Betting on Bailey (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 1)

by Crescent, Tara

  I hate it.

  I’m definitely feeling rebellious, though this is not the time for rebellion. The deal with Ryan Communications will help our top line growth over the next decade. It’s an important deal for Hartman.

  It is, in short, the absolute worst time to be contemplating a threesome. If my sex life somehow becomes public knowledge, there’s a real risk that the deal will fall through. Sebastian, I trust with my life. He’ll be discreet.

  From everything I’ve found out about Bailey, she’s motivated, dedicated and amazing at her work. She’s in the tenure window at NYU. She’s unlikely to sell me out to the tabloids. My gut tells me to trust her.

  Yet I don’t know her at all, and I wonder if I’m being a fool to want her.

  14

  In Wales, it's common for a man to gift his lover with a carved wooden spoon, as a symbol that he will never allow her to go hungry.

  from Bailey’s Journal of Interesting Facts from around the World

  Bailey:

  I’ve masturbated more times than I can count to relieve the pressure. Each time I close my eyes, I see their faces, and I hear their voices. I want more.

  Yet my desire isn’t the only thing that matters. I’m still unconvinced that they really want me. Sure, they say they do. But when they see me naked? There are rolls of fat. Things are squishy where they should be firm. I look nothing like a model.

  Two kisses, and a whispered invitation, and I’m going over to Daniel’s place to have sex. Shouldn’t I be more interested in finding a more conventional relationship with guys that are more in my league?

  “What should I do?” I ask Gabriella, who has become my unofficial threesome coach. “What should I wear?” It’s Friday night, and she’s at Piper’s apartment, watching me fret with an amused expression on her face.

  “You like adventures, don’t you Bailey?” she asks. “Go have one.” Then she grins wickedly. “And it doesn’t really matter what you wear - it doesn’t sound like it’s going to stay on for long.”

  I throw a pillow at her. “You are not helping.” I smooth my palms against my jeans. “I’m really nervous about this.”

  “Why?”

  “What if I don’t know what to do? What if it just sucks? What if they just laugh at me and tell me they were joking about wanting to sleep with me?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. No doubt she thinks I’m ridiculous, fluttering around like an anxious sparrow, picking up everything in my room and setting it down, not knowing what to do with the restless energy that’s running through my blood.

  “I’m not even going to dignify that last question with a reply,” she retorts. “As for the rest, if it sucks, don’t do it again. And what to do?” She forms a ring with the fingers of her left hand, and mimes her right thumb pumping in and out. “Surely you know what to do?”

  “Stop laughing at me,” I say crossly. “I know all about…” I mirror her gesture. “I just don’t know what to do when you add another hand to the mix. Or another dick.”

  “Have you ever had anal sex?”

  “Whoa,” I feel my face turn fiery. “Way to be direct, Gabby.” She’s identified the heart of the problem. I don’t think I have enough sexual experience for something as adventurous as a threesome. Trevor was a missionary man, with an occasional bit of oral when he was feeling extra-frisky. Ivan would sometimes spank me, but that was in the early stages, and it was never more than a swat or two.

  “Well?” she persists. “Have you?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Never.”

  “Are you opposed to it on principle?” she asks curiously.

  I snort. “Gabby, I’m contemplating a threesome here. No, I’m not opposed to anal sex on principle. I just haven’t…”

  She shrugs, unconcerned once more. “In that case, just be honest with them, Bailey, and everything will be fine. Being an anal virgin isn’t a sin, you know.” She laughs. “In fact, I’m sure the opposite is true in some parts of the country. Isn’t having anal sex illegal in parts of the country?”

  “Sodomy is still against the law in fourteen states,” I quip, then I become serious. “Should I go, Gabby?”

  “I can’t make that decision for you, Bails,” she says. “But ask yourself this. Are you hesitating because you don’t want them or because you are scared?” She curls up on the couch and bends forward to lift Jasper into her lap. “You want to know what I think?”

  “Do I?” I ask wryly, more than a little afraid of what she might say. “Okay. Hit me.”

