by Kim Bailey
“If it’s about wanting your shirt back, forget it.” She laughs. “There’s no way I’m handing that over now.”
“No joking, baby. There’s no easy way to say this, and you already know I’m a dick, so I’m just gonna be upfront with you . . . You’re not the only person I’ll be visiting in Montreal.”
“Wow.” Her pause gives my heart enough time to gallop over my nerves. “Okay. Is it serious with this person?”
“Shit, no. Not at all. Probably as far away from serious as you can get. And probably not what you’re expecting, either. I’m guessing you’ve met Sean Iverson since he’s a family friend?”
Her laughter floats across the phone line. “Sean? The drunk guy who was hitting on me at the wedding? My uncle’s favorite pet project? That Sean? Yeah, I’ve met him.”
“You make him sound so appealing. I didn’t realize he ended up at the wedding. He was hitting on you? For real?”
Should it bother me so much that he went to the reception even though he said he didn’t want to go? Even though he said he wanted to help me forget it? I’m not sure if that’s the reason my gut feels tight or if it’s the idea of him hitting on Chantal the way he first hit on me. What’s even more disturbing is I don’t know which side of that bothers me more. Him flirting with someone else or her being flirted with.
“Not to burst your bubble, but Sean hits on practically anything that moves,” she jokes.
“Well, he’s really good at it.”
“Yes, he really is. So . . . you and him?” She says it like a question, but it’s full of understanding.
“It’s complicated. Then again, it’s not. I’m not sure that it’s anything at all, to be perfectly honest. But he knows how to push my buttons.”
“Can I watch?”
“Pardon?”
“Only if you’re into that. I just think it would be hot to see you two together.”
The tightness that was in my gut moves lower, stirring my cock, igniting my need. She’s so fucking dirty. Deliciously so.
“You’re serious? Chantal, please tell me you’re fucking serious.”
“Of course I am. I told you I was reading when you called—and I was, but I was also masturbating. I’m reading a gay erotic romance. It’s a bit of a fetish, actually.”
“Fucking hell, woman. Now I’m picturing you touching yourself while you talk to me. Are you touching yourself?”
“I wasn’t, but I am now.”
“Christ, you make me hot. You know that?”
She moans. Not the kind of noise you hear from a girl who’s trying to be good and polite. It’s a loud and desperate sound that makes me wish I could see her face. What would she look like right now? I imagine her wanton hair tangled, face flushed, legs shamelessly parted.
“You know what else?” I ask, my voice now strained with reckless greed. “I dream about you—about that perfect fucking pussy of yours. About how sweet you taste. How much I want to feel you wrapped around my cock. And that blue dress. You looked hotter than sin in that dress.”
“Dylan . . .” Her breath hitches, and I know she really is touching herself now.
“How do you feel? Tell me.” I can’t resist being in charge, even when we’re miles apart.
“Needy. So fucking needy.”
Her answer’s nothing I’d expected and everything I wanted to hear.
“I promise I’m gonna take care of that for you, baby. Look at the schedule I’m sending. You tell me what works for you. We’ll set a date.”
“Okay.”
“Chantal, you need to know, Sean might be the catalyst, but you’re my payoff. I want you there. I want you to watch. You can have that. You can have more. Whatever you want, you can have it.”
“God, Dylan. Please, I can’t take this,” she groans.
Her desperation is clear, and it triggers a sharp need of my own, but I ignore my own pleasure. I’ve waited this long. What’s a little more time? Her pleasure is enough.
“Good. Now, let me hear you come.”
***
Two weeks feels like a lifetime, but it was the earliest I could make anything happen. Three busy people with three incredibly packed schedules makes hooking up feel like a game of Jenga—pull one piece and the whole thing comes toppling down.
Except, our game is a little scarier and a lot more illicit.
Playing it turns me on. Maybe it’s the risk involved. If word got out, a lot more than my already bad reputation would get ruined. Or maybe it’s not the game that has me on edge but rather the players involved.
