Three Guilty Pleasures

by Nikki Sloane

  “I’m a line producer for a local morning show.”

  She paused, probably just now hearing my accent. “Where are you from?”

  “Ireland,” Tara said, and I smiled.

  The inside joke wasn’t just lost on Erin, it seemed to annoy her. “What?”

  “South Africa,” I said.

  “Oh, wow. Interesting.” She dipped a bite of lettuce in her cup of dressing. “And you two are dating? Or just friends?”

  Tara’s voice was sure. “We’re together.”

  I lifted the corner of my mouth in a smile. I liked how she’d confidently stated it.

  Erin’s gaze shifted toward her sister. “You’re into guys again?” She lobbed the comment at me under her breath, like it was a funny secret she was letting me in on. “She went through a phase where she dated girls.”

  Tara raised an eyebrow in displeasure, and her tone was patronizing. “Yeah, a phase of bisexuality that will unfortunately last the rest of my life.”

  Her sister set down her silverware. “Why do you have to be like this? No one cares if you want to be gay.” She sighed with indifference. “Just pick one and be gay if you want. Or be straight. It’s really not that hard.”

  My jaw nearly hit the table.

  Rather than get upset, a smile curled on Tara’s lips like she found the whole thing hilarious. “You’re right, it’s totally a choice. I wasn’t born like this, I chose it.” Her tone was affected. Too bright and fake. “Just like you—you weren’t born to be a self-centered asshole. You wake up every morning and make the choice to be that way.”

  Erin rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, calm down. You know what I meant. I’m just saying it’s confusing for us, and it’s not necessary. Mom and Dad are okay if you want to be a lesbian. You don’t have to pretend to be straight for our benefit.”

  Tension coiled in my back. Tara didn’t seem upset by her sister’s callous attitude, but the male part of me was hardwired to want to protect. I didn’t want to see her get hurt, and although it wasn’t my place, I couldn’t stop myself. “She’s not pretending, and I’m sure who Tara chooses to date has nothing to do with you, or your family.”

  Tara pushed her plate back. She’d lost her appetite, and judging by her irritated expression, her patience too. “I think we should get the check.”

  Erin’s shoulders snapped back, and her tone was incredulous. “You want to leave? All because I told you I was okay with you being a lesbian?” Her expression patronized. “Okay, that makes sense.”

  “But I’m not a lesbian,” Tara snapped, waving the server down. “I’m bi. Just like I told you I was at Lacey’s wedding, and the last time I was home, and at least three other times. I’ve tried to explain it, but I’m just . . . tired. I’m bi, Erin. I’m sorry if that’s confusing, but as Grant mentioned, it’s not actually about you.”

  Her sister stared at her salad, pouting, and it reminded me of the car ride home with my parents. No amount of effort was going to make Erin understand, because deep down, she didn’t want to.

  Tara asked the waiter to bring the bill, and when he headed off, Erin leveled a gaze at her younger sister. “I guess I’ll get the check.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You work in sales.”

  Fire burned in Tara’s eyes. It was so hot, it was a miracle it didn’t burn her sister to ash. “You’re unbelievable. You think I don’t have money? I guarantee I make more in one night than you do in a whole month.”

  Erin paused. “One night?”

  Tara stood abruptly and dug her wallet out of her purse. “What was the reason for this dinner?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shot her sister a plain look. “Why did you want to get together? What’s happened that you needed to tell me about?”

  Erin’s gaze darted away, caught. “Lucas asked me to marry him.”

  As I rose from the table, my gaze dropped down to the diamond ring on Erin’s hand. It barely fazed Tara. She dropped several twenties on the table. “Great. Congratulations.” Her gaze lifted to me, and her expression was loud. It screamed, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Nice meeting you,” I said, but it was a hollow, throwaway comment. I took Tara’s hand in mine as we headed for the exit.