  “Remember I love you,” she warns. She gestures at me. “But seriously, look at what you are wearing.”

  I look at my outfit. Black t-shirt, dark wash jeans. That’s the uniform on days I don’t have to teach. When I have students to deal with, I upgrade to a black pantsuit. “Let me guess, you don’t like black?”

  “I like black just fine,” she responds. “You, on the other hand, dress in boring clothes and date boring men. You’re smart and you’re bright and you are really pretty, but you like to hide all of that, because it’s easier to do that than to risk failure by putting yourself out there.”

  I stop and look at her, stung by her words. “That’s not true. It isn’t my fault that Trevor was a jerk.”

  “No, but it’s your fault that you moved in with him anyway.” She waves away my protest. “Look, forget Trevor. Tell me, do you think these guys are attracted to you?”

  I think about the feel of their lips on mine. “For the moment.”

  She glares at me. “Stop putting yourself down. You are beautiful and you are interesting. And if you want to have a threesome, just do so. Own that shit.”

  I exhale. “Okay,” I agree. “I’m going over.” I glare at her. “Now, come help me decide what to wear before I lose my mind.”

  * * *

  Gabby helps me pick out a swishy, green printed skirt with a hem that hits just above my knees and a white v-neck t-shirt that reveals more cleavage than normal. “Remind me to take you shopping,” she says, sifting through my closet. “Where are your slinky dresses?”

  “College professors and slinky dresses don’t go hand in hand. Just be glad it’s not black.” I look in the mirror, my brow furrowed. Clothing can serve as both armor and a message, and I hope my outfit says I’m casual but flirty, open to the possibility of something happening, but if it doesn’t, no biggie.

  It’s best that I don’t dwell on what I’m doing. Two weeks ago, I left my boyfriend of eleven months. My stuff is still at his place - I haven’t been able to make myself call him and arrange a time to pick it up. I’m still living out of the suitcase I packed that night.

  Yet, I appear to be on my way to participate in a threesome. Sometimes, I can overthink things, but at the moment, I’m just operating on instinct. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed my thirst for adventure to guide my choices.

  I’ve left myself plenty of time on the subway, and I arrive ten minutes early to Daniel’s tree-lined neighborhood. Rather than knock at the three-story brownstone, I just pace on the street outside. It’s late enough that no-one is around. There’s a slight chill in the air, and I pull my coat tight around me and wince at the wind that sneaks up around my ankles and makes me shiver. Warm light spills out from the windows. It appears to be a surprisingly normal neighborhood, until I remember that we are in Manhattan, and each of these townhouses is probably worth more than ten million dollars. I’m in Billionaire World. This is strictly one-percent territory.

  Finally at ten, I lift my hand and bang the carved lion knocker. The door is opened instantly, and Daniel smiles at me. He’s casually dressed in a faded linen shirt and grey slacks, but it doesn’t muffle the hotness, not even a little bit. It just makes him look more approachable. Dangerous. “Bailey,” he greets me with a pleasant smile. “Come on in. We’re in the kitchen.”

  I follow him through the foyer that’s almost as large as Piper’s entire apartment. In the massive kitchen, Sebastian is by the stove, cho
pping some peppers with easy competence. “Have you eaten?” he asks as I enter. He’s casually dressed as well, a black t-shirt, worn jeans, and bare feet. If you’d told me before this moment that I’d be turned on by a man’s naked feet, I would have laughed.

  I’m definitely turned on. Cue the laugh track.

  “No.” I was too nervous to eat earlier. Now the aroma wafting from the wok causes my stomach to growl.

  “Good, us neither,” he smiles. “This should only be another five minutes or so.”

  “Pull up a seat, Bailey,” Daniel says at the same time, gesturing to the table in the center of the room. “Make yourself at home. Can I take your coat?”

  I shrug off my practical black jacket and hand it to him. This whole situation is so surreal. A two-star Michelin chef is cooking a meal for me and a billionaire is hanging up my jacket, which cost less than a hundred bucks at Target. A giggle wells up in my throat, and I just can’t hold it back. I snort out aloud, a distinctly unladylike sound.