I’m the first to arrive, waiting in the hotel bar, as planned.
It’s a fancy place filled with fancy people. Not my usual kind of hangout, but it’s sort of like a special occasion. So, I order a whiskey instead of my usual beer and try to look more sophisticated than I really am. It’s not a bad shot of courage, either. It’s helping drown the doubt.
“You look lonely,” a tall blonde says, curling her fingers over a glass of wine as she takes the seat beside me.
“Well, I’m not.” My tone should make it clear I’m not open to conversation—or anything else she has in mind.
“Are you sure? I can help take the edge off better than that drink can.”
“No thanks. I’m really not interested,” I insist.
“Oh, but, honey . . . a good-looking fella like you shouldn’t be sitting, sulking all alone. I can make you feel better.”
“This isn’t a street corner,” Chantal says from behind me. “He said he wasn’t interested. Now, get out of my seat.”
Dismissing the blonde who’s suddenly mute, I turn to find Chantal’s beautiful, hazel gaze aimed at me. Snaking an arm around my neck, she gets up close, just a breath apart.
“I’m the only woman making you feel anything tonight,” she says, prompting the blonde to leave.
The possessive heat of her words wrap around me, choking the doubt, making me feel like a better man for being wanted by a woman like this.
Leaning forward, I bring my lips to hers and kiss her softly. Gently. Affectionately.
“I’m happy to see you, too,” I tell her.
We order her a drink, taking our time, talking and relaxing. Our conversation is light, unimportant—it’s really next to nothing at all—but I enjoy it. It’s comfortable. Reassuring. I like knowing that she and I can share time this way—being trivial, being funny, just . . . being. I realize I like who she is. I like that we’ve managed to become friends, even though our time together is limited.
Almost an hour goes by before I think about Sean. His absence goes unnoticed until Chantal brings him up.
“The first time I met him, I was just a teenager,” she tells me. “Believe it or not, he’s much tamer than he was back then. He actually kind of scared me with the trouble he’d been in.”
They’ve known each other for so long, yet somehow, I’m the one bringing them together. It seems odd to me that I’ve become the instigator here. I’d blamed it on Sean, but in reality, it’s me.
He’s over an hour late. I start to wonder if he’s changed his mind. Or found something—or someone—better to do.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask Chantal, tired of the stuffy hotel bar. Two drinks are more than enough at this point in the evening anyway.
“You don’t think he’s going to show?” She reads my mind.
“I don’t know, but I’m not waiting all night. I’m happy to get some time alone with you.”
Grabbing her hand, I lead her out of the bar, into the lobby, and up to my room. The door closes behind us, and I’m suddenly anxious. Not nervous or uptight, but impatient. Now that we’re alone, I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to fill the time with any more talk about jobs, family, vacations, or even Sean.
I want her.
Stepping up close, I watch my hands as they span her middle. She looks so small, so fragile. With my fingers splayed wide, I can practically encircle her entire waist. Her sigh and th
is touch are all it takes to put me in control—to make me feel dominant.
Despite our size difference, I know she’s not breakable. She’s stronger than me in most ways. And that excites me, too.
I’m about to pull her into me, to kiss her senseless, when there’s a knock.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mumble as I storm back to the door and pull it wide.
Sean stands on the other side, looking as casual and lighthearted as the day I met him.
“You’re late,” I accuse.
His smile is bright and unaffected. “Does that mean I’m uninvited?”
“Get your ass in here before I change my mind.”
“Yes, sir.”
There’s no missing his intent. It’s like he gets off on making me angry. Maybe he likes seeing me break.
“Chantal,” he says smoothly, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “You look delectable as always. Is that a flush in your face? Have you two been fooling around without me?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Her words are playful, but there’s a sharp edge to her voice that makes me feel protective.
“You sure about this, Enchanté?” I ask her, my hand brushing up her arm.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. I’m the one who asked you for it, remember?”