  When we made it out the door and onto the sidewalk, she pulled me aside, tucking us up against the building, her face serious. “I work at a private club. It’s very exclusive, with a high member fee, and on Friday and Saturday nights we do tastings. That’s what I meant when I said I make more than her in a single night.”

  “Oh,” I said, playing along. She hadn’t really lied, she’d only omitted the larger truth. “It’s Saturday. Do you have to work tonight?”

  “No. I had a client who got a little too friendly with me, so my boss and I thought it was best if I took the next two weeks off.”

  Alarm prickled across my skin. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “If this guy made you uncomfortable, why are you the one being punished?”

  She reached up and cupped the side of my face, her thumb just outside the scrape in the corner of my mouth I’d gotten in my match. “I’m not. It’s a paid vacation. I needed a break anyway so I can focus on the audition. My boss is in a tough spot. He doesn’t want to lose the guy because he’s a good customer—it’s just the guy only liked dealing with me.”

  I didn’t like it, but I could understand. I wanted Tara all to myself too.

  Was that true? It was more in the emotional aspect. The idea of her fucking other people strangely didn’t turn me off. It made my heart beat faster. Made me break out into a sweat. It got my cock hard. Last night I’d thought she was working at the club, and the part that bothered me the most was that I wasn’t there. I wasn’t included.

  Her doms had forbid us from fucking, and she’d said the same applied to them . . . but what if it didn’t? The idea of her with a woman was exciting, so that wasn’t a problem. And the idea of watching her with another man was hot, but could I actually handle it? I was so damn curious.

  “I just want you to be safe,” I said, stepping closer and sliding a hand onto her hip. “I like you, and you told your sister in there that we’re together.”

  Pink tinted across her cheeks. “Was that okay?”

  “Are you fucking kidding?” I slid my hand down until it was on her ass and squeezed. “Yes.”

  She looked thrilled, but I saw deep in her eyes, there was guilt too. Was she thinking about what was unsaid between us? I didn’t want her to. Hopefully, after the audition, she’d be ready to tell me. She’d trust me enough to not think I was using her to get a story.

  I bent my head, bringing our lips together. The kiss was slow and sensual, totally different than one we’d shared before. It came from passion and intimacy, rather than pure lust.

  When we parted, her eyes were unfocused and dazed, but she blinked it away. Her voice was sultry. “You want to come over?”

  Every part of me said yes, some places more enthusiastic than others. But there was something I needed. “Can I meet you over there? I have to go get something first.” I’d let her assume I meant I was stopping by my place to pick it up.

  “What is it?”

  I gave a coy smile. “A surprise.”

  “Is it, by chance, shaped like a cello?”

  I laughed. “No.”

  Her expression went dubious. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you soon?”

  I grinned widely. “You sure will.”

  -21-

  Tara

  When Grant arrived, he wasn’t carrying his black cello case, but a simple brown paper bag, the top folded down. Had he bought liquor? Whatever was inside, it didn’t seem to be bottle shaped.

  “Hi,” I said, eyeing him as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on my coatrack. “What’s in the bag?”

  H
is smile was devious, and hot, and I felt a dull throb between my legs. He held the bag down at his side. “Mind if I grab a beer first?”

  “Sure.”

  He set it on my dining table as he strolled toward the kitchen, leaving me standing in the living room to study the package for a hint of what was inside.

  “You want one?” he called from the kitchen.

  “No, thank you.” I’d poured myself a big ol’ glass of wine after dinner with my sister—I’d earned it.

  He reappeared, beer in hand, and moved to the couch, the bag forgotten. He sat and stared up at me expectantly, and I realized this was a game. He was testing my curiosity, but this was a game I’d win easily. I sauntered over, sank down beside him, and a pleased smile drew across his lips.

  “The couple you’re seeing,” his tone was light and conversational, “how did you meet them?”

  “At a mutual friend’s wedding.” It was sort of the truth. The first time I’d played with Regan, I’d been working at the club, on the table and blindfolded. Silas had bought an evening with me—but for her—and he’d watched without participating. I hadn’t officially met them as a couple until Payton’s wedding.

