Holding My Breath

by A. M. Hartnett

  That good-hearted little argument had added another facet of domesticity to this place where they found themselves. He had admonished her about her shoes, and she had balked when he emerged from the bathroom without his usual uniform. While she had picked through her closet for nearly an hour before settling on the blue silk skirt and a sheer black blouse to match, Quinn had gone with what she had joked was his ‘casual Friday’ look of jeans and a dark-green shirt. While she had flattened her unruly hair and then curled it into ringlets, Quinn looked a little shaggy with his hair curling at the nape of his neck and around his ears.

  Molly looked around the apartment complex. Most of the units were lit up. Ordinary people and their ordinary lives, but was anyone really ordinary?

  Working at the St James, she’d seen politicians who had run on a family-friendly platform entertain barely legal call girls in the lounge. Middle-aged married couples who looked as vanilla as they come made bashful apologies when Molly was sent up for a noise complaint, their leather and studs barely hidden beneath the hotel bathrobes. Blatantly heterosexual athletes had been warned away from the lounge for being too grabby with the waitresses, and an hour later were banned from the pool for fucking each other in the shallow end.

  Appearances never told the truth. She and Quinn probably looked like a young couple coming home to pay the babysitter and tuck in little bodies, then continue their date behind a locked bedroom door. Anyone peeking out of their window would probably make the same assumption, never suspecting that they were looking at a couple that were anything but ordinary.

  Molly latched onto him as she slipped on the greasy pavement. ‘At least I don’t feel like I’m cheating by going to a rival hotel.’

  Quinn quickly swept his arm around her waist and held tight as they approached the entryway. ‘He doesn’t like hotels. The walls are too thin.’

  ‘Do you make house calls often?’

  He laughed. ‘I like that. It makes me sound like I should have a van with a logo on the side.’

  ‘“Dick Hard Enterprises: Clit Olympics Gold Medal Winner Sixteen Years in a Row.”’

  ‘Oh, now I’m regretting not having a creative advertising campaign.’

  They clung to one another, doubled over with laughter, as they entered the vestibule. Molly shuffled the ice off her soles and Quinn scoured the cold from his bare hands. She thought of teasing him about not wearing gloves, as retaliation for his earlier nagging, but it was far more pleasant to watch him work those beautifully scarred hands together.

  ‘I don’t make house calls. I always meet my clients at a hotel.’

  ‘Then why are we here?’ she asked as he peered at the building’s directory.

  ‘I don’t meet my clients at a hotel. Simon is your client, and I figured you’d prefer not to meet at a hotel in case you saw someone in your professional circle.’ He pressed one of the buttons.

  No one answered Quinn’s call. He glanced up at the security camera and moments later a buzzing sound signalled the disarming of the door. He yanked it open and swept his arm towards the entrance.

  Molly led the way to the elevator. ‘If you don’t meet him at the hotel and you don’t make house calls, then how do you –’

  ‘I said, he’s your client, not mine. I’ve done him a few favours, but otherwise we have no business relationship. We go back just shy of twenty years, when we both ran with the wrong crowds.’ He reached out for the call button, but paused and looked at her. ‘You can change your mind at any time. There’s no last chance, but the sooner the better.’

  ‘I’m not going to change my mind,’ she replied quietly, and meant it, but that didn’t prevent the electric snap of anxiety from making itself known in her chest. She drew a deep breath through her nostrils and took the hand that hung at his side. ‘Do you want me to change my mind?’

  He shook his head and dropped his hand. ‘I don’t know. I’m in no position to get pissy about watching someone else put their hands on you like I do.’

  She linked her fingers with his and squeezed. ‘This isn’t some sort of tit-for-tat scenario, Quinn.’

  ‘I know it’s not. I believe you when you say you want this for what it is.’ He ran his other hand through his hair, ruffling the russet waves into funny licks. ‘A part of me would prefer not to see you fucking another man, but another part can’t wait to just sit back and watch what you can reduce him to.’

