by Amy Brent
“You’ll kick the shit out of him and plead temporary insanity?”
“Who better to plead temporary insanity than a guy that teaches the stuff every day?” I asked.
“True that,” she said, the smile still on display.
I extended my right hand across the table. “Are we good then?”
She stared at my hand for a moment, then blew out a long breath and nodded her head. “Yeah, we good,” she said, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “Just remember, my boyfriend is the captain of the football team, so if you ever hurt my girl Jude…”
“I’ve seen your boyfriend, and point taken,” I said with a smile. “And you have nothing to worry about.” I glanced at my watch. “Okay, people will start drifting in soon. Sign them in, give them a badge, and tell them there’s coffee and water inside the meeting room.”
“Will do.” Izzy brushed the bits of torn tissue from the table and picked up the pen and sign-in sheet. “And Professor Moss?”
“Holden. Please.”
“Holden, I’m glad I got the short straw and had to be here early.”
I gave her a thumbs-up as I backed away.
“Me, too, Izzy. Me, too.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Wynn
I reluctantly left Jude blow-drying her hair in Holden’s master bathroom after we took a nice, long, hot shower to wash off the scent of our morning delight.
Naturally, we soaped each other up to make sure we were good and clean. My cock swelled in her soapy hands and her pussy gushed hot juices over my soapy fingers, but rather than have an Act II in the shower, we decided to put our sex drives in park until the three of us—Jude, Holden, and I— could meet back at the house later to talk about partying together.
I dried off with a towel while Jude rinsed her hair, then went into the guest room and dressed in a white button-down shirt and jeans, boots, and topped it off with a black sport coat. Professional casual, it was called. I was checking my reflection in the mirror over the dresser when Jude walked in wearing nothing but a towel around her head. Drops of water dotted her chest and breasts. I resisted the urge to lick them off.
“Um, I was just wondering…” she said tentatively, glancing into my eyes in the mirror. “What do we tell Holden if he asks if anything happens?”
“What do you think we should tell him?’ I asked as I adjusted my cuffs and brushed my hair back with my hands. “Keeping in mind that Holden and I have no secrets.”
“We should tell him the truth,” she said without hesitation. “Holden and I have no secrets, too.”
“The truth is always the best tale to tell,” I said with a smile. “When you always tell the truth, you never have to remember what you said.”
“You’re so deep, Dr. Driver,” she said with a grin. “Maybe you should write a book.”
“I am as deep as a dry well,” I said. “And you’re the one who should write a book. Ooooh, that body… what a tale it could tell.”
“Oh, stop,” she said, moving beside me and bumping my hip with hers to get in front of the mirror. I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting down to her beautiful tits, so round and pink and perfect, tipped with plump nipples that beckoned to my tongue, saying “Lick me, Wynn… lick me now…”
She tugged the towel free and started drying the ends of her long hair with it. Still watching me in the mirror, she asked, “Do you think he already knows?”
I was still smiling, my eyes wandering down to her smooth cunt. “Yes, I’m pretty sure he already knows,” I said.
“Because you guys do this sort of thing all the time,” she said with the towel cupped to her chin. “Or you used to, before you got rich and famous and moved away.”
“Because Holden knows you and he knows me,” I said, turning to face her. I opened my arms and she moved in close. “He knows we can do this without complicating what you and he have. We are all very sexual beings with the ability to separate sex from attachments. That’s why he left early this morning. He knew that nature would take its course. He wanted you and I to spend a little time together before the three of us explored anything further.”
“To make sure you and I were… compatible?” she asked, her head back, lips parted, eyes dreamy. I could not resist giving her a little kiss lightly on the lips.
“Something like that,” I said, rubbing the tip of my nose to hers.
“So, this whole thing was a setup?” she asked, her teeth nipping at my jawline. I felt my cock swelling in my jeans. Damn, all this woman had to do was look at me I got hard. She felt it, too. She wiggled her cunt against my leg and hummed in my ear.
“More of an opportunity than a setup,” I said, summoning the will to gently push her away. I nodded at the clock on the dresser. “As much as I’d love to stay here and play with you, I’m expected at the conference in thirty minutes. Think you can control yourself until we get back here tonight?”
“We could have a quickie,” she said, reaching for my belt buckle, wiggling her fingers with a devilish look in her eye.
“To quote an old movie,” I said, holding up my hands to back away. “With you… never a quickie… always a longie.”
* * *
My brain was still arguing with my cock as I got into the rental car and pulled away from Holden’s house to head to Conner Hall on the other side of campus. I glanced at the gold Rolex on my left wrist. I had about twenty minutes to get to the conference for the orientation, which was basically a meet and greet for the speakers, panelists, and attendees, most of whom I knew from my time at Northwestern before.
I expected some of the attendees to be friendly, some not so much. I had never been popular with the local psyche community, and when you write a mass market book on psychology, many in the field look down on you and call you a hack. That was fine. This hack was helping far more people than they ever could. Plus, I was laughing all the way to the bank.