  Grant’s expression was unsure, and it was a strange look on him. “I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t have to answer, but I’m curious. Whose idea was the arrangement?”

  I appreciated that he’d waited this long before bringing it up. I was sure he had a million questions. “It’s okay. The arrangement was their idea, but the first time we had a threesome? That was mine.”

  “Really?” It was a question from him, but more of a statement. If he was surprised, it didn’t show.

  My tone was straightforward; I didn’t have any shame about this. “I told her she was hot, that her boyfriend was hot, and I wanted to go home with them.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed on a thick swallow. “How was it? It must have gone well enough, because—”

  I grinned. “Oh, yeah. It was great. I mean, I was nervous the whole time she was going to change her mind, or things would get weird, but they didn’t. And honestly, that’s part of what made it so exciting. It was a little bit dangerous. Not in a physical sense, but emotionally.”

  It was clear he wanted to know more, and I didn’t mind sharing. He seemed so open to everything, just like me.

  “So, a few months later, she asked me over to her place to play again. Since they’re both Dominants, it’s fun for them to be able to top at the same time.” I nestled in under his arm and set a hand on his thigh. “We don’t get together often. We’re all busy, and three schedules are hard to work with.”

  “But you enjoy it when you do.”

  “Yeah.” I traced a pattern on his jeans with my fingertip. “For a long time, I thought sex had these really strict rules I had to obey, like one partner, a committed relationship, man and woman. Then I met Joseph. He showed me the only rules I have to follow are the ones my Dominant gives me. If I don’t like those rules, I go find a different dom.”

  “You like their rules, then.”

  A half-laugh bubbled out of me. “I don’t love their no sex rule right now, but yes.” I wasn’t working at the club for the next two weeks, and I wasn’t sleeping with anyone. It was going to be a very long fourteen days. Possibly longer.

  He smiled, only with his eyes, saying he agreed. His voice dipped low. “Is it strange if I say I think about you with them . . . a lot?”

  I sat up and swiveled on the couch cushion to face him. “In a good way, or a bad way?”

  His eyes were charged with desire. “Good.”

  It wasn’t surprising. It was the classic male fantasy—two girls and one guy. But it was still nice to hear, that he was fantasizing about me.

  “I think about watching while you go down on her.” His breath hitched. “I think about watching while he’s fucking you.”

  I gasped. In his fantasy, I had assumed he was the guy participating in the threesome, swapping himself for Silas. But, no. He was there watching.

  Grant imagined himself as a voyeur.

  Before I could say anything, his hands were in my hair, holding me still as his mouth claimed mine. “I think about you coming on his cock,” he spoke in between rough, dominating kisses, “and what that would look like.”

  Jesus, his words lit me on fire. I’d never heard anything so erotic. This was another concept I’d let society trick me into thinking was a rule. Men didn’t share their women. Yet, here Grant was, telling me the idea aroused him.

  It turned me into liquid.

  His lips burned a line down my throat, and I couldn’t slow my heart down. It was beating so hard in my chest, as if it wanted to break out and get closer to him.

  “I follow their rules, and you follow mine,” he said. “You like that, right?”

  Oh, how I did. I thought it was fan-fucking-tastic.

  When I nodded, dark satisfaction streaked across his face. “Take everything off. Once that’s done, go open the bag.”

  To illustrate his command, he sat back, stretching one of his powerful-looking arms across the back of the couch, settling in so he could watch.

  I sucked in a breath and tried not to stumble to my feet. I was clumsy with anticipation. Excited to be naked and eager to solve the mystery of what was in the bag. The desire was to follow his order as quickly as possible, but also to please him, and his heavy gaze said he didn’t want me to rush.

  Off came my shoes and socks, dropping to the floor in a hurried thud, but as I reached for my top, I slowed my movements, peeling the fabric up one inch at a time. I exposed the raspberry colored bra I’d changed into before Grant’s arrival. The demi-cups were cut so low my tits almost spilled over the top. They jiggled a little as I undid my jeans and pushed them down.

