by Cathryn Fox
He tugged hard on her hand so she stumbled against him, dropped his hands to her ass to pull her mound hard against him, ground his throbbing cock against her.
She smiled as he kissed her, he felt her lips curve against his.
“You did good, both of you, by the way,” Dylan said as he tugged her t-shirt from her pants, slid his hands beneath it to her warm skin. “The brass will love it. The fans will try to decide who to root for, you Lily, or Evan.”
He smiled.
“I loved watching you two fuck afterwards,” he said, his cock going harder at the memory. It had been so incredible to watch and he ached to take her himself, to live the vision. “My turn.”
He pulled her tee shirt over her head, but this time he snared her hands in it, caught them behind her back with it. With one hand he flipped her bra open again, tugged the cups down.
With a grin, Dylan looked at Lily and said, “Evan knows I like it, too.”
“Sorry, Dylan,” Evan said, settling back to watch, almost wishing he hadn’t already come. If he’d known Dylan was waiting outside, he’d have held back, stretched it out. Still, there was plenty of time, if he had anything to say about it. “I shouldn’t have kept her all to myself.”
“You know,” Lily said, her tone and expression exasperated and amused. “I’m right here. I’m not a dessert you’re splitting between you.”
“Aren’t you?” Dylan asked softly, licking his lips at the sight of her delectable breasts.
Bending his head, he licked her nipples like an ice cream cone, one breast and then the other, with long, slow strokes of his tongue.
“God, you’re delicious,” he said, as he hooked his thumbs in her slacks, drew them down and let them slither to the floor.
He cupped her mound, pressed his fingers against the delicate folds between her thighs, felt her dampness and Evan’s cum there. Her pussy flexed against his fingers.
Watching her eyes, he slid two fingers inside her, his thumb against her clit, fucked her with his fingers as his thumb slipped over her swollen nub. Lowering his head, he nipped and bit at her nipples as her hips bucked against his hand to push his fingers deeper.
Her brown eyes blurred, her mouth went soft. She moaned as her pussy clenched.
“Tell me again how you’re not our dessert,” he murmured as she quivered.
“Dylan,” she whispered, trembling.
“Tell me,” he said, stroking his fingers inside her.
It was driving him crazy. Reaching down, he unzipped his pants to free his throbbing cock.
Her eyes dropped to look at it. He stroked it and she licked her lips.
Dylan went harder in an instant, glanced at Evan in excitement and anticipation.
“Suck me, Lily?”
Her gaze lifted, met his. She didn’t ask for her hands to be freed. With a small smile she sank to her knees.
“Oh, fuck me,” he said softly, as she looked up at him.
She did, leaning forward to draw the broad head of his cock into her warm, wet mouth.
The sight of her on her knees in front of him with her hands caught behind her like some slave girl, her hair tumbled over her shoulders to brush over her breasts, was incredibly erotic. Pleasure filled him, his cock swelled instantly, grew even harder if that was possible.
With a groan, he watched his thick shaft disappear between her pretty lips.
Control vanished, he caught handfuls of her hair and drove his cock deep into her mouth, so deep he could feel her throat close around the head. A burst of pleasure went through him and for a moment he held her there as she quivered, her throat working. The sensation was delicious, incredible. He drew back, then drove his cock deep again, as her tongue slid over him.
Dylan loved watching this, watching his cock slide between her lips and feeling her throat close around the head at the end of each stroke.
“Beautiful,” Evan said.
Dylan looked up to see Evan watching, his eyes intent.
How many women would do this, let them both do her?
If he hadn’t been half in love with her before, the fact that she loved it as much as they did would have been enough.
“Fuck yes,” Dylan said, the sensation of her mouth around his cock maddening, his hands closed more tightly, fucking her mouth harder and deeper. “God, Evan.”
Evan watched as Dylan’s eyes closed and he groaned, his cock buried deep in Lily’s mouth as her hands twisted in her makeshift bonds.
The sight was incredibly erotic. Now he understood some of Dylan’s fascination.