  “What’s funny?” Sebastian asks.

  “I’m just wondering how many people in New York would give up their first born child for this experience. Sebastian Ardalan cooking a meal for them.”

  Sebastian makes a face. “They should hold on to their children, this is just a simple stir-fry. It bears no resemblance to anything on my restaurant's menu.”

  Daniel joins me at the kitchen table. In the apartment I shared with Trevor, we had a narrow table in the kitchen, with two barstools that were designed to fit underneath the tabletop. It had enough room for two plates and two glasses of water, and absolutely nothing more. But in New York’s real estate market, even that had felt like luxury.

  Not here. Daniel’s table is large enough to seat six people. The rich, I’m rapidly discovering, live very differently from the rest of us.

  “Can I get you a drink, Bailey?” he asks me. “Vodka, wine, beer, something else?”

  As much as I’d like to do a shot of vodka to ease my nerves, I think I should stay relatively sober. “Beer, please.”

  He opens a bottle and pours the beverage into a glass for me, grabbing one for himself at the same time. At the stove, Sebastian takes a drink from his own beer while adding a bunch of spinach to the wok, moving the leaves around to wilt them. His movements are sure and unhurried, and watching him, my insides clench with need. Is this the way he’d touch me? Calmly, surely, as if he has all the time in the world to explore my body?

  I’m on edge, but I force myself to relax and make conversation. “How long have you two played in the league?” I ask them curiously.

  “I’ve just been playing for three months,” Daniel replies. “Sebastian talked me into it.”

  “I needed sane company,” Sebastian explains. “I played for Clark’s team last year. We lost in the finals of the tournament, and Clark does not know how to lose with grace. He was so much of a dick that half the team swore they’d never come back. So I recruited Juliette and Daniel to keep me company.”

  “And to keep you from strangling Clark,” Daniel jokes.

  “There is that,” Sebastian agrees with a grin.

  “You guys must have lost to Trevor’s team,” I realize. “Trevor won last year. He couldn’t stop talking about it.”

  “Probably.” Sebastian shrugs. “It’s just a game. People take this shit far too seriously.” He puts two plates in front of us, heaped with brown rice and a colorful mixture of chicken and vegetables. Steam rises in spirals from the dish, and it smells wonderful. “Dig in,” he says, and I attack my food like I’ve never eaten before.

  The stir-fry is a revelation. A perfect medley of sweet and spicy and salty flavors dance on my tongue, and each vegetable is cooked exactly right. “God, this is good,” I moan. “Why isn’t this on your menu?”

  Sebastian laughs. “It’s too simple,” he says. “I can’t make any money on it.”

  For a few moments, the only sound in the kitchen is the noise of our forks scraping at our plates. Then something strikes me. “Hang on, you said you bet Clark that I’d win in July. Isn’t that when the tournament is played? What happens if we don’t qualify?”

  “I presume that the bet becomes a non-issue in that case,” Daniel says. “But,” he adds confidently, “if you allow us to coach you, that won’t happen. We’ll qualify.”

  Coach me. Again, he’s said it with just a little bit more emphasis than required. There’s heat in his eyes and a trace of roughness in his voice.

  Sebastian doesn’t say anything, but he’s sitting in front of me, and I can see his eyes linger on my body. There’s appreciation in his gaze, one that makes me very glad I’d worn my prettiest, laciest pink underwear beneath my clothes.

  I can hear the desire in Daniel’s tone and I can see the heat in Sebastian’s eyes. Suddenly, all the doubts that have plagued me vanish. It was the same way when I went to Russia. The entire flight, I thought I was mad for going so far away, but the moment the wheels of the airplane touched down in Vladivostok, I’d been ready.

  I’m ready now, ready to be adventurous. I can’t wait to finish my meal and see what happens next.