  Molly closed the gap between them and stood on her toes. He loosened his hand from hers and leaned down to meet her lips.

  She denied him the kiss, drawing back with a smile.

  ‘I don’t particularly want to fuck anyone but you tonight, but I want to see what I can reduce you to while I’m with “my client”.’

  Quinn groaned and slipped his arms around her. His cinch was close and his body so welcoming that she almost took back her words and dragged him out of the building. He ran his hands down to her ass and dragged the hem of her coat up.

  ‘It would make me feel better if you were the one to press the button,’ he murmured, and another fistful took the edge of her skirt up over the metal teeth of her garters. ‘Hurry up before I change my mind.’

  She reached out and blindly tapped at the wall until she hit the button. She wouldn’t look away from him as he fumbled beneath what little was left of the silk covering her ass. She hadn’t worn panties, and his fingers easily found a slick passage between her thighs.

  ‘Can the camera see us from here?’

  ‘No, the feed only shows the entryway.’

  ‘You’ve been here before.’

  He gave her a sly smile. ‘A time or two. Would it matter if someone could see me playing with you like this?’

  She shook her head and restrained her smile as he crooked the tips of his fingers into the wet mouth. He gave a wide grin as he teased her.

  ‘I could call up and tell him to wait, and turn on the feed. We could go back, press all the buttons to get everyone’s attention and put on a little show.’

  ‘I’ve only got one performance tonight, and you’ve got the golden ticket.’

  The elevator doors opened and they tumbled inside. Quinn kept hold of her as he pressed the button for the fourth floor, then pushed her back against the elevator wall.

  ‘What sort of favours have you done for this man?’ she probed softly, her nerves alive once more as the elevator groaned and began its ascent.

  ‘You remember the story I told you, about the blindfolded woman? Well, tonight you get to meet another participant.’

  A thrill ran through her, and a shiver chased it. Quinn closed her in, hard body against hers, and the vibration of his laughter joined those other wicked sensations and made her knees weak.

  He squeezed down, lifting her against him, and Molly pushed back against the hard bulge pressed at the apex of her thighs.

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ he said. ‘Simon’s the client, and if I know him he won’t want you helpless and begging. He’ll want you very lively and on your toes.’

  ‘You mean he likes to be pushed around?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. Sometimes he likes to set the tone, and sometimes he wants to sit back and let you push his buttons. My opinion? One look at you and he’ll want all his buttons pushed twice.’

  ‘I’ve never done anything like that before,’ she murmured breathlessly. ‘If I can’t, will you be able to step in?’

  ‘He’ll get his money’s worth, even if I have to give you a hand.’

  The elevator jolted, and Molly clung to him, borrowing his strength as a flutter went through her. ‘What if I want both of you to fuck me?’

  ‘You’ll have to take that up with him.’

  The doors opened, and it seemed as though all of the heat that had filled the car on that short ride rushed out. Quinn stepped aside and raised his brows at Molly.

  She allowed herself one last attack of the urge to leave, then lifted her chin and gestured for him to lead the way.

  ‘Who w
as the third man in the threesome?’ she asked as she trailed behind him.

  He spun around and laughed. ‘I’ll take that to my grave, just like I’ll take this to my grave.’

  This Simon lived in the corner unit at the far end of the hall. The building was either new or had been upgraded: no scuffs on the walls or the doors indicated that unprofessional movers had beaten the building apart. The door they stood before was a dark cherrywood with a knocker just below the peephole, and, when Quinn rapped it, it made a sharp sound that echoed down the hall.

  She had never felt smaller than when she slipped her hand into his as the door opened.

  The man who answered the door was tall and blond, rumpled, with his shirtsleeves rolled up over thick forearms he crossed over his chest. He smiled, a tired-looking gesture he gave first to Molly and then to Quinn.

  ‘Well, Jesus Christ, look at you.’

  ‘I still go by Quinn, if you don’t mind.’

