Fuck me, I want to plead.
My nails bite into my skin with the effort of keeping my hands on my thighs. Staying still, keeping quiet, allowing them to dictate the pace—this game is amazing and incredible and brutally difficult all rolled into one.
Dominic fucks me with the bottle through the last tremors of my climax, and then he sits back, looking thoroughly satisfied. To my relief, Carter lowers the intensity of the jets of water that drum against my ultra-sensitive clitoris. “Let me please you,” I whisper to both of them. “Please.”
“What’s the hurry?” Carter asks teasingly. “Don’t you want to come again?”
“There’s two cocks here,” I complain. “And I’m being fucked with a bottle?” My voice rises with frustration. “Seriously?”
They both crack up, then Dominic relents and lifts me off my seat and sets me down on the outer ledge of the tub. I lean back against the cedar wall, shivering a little now that I’m not submerged in the steaming water. Carter rolls on a condom—where the hell did he get it?—and positions himself between my legs. To be at the right height, he’s party submerged in the water, sort of crouched, almost on his knees. It looks fiendishly uncomfortable, and I tell him that, and in response he just grins.
Dominic’s hard erection nudges at my lips. “Forget him,” he says. “Wrap those pretty lips around my cock, Gabby.”
Oh okay. If he insists. I tease the tip of his cock with my tongue, savoring his muted groan, and then I see the intensity of need etched on his face and relent. I open my mouth and take in as much of him as I can.
The moment his head hits the back of my throat, Carter pushes into my pussy.
Oh wow. On Wednesday, I gave Carter a hand job while Dominic ate me out. That was a pretty good combination, but this—getting thoroughly fucked while also sucking on a cock—is brilliant. Carter’s thrusts are steady and hard. Each stroke presses my back against the wall, each stroke hits my g-spot.
I wait for him to establish a rhythm, then I bob my head on Dominic’s length, taking him deeper and deeper down my throat, my tongue laving the underside of his cock, my cheeks hollowing as I increase the suction. “Fuck, Gabby,” he growls, and seems to swell ever larger.
Carter thrusts deep. “God, your pussy is so fucking wet,” he rasps.
No surprise there. I wouldn’t have thought that being forced to hold still would turn me on as much as it does, but my body can’t lie. I don’t respond—I’ll only be stating the obvious if I agree. Plus, Carter’s fingers find my clit just as he speaks, and all thought escapes my mind.
This is too much. Too intense. I can’t get enough. It’s perfect.
Dominic’s cock is buried in my mouth. I suck in my cheeks, caress the underside of his shaft with my tongue, and bring my hands up to cup his balls. Another prolonged groan greets that gesture. “Sweetheart,” he grinds out. “You are killing me here.”
That’s sort of the point, Dominic.
Carter’s fingers pinch and tease my swollen, tender clitoris. I dig my fingers into Dominic’s ass, moaning around his cock. Pleasure. So much pleasure. So much overwhelming, toe-curling pleasure.
“I need to come,” I whimper into Dominic’s cock. “Oh fuck, I’m going to come…”
“Hold on,” Carter urges. His voice is tight, urgent. He sounds close to his own release. Dominic’s body betrays him as well. His strokes increase in frequency as he too nears his climax.
The swell of lust lifts us, and we are prisoners to it. The water in the tub cools, forgotten, as we chase our climaxes. Carter’s thrusts pick up in intensity, and his fingers move faster and faster on my sex. Dominic’s hands tighten around my hair and it’s all too much, too good, too hard to hold back my release—
Dominic erupts in my mouth and that’s it. That’s the push I needed. I shatter, my body flailing and my pussy clenching tight. Carter feels my climax—he utters a muffled curse, then his fingers dig into my hips and he slams into me in release.
“Mmm,” I purr contentedly, as the two of them collapse next to me, splashing me with lukewarm water. “That was amazing.”
“That was only the start,” Dominic replies. “Let’s dry you off and get you to bed, and we’ll continue.”
