Yes, damn it. Slick is mine.
But was he? What the hell were they doing, anyway? Randy had gone and told him he loved him because he was an idiot, but Ethan hadn’t said it back. Which Randy didn’t expect, since he wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl or the heroine of a teen vampire novel. Still. What were they? What was this?
Ethan’s fingers trailed down Sam’s naked, quivering chest, and the low-grade hum in Randy’s blood shut off as something more aggressive—and, goddamn it, vulnerable—took its place. Seriously—what the fuck was this?
Lifting his head, Ethan caught and held Randy’s gaze.
He didn’t take his eyes off Randy as his lips parted and his tongue stole out to tease the rim of Sam’s ear. Sam shuddered, and the heat came back in a rush. But Randy’s confusion remained, and he stayed rigid, watching, irritated he was being so stupid about this. Goddamn, it was an orgy with Slick and Sam in it, and he was objecting?
Ethan seemed to understand him better than he did himself. Still making an after-dinner mint of Sam’s ear and grazing his fingers across the young man’s chest, Ethan nodded at Randy.
“Take your shirt off too, Ace.” His fingers circled Sam’s nipple but didn’t touch it. He glanced at Mitch. “Maybe we should take this somewhere with more room? A bedroom?”
“Living room.” Mitch pushed off the counter. “I’ll move the coffee table and get a blanket.”
They usually did this in the living room. That was Mitch’s way of being able to take Sam off if it got too heated or if he got the clue Sam was done having group sex. Because this was the way it ran. Sam drove. Sam was the submissive, and so it was always centered on Sam.
Except while Sam was exceptionally submissive tonight, the scene wasn’t just centered on Sam somehow. Ethan led, deferring to Mitch. Probably because Sam was his husband. Where did Randy land in all this? It kept coming back to that, and it made him feel odd. Why did he care? Why wasn’t he all over this?
Because I don’t want to be on the outside this time. Which was trouble. Real fucking trouble. This was worse than just loving Ethan. This was—he didn’t know, but he could feel the trap closing around him. This was truly shitty odds. There was no best of it here.
Randy’s poker face must have taken the night off because Ethan whispered something into Sam’s ear, and Sam nodded and went after Mitch. Ethan came around the table to Randy. He looked down at him, still in that sexy, quiet, commander mode, but then he bent down, and it was Randy’s ear he was kissing, soft, sweet, and tender. “Did I misread you? Do you not want to do this?”
Randy shut his eyes. He might have leaned into Ethan’s lips, nudging them back on his ear. He hoped he didn’t, though. “I don’t know.”
Another kiss, just as sweet. “Do you want this to stop?”
No. “I don’t know.” He drew a breath then forced the answer out. “No.”
Ethan’s hand had fallen onto Randy’s shoulder, and now it slid down his arm. “Is it me? Do you want me to step out and let—”
“No.” Jesus fuck, what the fucking hell was wrong with him? When the hell did he turn into the vulnerable one? What the shit was this?
This time Ethan’s kiss at his ear was slower and had a bit of tongue to it. “Tell me what you want, Ace. Let me give it to you.”
How many times had they said this to Sam? How many times had Randy bent over Sam, acutely aware of Mitch watching, and asked what he wanted? That was when he realized for Slick, it wasn’t for Sam.
For Ethan, it was about Randy.
He’s mine after all, then. Randy sat there a minute, reeling in the discovery. Then Ethan kissed his ear again.
“You can’t kiss Sam,” Randy said at last. “That’s not my rule. I kind of want to kiss him myself, probably because it’s forbidden. That’s Mitch’s line in the sand. He’s happy to watch anybody do anything to Sam, or hear it happened when he wasn’t there, but kissing is a no-no. Also, Sam’s safe word is Violet.”
“That’s a lot about Sam.” Ethan kneaded Randy’s biceps. “I was hoping to hear about you.”
Me too. Randy had no idea. Okay, he knew what he wanted, but—with Mitch and Sam?
It would be okay with Slick. It was…well, he hadn’t ever quite let go with anybody like that. Not outside of Crabtree.
Where else are you going to let go, if not here? With Ethan? With all of them?
