by Brandy Ayers
Fuck. That explanation nearly wrecks me. I want to argue. Tell her that I can worship her enough for a whole army of men. That I will fill her up in every way possible. That she doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone, because she is worth so much. But I know my words aren’t going to do much in making her believe. Actions will, however. If this is what it is going to take to make her realize that she is a goddess and men would fall at her feet for even a chance at being with her, then I’ll give that to her. I’ll give her everything. Even if it kills me.
“Okay. I’ll try. For you.”
The excitement that lights up Francie’s face makes the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach worth it. I’d do anything to make her this happy every single day. I just wish it was me, and only me, giving her that excitement.
***
After the conversation at the bar, Francie wanted to dive into her list headfirst. Thankfully, not with the three-way. We’ve been knocking items off the list at an almost alarming pace.
Not that I’m complaining.
Just the opposite. Even the items that I’ve already experienced are brand new just by doing them with Francie. Hell, sixty-nine has become her new favorite thing, and she asks for it almost every time we’re together. Sometimes it is a prelude to sex, and sometimes we just enjoy the oral side of things all night, alternating who gets to come. Even after I’ve shot a load down her throat, she loves to lick and play with my manhood as it recovers, all while I’m devouring her at the other end of the bed. It somehow feels even more intimate than straight-up sex. We’ve been working on her being able to deep throat, and fuck, if it isn’t one of the sexiest endeavors I’ve ever experienced.
But as much as I’ve tried to put it off, I’ve decided we need to get the whole her-and-two-guys thing out of the way. It’s been looming over our heads, just sitting there like a storm cloud that puts a damper on everything. I need to get it out of the way so I can stop worrying and obsessing about it. Give her the experience, hope to God it doesn’t turn into her new favorite thing, and move on to concentrating on the two of us.
I’ve been debating how to handle this whole three-way thing for weeks and decided I need someone I could trust. Someone I could explain the whole situation to and know that he wouldn’t be trying to horn in and steal my woman. At first Razor wasn’t so sure about participating. I get it. We’ve been friends and business partners since college, and he doesn’t want to mess with that dynamic. But I can be a convincing guy, and he eventually agreed. Group sex isn’t new to him. He’s a mainstay in the local swinging scene, but he’s always kept that part of his life separate from me and the rest of the guys.
Tonight, that changes. Tonight, I’m going to let him touch and be with the woman I now know I love. And it is killing me. I’ve been trying to visualize it. Picture how happy and excited she’ll be. Concentrate on Francie and her needs, but inside, a little piece of me is dying. I don’t want to do this. Would never even consider it under normal circumstances.
These aren’t normal circumstances. I need to prove to Francie that she comes above all else. Even my own needs and desires. She is always first. Always.
“Where are we going?” Francie bounces up and down in the passenger seat of my SUV, excited that I picked her up for a surprise date. She has no clue what I have planned for the night. I couldn’t talk about it beforehand. I need to just do it.
“You’ll see, but I promise you’ll like it.”
Francie must sense something is off with me, because she reaches over and slides her fingers between mine on the stick shift. “Trent, I know no matter where you are taking me tonight, I will love it because you are there. I know I was a little skittish toward the start of our time together, but you’ve proved there are good men out there by being the best of them.”
I admit it, her words soothe me a little, make it easier to do what I’m about to do. Gripping her hand a little tighter, I bring it up to my lips and give her knuckles a soft kiss. Francie doesn’t realize the extent I would go to simply to make her smile. But she’s learning.
I pull up to the house Razor just finished renovating and put the car into park. We both sit in silence for a moment. I need just a second.
Raz is a flipper. He got into it after I started my charity and discovered he loved renovating houses. So now he buys them, lives in them while he works on them, and then sells them for an obscene amount of money. This one is different though; he never lived in this house. It was the first time he’d flipped two houses simultaneously. Which is why we chose it as the location for tonight’s events. I wanted neutral territory, but not a hotel where people might hear us.
Francie’s questioning eyes swing to me, and she gives my fingers a squeeze.
“Let’s go, honey. Time to cross another thing off your list.” My heart is hammering inside my chest, not with excitement, but dread. It is a slow, heavy thud against the inside of my rib cage.
The door is unlocked, just as we had planned, and I push it open to reveal the scene I spent most of my day creating. The house is dark except for the candlelight lining the walls on every available surface. Large pillows cover the floor in a sort of makeshift bed. My stomach churns as I lead her into the room.
A soft gasp behind me has my skin prickling beneath my shirt. “Oh my God, Trent, this is beautiful. Did you do all this?”
I turn to look at what I know for a fact is the most beautiful woman on the face of the planet. My heart skips a beat when I see the look of awe and emotion on her face, tears brimming along her eyelids. “Well, I had a little help.”
With those words, Razor steps out from the kitchen. He’s dressed in torn jeans and a muscle T-shirt, his blond hair flopping over his eyes and his feet bare. Francie’s gaze swings over to him, and her eyes widen in surprise.
“What’s going on?” I don’t miss the slight tremor in her voice, but I can’t tell whether it is because of excitement, nervousness, or doubt. A stupid part of me really hopes it is doubt.