Somehow, I’ve won the hot-guy jackpot. Either that, or I’ve managed to dream up the entire last few days, in which case, I don’t want to be woken up.
I stand and they both dry me off between luxuriously soft towels, and we go to the bedroom and make love all over again.
21
Dominic
I wake up at six, which is rare for me—I’m not a morning person, not in the slightest.
Carter’s already out of bed, of course, but Gabriella is still asleep. For a few seconds, I watch her. Her hair is tousled, her leg is wrapped around a pillow, and a sheet is madly tangled around her body.
She’d probably bristle if I tell her that she looks adorable.
Last night… Last night had been about more than sex. Last night had been intimate. Though I’ve only known her for a few days, I feel a connection with this woman. She’s special. Fiery and passionate, but with a sweetness that shines through, and a sense of humor that makes her irresistible to be around.
Seven months ago, she’d been memorable. Unforgettable.
Now, she’s more. She’s necessary.
The strength of my need shakes me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this intense level of connection with another human being.
But our entanglement has an expiration date. Gabby will return to Manhattan in a few short weeks, and then what?
There are options, of course. Assuming she’s interested, that is. We could explore a long-distance relationship. She wants to start her own company, but she might not need to be in New York for that. Maybe she’d be interested in the idea of moving.
There are also barriers. The nature of our threesome, for one. My wealth shields me from having to care about what other people think, but Carter doesn’t have the same luxury, especially now, when he’s involved in a custody dispute. What would Judge Bass think of a ménage? Would she decide that Carter is setting a poor example for Noah? Would she grant Ed Wagner sole custody?
That would wreck Carter.
I get up, moving as quietly as I can so as not to disturb her, and tiptoe out of the room. I need to talk to Carter, find out what he wants. Because I know one thing. Seven months ago, Gabriella Alves walked out of my hotel room, and I hadn’t been able to forget her. This time, I don’t want to let her go without a fight. Life doesn’t offer too many second chances, and when one comes my way, I’m going to seize it and hold on.
I need a plan. And for that, I need coffee. Lots of it.
To my surprise, Carter is still in my apartment. He’s sitting at the dining table, his laptop open and a cup of coffee next to him. “There’s a fresh pot,” he tells me without looking up from his screen.
“Thanks.” I move into the kitchen, pour myself a mugful and gulp it down, then refill my mug and move back to join Carter. “I thought you’d be gone.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About last night?”
He looks up. “About Denton Mitchell. What about last night?”
I hold up my mug. “Let’s talk about Mitchell first. I need more than one cup of coffee for the other conversation.”
“Fair enough.” He tilts his laptop screen in my direction. “I had a friend research Mitchell’s finances.”
“You did?”
He grimaces. “Try not to look so surprised, Dominic, you might hurt my feelings. Look, I know I’ve been distracted by the Ed situation, but—”
“We’ve both been distracted.” I drink my coffee. “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t doing your job. Who’s the friend, and when did you start looking into Mitchell’s finances?”
“You don’t want to know who my friend is,” he replies easily. “Let’s just say some of his methods are not exactly legal. I ordered the investigation the momen
t Mitchell approached you. It was the obvious thing to do. The man does have a reputation, after all.”
“What did your hacker find?” I could look at the screen, but Carter’s already reviewed it.
“Randy Paulson’s right. Mitchell’s broke. It’s not just his poker rooms and his strip clubs that aren’t bringing in money. You know the apartment building he owns? Seaview Towers?”
I nod. The optimistically named building—nowhere close to the ocean—is a glorified tenement. It’s a disaster. Mitchell has owned the building for more than fifteen years, and he’s spent no money on maintenance. The elevators haven’t worked in months. Last winter, the boilers stopped working for ten days. There are rumors of mold, faulty wiring, and so much more. Mitchell spends a good chunk of money bribing City Council to ignore the problems.
“After they lost heat last year, the council was forced to act. They appointed an administrator, who has ordered extensive repairs.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Yup. He’s not getting rent from the apartments. His gambling revenues are down. He’s got money problems, but more urgently, he’s got cash flow problems. He borrowed heavily to invest in that splashy waterfront retail development, and the loans are due.” Carter looks grimly pleased. “He needs money fast. So, he’s applied for a bridge loan.”