  The air in my apartment felt weighted. It was heavy to drag in and out of my lungs as he watched me strip, and although I wasn’t exerting myself, I was quickly out of breath. The room was hot and cold, and charged with electricity.

  I kept my eyes focused on his while I undid the clasp at the back of my bra. He watched the straps as they slipped down my arms and fell to my bare feet. He also seemed to be short of breath, because his chest rose and fell rapidly, mirroring mine.

  It was strange how the more naked and vulnerable I became, the more powerful I felt.

  His expression was lethal as his gaze tracked the descent of my matching raspberry lace panties. I flushed with heat, yet shivered under his intense stare. He admired me as fine art, a statue of sex and desire and hedonism, and I lingered for a long moment to let him look his fill.

  But I also wanted my reward, and when he nodded, I turned on my heel and scurried to the table. The paper crinkled as I unfolded the top and peered inside. A laugh escaped me, and I pulled the package out to look at it closer.

  It was a flesh-colored, eight-inch dildo, complete with balls and a suction cup at the bottom, encased in plastic. “Oh my God, did you go buy this after dinner?”

  It seemed amusing to me until I glanced over at him. His eyes were dark, his expression sinful, and I sobered in an instant.

  My voice fell to a hush. “I would have gone with you.”

  “I know you would have,” he said. “Open it, wash it, and bring it to me.”

  Every muscle in me clenched. Grant had said he’d never been in a Dom/sub relationship before me, but he had the authoritarian voice down cold. The edges of the plastic clamshell case bit into my fingers as I carried it into the kitchen. Scissors were grabbed from a drawer and used to cut along the edges. God, why did they make these packages so difficult and precarious to get into? I avoided the sharp edges of the cut plastic as I peeled the sides open and popped the dildo free.

  I tried to be an adult about it as I ran the water in the sink and rinsed off the rather realistic-looking dick that included tiny veins along the shaft. It was soft, but firm, and according to the packaging . . . dishwasher-safe—top shel
f only.

  Once I was finished, the laughter in my head drained away.

  I padded out into the living room to find him standing beside the couch, shirtless and barefoot. He’d turned off all the lights in the room except for the small, crystal chandelier that hung over my dining table. The prisms cast tiny rainbows across his chest.

  Fucking hell, he was breathtaking. He was thick, and wide, and distinctly male. Powerful muscles stretched and corded around his frame, carving out notches and shadows, hard places beneath soft skin. I wanted to skate my tongue down his perfect chest, but he’d given me a command. I would obey it like it was the law.

  I marched to him and offered the silicone toy, but he didn’t take it from me. We had to paint quite the scene—me stark naked and holding out a fake dick, him still in his jeans and the printed waistband of his underwear peeking out the top.

  “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.

  I understood how he meant, and the word rushed out of me. “Yes.”

  There was a hint of a smile behind his lips as he took the toy from me and we fell deep into the scene. “Get on your knees and make my cock wet.”

  I hit the floor so fast, pain shot up through my kneecaps, but it was gone and forgotten as he ringed the dildo around the base with his hand, and positioned it directly over the fly of his jeans.

  I peered up at him and made a production of licking my lips. This blowjob wasn’t going to have sensation. It was all about the visual, and I didn’t want to let him down. I could still bring him pleasure; it’d just be a different kind than I was used to.

  His gaze was locked on mine as I parted my lips and dragged the tip of my tongue over the head of the cock. Of his cock. Was that why he hadn’t asked me to go with him to buy it? Because he didn’t want some purple, jelly, alien-looking dildo; he wanted one that was him?

  We didn’t break eye contact when I opened my mouth wider and closed my lips around the head. It didn’t taste like anything, and the silicone was nice. It had a velvety soft feel against my tongue. I hollowed out my cheeks as I sucked, and Grant’s eyes flared with lust. His shoulders lifted in an enormous breath.