Ethan brushed a kiss on his hairline. “I think I know what you want, but I’d rather you told me. It’s not something I want to be wrong about.”
Randy nodded. That was the first rule of these games. You had to be honest about what it was you wanted. “You ever heard the term switch?”
“I’m not sure, so probably not.”
“How about dominant and submissive?”
Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Are we talking about BDSM?”
Randy waved an impatient hand. “We’re talking about roles. Dominant versus submissive. You don’t have to be talking about spanking or whips or anything to get into roles—though, actually, we’ve been into it in the past. But later for that. Do you know dominant and submissive? The idea of it?”
“One partner is in charge?”
Randy winced. Oh fuck, this was never going to work. “Never mind. Let’s just go play.”
Ethan held him in place. “I said something wrong. Correct me.”
“It’s too complicated.” Randy thought for a minute, trying to find an angle. “Okay. You get dominant and submissive—the definition of the words? It’s like that.”
“I know you enjoy it when I take control of sex. But you’re telling me the dominant is not in charge?”
Randy looked up at him, irritated. “I don’t know, Slick. You feel very in charge right now?”
He should have known. Really, when had Ethan ever missed more than one beat in a row?
Ethan stroked Randy’s cheek. “Okay, so I understand that part. The submissive is in charge. So tell me about switch.”
“Sam is only submissive. It’s what he likes. He’s the fucking best I’ve ever seen. Mitch is dominant only. He always takes that role, and even when it’s the three of us, he’s the top Dom. A switch is someone who is both, or can be both.”
“Hmm. That might be me. And you, when it’s us.” He tilted his head to the side. “What about with them, Ace?”
“That’s the thing. With Mitch and Sam, I always end up dominant. But only with Sam, and there’s a sort of hierarchy where I submit to Mitch, just not in sex. Mitch and I were together a long time ago, and I tried to sub for him, but I’d get freaked out. Which is how we got into threesomes. I get freaked out with most people, to be honest.”
He realized where this was heading and tried to stop, but Ethan drove the train on anyway. “But you can go there with Crabtree.”
“I’ve been there with you, if you care to remember.” He bit his lip and forced the rest out. “I really want to go there with you again. Now. With them.”
“So this is your long way of saying you want to switch and take the submissive role. Which means you want me to be dominant. And you want to do this with Mitch and Sam.”
So nice and simple when Ethan said it, yet still terrifying. “Yes.”
Ethan’s fingers tightened on Randy’s chin and tipped it back so he either had to look at Slick or shut his eyes. Randy didn’t shut his eyes. “What’s your safe word?”
“Cactus, but—”
“Take off your shirt, Randy, and go into the living room.”
This was the part Randy could not have explained if his life depended on it. Not out loud. Because what tripped him up was this—the Look. Mitch always fucked it up. Mitch could never quite get rid of his dad telling him he was a fat little faggot, could never sweep all his guilt and shame aside and take control. With Sam he could, or Sam just wasn’t aware of all the complexities. Or didn’t care. It was possible Sam was too in love with sliding under, with surrendering, being done to. So did Randy, actually, but he could so rarely get t
here because every time he got hung up on this part.
The Look.
Crabtree had it. Shit, Crabtree had the Look from across a room. Complete self-possession, complete control. He looked at you, told you he wanted you, and there was this huge space, his great big arms extended, and you could go in there and let it all out. That was why it was hot. That was why Randy was always happy to be the gangster’s piece on the side. It was the only real place he could surrender.
He wanted it with Slick. They’d stumbled into it a few times, but it might have been an accident. Could they do it now? Here? With Mitch and Sam? Was this absolutely stupid, to start with a group? Randy didn’t know.
Randy’s gaze met Ethan’s, and he went still.
Ethan had it. He absolutely, totally had it.
He had the control. The conviction. Randy tried to push at it, because how, how could he have it when Ethan had been the guy with a gun under his front seat just a few days ago, who kept melting down? But actually, yeah. The guy who could so single-mindedly lose all his money and then gird his loins to go out and blow his brains out was in control. He was in control now too. He barely knew what the roles were, but he was an ace, the ace of aces. He had Randy’s chin in his hand, figuring it out, waiting for Randy to catch up.