  Molly stood aside, watching the two men clasp hands and pull one another into a hug, and wondered what sort of wrong crowd they’d been part of. Her initial assumption was that they had been on the streets together, but as soon as the door closed behind them and Simon glanced back at her, she recognised him: Simon Reeve, whom she had seen on the news dodging cameras, who had been at the forefront of the most talked-about scandal of the year, one that had buried the legacy of one of the country’s most prominent political families.

  It was easy for her to wipe the recognition from her face. She’d done it countless times at work, and when he turned his attention to her she smiled: not the false cheer she gave guests, but a sly twist of her lips.

  He returned it and gave her a scorching look from head to toe, then turned and invited them into his apartment.

  ‘You’ve redecorated,’ Quinn observed, but his gaze was on Molly. She saw something in his eyes, a sort of acknowledgment of that brief thing that had passed between her and Simon, and approval. Whatever connection she had made, it was the right thing to do.

  ‘My taste is a little different than the previous tenant’s. I like my home to look lived in, even if I do spend more time away from it than I do living in it. I don’t have any alcohol, but can I get you something else?’

  It was to Molly that he spoke, and so it was Molly who answered. ‘Water.’

  ‘And money up front.’

  Quinn had settled on the sofa. When she hadn’t been looking, he had become the Quinn she had first met.

  Take the man out of the Armani, she thought.

  Simon cocked his head at Quinn. ‘I’m sorry, but are we negotiating? I thought you were only her muscle to make sure I behave.’

  ‘This is a new experience for her. She should set boundaries and make rules.’

  ‘I can set my own boundaries,’ she told him gently, and looked from one man to the other before settling on Simon. ‘We can discuss business after you get me a drink of water, and one for Quinn.’

  His mouth quirked a little, but the smile really showed in his eyes before he turned to head to the kitchen.

  She expected a little annoyance on Quinn’s face, but all it showed was a look of admiration. She sat next to him and bumped her knee against his, then whispered, ‘I was a little worried he’d look like a troll.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that to you. Simon is a charmer on the inside as well as the outside. I know the experience you want, and he’ll be more than happy to make that happen.’

  ‘Does he know I’m not really a professional?’ She giggled on the last word, and then couldn’t stop smiling as he leaned closer.

  ‘I told him the truth: you’re a good girl who wants to try a little moonlighting.’ He slipped his arm between her back and the sofa and pulled her closer. ‘He also knows you’re mine.’

  Molly’s insides fluttered. This was the first time any sort of label had been placed upon their relationship. It was such a simple word, ‘mine’, but it felt wonderful to hear it.

  Ice clinked against glass, signalling Simon’s imminent return. She rested against Quinn and slid her hand across his thigh. ‘Should I make him count the money out?’

  ‘Would it turn you on?’

  She opened her mouth, sure of her affirmative answer until it rolled to the end of her tongue. She snapped it back and smiled. ‘It would, but I want to start with something that will turn all of us on.’

  Simon emerged from the kitchen, two perspiring glasses of water in each hand.

  ‘Is the discussion over, or should I go water my plants until you finish?’

  He held out one glass, and when Molly didn’t take it Quinn did. The second glass was extended, but still she didn’t accept.

  Instead, she got to her feet.

  Simon moved back, but he didn’t budge once he had made space for her. As he gave her a challenging look, the urge to look towards Quinn for assurance made her itch, but she kept her gaze locked with Simon’s.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said quietly, and gestured to the chair not far behind him.

  ‘You’re not thirsty?’

  ‘Hold it for me.’

  The words came out from the back of her throat and sounded flinty to her own ears, but she could never be sure if she truly pulled off the tone she intended. Nonetheless, her edict to Simon created a shift she could almost see moving in the air between them. His challenging expression remained, but he did what she told him.

  He took a seat and slid the glass onto the table at his right.

  Molly shrugged out of the jacket and let it fall to her feet, then stepped forward. It was just a few steps, but she felt as though she was moving underwater. Her pulse picked up, thundering in her ears and pumping her blood fast and hot through her veins. As soon as she stopped moving and stood over Simon a rush of excitement ran through her, and she drew a deep breath to keep from losing her wits.