When I taught at Midwestern my focus had been on psychology and sexuality, two topics that made a lot of people nervous and uncomfortable, but attracted students in droves.
There was considerable resentment from some of the faculty because of the popularity of my courses, but when you’re putting butts in seats—and those butts pay hefty tuition—the faculty can kiss your ass.
My classes were the most popular of the psyche curriculum, which meant that Jefferson Milton, head of the psyche department, loved me. Almost as much as I loved fucking his wife, Jean.
I smiled as I turned onto the street that led through the center of campus. I wondered if Jean Milton was going to show up at the event wanting to fuck in the public restroom like we used to do. If she did, I would not hesitate to acquiesce to her request. I loved fucking Jean Milton. I could never turn her down, not even with fifty people standing outside the door listening to us hammer one out.
The rental car had Bluetooth, so I paired my phone with it and set the phone in the console. As if on cue, a minute later the phone buzzed and the caller ID came up on the dashboard display. It was my old pal Dr. Lane Curtis, the former UCLA football star turned psychologist, bestselling author, and speaker who was probably just under Dr. Phil on the psychiatric food chain.
Lane had the career I longed for: six bestselling books, million dollar speaking gigs, high-dollar seminars and boot camps, and women lined up around the block ready to satisfy his every whim. Lane’s books were about human sexuality, a topic he knew very well. Like me and Holden, me and Lane had double-teamed lots of women over the years. I had suggested that me, him, Holden, and some lucky girl (or girls) should party together some day, and he was open to the idea. I wondered what Lane was doing this weekend? He would freakin’ love Jude.
I tapped the phone button on the steering wheel. “Hey, Lane, what’s up?”
“Dude!” Lane said, still sounding like the hulking football player from a decade ago. “What’s up with you?”
“Oh, I’m just heading to a little conference for the weekend with my pal, Holden at Midwestern,” I said.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m at Northwoods,” he said, referring to the private camp in the woods of northern California he owned, where he held weekend “sexual freedom” boot camps for couples at twenty-grand a pop.
To call it a camp was a bit of an understatement. Northwoods covered fifty acres, most of it wooded, with a 30,000 square-foot luxury lodge with twenty-five rooms, a restaurant with a 5-star Michelin chef, an Olympic pool, a sauna, a full-time masseuse, and every creature comfort you could imagine. And for an extra ten-grand, you could get a private session with Lane to help work out all your sexual issues, so to speak. Northwoods was also the scene of some of the most unbelievable orgies since Roman times, many of which yours truly had attended at Lane’s special invitation. Like me and Holden, Lane loved women, and loved doing things to them that made them happy, including sharing them with his friends.
“You’re having a Northwoods event this weekend and you didn’t invite me?” I asked with a smile. “My feelings are hurt.”
“Hey, I’d never leave you out of a party, but don’t worry, the place is closed this week,” he said with a chuckle. “I came up here to work on the next book. I needed a little peace and quiet. It’s just me and the woods. And a few select female friends.”
“God, your life sucks,” I said. “That’s okay. I’m at Northwestern with Holden for a few days anyway. Hey, you should fly out and hang with us.”
“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea,” Lane said. “I’m about to wrap up here. I assume there are many beautiful women there in need of my particular brand of therapy.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Yes, I’m sure we could find someone for you to help.”
“Tell you what, let me make a few phone calls and get back to you. I was supposed to be in Los Angeles for meetings this weekend, but maybe I can reschedule. If so, I’ll fly out and hang with you guys for a couple of days. Are you sure Holden won’t mind?”
“The more the merrier,” I said. “In fact, there’s someone that I think Holden would like for you to meet. Her name is Jude.”
“As in ‘Hey Jude’?”
“As in,” I said. Conner Hall loomed ahead. The parking lot was buzzing with attendees. I pulled in and parked at a space at the end of the row. “Hey, I gotta get going. Think you’ll come? For real?”
“You never know,” Lane said. I could tell by his deep voice that he was smiling at the prospect of a new adventure. “Text me Holden’s address. If I decide to come it’ll be late tomorrow before I can get there.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “That would give me time to wrap up this conference and give us a couple of days to play before I have to get back to L.A.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Lane said. “I’ll email you my itinerary if I can make it out.”
“Super,” I said. “Hope to see you tomorrow.”
I was about to hang up when Lane cut back in. “Oh, hey, you distracted me with all this talk of pussy. I nearly forgot why I was calling you.”
“You mean there’s more to life than pussy?” I said. “Whatever could that be?”
“I want us to work on a book together,” Lane said. “I just got around to reading your book and man, it’s fucking awesome. You’re doing some great work there. I think there’s all kinds of synergy with what I’m doing. I talked to my publisher already and they want to hear a few ideas. You interested in doing a little brainstorming while I’m there?”
