Mr. Hat Trick

by Ainsley Booth

  She rolls her hips, pressing against my fingers before grinding down. Clit, ass, pussy. I want her to feel this orgasm in all of them. In every cell of her body.

  I want her to feel pleasure like she’s never felt before, so she’ll need me to come back and do this again.

  I want to be her fuck toy, her dirty secret, her perfect escape.

  “God, yes, Tate…right there,” she gasps, slamming her hand into the headboard just behind me as she tries to fuck down on my cock, but she’s shaking now, her thighs trembling hard.

  “I’ve got you.” I roll her over, pressing her into the bed. I hitch one of her thighs up, squeezing the back of her leg as I hold her open and drill into her, hard and fast as she convulses beneath me.

  Yeah, that’s the fucking good stuff right there. Sasha coming on my dick as I’m buried deep inside her, my balls churning fast to join her. My own climax rips up my cock, a powerful spasm that turns the edges of my vision black as I fall on top of her.

  Heavy breathing and sweat-slicked skin might just be my idea of heaven. I kiss her neck, tasting the salty proof of how hard she worked for both of those orgasms. I want to lick every inch of her until she’s ready to do that again.

  “Fine,” she says, her voice sex-slurred and happy. I roll to the side so I can look at her, and the expression on her face is worth it. She’s so adorably disoriented right now, not quite sure of what to make of this, of us. “We can…see each other. Naked, anyway.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” I kiss her hard on the mouth. “I’m calling you as soon as I get to Boston tomorrow.”

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  I grin. “Take it however you want.” I weave my fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. “And I want to take you to the Rapscallion play party.”

  Her eyes widen, and I’m not sure if that’s alarm or surprise or something else in her expression. “That’s…public-ish. Definitely not secret.”

  “It’s just our friends. And what happens at Rapscallion—” I stop myself before I push her too far. “If you don’t want to, I’ll understand, no questions asked.”

  She searches my face, her eyelashes sweeping low against her cheeks every few seconds in lazy blinks. Finally she shrugs. “Okay. Let’s go as friends. And you’re not flogging me.”

  I grin. “Okay.”

  “Is that something you do?”

  “Nah. I mean, I have.” I’ve done everything, pretty much. “But I don’t seek that out. I’m pretty flexible when it comes to kink. I’m a top, but beyond that, I just really like dirty sex, and the kink community is the safest place to explore that.”

  She gives me a long look. I know curiosity when I see it, but I know nerves, too—and there are some things that people need some time to work up the courage to say. Finally she breaths in quickly, then lets it out with determination. “I have a question that might sound selfish.”

  I give her my most disarming smile. “Hit me with it.”

  “I don’t want to have sex in front of others. At all. Ever.”

  “Okay. That’s a statement, not a question.”

  She shoves at my shoulder. “I know. That’s the establishing statement. The thing is, is it weird to want to go and just watch, without ever…participating?”

  Oh, sweet Sasha, who thinks she’s selfish as she worries about other people’s feelings. “No, that’s not weird. But…” I draw her close, so she can feel my cock hardening against her belly. “Watching is participating.”

  “Not really.”

  “Yes, really.” I try to think about how to explain it, and then decide it’s better if she just experiences it herself. “Kink is a lot more than a four letter acronym. It’s everything outside of the vanilla paradigm. It’s people experiencing sex in a whole new way, and yes, freaky is celebrated. But lots of kink is subtle, and lots of kink is private. And what you’ll find is that everything has a counter. So you like to watch. In order for that to happen, someone else needs to like to be watched. You are satisfying that kink for them just by being there.”

  “That turns you on,” she murmurs.

  I glance down between our bodies. Fuck yeah, it does. My cock is hard and wet at the tip, pre-come leaking all over her belly.

  That’s crazy hot. I reach between us and fist my dick, rolling my thumb across the slick head.

  Her breathing changes, her chest rising and falling faster as she watches me jack off for her.

  “I like the idea of you watching me,” I tell her.

  She jerks her gaze back to my face. “I don’t want to watch you with anyone—”

  “Settle down,” I say with a chuckle. “I meant like this. No, when we go to Rapscallion—”

  “As friends.”

  “As friends,” I repeat. I don’t care what she tells herself or others, I’m fucking her sideways when we leave there. Maybe I’ll hire a limo for the night so I can rail her on the drive back into the city. “I won’t touch anyone else. I’ll sit right beside you on a couch, touching you when nobody is looking, and watching you get so turned on you’ll slide right onto my dick once we’re alone.”

  “You’ve got such a romantic way with words,” she smirks.

  Whatever. She’s turned on and not even pretending she’s not.

  She leans in toward me, her eyes hooded and her lips parting. The invitation to kiss her is crystal clear. I sink into her, closing my mouth over hers as she winds her legs around my body.

  “Get another condom,” she whispers after she kisses me stupid. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  13

  Sasha

  As promised—or threatened, depending on how one were to reflect upon last night’s sex-bribe-a-thon—Tate calls as soon as he arrives at the hotel in Boston. I’m walking across campus on my way to a meeting with my advisor, but I’ve got enough time to talk for a bit.