“He’s overextended. What bank is going to give him more money?”
“Atlantic Southern,” he replies. “They don’t know it’s him applying for the loan, of course. Mitchell’s created a dizzying number of shell corporations to hide his involvement.”
I finish the last of my coffee, excitement prickling through me. “Tell me you have proof it’s him.”
“I do,” he confirms.
Yes! I finally have Mitchell where I want him.
“You’re going to call Fred?”
Fred Jefferson, the president of Atlantic Southern, is a good friend. One phone call is all it’ll take. Mitchell threatened my employees. He walked into my office and told me it’d be a shame if someone got hurt. Fuck him. I’m going to hit him where it hurts.
“Absolutely.” I look at Carter. “Thank you for getting this.”
“No worries,” he says easily. “About Gabriella…”
I take a deep breath. “I like her,” I reply. “I like her a lot. I want to keep seeing her. You’re my best friend. I don’t want things to get awkward.”
“Are you asking me to butt out?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Noah’s custody case,” I say reluctantly. “If you’re in an unorthodox relationship, Ed can use that as ammunition.”
“Fuck. I didn’t think of that.” He’s silent for a very long time. Finally, he nods decisively. “I meant what I said last night. I shouldn’t have asked Gabriella to get involved. I’m going to call the mediator you recommended today.” He hesitates. “Ed might not want to negotiate.”
No, he might not. There’s been a lot of bad blood on both sides. Then again, Ed’s made sure Noah calls every day, and he doesn’t appear to be bad-mouthing Carter to his son. He might be doing that to avoid getting on Judge Bass’ wrong side. Or, he might genuinely want what’s best for Noah.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“You’re right.”
I walk into the kitchen and pour myself another cup of coffee. Carter’s been so inflexible about Ed, so stuck in his narrative that Ed’s a bad parent that I figured he’d make more of a fuss. But that went easier than I anticipated.
Now, to see if Gabby’s interested in more than a temporary affair.
She has to be, right? She felt the connection between us as well—I know she did. But will it be enough to overcome everything else? Or will she choose the more uncomplicated option, will she choose to keep this thing between us purely physical?
“Hey.” As if my thoughts can summon her, Gabriella walks through the doorway, wearing my t-shirt. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt.”
“It looks far better on you than it ever did on me,” I respond with a smile. “Do you want breakfast? I can call down for it. And coffee?”
“Tea please, not coffee,” she replies. “My mom likes to claim that my preference for tea is the only thing I got from her.” She runs her fingers through her hair, teasing the tangles out. “I can’t stay for breakfast. I really should get to work.”
Her gaze slides away from me. My stomach flip-flops. It’s Saturday. She worked late last night. Her job doesn’t seem to be a standard nine-to-five, but still. “Is something wrong?”
“I just haven’t—” She waves her hand at the two of us. “It’s just—” She exhales in a long breath. “This is different.”
“Good different?”
“I don’t know. It’s not important.”
It’s not important? I bite back my reflexive protest and retreat into the kitchen. I fill the kettle with water and turn it on, and then retrieve my collection of teas from a cabinet. Every Christmas, my mother gives me a box of assorted tea bags, even though I hardly ever drink the beverage. I’m convinced it’s because she likes the packaging.
“What kind of tea?” I call out. Is it just sex for her? I know we hadn’t defined it well at the start—
“Darjeeling, if you have it?” She enters the kitchen, takes in the assortment of teabags on the counter, and raises an eyebrow. “Never mind, you have everything.”
But no, we had defined it. I had defined it. While you’re in town, I’d love to catch up. I’d said those damning words. I’d been the one to draw the boundaries and establish the rules.
And now, I’m the one who wants to break them. There’s a pit in my stomach. What if this just sex for her, and nothing else? Is that why she doesn’t want to stay for breakfast?