“You want to coauthor a book with me?” I asked, my eyes wide. Coauthoring a book with Lane could send my career into the stratosphere. Then an idea struck, and I started to smile.
“Actually, what would you think about doing a book with me and Holden? He’s written some amazing papers on the topic of female sexuality. I think the three of us could come up with something really special.”
“You, me, and Holden doing a three-way?” he said, giggling. “Dude, that sounds freakin’ amazing! We’ll talk about it when I see you guys.”
“Then you’re definitely coming?” I asked, holding my breath.
“Dude, have you ever known me not to cum?”
“You’re a sick fuck,” I said. “And no, I’ve never known you not to cum.”
“I’m no sicker than you,” he said. “See you tomorrow, buddy.”
I was suddenly filled with nervous energy as I hung up the phone. If we partnered with Lane on a book—and that book was a hit— that would give Holden the cash to get the fuck out of Midwestern and join me and Lane in Los Angeles.
Holy shit, I could just imagine the adventures the three of us would have there.
L.A. would never be the same.
CHAPTER TWELVE: Jude
When I strolled into Conner Hall just before noon I found Izzy sitting at the reception table with a big smile on her face. I was a little shocked at seeing her there. Izzy hated these kinds of things. Plus, she never got up before noon on the weekend because she and Earl were notorious late-night partiers. I expected her to start ranting and raving about having to be there, but she kept grinning at me as I picked up my name tag and stuck it to the front of my shirt.
“What’s so funny?” I asked with a playful frown. “Why are you here and why are you looking at me like that?”
“Forget why I’m here,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at me. “The big question, what’s got you all glowing this morning?”
“Am I glowing?’ I asked, touching my fingertips to my cheeks. “My goodness, maybe it’s the heat.”
“You’re glowing like mother fucking Cinderella after the ball,” she said, leaning forward to lower her voice. “And I have a pretty good idea why.”
She glanced around to make sure we were alone. The luncheon had started, so everyone else was in the dining hall at the other end of the building. She said, “You’re glowing like a woman who’s just been fucked. And I have a pretty good idea who did the fucking.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said with a shrug.
“Bullshit,” she said, nodding toward the chair next to her. “Sit your ass down and dish up the dirt before I call the sex police on your ass.”
I sat down and scooted in close and whispered, “I had sex with Wynn Driver this morning. On the kitchen table!”
She huffed and poked me with her elbow. “Girl, I think that would be considered a health code violation!”
I giggled at her. “If it had been in public, maybe so. But this was on Holden’s kitchen table.”
“Holy shit, you’re such a slut,” she said, grabbing my hands and shaking them. “Whooo wee! Fucking on the kitchen table. Was Holden there, too?”
I shook my head. “No, he had already left to come here,” I said. “It was just me and Wynn, but I have the sneaking suspicion that Holden set things up.”
“Men are such fucking pigs,” she said, clicking her tongue. “But I saw Wynn Driver when he came in a while ago. Holy moly, girlfriend, that man gives new meaning to the term ‘hot as fuck’!”
“You have no idea,” I said, leaning in, grinning. “He also gives new meaning to the term ‘foot-long’.”
Izzy covered her mouth with a hand as her eyes went wide. “Nuh uh.”
“Uh huh.” I held up my index fingers and spread them a foot apart. “No lie. Like this big.”
Izzy lowered her voice to a growl. “You’re telling me that man has a twelve-inch dick?”
I couldn’t stop grinning at the look on her face. “I am, and he does.”
She started fanning herself with her hands. “Wow, how did that feel? Like somebody driving a Cadillac up your cunt?”
“Well, I couldn’t take it all,” I said, scolding her with my eyes. “But the part that fit inside me felt fucking amazing.”
She chuckled and slapped my knee. “I’m sure it did. So, what’s next? You gonna fuck them both tonight?”
“Well, maybe,” I said, biting my lip because the prospect of having sex with Wynn and Holden at the same time was still a little daunting. “What
would you do, Iz? Seriously?”
“What would I do if I had two well-hung white men wanting to fuck me at the same time?” She leaned in with her eyes sparkling. “Girlfriend, I’d tell them to get fucking busy!”
“Or get busy fucking!”
“Either way,” Izzy said. “You win.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Holden
“I wonder what that conversation is about,” I asked, standing next to Wynn at the far end of the hall, peeking around the corner to watch Jude sitting with Izzy at the reception table. They were whispering and laughing like two schoolgirls sharing a dirty little secret.
“I’m pretty sure it’s about you and me,” Wynn said. “At least that’s what my ego wants to think.”
“You’re probably right,” I said, turning to look at him for a moment, then back toward the girls. “Izzy grilled me pretty hard this morning about my—our— intentions toward Jude. She is very protective of her friend, and rightfully so. It took some work to convince her that we are not bad guys.”
“Our intentions are always honorable,” Wynn said, giving me a nod. “We can be bad boys with bad girls, but we are never bad guys.”