  “I’m at the university,” I tell him as soon as I answer it.

  “Is that meant to be some kind of warning?” His voice is low and dirty and entirely dangerous to my self-control.

  “I’m just saying, I’m in public.”

  “So I shouldn’t tell you that I can still taste your pussy on my lips?”

  My cheeks burst into flames. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

  “Of course you did. Actually, I was calling to ask how late I can call you, because some of the guys want to go to an oyster bar that doesn’t take reservations, so we’re going to need to put our name on a list and wait. We’ll be out for a while.” He drops his voice even lower. “But I’ve got a bedtime story to tell you, and I wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

  I know how important team bonding is for him. If he’s got an invite to hit the town with his new teammates, he should take it. “I’ll be up late. Call whenever.”

  I’m still blushing as I end the call. I put my phone away and detour to the next building, where I can get a coffee and buy myself a few minutes to compose myself.

  Except in line at the coffee stand is none other than Ellie, and she’s looking straight at me.

  “What’s up?” I ask totally nonchalantly.

  “Who were you talking to on the phone?” Her eyes are sparkling. Dancing, really. Her body parts are having a disco bash at my expense.

  “Nobody.”

  “I’m starting to doubt your assertion that you aren’t seeing anyone.” She turns around and orders a decaf pumpkin spice latte from the barista. I do my best not to make a gagging sound, and then add my own order to hers—a latte with an extra espresso shot, because I’m staying up late tonight.

  Don’t ask her why she thinks that… But I don’t need to, because Ellie’s proud of her detective work, and tells me anyway.

  “You did this girlish head bob as you hung up the phone. And you smiled at the air around you. If you’d have kicked up your heels, I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

  “It’s cold outside. I was probably just moving to keep warm.”

>   “Mmm.” She doesn’t believe me. That’s fine. I’m not going to crack under interrogation, but it’s a good warning that I shouldn’t take Tate’s calls in public.

  Or just tell your best friend you’re banging a hot hockey player.

  No, that wouldn’t do. There would be questions I don’t have the answers to. I change the subject. “I’m heading over to Joan’s office. Are you walking that way?”

  “I am.”

  We grab our coffees from the other side of the coffee stand, and head out the south doors. Two very casual RCMP officers, Ellie’s security detail, follow at a close distance.

  On the walk over, we talk about conference season. I’m presenting at two—Seattle and San Diego, which means I need a new wardrobe. “We should do a girls’ weekend in New York.”

  Ellie gives me an amused look. “When have I ever taken you up on that?”

  “Never. You just like to borrow the clothes I bring back. But you’re the prime minister’s wife, now. Your wardrobe could use some upgrading.”

  “I do just fine raiding your closet.” And the Ottawa and Montreal designers that are knocking down her door, too. I’ve raided her closet a couple of times now. “But I wouldn’t object to something in a Christmas red.”

  I clap my hands. I love shopping like other people love pumpkin spice or taking naps. And if the shopping needs to solve a puzzle, like the best way to dress a growing pregnant belly over the holidays, I’m all over that. “Deal.”

  We stop inside the lobby of the Faculty of Social Sciences. “I’ve got a meeting with an undergrad,” Ellie says. “Are you going to the seminar on women and migration this afternoon?”

  “Yep, I’ll see you there.” Waving goodbye, I head for the stairs. My advisor’s office is on the tenth floor, but I’d rather take the stairs than wait for the elevators. Between non-stop texting with Mabel about her launch plans and watching hockey, my gym routine has been seriously disrupted. I’m going to need to break down and get the NHL app so I can watch Tate play and stay healthy at the same time.

  As I climb the stairs, I rehearse what I’m going to say. This is a trick I learned years ago from my father, not that he’d appreciate it. No matter who calls a meeting, no matter how powerful they might be, you go in with your own agenda.

  I find myself doing this even when I know the meeting is going to be positive and supportive, like today. I really like my advisor, Joan Turnbull, but I’m just naturally on edge.

  And every so often, my caution is warranted.

  When I knock on her door, she waves me in. “And you can close that,” she says. Uh oh. A closed-door meeting isn’t usually a good thing.

  Set your own agenda. I don’t want to be rushed towards defending my thesis. I can afford to take my time and get it right. I need more publications under my belt.

  “I have a colleague at the University of Washington who’s quietly planning an early retirement, and the subject of continuing her research came up on a conference call this morning. The India paper is what we’re working on together.”

  My brain shifts gears, my catalogue of Joan’s current projects whirring to life.

  “I want you to meet with her when you go to Seattle. Have dinner with her. She’ll invite some of her colleagues along.” She smiles at me. “It would be good to bone up on their undergraduate offerings.”

  A job. That’s what Joan is talking about. I’m speechless. I don’t have enough research done yet to graduate, let alone interview for a tenure-track position on the sly. “They’ll need to have a proper search…” I finally say.

  “Yes, of course. But if you’ve already met with them, that would give you some advantage in that process. Just think about it.” She leans in. “I know you’ve always been on the fence about going into academia full time, but you have a real affinity for research and rigorous academic debate. I think it would be a good opportunity to at least consider.”

