by Sara Cate
Alistair doesn’t take his eyes off my lips, and he doesn’t look so drunk anymore, at least not on whiskey. There’s a sternness there that sends a tremor through me, and I know that he is in charge. He calls the shots, and as if I’m surrendering myself to him, I let my head hang back, resting against Nash’s shoulder. I’m waiting for his next move, and my heart wants to explode in my chest from the anticipation.
I feel his touch against the hem of my dress, and I gasp as it’s pulled over my head in a quick swipe. Nash’s fingers fumble with the clasp of my bra before I feel the snap, and it falls to the ground. Suddenly, I’m standing in nothing but my thin panties between these two men.
Alistair grabs my hips, hard between his hands pulling them toward his body. Then his lips are on my chest. Soft, wet kisses travel down, and I’m so lost in the sensation that I don’t even feel him pulling down my panties until his mouth is there between my legs, and I’m suddenly weightless.
A moan rumbles through me, and I’m not sure if it was mine or someone else’s. Nash’s hand is still buried in my hair, and the pain of his pull is the only thing keeping me grounded. His kisses turn to painful nibbles on my skin before he’s kissing me again. When I try to reach for him, hungry to feel the hardness in his pants, he moves my hand away.
“Not yet,” he hums against my neck.
When his hands find my breasts, pinching and pulling, I’m not even sure if my feet are still on the floor. I only know that I’m latched onto both of them as I fly toward this climax.
Alistair’s mouth between my legs is ravenous, rough against my sex. And when Nash pinches the pink bud of my right breast, I let out a scream, levitating off the ground. The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, coursing through my body in surges, and I lose the ability to move as I shake and tremble in their arms.
Before I have a chance to come back down, everything changes. I’m torn away from Alistair, my pussy still pulsing with heat as I’m thrown over Nash’s shoulder. He’s carrying me somewhere, and I reach for Alistair who is staying close behind.
As desperate as I am to be filled by one of them, all I know is that I want him there. I don’t know if I tell him to stay or if it’s only in my head, but he keeps close behind until we’re bathed in darkness. I land hard against a bed, stealing the breath from my lungs. I don’t bother trying to figure out whose room this is or whose bed we’re on. When I hear movement, clothes coming off, I know I’m not drunk anymore, not on alcohol. But my head is still swimming in this darkness.
Alistair kisses me, and I latch onto his face, pulling him close to taste his mouth, my arousal mixed with whiskey. Hands slide the length of my body, and I know by the softness that they are Nash’s. The smooth skin of his face touches my belly.
As Alistair pulls his mouth away, Nash flips me onto my stomach, yanking back my hips until I’m on all fours. Then, I feel him at my entrance, and he thrusts himself in, making me gasp.
The relief of having him inside of me eclipses any thoughts in my head. Right now, I just want to be in this moment, and I don’t want it to stop.
My hands search the darkness for Alistair as Nash moves, slow and forceful. I want to feel him against my fingers, his lips on mine. I need to know he’s here, with me. Then, his voice cuts through the darkness.
“You belong to us, baby. You’re all ours, and you’re never leaving us. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp, reaching for him again. As my eyes adjust, I make out his silhouette standing too far away to touch. A moan of pleasure escapes my lips again. “Alistair,” I cry. “I need you.”
Then, he’s there, and my fingers cascade down his bare chest to his unbuckled jeans. His course hands run along my shoulders and he lifts my face to his mouth, kissing me while I fumble to free him from his pants. The sudden urge to have him in my hands, in my mouth, is overwhelming. Alistair’s pleasure belongs to me, and it’s up to me to give it to him, to make sure he feels it.
His pants fall to the floor, and I grasp eagerly onto his cock as it springs forth. He lets out a groan as I run my tongue along the underside, lapping up the precum that drips from the head. His hands move my hair to the side as he softly pets my neck and face.
“Zara,” he whispers in a groan when I take his length into my mouth.
Nash grunts, thrusting harder, punishing me, and I am lost in the sensation. His fingers squeeze my hips harder, and I know he’s sending me a message. This is how he reaches me, hints of pain, reminders that I’m his. I feel you, Nash. Then his hand lands sharp against my ass as he thrusts harder, and I respond by pulling away from Alistar to cry out.
Putting my mouth back around the cock in my hand, my body starts to tense and I feel Alistair tighten against my tongue. I reach for his hand, and he squeezes my fingers in his. I let out another moan that vibrates through him. This orgasm hits even harder than the last one, locking my body in a vice. First I feel Alistair’s saltiness hit my throat before Nash pulses inside me, both of them filling me.
The three of us pant heavily, and I’m so spent that I collapse against the bed, letting my eyes close. Their hands don’t leave my body, and I feel their lips too. Someone kisses my back, then my shoulders, my arms, my stomach, my legs. I can’t tell where I end and they begin.
Soon, their weight settles on either side of me, and I face Alistair as I begin to drift off. He brushes my hair out of my face, kissing my lips again. Nash’s hands wrap around my waist and I’m sandwiched between them on the bed.