  15

  In 19th century Finland, a girl of marriageable age would wear an empty sheath in a belt around her waist. Interested men would put a sword in her sheath. If she returned the blade, she wasn’t interested in the would-be suitor, but keeping the blade meant she agreed to marry him.

  from Bailey’s Journal of Interesting Facts from around the World

  Bailey:

  “You look nervous.” Sebastian’s blue eyes pierce into me.

  Dinner’s done and cleared away. There’s no food to hide behind, and my nerves have made an encore appearance.

  I remember Gabby’s advice to be honest with them about my sexual inexperience. After all, based on the fact that I’m here, Daniel and Sebastian might think that I’ve done a lot more exploration in bed than I actually have. Yet it’s hard to broach the conversation, and I find myself tongue-tied and anxious.

  At work, I know exactly what I want, and I will do everything in my power to get it. But when it comes to guys, relationships and sex? I’m not good at asking for what I want. Gabby was right. I do find it easier to hide behind drab clothes and pretend that men like Sebastian and Daniel could never be attracted to me.

  “Bailey,” Daniel’s voice is steady. “Are you alright?” His eyes are warm and concerned.

  “Yes.” I force the words out past my too-dry throat, and I take a fortifying gulp of my beer. “I have a confession to make. I’ve never done this before.”

  “Define this.” Sebastian gives me an encouraging look.

  “This…” I gesture to the two of them with my beer. “With more than one guy at once.” I screw my eyes shut as a wave of heat washes over my face. “Sorry.”

  “Bailey, open your eyes.”

  Hang on, is Daniel laughing at me? My eyes fly open and I glare at him. “This isn’t funny.”

  He doesn’t smile back. “One question,” he asks, and the strained intensity of his voice catches me by surprise. “Do you want to do this?”

  “Yes.” Heaven help me, yes. I haven’t been able to think of anything else. Desire and burning curiosity prickles at my skin, threatening to erupt from me like a molten, heated volcano. “I really want to.”

  Sebastian lets out a huge breath. “That’s all that matters.” They move closer to me. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to.”

  Daniel looks at me with a slight frown. I guess I must still look wary. “Tell you, what,” he says after a minute, his expression clearing. “Why don’t we head to the game room and play a game of pool? No pressure.”

  “You have a game room.” I shake my head in disbelief. Sheesh. Billionaires. The guy has a rec room in Manhattan, on the Upper East Side. “Must be nice. Lead the way.”

  Daniel is entirely unperturbed by my eye-rolling, as is Sebastian. The sound of their chuckles fill the air, warming me from the inside out.
r />   * * *

  They make me break, because they are jerks and because Daniel reminds me that he has serious money riding on my performance. Now that I’ve seen his place, I know that fifty thousand dollars is a drop in the bucket for Daniel Hartman. A rounding error.

  Despite their tips the other night, breaking remains a mortifying experience. “Come on, Bailey,” Sebastian chides as I chalk my cue tip elaborately in an effort to stall the proceedings. “Stop delaying. I know what you are doing.”

  Daniel moves behind me, his expression gleaming with anticipation. His hands come up to stroke the outside of my arms. “We can teach you how to play,” he mutters into my ear, his breath warm against my skin, “or…”

  “Or?” My voice comes out breathy and fluttery, a perfect match to the feeling in my belly.

  “Or we can do more.”

  “And what does more involve?” All I want to do is lean back against Daniel’s hard chest.

  Sebastian moves in front of me, effectively trapping me between the two of them. They don’t close in yet, but their intent is clear. “What do you want it to involve?”

  I’ve been thinking about what my limits are. I don’t want to be a prude, but I also know that these guys are significantly more sexually adventurous than I am. “No unprotected sex,” I say firmly. My safety isn’t up for negotiation. “Beyond that, I don’t have a lot of experience. I’m game to try almost anything once.”

  Sebastian’s eyes fill with startled surprise, then he starts laughing. Behind me, Daniel wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. “Ah Bailey,” he says into my ear, before nibbling at my earlobe, sending a spike of pure desire through me. “This is going to be so good.”