“She’s a big girl,” Sean pipes in. “No one’s forcing her to be here.” Turning to her, he says, “If it’s too much to handle, she can leave on her own.” His snide comment is followed by an arrogant laugh that grates on my very last nerve.
“You shut up,” I tell him. “This goes how I say, and I can show you out the door just as easily as I let you in it.”
His face flashes with a look of hurt. It’s so fast I almost miss it, but it’s there. I see it for the second time. He may be a little reckless, careless even, but clearly, he’s got much deeper feelings than he lets on. I’ll try not to forget that when he acts like nothing bothers him.
“Come here,” I demand, narrowing my eyes.
Chantal takes a step back as Sean approaches. Slowly, almost hesitantly, each step he takes kicks up my pulse until I can feel it practically pounding in my neck.
I wait until we’re toe-to-toe before reaching up and fisting the hair at the back of his head. His reaction is visceral, his throat bobbing visibly as he swallows before closing his eyes on a pleasured sigh.
Tugging gently, I force his head to turn away from me to face Chantal. “Say you’re sorry,” I coax in his ear.
Eyes slowly opening, his neck strains, his breathing increasing.
“I’m sorry, Chantal,” he states earnestly. “I’m happy that you’re here.”
“That’s better,” I tell him. “Do you accept that?” I ask Chantal.
She nods her approval, and my pulse skyrockets to a scary new high.
That nod means more to me than it should. It’s not just a green light for me to take over. It’s an understanding that this is what I need.
“Now,” I say, my voice hoarse, “give the lady what she wants.” Licking up the side of his neck, and biting on his ear, I almost groan my next command. “Give me what you want.”
My hand falls away from his head as he drops to his knees; his hands shake as they move to my belt. He fumbles trying to undo my pants.
His actions aren’t smooth. He’s not in control.
I am.
He pulls me out, letting my hardened shaft bob freely. With two sets of eyes zeroed in on me, I feel on display. It’s mesmerizing.
Sean’s tongue snakes out to roughly taste me, but it’s Chantal’s breath that catches instead of mine. Her mouth hangs open, her hands clutching the tops of her thighs. And I decide I want those hands on me.
“Enchanté,” I call to her.
When her rushed steps bring her back to me, I seize her around the waist, pulling her into my side. I kiss her fiercely as Sean wraps his lips around me.
I’m not sure which one of us moans first, but once started, there seems to be no end. My pent-up hunger and years of self-deprivation explode in my chest, unleashing noises that I couldn’t contain even if I wanted to. But, fuck, why would I want to? Each time I vocalize my satisfaction, they both respond in kind.
It doesn’t take much to put me on the edge of orgasm, but it’s too soon. I don’t want this to be over before it’s barely started. And I plan on being buried deep in Chantal’s pussy when I come.
Forcing Sean off me is harder than it should be. “Stop!” I demand, letting him know that I can’t take any more.
Moving to the bed, I quickly finish undressing, and then, turning to sit on the edge, study the pair in front of me.
They’re both static, waiting for me to tell them what’s next. It’s a powerful seduction to have these two people—both headstrong and demanding—waiting for my orders.
“You’re both wearing too many clothes. Take them off.” When they each start undressing, I correct them. “Take them off each other.”
Sean’s smile is immediate, his over-confident swagger reappearing.
Chantal doesn’t hesitate. She helps him out of his shirt first and then his pants. When she reaches for the band of his boxer-briefs, he stops her. Grabbing her wrist, he spins her around, her back meeting his front, both facing me.
His big hands mold to her waist, outlining her curves. Snagging the hem of her shirt, he lifts her top over her head, her hair cascading back down like a veil. Her arms are raised, captured around his neck. The pose is seductive, vulnerable.
Taking his time, he runs his fingers down her sides, across her ribs, up between her plump breasts, and then back down over the flat plain of her stomach. His hands disappear to her back, a zipper rips, and her skirt falls to the floor. Her hips become the new fascination for his touch to rove. Side to side. Front to back. Long fingers toy with the apex of her thighs.