A smile stretches across my lips as I hear them both fall asleep. I’m a fool to think I could have them like this forever, and I know the restlessness still exists, but for now, this is who we are. And people might think we’re crazy for it, but they will never know the pain we’ve felt. This grief binds us, and I wouldn’t be who I am without them. We have to walk through this fire together, and I will hold onto them like this for as long as I can.
34
“What are you doing?” Nash jumps on his bed, landing next to me and snatching my study guide out of my hands. I try to grab the book back, but he only uses it as an excuse to pin me on my back and straddle my body between his knees.
“It’s my study guide,” I reply, trying to grab it back from him.
He freezes for a moment. “You’re getting your private pilot license?”
“Of course I am,” I argue. “I’ve gone through all the fucking trouble to learn. I want it to be official.”
His brow creases as he stares down at me. “I’ve seen you two out there. I didn’t think there was any learning going on. At least not about flying.”
I pierce him with a stern expression and he finally lets me up, but he doesn’t go far. Lying next to me on his side, I feel him watching me, and I start to feel the guilt creep up my spine. It’s been a week since Christmas, and we don’t talk about what happened.
On one hand, it was the most amazing night of my life.
On the other, it changed everything. It was inevitable, we know that, but it seemed to just open up any wounds even more than they already were. Nash is different with me since that night, as if he’s desperately trying to regain control of the situation.
“Let me help you study,” he says, drawing circles on my bare shoulder.
“Okay.” I hand him the booklet. “Go over this section,” I say pointing to the page I was just reading.
“Now, wait a minute. You need some incentives to do well.”
Laughing, I try to bite my lip as he seems to be thinking through something. “Oh, I get a reward for questions I get right?” I ask, touching his chest.
“Seems only fair,” he says with a sly smile.
“Don’t you guys have to leave soon?” I ask, looking at the time on my phone. They’re going to their big expo in Germany today. I’ll be alone on Del Rey for three days straight, and I’m dreading it. I haven’t been without either of them for months and right now, three days feels so long.
“I have time,” he replies
. “Okay, answer correctly and get a kiss.”
“A kiss?” I scoff.
“Anywhere you want.” He raises his eyebrows at me, and I smile.
“All right, first question… What atmospheric conditions reduce performance?”
“Oh that’s easy,” I laugh. “Heat, humidity, and altitude.”
“Well done,” he says as he rolls over to lie on top of me, straddling my hips with his legs. “Where shall we start?”
I squirm anxiously beneath him as he leans down to place a warm, wet kiss against my neck, being sure to add a small nibble in just to drive me crazy.
“Next question,” he says, sitting up. “What is dynamic rollover?”
My brain is still foggy from that kiss. Somehow I still manage to get the next three questions right, and before we know it, the book is on the floor, and I’m lying topless on the bed with Nash’s mouth pressed firmly against my right breast. I let out a high-pitched moan when his hands snake their way into my sweatpants.
“Nash, it’s time to go,” a voice calls from the other side of the room. My eyes pop open and are instantly met with Alistair’s gaze on my naked body and Nash grinding himself against me.
“Gimme fifteen minutes,” Nash replies, ignoring the fact that his dad is standing right there. At that exact moment, he slides a finger inside me and I let out a gasp, my eyes still firmly on Alistair.
His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches as he spins and stomps away.
“Nash!” I squeal, shoving him away and climbing off the bed to find my shirt. “That was fucked up.”
He seems to think it’s funny and laughs while adjusting his pants. As we leave his room, I dread looking in Alistair’s eyes again. I feel terrible that he had to see that, especially right before he has to leave.
I walk out back with Nash and find Alistair waiting by the helicopter that they plan on taking to the airport where they’ll get on a private flight to Germany. Nash turns toward me, scooping me up and planting a big kiss on my lips right in front of his dad. I can’t help but pull back. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I didn’t want it to be like this. After our kiss, Nash leaves me to get in the helicopter.
I have a sudden pang of fear that Alistair won't even say goodbye to me after that. Thankfully, he gets out and walks toward me, a look of frustration on his face.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“For what?” he asks, and I wish he wouldn’t act like that. Like this is normal and I shouldn’t feel bad for him seeing us together. Like it doesn’t bother him.
He leans down and kisses me, not as deep as Nash but I wrap my arms around him anyway, hoping he can feel how much I’m going to miss him. But he doesn’t squeeze me back. He turns away and walks back to the helicopter.
Sometimes I wish Alistair would fight for me. I wish he’d be braver to touch me in front of Nash, like he’s holding back from what he really wants.
Then, I remember. That’s his son. Alistair will always sacrifice a little bit of his happiness for his kids and I will always come second to them. That’s the thought they leave me with as they pull away and I’m left alone.
I go back to my study guide, but I can’t seem to focus.
Feeling brave, I pull up my phone and type out a text to Hanna. I’m texting a lead ballerina. This is insane. I delete it a few times, sounding more and more formal and ridiculous every time. Then it finally occurs to me I’m dating not one but two Wildes. And I mean, sure who you date doesn’t really change who you are, but fuck if that doesn’t give me a little bit of confidence. I might as well be a Wilde at this point, and I’m only a few hours and one exam away from being a certified helicopter pilot, so why am I acting like she’s so much better than me?
