Double Dare

by Jeanne St. James

  “So…”

  So, you are an asshole.

  “…you look great.” He leaned over toward her a fraction. “Positively glowing.”

  Maybe because she had just gotten laid just a few hours ago by two men? Maybe that was it. It was a postcoital glow. She was so tempted to let that fact fly. But she gritted her teeth, pinned on a fake smile, and glanced over at her father.

  She didn't want him to drop dead on her account. Now Peter, on the other hand…

  Peter squirmed in his seat a bit when Quinn's only answer was the evil eye. He quickly cleared his throat and turned his charm on her mother.

  “So, I'm looking forward to the House to Home Charity Monte Carlo Night next weekend.”

  House to Home Charity? Monte Carlo Night? Was that another reason her parents wanted to have dinner with her? Her mother knew it would be harder for Quinn to turn her down in person than if she had just called. Excuses were so much easier to give over the phone.

  Trapped again.

  Quinn looked over at her mother expectantly. At least she had the grace to look a little uncomfortable. Her mother's fingers fussed with the string of pearls around her neck.

  “Yes, our Society Ladies' Charity Club has worked very hard on this. We want it to be a great success.”

  Okay, this was such a setup. She couldn't believe she had stepped right into it.

  “Mother, why haven't I heard anything about this before now?”

  “Oh. I thought I told you.”

  Uh-huh.

  “No. You didn't.”

  “Well, I talked to Frank, and the company is making a large donation,” her mother said.

  Frank. Quinn mentally groaned. Now other was dragging her boss into this. Frank was one of the senior partners in the insurance company she worked for.

  “He can't make it, so he suggested you present the check next weekend.”

  Oh no. Now she couldn't refuse to come. Couldn't make excuses. She would look like a big schmuck if she refused to go. Not to mention that refusing to represent the company at her mother's charity event might be detrimental to her career.

  Especially a worthwhile charity, one that rebuilt homes for victims of natural disasters.

  Even so, Quinn didn't like being backed into a corner.

  “And you're going to bring in a great price at the date auction.” Peter gave her a knowing look.

  The corner was getting much, much smaller.

  “That was my idea, dear.” Her father finally spoke. Since when had her father had his own ideas? Her mother might as well surgically implant her thoughts right into his brain.

  Her gaze flashed to her father before returning to study Peter's sickening grin. Quinn pressed a finger to her ear and wiggled it. Maybe she had imagined what he had just said. “I'm sorry? I thought you said date auction.”

  Her mother leaned over the table and patted her hand automatically. There wasn't a drop of sympathy coming from her; she just didn't want Quinn to make a scene. As if Quinn would do that.

  Ha.

  “You heard Peter right. We have had quite a selection of volunteers. A few local newscasters and local athletes, like Ben Johnson. Do you know who Ben Johnson is?”

  Of course she did. He was a popular player for the local NHL farm team. She, apparently, just didn't know anything about the NFL. The NHL she had covered. Right.

  “But, Mother, I didn't agree to this.”

  Her mother swooshed a well-manicured, heavily bejeweled hand in the air. “Quinn, you can't turn us down. The evening's program has been already printed up. And anyway, it would be selfish if you turned it down. We need all the money we can get.”

  Quinn took a deep breath and counted to ten. When she finished, she glanced at Peter's smug expression and decided to count to twenty.

  They were all in cahoots. All of them.

  “Are you in this auction too?” she asked Peter, though she already knew the answer.

  “No, I'll be one of the bidders. Should be an exciting night.”

  It certainly would be. There was no way she was going to have Peter win a date with her. He'd had his chance with her. And blew it. It was too late for him.

  She would have to figure something out. Some way to escape the evening with her sanity. But without Peter.

  “If you need me to go shopping with you, honey, I can. It's going to be black-tie.”

  “No, Mother, I'll do my own shopping. What else is going on at this Monte Carlo Night, besides you pimping me out?”

  “Oh, dear, don't be so crass,” her father said before finishing off the last of his gin and tonic. He caught Ro-bear's attention and pointed to his glass. Ro-bear scurried away to retrieve a fresh drink like the good little waiter he was.

  Her father had the right idea. Alcohol. Quinn drained the last of her glass and then snagged Peter's. He hadn't touched his with his cheating lips. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

  “There's the dinner and cocktail hour, the gaming tables, like blackjack and poker. After that, we'll have the live bachelor and bachelorette auction. We might have a couple of celebrities stopping by to sign autographs and take pictures.”

  “And the cost?”

  “Oh, honey, we covered your plate.”

  Her plate.

  “It's going to be a cash bar, with all the proceeds going to the fund, and of course, all of the auction monies will be too.”

  “Cost per plate?”

  Her mother hesitated for a split second. “Oh, it's reasonable.”

  “Mother—”

  Her father, looking around desperately for Ro-bear, interrupted. “It's a thousand dollars a plate, sweetie. Very reasonable.”

  Quinn put her, or actually Peter's, wineglass down before she spit all over her father. “You paid for a plate for me?”