His movements are light, teasing. I realize he’s showcasing her for me. Displaying her as an object for my temptation.
“Good,” I tell them. “Now, ditch it all and get your asses over here. Both of you.”
I’m too greedy to wait. Reaching out from my seat on the bed, I drag Chantal my way, helping her to remove her bra and panties. I need to touch her. I need my hands to be the ones caressing those soft peaks and valleys.
Her skin is softer than I remember. Silk.
And her scent?
Fuck, what is it about the way this woman smells that gets me so worked up?
Getting lost in the feel of her under my hands, my mouth, I’m jolted when Sean moves behind me. It’s such a contrast, having his rough bulk pushing up on my back and the delicate feel of her satin skin in front of me.
His hands find my erection. Stroking once, twice, before I feel latex rolling over my length.
“Take her,” he murmurs, his voice a seduction, his words a demand.
I listen. I forget to be in control.
With Chantal in my lap, my hands act on their own volition, pulling her into me, onto me. I impale her with one hard thrust, her liquid heat enveloping me in a tight grip.
It feels so good. She feels so good.
“Fuck!” she cries, her hands clutching me painfully.
“That’s it,” Sean encourages.
And that really is it. I fully give in. Falling back onto his chest, I give myself over. His hands are everywhere—my stomach, her hips, one moving hotly on his own hard length behind me.
Nothing has ever felt so good, so right. It’s almost too good. Overwhelming.
“Kiss me,” I tell him as my hand reaches to cover his own, gliding over his shaft.
Chantal’s hands are in my hair, Sean’s mouth devouring mine. Her body moves rhythmically over me, bringing me closer and closer to the brink.
With one hand gripping his cock, the other hand squeezing her ass, I do my best to hold it together, to bring them with me over the edge.
When Chantal shifts, clenching me tighter, I lose it completely. My orgasm hits—an unstoppable force—turnin
g me into a shouting, panting fiend.
Chantal attempts to leave my lap, but I stop her with a slap on her ass.
“Just because I finished doesn’t mean you’re done,” I tell her. “Sean, move back a bit. Chantal, come sit on my face, baby.”
Her lips meet mine in a quick, fiery kiss. Her lustful moan vibrates through me.
It doesn’t surprise me when they both do what I’ve told them, although I’m shocked when she goes a step further, bending down to take Sean in her mouth.
They come, one right after the other. First Chantal, with her legs locked around my head, my lips suctioned to her clit, and my fingers deep in her pussy. She quakes with the release, her cries of ecstasy distorted by the cock in her mouth. Sean comes quickly after, pulling her away at the last minute, spilling into his own hand on a satisfied grunt.
I feel high. Like my own climax didn’t crest until they did.
Chantal flops down beside me, the smile on her face pure bliss. Sean sits with his back against the headboard, his legs stretching out on my other side.
We’re silent.
Lost in thought, maybe? Or too spent to think at all?
“Tell me if you’ve heard this one,” Sean says. “A cop, a doctor, and a hockey player walk into a bar—”
Chantal’s laughter is loud and abrupt, stretching the smile on my face.
Reaching up, I wrap an arm around his leg, my other hand intertwined with Chantal’s.
“Were you late on purpose?” she asks him, voicing my own suspicion.
Sean takes his turn, laughing boldly.
“You’re staying, right?” Chantal probes, looking to Sean. “Because I don’t think we’re done yet. I want more.”
She really is a dirty girl. And right now, she’s my dirty girl.
With a spark of possessiveness, I roll toward her on the bed, my mouth finding hers—so open, so willing. I want more, too.
More of her. More of him. More from them both.
Pulling away from her, I look at Sean. His lids are heavy, his smile amiable. Looking relaxed and laidback, it reminds me of the first time I met him.
“Is that okay with you?” he asks me.
My guard was dropped long ago, all my defenses down. It should make me uncomfortable to be so uncovered, so unprotected.