Remembering what Alistair said at the ballet about how they should feel honored to meet me echoes in my mind. It changed the way I carried myself that night. Forcing some of that fake confidence, I type out the text again.
The boys left me here all by myself. If you’re not performing tonight, I could use some help getting through all this wine.
It’s only a minute later that my phone vibrates in my hand.
Do you have any extra hot pilots? Gio and I broke up.
Hank can pick you up at the airfield where Alistair dropped you off last time. He’s pretty cute.
Perfect. Tell him to be ready in fifteen.
35
Nash is gloating. He’s been acting like this all day, like there is some tension between us, and it’s grating on my nerves. And I have to act like that shit in his room yesterday didn’t bother me.
I woke up the day after Christmas with a lot more than a fucking hangover. I know that I’m no more responsible for what went down than either of them are, but I still feel fucking responsible. What kind of father am I? I’ve been claiming my son’s girlfriend as mine for long enough, and that night was the last nail in my coffin.
I’ve been putting off what I need to say to Zara. I need to walk away and get out of Nash’s way, but every time I try, she looks at me with those green eyes, and it feels impossible to throw away something like that.
All day at the expo, he acted like he wasn’t interested. He used to love this thing when he was a kid. He kept his hands in his pockets and acted bored the entire time. Meanwhile, I’m just itching to talk to Zara. I only got to speak with her briefly on the phone last night and she was busy trying to recover from her hangover with Hanna in the hot tub.
I’m glad she had a friend over. I’m glad she’s over this ridiculous notion that she’s not good enough to have friends like Hanna.
I didn’t expect to miss her this much. I was supposed to be focusing on our display at the conference, but I was too hung up on texting her and thinking about her. This was the shit I was trying to avoid.
Nash and I skip another night at the hotel and decide to fly home tonight. The pilots are rested, and there’s no extra work to be done. My team can handle it from here. I just want to go home to her. As soon as I get on the plane, I hit the button to call her.
It only takes two rings before she answers. She’s breathless, and when I look at my phone I realize it’s only seven in the morning there.
“Hello,” she pants.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“Umm...just a little workout with Hanna.”
“She’s still there?” I ask, trying to sound a little less begrudged than I am. I’m glad she has a friend, but I prefer to have her to myself when I get home. In fact, I’ve been wanting her to myself for a while now, but as I glance over at my son reclining on the seat next to me, absorbed in his phone with his earbuds in, I feel a wave of guilt for even thinking that.
If either of us should have her alone, it should be him. I need to get these fucking thoughts out of my head.
“Yeah, she’s still here. Hank is going to take her home after breakfast.”
“I’m glad you had a fun weekend,” I tell her, hearing her heavy breath on the line, missing the way it felt on my lips. “I miss you.”
Her breathing pauses, and I hear her moving and then there’s a door closing, the music on the other side of it like she wanted a little privacy. “I miss you too.”
Neither of us say anything for a moment until she adds, “I really miss you, Alistair.”
“I’m glad it’s my night,” I say, and I don’t care that we’re scheduled to get home in the early afternoon. I’ll be pulling her to bed at three p.m.
“Me too,” she whispers, and my skin grows hot. She’s never said that before, that she’s glad it’s my night. She’s supposed to be equal, happy with whoever she is with that night, but just the idea that she’s glad it’s me goes straight to my head.
“I should get back to Hanna,” she whispers, and I can practically hear the smile on her face. “I can’t wait until you’re home.”
“Me too, baby.”
“Alistair,” she whispers, making the hairs on my arm stand straight up. “I love you.”
When the line goes dead, I feel eyes on me as I turn to see Nash staring skeptically. I don’t know how much of that he heard, but I ignore him as I pop in my own earbuds and zone out to something relaxing as I try to drift off to sleep.
I wake a couple hours later and find Nash sitting up, looking tense. This trip was the first time I’ve really been alone with my son since he started speaking to me again—and definitely since Christmas evening. We are by no means through the worst of it, but we’re getting there. That present sure was proof of that. But I still sense Nash holds a grudge against me for something. It’s my fault we don’t talk enough about feelings or maybe he would have come out with it two years ago. Instead, he’s stewed in his hatred of me.
Much like I stewed in anger towards mine. My father and I stopped talking for the second time almost eight years ago, over Preston. My twenty-year-old son was out of control, and my father never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was not the father he was. I needed to be firmer, spoil him less, put my foot down and threaten to cut him off if he couldn’t clean up. It was our image he was worried about, and for a while, I was too. But more than anything, I was scared of losing my son. Scared that if I pushed him too hard, I’d turn into my dad and he’d hate me the way I hated mine. Instead, I gave him credit cards, and cars, and a life of indulgence without limits. It didn’t work. He still resented me. We were too different, and I worked too much. And as long as Nash was around to follow in my footsteps, Preston was there to hate me for it.
I always settled for the fact they had each other. At least they had that much.