It takes an act of willpower to keep those words unsaid. “Dinner tonight?”
“I can’t.”
Carter enters the kitchen in time to hear my question and her reply. “Am I missing something?” he asks bluntly. “Are we getting the brush off?”
Once again, she doesn’t look at us. Her fingers play with a strand of her hair. “I thought I’d go to the city for the weekend,” she replies evasively. “Catch up with friends, check in at the office, that kind of thing. I’ll be back on Tuesday.” She looks at me at last. “If the dinner invitation is still good then?”
“It is.” She’s going away. She’s going to the city for the weekend, because that’s where her life is. That’s where her friends live, and that’s where her job is. Atlantic City is a temporary stop, and so are we.
That’s a bucketful of cold reality in my face.
She’s retreating from us, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. “Indian food sound good to you?”
“That sounds amazing.”
She gulps down her tea, changes into the clothes she wore last night, gives us a quick farewell hug, and leaves for her room. The front door shuts behind her, and I stare at it for a long time. I can’t shake off my gut feeling that she’s running from us.
22
Gabriella
I am such a coward.
What can I say? I panicked.
Last night had been amazing. So great. And in the dark, ensconced between Dominic and Carter, I’d begun to hope. To dream. I’d fantasized about things like forever. And happily-ever-after.
But I’m not a princess with farm animal assistants, and life is not an animated movie. I cannot keep them.
This morning, I’d walked out into Dominic’s living room with its magnificent views of the water. Carter had looked up from his laptop and he’d smiled at me. Dominic offered me breakfast. It had all felt a little too domestic. It was everything I wanted, and nothing I could have.
Dominic might be able to blur the boundaries between ‘just-sex’ and ‘relationship-material,’ and still maintain his bearings. I can’t do the same thing. The more I hang out with them, the more
I eat meals with them, the more we laugh and talk about our dreams, our flaws, our likes and our dislikes, my heart gets tangled in a thorny briar of hopeful what-ifs and if-onlys.
He invited me to stay for breakfast, and I’d blurted out the first excuse I could think of. Ignoring the look of disappointment that flashed over his face, I told him I had to work. And sure, my inbox is overflowing and I’m sure my notifications are out of control, but unless there’s a crisis of some kind, I don’t typically work weekends.
Then I told them I had to go to New York. Did I have plans to drive to the city? No, I didn’t.
So why did I say that? Why did I bolt out of there? Why am I in my car, about to embark on a two-hour drive? Why am I running away?
You’re falling in love with them.
“Fuck,” I swear out loud. “No. Tell me you cannot be this stupid.” It can’t be love. It has to be hormones or something. Maybe I’m starting my period, or maybe this is the after-effects of really good sex.
Sure. That sounds reasonable. Not.
My phone rings before I can fall deeper into crisis. I glance at the display. Blocked number. Damn it. As tempted as I am to swipe the call to voicemail, a lot of my clients have private numbers.
I pick up the call. “Gabriella Alves,” I say. Thank heavens my cell phone pairs with the rental car—merging on the Garden State Parkway is not a task I can do with a phone glued to my ear.
“Gabriella, it’s Vittoria Vitale. From poker?”
Okay, that’s literally the last person I expected to hear from. “Hi, Vittoria.”
“You’re probably wondering why I called.” She draws in a breath. “Do you want to grab brunch tomorrow?”
I blink in confusion. What is going on here? Has Vittoria found out I know Carter and Dominic? “Umm—”
“You’re probably busy,” she cuts in. “Never mind. This was a stupid idea.”
Is she just being friendly? Because I can relate to that. I moved to New York without any friends, and Bailey, Piper, Wendy, Katie, and Miki had welcomed me into their circle with open arms. Now they’re my best friends. It’s hard to make friends as an adult, and I still remember my first month in the city, when I didn’t know anyone. I’d been so lonely and homesick I’d wanted to fly back to London every weekend. The only thing that kept me from doing that was knowing that if I did, my coworkers would forever only see me as a spoiled rich girl.
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