loses his cool. But I can read it on his face. He feels helpless, scared, and out of control. I feel all of it too, because we fucked up.
“We fucked up,” I announce, hoping there’s enough authority in my voice to bring Fyre back from the brink of insanity.
Fyre continues to tremble, but he looks up at us. His entire face is wet with tears. Overwhelming sadness flushes his face, instead of the heat I’ve grown to love.
We did this. We’re the reason he’s like this.
“When were you going to tell me?” He croaks.
My feet want to move, want to fly to his side and kiss this nightmare away for him. Jameson and I are watching his world shatter, and it’s our fault. Instead of stepping forward, I crouch down. Fyre doesn’t take his eyes off me as I sit cross-legged to watch his every move.
“Let us explain.” I don’t move to touch him, and I don’t dare come closer.
We’ve betrayed his trust. H
e let us in, broke down his walls for us. If I tried to touch him now, he may shut down for good.
“That night, at the Kimpton, when you had that party and we worked a different event,” I start, “we met Damon.”
Fyre doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move. It’s not great, but he hasn’t run away or asked us to shut up. I’ll take it as a good sign. Jameson follows my lead and sits down a little behind me. He seems more scared of the situation than Fyre.
“We kicked out a drunk kid from your party, and Damon was nice about it. He complimented us, said we should trying acting,” I say and, without thinking, laugh. I want to bring a semblance of levity back, but once I see Fyre’s eyes, I know it won’t happen.
“We thought he was flirting with us,” adds Jameson.
Fyre wipes the snot from his nose. He looks at us, but says nothing.
“Anyways,” continues Jameson, “Damon said he had a client he wanted to relax. It was supposed to be one night.”
A sob racks Fyre’s body. Fresh tears stream down his face, and he tries desperately to wipe them away.
“I can’t believe it. You were hookers.”
“No!”
Fyre looks at me, struck by the authority of my voice.
“We’re firefighters. We’re bodyguards. We are protectors, not hookers. After everything we’ve been through with you, how could you think that?” I exclaim.
Jameson grabs my shoulder, squeezing the tension out of my body.
“Damon said you weren’t in the mood for sex,” Jameson reasons. “He said you’re like his brother, and that his brother needed good guys by his side to cheer him up.”
Fyre’s shakes again, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears continue to fall.
“I did need good guys by my side,” he says in a broken whisper. “He was right.”
Fyre’s word rings in my ears. It’s not just the words, but also the emotion behind them. There’s hope. I ease up, so much that Jameson takes his hand off my shoulder.
“We’re still good guys, Fyre,” I reply. “And we still want to be by your side.”