Razor smirks, something I’ve seen him do before many times, but now there is a predatory element to it that sets my teeth on edge. Maybe I shouldn’t have picked one of my friends. I have a feeling after this I will never be able to look at him again without wanting to rip off every inch of his skin that touched my Francie.
“You must be Francie. Trent has told me a lot about you.” Razor takes another step into the room, closer to Francie. His eyes take in every inch of her from bottom to top, and the heat there is unmistakable. But also, a bit of indifference. I can tell he finds her attractive, but that is as far as it goes for him. “And boy, he did not lie when he told me how beautiful you are.”
Francie turns back to me. So many emotions and thoughts are scrolling across her face they become a bit jumbled, and I’m not sure what they mean. “Trent, is this what I think it is?”
I nod, swallowing down the pain and trepidation tonight is stirring inside me. “This is your fantasy. Razor is a buddy of mine, and I trust him with my life. I trust him with you. If you still want to try this, he is more than happy to help me make your fantasies come true.”
Raz steps up behind Francie, not touching her yet, but standing close enough she should be able to feel his presence against her back. “Tonight is all about you, Francie. What you want.”
Since meeting Francie, I have rarely seen her at a loss for words. But right now, her eyes are wide and her lips silent.
“Do you still want this?” I whisper to her, afraid if I say the words any louder she will hear the hope in my voice that she’ll call it off. But she closes her eyes, then nods. At first it is a resolute nod, but then it gets a little faster, a little more excited.
Cupping her face with my hands, I pull her into a deep, slow kiss. Over the few weeks since we met, I’ve learned all the different ways she likes to be kissed. The gentle glide of lips, the deeper passionate prelude to a good fuck, the dance of tongues as we make out for hours. But this kiss is different from all of them. Thi
s kiss is meant to ground us, to remind her that I’m with her no matter what. Our tongues still dance, our lips still glide, and there is definitely passion, but there is also love and stability in the kiss. Things we haven’t really vocalized to each other yet. Despite my trepidation about this whole thing, my body reacts to Francie the same way it always does, by getting hard enough to pound nails into framing studs.
The air around us changes, and I know Razor has just stepped up to the plate. I lean my forehead against Francie’s, trying unsuccessfully to get myself under control. I’m breathing heavy, like a bull in the middle of the fight for his life. All I see is red, but I can’t get myself under control. Until I remember what this is all about. Who it is all about.
Francie.
Chapter Twelve
Francie
I don’t know what I had been expecting when Trent picked me up tonight. He’s been taking the whole dating thing very seriously. We’ve gone on the typical dinner-and-a-movie dates, then he’s done more elaborate things such as setting up a catered dinner under the stars at the local botanical garden. We’ve spent nights cuddled on his couch having a movie marathon, going back and forth watching each other’s favorite films. He’s taken me dancing, to art shows, to plays, and my favorite, to a book reading by a local author.
But he’s also been taking the list very seriously, so I really should have at least considered the possibility that tonight would be about my list and not a romantic date. Although I can tell that Trent tried very hard to make this night romantic.
I should be excited. This was my top fantasy. Is. It is my top fantasy. We’ve talked several times about how it would go, what I want out of it, and why I want it. And each time, I never doubted that I want to be the focus of two men’s lust. Guilt always lurks in the background because I know Trent isn’t happy about it, and I feel bad. But I spent so many years worrying about someone else’s happiness, I need to focus on mine now.
Or at least that is what I keep reminding myself.
Because for some reason, the second Razor—what kind of name is that anyway?—stepped into the room, my stomach sank, and I felt as if I might throw up. But this has been me the whole time, insisting I want this experience. Though admittedly, I hadn’t thought about it at all in the past week or two. Everything with Trent is so perfect, he makes me forget everything else.
Trent must sense my hesitance, because he asks whether I still want this. At first, my head screams no, the word almost pushing its way out of my mouth. But then I think through all the reasons again. I want to experience something many women haven’t. I want to be daring. I want to feel what it is like to be desired by multiple men. Plus, I fucking love watching this on all my favorite Tumblr porn blogs. Like, love. I might even follow certain blogs because they solely reblog double penetration videos.
So, with all those things in mind, I give Trent a single, strong nod. I’m sure. I’m doing this. I’m not going to throw up. God, that would so be like me. Throwing up in the middle of my first, and probably only, ménage à trois is one hundred percent something I would do. I stuff all my reservations down and try to fake getting excited about this. I’m sure once we get started and they are both touching me, I’ll forget ever having doubts.
Trent gently holds my head still as he leans in for a kiss unlike any other he has given me to this point. I feel everything in the kiss. His devotion. His kindness. His patience. His passion. His love.
And every bit of me responds in like. The love that consumes me during the kiss hits me like a bull taking out an idiot running away from him on some street in Spain. Because I have been an idiot running away from it. Trent has been all in since the day we met. I’ve been the one hemming and hawing, coming up with more obstacles and hurdles and running as fast as I can from the feelings he so easily brings out in me.