He’d never thought to share Lily, but after that first night and watching now, he couldn’t imagine not sharing her as Dylan closed his eyes and groaned deeply. His hands were locked in Lily’s hair, held her as his hips thrust uncontrollably as he fucked her, as he came in her sweet mouth.
Lily’s throat worked as she took him. She swallowed and Evan knew Dylan’s cum was gushing down it. A rush went through him at the knowledge that she would do the same for him.
In one movement, Dylan pulled her up into his arms, closed his eyes for a moment and then kissed her forehead while he held her close.
She lifted her head, licked her lips, gave Dylan a look and then Evan. “Well, if I’m your dessert, then you’re both mine.”
If Evan hadn’t just come, he would have come at that.
Chapter Six
A limousine waited for them outside the restaurant as Evan locked the doors. Lily had wondered about that, about how they got around. The parking lot had been empty. She smiled and waved as she recognized the limo driver who had picked her up at the airport. With an answering smile, he tipped his hat to her. She had no idea where Evan and Dylan were taking her and she didn’t much care as long as she was with them.
They settled her between them on the broad leather bench seat at the back. Dylan reached for glasses as Evan opened the little refrigerator and brought out the champagne.
As Evan poured, Dylan said, “To a successful partnership. It’s already off to a great start.”
Handing Lily her glass, he kissed her.
Tapping his glass to Dylan’s, then to Lily’s, Evan leaned over and kissed her, too, draped an arm over her shoulders.
Dylan’s hand caressed her thigh.
She’d changed back into her dress at the restaurant, tossed her work clothes into the laundry bin with the table linens and other wash. Otherwise wherever she was going would smell like day-old food.
The car pulled up to a modern glass tower apartment building.
It was impressive, all tinted glass and steel. Each level was replete with balconies for exquisite views of the city.
To her surprise though, there was also a doorman.
As Evan gave her a hand out, Dylan tapped on the driver’s window. “Same time tomorrow?”
The man nodded, tipped his hat. “Sure thing, Mr. Bryant.”
Lily looked from one to the other of them, but neither said anything.
“Mr. Taylor, Mr. Bryant,” the doorman said, inclining his head as he held the door for them.
Evan said, “This is Lily Cavanaugh, Joe. You’ll be seeing a lot of her.”
With a nod and a grin, Joe nodded. “Can’t beat seeing pretty ladies. Welcome, Miss Cavanaugh.”
Lily smiled at him, but eyed Evan and Dylan suspiciously. She had an inkling of what they had in mind and excitement bubbled in her veins.
The lobby of the building was impressive, the floor marble with stretches of white carpet, a few chairs scattered in casual groupings and planters full of live plants.
She didn’t say anything as they rode up the elevator, afraid to voice either her hopes or her fears.
The doors opened onto a floor with a single wood-framed set of doors. The whole floor was theirs.
On the floor before it was an envelope and a single blighted rose. A limp and faded flower, the petals drooped, the tips of the petals were tinted black in the way some florists set white roses in colored water to tint the tips.
The stem looked as if it had soaked in black paint.
A dead rose.
At the sight of it, Evan swore softly, his expression harsh and stony, his eyes ice cold.
Dylan went still, his jaw locked.
Both were suddenly tense. Evan looked out the windows at the city, but Lily knew he didn’t see them.
Concerned, she looked from one to the other.
“Evan?”
Dylan answered as he keyed his Bluetooth headset. “A few of Evan’s fans are a little obsessive. He picked up a stalker a while back. Threats were made. That’s what’s in the envelope. One time his car was keyed, another time all the tires were flattened.”
“That’s why I don’t have a car anymore, why we have a service,” Evan said bitterly.
He stalked away down the hall, the muscles in his jaw tight.
“He didn’t want a bodyguard, for a lot of reasons,” Dylan said, quietly. “So, until we could figure out who it is and find a way to stop it, I moved in. For a while, it stopped. We thought it was over. The arrangement worked so I stayed.”
“Obviously we were wrong,” Evan snapped over his shoulder.
Dylan said, in response to the question in his ear, “Joe, we’ve had a visitor.”
Seconds later, the elevator rumbled. The doorman stepped out. As he saw what awaited, his face turned pale and sick.