  “I told you it's covered.”

  “But, Dad—”

  He pinned her with a very fatherlike stare. “Enough. It's covered.”

  She suddenly felt thirteen again.

  Things hadn't changed. Her father was her mother's puppet. Even if he disagreed with something she said or did or wanted, he felt it was easier to appease her. Easier for him. Not for Quinn. Never for Quinn. He had never stood up for her.

  Peter curled a hand around Quinn's shoulder. “Your parents are generous, and they want you to be there.”

  Quinn glared at his hand and bit back a growl. She must have sneered, though, because Peter quickly removed his endangered digits as if he had touched a flame.

  Not only were her parents throwing her in Peter's path tonight, but they were forcing her to attend a function she did not want to attend just so that they could throw her in his path again—even when they knew what he had done to her. They should have just thrown her under a bus. It would have been quicker and more effective.

  She looked down at her cold squab, the juice gelling on the plate. She pushed it away in disgust.

  What she had eaten already felt like a lead balloon in her stomach. She couldn't believe just a few hours ago she had been happy and actually feeling carefree. In the arms of her two lovers. And now?

  Quinn pushed her chair back and popped to her feet.

  Her father and Peter jumped up, like the true gentlemen they were supposed to be.

  “I've got to go.”

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  Her mother had the nerve to ask her that? When she had just effectively trapped Quinn into something she didn't want to do?

  “Just peachy.”

  Quinn strode quickly away from the table, knocking into Ro-bear on her way out. He fought to not spill her father's fresh Tanqueray and tonic. As Quinn gave him an evil grin, she thought she couldn't escape this nightmare soon enough.

  * * *

  “They're pimping me out.” A tear plopped heavily into her glass of wine.

  Logan shhed her over the phone, trying his best to soothe her. It wasn't working.

  “What are you talking about?” />
  “They are whoring me out.”

  What part of pimping and whoring wasn't clear?

  Logan's chuckle grated on her nerves. “C'mon, Quinn. Really. What's going on?”

  He wasn't taking her seriously. If he needed her to spell it out…“They are selling me to the highest bidder.”

  “What do you mean? Like an arranged marriage?”

  “No.” Her lips quivered, and she sniffled loudly. She never cried. So why now? “They are auctioning me off, and Peter is going to win me.”

  “Who the hell is Peter?”

  Ah. Now he was taking her a little more seriously. Mention one man to make another more interested. “My ex.”

  There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the phone.

  “Okay. Still a little confused. Have you been drinking?”

  “Do you blame me? They are purposely doing shit to get Peter and me back together.”

  “And you don't want that.”

  “Of course not! I'm—”Happy being with you two. “I don't want him.”

  She didn't even want to think about him, let alone go out on a pimped-out, bought-with-cold-cash date with him. Charity or not.

  “What do you want?”

  “Not to be auctioned off. Not to go to this charity event. I hate black-tie affairs.”

  She heard him sigh. “I'm not real fond of them myself.”

  She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and get to the reason why she had called him in the first place. “I need Ty's and your help.”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “I need a date for this thing.”

  “Thing. A date.” Another pause, as if he was turning the idea over in his head. “Okay, but who do you want to go?”

  Who?

  “Quinn, which one of us do you want to go?”

  Which one? As if she'd be able to choose. She didn't even think of them individually. They were a bonded pair. A couple. “Both. I want you both to come with me. I want you both to be my dates.”

  Another pause. A long one this time. “I don't know, Quinn. That might not be such a good idea.”

  “I don't care.”

  “You might think differently in the morning, after whatever you're drinking is out of your system.”

  “Wine.”

  “What?”

  Quinn picked up the bottle and turned it to read the label. “Wine. A really nice, tasty merlot.”

  She splashed a little more in her glass and pushed the bottle aside. She got up from the kitchen stool and paced around the room, the cordless phone to her ear.

  Would he—they—turn her down? Would he refuse to go or let Ty go because of a possible controversy? Because it might cause problems with her parents? No, not might, she had a good idea it definitely would. But she didn't want them to feel as if they were being used. Pawns in her revenge against her parents. Against Peter.

  But if anyone was going to be at her side that night, she wanted Logan and Ty. Not one or the other. Both.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “I've never been so sure in my life.”

  “Things might never be the same again.”

  “I'm hoping so.”

  “I want you to think hard about this.”

  “I don't have time to think about this. The Monte Carlo Night is Saturday.”

  “Wait. This Saturday?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Shit. I'd have to get a tux.”

  “I don't care what you wear. Come naked, for all I care.” Naked, in a tux—he would look hot either way. The coral snake tattoo wrapping around his hip was gorgeous. Everyone should see that. All right, maybe her mother wouldn't be so impressed.

  Logan laughed. “Yeah, you think you have problems now? Think about the problems you'd have if Ty and I showed up naked.”

  Quinn wiped the moisture from her cheek and smiled. “Nobody would be able to stop looking at Ty's package.”

  “Hey! I'm no slouch.”