  Simon’s gaze dropped to where her breasts pushed against the front of her blouse, and as she exhaled she planted her hand on her hip and stared down at him.

  ‘I told you to hold the glass for me,’ she said quietly.

  His gaze moved sideways, past her to Quinn. It took everything in her to keep from turning around to gauge her lover’s reaction. Whatever he did, whether a nod or a smile or some other gesture, he must have acknowledged her approval. Simon grinned up at her, but rather than obey her, he cinched both hands behind his head.

  Oh, you infuriating little –

  She didn’t really intend to be the domme for the night. Not really. She just wanted to play a little and see what she could accomplish by pushing him around. She honestly expected him to submit immediately for her. Quinn had warned her that Simon would rub her the wrong way like he did everyone else, but never in her fantasy had she expected to meet the bratty behaviour Simon Reeve was giving her. She hadn’t prepared for it and she had no idea what to do with it, or the annoyance that obstinate expression was invoking.

  For a moment she stood over him and tried to conjure the words to make him obey. She came up with nothing. It irked her to do it, but she twisted around and raised her brows at Quinn.

  He sat with his glass of water propped on his knee, his other arm hitched on the back of the sofa. He offered her nothing. Absolutely nothing, not even when she gave him a pleading look.

  What would Quinn do if he was in Molly’s place, and if Molly was in Simon’s? Oh, he’d tangle her up with a few words and a touch. He’d cast a spell and make her obey, until she was on her knees or over his lap, anything he wanted her to be.

  She turned back to Simon and the urge to slap that look off his face raged in her chest.

  And then it hit her. He wasn’t a child who needed to be reasoned with. He was a grown man trying to get under her skin, and succeeding. How many arrogant pricks had she faced in her career? Smarmy men who spoke to her tits instead of her face, who threw tantrums when they didn’t get their way, and gave her that victorious smirk when they did. She smiled and gritted her teeth, and all the while fantasised
about spontaneous combustion.

  He was acting like a brat because he wanted to be treated like one.

  This was a rare opportunity before her, she realised with relish. If he wanted her to own his ass, then that’s exactly what she’d do.

  She backed off and stripped.

  It wasn’t the slow tease she often gave Quinn, but a simple undressing. The shirt went brusquely over her head and the skirt was kicked aside.

  A creak behind her hinted at Quinn’s movement and she looked back. He was in virtually the same pose, though he had shifted. She smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but the hand resting on the sofa back formed a fist.

  He was getting turned on, she could tell, and he had shifted as his cock filled out.

  She turned back just as Simon’s gaze lifted to her face. His expression was clear: show me what you have in your bag of tricks.

  Leaning forward and grasping his shoulders, she straddled him, calves tucked between his thighs and the sofa, ass perched on his knees.

  ‘You are a saucy boy,’ she cooed, sliding her hands to where his shirt split at the neck.

  ‘Can you blame me for wanting to know what you’re made of?’

  He slid both hands over her hips. His were softer than Quinn’s and not as demanding as he ran them over her bare ass and up her back to tug at her bra.

  ‘You’d be surprised what I’m made of,’ she said quietly, and leaned forward as he descended once more. His touch wasn’t so gentle as he clasped both cheeks and lifted her. It seemed to her as his fingertips dug into pliant flesh that he was challenging not only her but also Quinn.

  Look at what I’m doing to your girl.

  It was tempting to play along, to let Simon play with her until the testosterone emanating from the two of them set the room on fire, and then she could have them both at once.

  But that wouldn’t be professional, would it?

  As he unhooked her bra, she weaved her fingers into his hair and lowered her mouth to his. She didn’t kiss him, not yet. As soon as he slipped her bra straps down to her elbows and her bra loosened, as soon as his tongue skipped over hers, Molly made a fist against his scalp and yanked his head back.