Holy shit.
Ethan’s eyes were dark and dangerous. “Take off your shirt, Randy, and go to the living room. Now.”
Like a bolt of lightning finding its way in through a crack in the walls, the word ran through Randy, hitting the magic spot, and he went soft, almost as soft as Sam. He unhooked, and panic tried to take him over, but then Ethan led him to his feet. Randy panicked as Ethan drew the shirt over his face, but it was only there a moment and then it was gone, Ethan looking at him. Randy stared back, arms closed around him, not Ethan’s arms but the arms of his control. They expanded, forming space—bigger, closer, warmer, and stronger than anything else had ever been with anyone.
Ethan brushed a kiss over Randy’s mouth and drew down the hands still hovering over Randy’s head. “Come.”
Because he’d been commanded, Randy went.
It got harder when they joined the others.
Sam sat on the blanket, fly unzipped, and because Randy and Ethan had taken so long, Mitch kept his husband warmed up, toying with Sam’s cock a little. Mitch looked up when Randy and Ethan came over, and Randy lost some of his sensual spell when he saw Mitch take in his shirtless state. He realized he might end up being submissive to Mitch too, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to try it again after so long.
Ethan, who had no idea any of this was of concern, led Randy forward. When Mitch withdrew and sat on the couch to watch, Ethan accepted it, stepping into role of ringmaster as if he’d been born to it. He arranged Randy across from Sam on the floor. Sam seemed surprised but didn’t say anything, especially when Ethan put a hand on top of his head. With that touch, Sam shut his eyes and went pliant.
Salomé bounded out from between the couch and the chair onto Sam’s legs, looking up at Randy, ready to play.
Mood. Killer.
Ethan laughed and scooped up the kitten. “Daisy,” he called, and Randy watched man and two cats disappear down the hall. Mitch followed.
Sam and Randy were alone.
Sam smiled sleepily. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Slick’s full of surprises.”
“You like him.”
Randy nodded.
“Me too.”
They sat there, waiting. Because that was the game, and Sam, no dummy, had already figured it out. Other nights it would have been Randy talking dirty to him. But not tonight. Not unless Ethan directed them to.
Sam’s foot turned sideways and his sock rubbed against Randy’s hip. “I’ve missed you, Randy.”
Randy reached over and massaged Sam’s foot. “Missed you too, Peaches.”
This was the thing about being a switch, at least for Randy—let go of the control he’d handed over for more than a minute, and he picked it up again. He kept up his massage, absently at first, but soon his finger teased the edge of his sock. Peeling it off, he took Sam’s bare foot in hand. Sam’s eyes went dark and soft as he fell into subspace. Randy made love to Sam’s foot with his hands, drawing him into pleasure, making him gasp, making his pink, semihard cock lengthen and darken until it was red and swollen and bobbing as blood filled it. His own dick responded in kind. He just sat there, loving the feel of the control he had over Sam, loving the way Sam gave it so easily. Loving Sam.
Cool, firm hands came down on Randy’s shoulders, and he stopped. He recognized the invitation to move into the arms open for him, literal and metaphorical. When he paused, unsure, Ethan embraced him from behind and whispered in his ear. “Lean forward and take him in your mouth.”
The space didn’t just open for him, it swallowed him up. It took the space he’d made for Sam too. It took it all. And Randy went. Fuck yes, he went.
Like a dream, he slid up Sam’s legs, guided first by Ethan’s hands and then moving on his own. His gaze met Sam’s, but as he lifted onto his knees and shifted over Sam’s erection, he bent his head to swirl his tongue around the tip. Sam gasped. Smiling, Randy took him in deeper, bracing his hands on the insides of Sam’s thighs, holding him open. Yes. He sucked Sam deep inside his mouth, into his throat, and he hummed, making Sam gasp and moan, letting pleasuring Sam consume him.
Randy shivered when Ethan’s hands reached around him and undid his fly, he whose rhythm stuttered when those same hands pulled his waistband down until it nudged his knees. When the short slap came against his ass, he lifted first one knee and then the other until Ethan had gotten his jeans all the way to his ankles, where they remained. He nudged apart Randy’s knees so far Randy almost lost his balance—until those hands left him and drew Sam’s bare foot and his stocking foot against each side. Randy paused, uncertain.