  “No, you're not. I wish you were here right now, showing me what you've got.”

  “I wish I were too.”

  “I miss you guys,” she said.

  “We miss you too, baby, but you only left here a few hours ago.”

  “It seems like forever.”

  “Maybe it's because it's close to midnight.”

  “Crap. Is it?” The clock hanging above the sink said he was right. She groaned. “I have to go to the office in the morning.”

  “Then you'd better go to bed.”

  Yes, bed would be good. But not alone. Not by choice. “With you.”

  “Okay.” His voice changed, getting a little gruffer, a little more demanding. “Go to your room.”

  “Why?”

  “Don't question me. Just do it. Go to your room.”

  She had already kicked off her shoes earlier when she had gone through the front door, so she now padded up the carpeted steps to the second floor in just her stocking feet.

  When she got to the top of the stairway, she balanced her half-full wineglass in one hand and held the cordless phone to her ear in the other.

  “You still there?” she asked him breathlessly.

  “Are you in your bedroom?”

  A few more steps and she was. She moved through the room and set her glass down on the nightstand.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  A streak of hot lightning shot through her, and her toes curled against the Berber carpeting.

  “I have on a V-neck dress and stockings.”

  “Okay, we'll start with those.”

  Quinn's heart beat rapidly. She wished the boys were there, where she could touch them. Feel them.

  “Does your dress have a zipper?” Logan's voice made her nipples pebble hard, and they began to ache. She needed his touch. Badly.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Unzip it. Slowly.”

  She grabbed the zipper at the back of her neck.

  “Make sure you do it slowly, and I want to hear the zipper opening.”

  Quinn transferred the phone into her other hand, while she did as she was told. She reached behind her to work the zipper down, making sure the receiver was close enough to pick up the grating of the metallic teeth as they parted. The zipper stopped at the small of her back.

  She put the phone back up to her ear.

  “What color is your dress?”

  “Red.”

  “Push that red dress down over your shoulders. Now over your arms. Let it drop to the floor.”

  She did just that, feeling the soft fabric caressing her skin as it slipped off her shoulders. The dress gathered for a moment at her elbows before landing at her feet with a soft swish.

  “Now. Describe what you are wearing.”

  “I—” Her voice caught. She had to look down at herself, because her brain was spinning, and at the moment, she could have been naked and not remembered. “A black bra, lacy on the top, black satin bikini panties, and nude stockings that come up almost to the tops of my thighs.”

  “Get on the bed.”

  “Logan—”

  “Do it.”

  Those two words, even through the phone, were powerful. That simple command made her body quiver. Made her ache. Made her wet with wanting.

  She loved it when he took command.

  “Are you on the bed yet?”

  She scrambled onto the bed, sitting back against the decorative pillows she had piled near the carved oak headboard.

  His voice now sounded different.

  “Did you put me on speakerphone?”

  “Yes,” Logan said. “Ty is here. I want you to put us on speakerphone too.”

  She heard Ty's voice, though at a distance. “Did you do what he told you yet? Are you on the bed?”

  “I'm on the bed.” She hit the Speaker button on the receiver and laid it next to her hip.

  Logan's commanding voice came clearly through the cordless phone. “Unhook y
our bra. I want to feel your breasts.”

  Quinn reached behind her and unfastened the little eye hooks. The bra fell forward, and she pulled her arms out of the straps and threw the bra to the end of the bed. Her nipples were at hard points, begging for a greedy mouth. Or two.

  “Quinn, I want to feel your breasts,” Logan repeated.

  She had never had phone sex before and wasn't sure what he wanted her to do. She ran her hands down around the heavy curves of her breasts and lifted them up, squeezing them together.

  “Quinn?”

  “Yesss?” The word hissed out of her.

  “Are your nipples hard?”

  “Very.”

  “Do they need pinched?”

  “Yes.” Oh yes. By very unforgiving male fingers.

  “Do it.”

  She did as she was told. Gladly.

  Her eyes drifted shut as she pushed her breasts together again and brushed the pads of her thumbs over the tips of her nipples. She imagined them to be Logan's thumbs. Ty's thumbs.

  She arched her back and moaned. She plucked at them with her forefingers and thumbs and then clamped down, twisting them until she cried out.

  Quinn kept her eyes closed as she imagined the boys with her. Doing to her what she was doing to herself. “They're very hard. I love it when you twist them like that. I love it when you pluck at them and suck them deep into your mouth. Twist them and nip them until the pain is so incredibly pleasurable. I need you to squeeze them with your big, rough hands until I want you to fuck me.”

  She wasn't paying attention to what she was saying; she was babbling. Her mouth was open, and words were coming out.

  “Ah. Jesus,” came from the speaker on her phone.

  She released one breast to run her right palm down her stomach and into her panties.

  “I'm so wet for you now. I'm dripping. I need you guys to be deep inside me, plunging in and out until I cry out. Until you cry out.”

  She pressed a finger between her slick folds and teased her swollen clit. “My clit is so hard; it feels so good when you circle it with your fingers and your tongue.”