This isn’t the way it was when I was eighteen and thought I was in love with an older boy. Holy hell, it is nothing like that. This is more than hormones and a manipulative twat of a teenage boy. This is heart, soul, and mind. He knocks the breath out of me and the sense into me with the kiss.
A warm body approaches from behind me. I had forgotten Razor was even in the room. His hands rest on my hips, and I go still. Not one molecule of his skin is touching mine thanks to my jeans, but even still, it feels wrong. Trent breaks the kiss; his breathing is fast and labored like I’ve never heard it before in all the high-octane fucks we’ve experienced together. No, this is the breathing of a man in pain. In anguish. On the verge of panic. And I’m doing it to him. Shame and sadness sweep over me.
What the hell have I been thinking?
Razor’s thumbs sweep under my shirt, his rough skin touching mine for the first time.
“Stop!” The word comes out literally the second I feel another man touch me. Because it feels cold and strange and not like Trent. In other words, wrong.
Thankfully, Razor takes my command seriously and steps back immediately. Trent pulls his forehead back from mine and searches my eyes. Tears well along my lower eyelids, obscuring my view of his fucking beautiful face. I know men aren’t supposed to be beautiful, but he is, inside and out.
And I’m an idiot. Such a huge idiot. How could he love me when I put him through this? “I’m sorry. I can’t . . . I don’t want to . . . I thought . . .” How do I explain something like this? How do I tell him I almost made him watch me with another man simply because I was scared of loving him too much, too fast?
“Thank fuck.” Trent wraps his arms around me, pulling my face into the crook of his neck, which has always felt as if it belonged to me since that very first night.
I turn to apologize to Razor. I don’t know him, but the poor guy came here expecting to get down and dirty with two other people and instead is going home alone. But when I turn, he is smiling at us and backing toward the door he came in through.
“Don’t worry, Francie. Everyone has that moment they realize some things are better left to porn stars.” He winks at me, gives one of those man nod things to Trent, and leaves without another word.
I bury my face back into Trent’s warm, welcoming body and sob without reserve. Somehow Trent maneuvers us onto the pillow-covered floor, cradling me in his arms like the big freaking baby I’m currently impersonating.
“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” Trent strokes my hair, shushing and whispering comforting words in my ear, rocking me back and forth. So basically, he’s never going to want to fuck me again after this display. “Talk to me, Fran. Tell me what is going on in that head so I know how to reassure you that everything is okay.”
“I’m an idiot.” On top of everything else, my lungs and diaphragm apparently decide to fight the emotional assault on my body with hiccups. So, I can get only a few words out at a time before my whole body jumps and a loud, unladylike croak emits from my throat. “I just . . . realized . . . that I . . . fuck.” I draw in a deep breath, willing the words to come out and my obscene display of feelings to go away. “I love you. I realized tonight I’m in love with you, and I know you are in love with me too. You don’t even have to tell me. Look at everything you’ve done for me. No man would set up a romantic threesome for a woman he didn’t love.”
I can feel Trent’s chest shaking a little, and I know he is holding back his laughter. “Actually, if Razor’s accounts of how he spends his free time are any indication, lots of men would set up a threesome for women they don’t love.”
“Okay, maybe, but I know you did it out of love. I feel it every time I’m around you. And it scared the shit out of me.” I sit up a little so I can see his face, and happiness like nothing I’ve ever felt wells inside my chest. Because it is right there, plain as day on his face. Love. Relief too, but mostly love. “Yes, I fantasized about all these things for so long, but the truth is, when I picture these things in my head now, all I see is you. The truth is, the few nights we’ve been apart and I’ve had to use fantasies to get me off, I picture both men in this s
cenario as you, which I realize is impossible and ridiculous, and I had to create this whole story line in my head about you having a long-lost twin, and then try not to think about the whole related-to-each-other ick factor. But I couldn’t picture another man doing those things to me. I tried to rationalize it away as just not being able to think of who else would want me like you, but the truth is I don’t want anyone but you to touch me. The minute Razor touched me, everything about it felt wrong. Oh God, I am never going to be able to look him in the eye again. Would it be okay if I just never had to hang out with your friends so I don’t have to face the shame of this night?”
“Honey, you need to calm down. You’re doing that nervous, upset babbling thing.” Trent laughs, and the rich sound of it helps soothe my frayed nerves a little bit. But just a little. “You have no reason to be embarrassed or sorry. I wish there were two of me so I can fuck you every which way you’ve dreamt of, because you are right, I love you. So much. I think I have since I first got your emails, first saw your picture. And it just grows and deepens every day. As for Razor, trust me, the next time you see him it will be like nothing ever happened. He’ll never mention it again.”
Trent’s ability to reassure me never fails to amaze me. I can be in a total tailspin of anxiety and neurosis, and just a few words from him bring me back to center. “So, you love me, and I love you. Neither of us wants to be with anyone else in any capacity. This is it for us.”
“Welcome to the same page as me. You should stay here a while. Like forever.” This is something else I have learned about Trent the past few weeks: he can be a snarky little dork sometimes. Meg and he have gotten into quite a few sarcastic snark-offs over breakfast.