A hand came down—Ethan’s, he knew by the touch, by the way he pressed—and pushed Randy back to his task. Randy shut his eyes and let himself be led.
He imagined what a fucking glorious sight they must be, Sam half-dressed, Randy’s mouth on him, Randy spread open and moaning, bucking helplessly into Ethan’s elegant, gorgeous mouth as he made love to Randy’s ass. He had the picture of it in his head, and that more than anything sent him headlong into lust. He sucked greedily at Sam, who gasped in great, high-pitched sighs and breathy moans, pushing his hips off the floor, driving himself deeper into Randy’s throat. Ethan let go of his ass with one hand and took hold of his balls, gently milking them as he first breathed hard against Randy’s hole, then began to worm his tongue inside, forcing it open. Randy purred his pleasure as he opened himself even farther for Ethan, letting him in, urging him deeper, begging him with his body to claim him more, do more, anything, just more.
Abruptly, Ethan drew him off Sam, making him kneel. Mitch was there, hauling Sam up in the way he had that was almost rough. Then Sam was naked and kneeling and coming at Randy’s cock with his mouth as Mitch lubed his fingers. Mitch slipped a finger inside of his husband as Sam closed his lips around Randy, his moan reverberating against Randy’s cock.
“Holy shit,” Randy whispered as Ethan kissed him.
It was in every way an orgy—excess in its purest form. Sex. Touch. Thrusts. Mouths. Hands, fucking hell, it felt like there were thirty of them. Sam’s hands. Ethan’s hands. Randy’s hands. Mitch, behind him. Mitch touching his stomach, Mitch bending down to breathe hot and lusty in Randy’s ear. How the hell Mitch and Ethan had switched places Randy had no idea, but they had, and it was Mitch’s fingers coming at him, slick and insistent, his other hand sliding down to take Randy’s cock in hand.
Randy flipped out. “Wait, you just had—”
“I wiped my hands off, and I’m wearin’ a glove. A new one. We both are. Hush now. Calm down.” So gentle. Jesus, it was as if they’d gone back twelve years, to that first night. Randy shivered. Mitch stroked his cock again. “Don’t worry, Skeet. Got your back, s
ame as always.”
Randy glanced across the blanket to Sam, who returned the gaze, molten with lust as one of Ethan’s hands pinched his nipple and the other disappeared into the dark space between their bodies. Randy watched Sam jerk, then ease into the thrust of Ethan’s hand.
Still, Randy couldn’t let go, not yet. “We don’t play like this, Old Man. Not anymore.”
“Wasn’t because I didn’t want to.” Mitch placed an open-mouthed kiss on Randy’s neck, making his vision blur. “I remember your word. You gonna use it?”
It was his out. One word would end this. One word and it was over. One word and this admittedly enticing but highly scary door would stay closed.
Randy couldn’t do it.
“No.” He melted into Mitch, terrified but trusting, and whether it was the magic of Ethan, or their own magic, or just dumb luck, this time it worked.
“Then I’m gonna fuck you, Skeet. I’m gonna finger-fuck you in front of my husband and your boyfriend. Right here. And you’re gonna open up and take it. You got that?”
Randy’s insides melted. Mitch knew he loved dirty talk. Really fucking dirty. “Yeah.”
“Tell me how many fingers you want.”
Randy looked at Ethan, right in the eye and let him see it, let him see he enjoyed this. Probably let him see the terror too. Ethan smiled, pinched Sam’s nipple again and let his eyes wander down to Randy’s cock.
“Three.”
Mitch growled his approval against Randy’s neck and pushed one finger inside.
But that was a tease. Lifting Randy’s leg so he was only kneeling one-sided, Mitch spread him farther, putting him on the edge of his sense of balance. Mitch’s hand left and came back lubricated. Randy hitched a breath as fingers pushed up inside him, thick, insistent. Randy looked Ethan in the eye and took Mitch in because Ethan liked watching. Because it felt good. Because it felt dangerous and safe at once.
Double Blind Page 24