  “Of course.” I nod and give her a sincere smile. “I’m shocked, to be honest. But grateful. And I will do my research as you suggest.”

  “It will mean accelerating your plans to publish and defend your dissertation.”

  My chest tightens. “Yes.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  We’ve never talked about my father or his plans for me. It doesn’t matter, really. His plans are not my plans, and I’m a grown up.

  Mostly.

  I’m a grown up in that I’m not going to do whatever he wants if it isn’t also what I want.

  I’m a total chicken in that I haven’t exactly told him that.

  “It’s complicated,” I say.

  “It often is. Fear of the next step is normal, but you’re ready. You’ve excelled here, but it’s time to leave the nest, so to speak.”

  In more ways than one, but she doesn’t need to know that. And I’ve already been working on a plan in a completely different direction. My stomach twists at the thought of leaving behind my investments here. “There is something I should tell you, though.” I take a deep breath. “Over the last two years, I’ve invested in a few local business start-ups. This is completely separate to my research, and for the most part, I’m a completely silent partner.”

  She chuckles. “For the most part and completely don’t go together.”

  “Fair point. I—” I glance down at my lap, where my fingers are twisted together so tightly my knuckles are white. “I like to be helpful to my partners, to be a sounding board as needed. Moving across the continent would make that more difficult.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m not ruling anything out. This is why they invented airplanes. But I’ve put down roots here in Ottawa, and it would take a lot to make me leave.”

  “Nobody will expect you to commit to anything based on one dinner.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Then I’m really looking forward to meeting her.”

  When I get home after the grad seminar, I’m antsy and distracted, and I still have hours to go until Tate calls. I go to the gym and do a punishing boot camp class, then fall into an extra-hot bath when I return.

  By the time he calls, I’ve come up with a plan. I’m going to bite the bullet and go to Toronto to have a real conversation with my father. Then I’m going to read everything I have yet to read by this prof out on the west coast.

  And each time I take another step toward real independence, I’ll reward myself with phone sex with Tate. Maybe even in-person sex, too. Frequent flier miles couldn’t be put to a better use.

  He calls at eleven, and my heart leaps when I hear my phone ring. That won’t do at all, so I take my time answering. “Hey,” I say after the third ring. “How was dinner?”

  “Amazing. We packed away an alarming amount of seafood.”

  “Good protein.”

  He chuckles. “For sure.”

  “Who did you go with?”

  “Simec and Moore, and one of the defencemen, Andrushko. It was a bigger group that headed out at the start of the night, but we lost a couple of guys at the pub we went to first. They made friends with the locals.”

  “That’s fun.”

  “Calling you is better,” he says, low and smooth.

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Do you have your computer handy? I want to send you an email.”

  “I do.” I grab my laptop off my bedside table and open it up.

  “What’s your email address?”

  I tell him, and ten seconds later, a new message pops up from Tate, with the subject line, Open in private (and then maybe delete this message).

  “What did you send me?” I ask suspiciously as I hover the cursor over the message. I don’t click on it.

  “Just a link.” He is enjoying this way too much already.

  “Is it filthy?”

  “Of course.”

  I click into the email, then shake my head. “I’m not watching porn that you sent me.”

  “It’s a visual aid.”

  “It�
��s degrading to women.”

  “Just watch it. She’s having a pretty good time.”

  She. Jesus. He hasn’t even sent me video of a guy jerking off, which I would totally watch. But I’m curious about what he thinks I’d like, so I turn off the speakers on my laptop and hit play on the video. He doesn’t need to know I’m watching it.

  “It’s pretty hot, eh?”

  “I’m not watching it.”

  “Liar.”

  “Shut up.” On the screen, a woman is making out with a guy, and it’s…gorgeous, actually. They’re taking their time, and the video quality is top-notch. “Okay, what’s next in this ridiculous plan?”

  “I’m going to talk in your ear as you watch the video.”

  “Are you watching it, too?”

  “No. I’m imagining you. I bet your cheeks are red.”

  “Because I’m embarrassed.”

  “I know. That’s what makes it hot, right? You feel filthy.”

  I do. An achy, annoying heat slides from my belly, up to my chest. It swirls into my breasts, leaving them heavy and tight.

  “I missed you today,” he murmurs, and that feels filthy, too. Sweetly filthy, like I don’t have any right to that longing, but I like it.

  “I didn’t miss you at all.”

  He chuckles. “How was work?”

  I can’t answer a question like that right now, but I like that he asks. “Uh…”

  He smoothly slides the conversation back to the porn playing on my laptop. He makes my head spin. “Is she naked yet, or are they still teasing her?”

  They? There’s only—oh, nope, there’s another guy now, knocking on the door. Of course there is. “The second guy just arrived.”

  “Who do you think he is?”

  “Someone who needs to get tested for infection on a weekly basis?”

  “No judging. I bet he’s the best friend.”

  I chew on the corner of my lip as I consider the dynamic on the screen. “Her best friend or his?”

  “Ah. Hmm, interesting. Yeah, let’s say he’s her best friend. I like that. Maybe her roommate, too. I bet they knew he’d come home and interrupt them.”