“I swear, Dylan, nobody rode to this floor today, I was watching. There were no strange faces.”
Dylan shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Joe. They probably rode up to another floor and then rode down. Or got someone to let them in. They could even have come in through the freight doors while something was being delivered.”
Looking helpless, the doorman held up his hands. “We’ve got a camera on it, but I can’t watch it all the time. Evan, Dylan, honestly, I’m sorry.”
With a clap of the hand on the shoulder, Dylan said, “Again, not your fault, Joe. You can’t screen everybody who comes in the building. Just log it for the record and call the cops.”
“Will do,” Joe said, whipping out a handkerchief to gather up the envelope and rose.
He carried them downstairs as Dylan opened the door to the apartment.
Evan stalked inside, clearly still furious.
Dylan gestured to Lily to precede him, his hand dropping to the small of her back.
Whatever expectation she might have had about a man’s glass and steel paradise disappeared when she entered. It was still a very masculine space, but not in an obvious way.
A broad gas fireplace almost filled one wall, a good simulation of a real one, with a wood mantel stretched over it and a coat of arms displayed above it. The furniture grouped before it was made of sueded leather in a rich, warm brown, the carpet a golden beige over dark marble, the nap thick and comfortable. For a Scotsman so proud of his heritage the only plaid in the room was a throw across the back of a couch, but she suspected that it was his family’s tartan. The far wall was nothing but tinted glass, the expanse softened by live plants.
Beyond it was darkness, the lights of the city and the stars.
Evan’s characteristic temper didn’t hit until the door closed behind them.
“What the fuck, Dylan? It was supposed to be over.”
Picking up a discarded glass he turned and threw it at the wall of windows in a fit of fury.
“I don’t know,” Dylan said in answer, shaking his head. “So did I.”
His voice sounded sick and angry.
Turning to look at him, at Lily beyond him, Evan said, raking his hand through his hair, “Even worse, what are we doing dragging Lily into this?”
It had been months since the last rose had arrived. He’d thought it had been over. Helpless fury exploded through him. He hated being helpless, at the mercy of whoever wanted to taunt him. He’d taken enough of that as a kid, suffered the scathing looks as an adult.
The rage boiled over.
“I’m a chef, for Christ’s sake, an overblown cook. I worked for what I’ve got, used my looks and whored myself to get here. I’m not somebody’s idea of a wet dream,” he shouted. “People make assumptions because I’m famous, as if I’m not a human being. I’m a real person. What the hell did I do to deserve this?”
Dylan looked at Lily, as helpless as the doorman.
“Nothing, Evan, you didn’t do anything. It’s their problem, not yours. I’m here, now, though,” Lily said, going to him. “That can’t be changed.”
“Sure it can,” Evan snarled, turning on her, shaking off her consoling hand. “You have that bloody escape clause I arranged to give you so if you wanted to run away from me again you could. You can. That’s what it’s there for. Use it. Get the hell out.”
Until that moment Evan hadn’t known how much it had hurt when she left. It had hit him at every level, personal and professional. She’d blown up on him in front of his staff, his people, something he couldn’t tolerate. She’d left him no choice but to fire her. He loved her, but she’d given him no choice. Instead, she’d left. Quit, throwing her apron in his face. No one had ever walked on him, he’d always been the one to leave.
No one, that is, but Lily.
All that bottled pain, that anger and frustration, boiled out. He wanted her to rage back, to give him a target, a focus, someone to shout at.
“Go ahead, leave. That’s what you’re good at.”
Evan looked at Lily.
Her face had gone stark white, her eyes suspiciously bright.
Lily went still, frozen. She blinked. Her breath caught, hearing it, the anger and the pain, the truth of both in his voice.
“Oh fuck,” Dylan said, sitting down abruptly on the steps that led down into the sunken living area. “That tears it.”
“If that’s what you want,” Lily said, softly, looking at Evan.
It felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Her chin trembled, another betraying gesture. She lifted it, defiantly, her breath hitching. She turned, walked toward Dylan and the doors.
“Where was I supposed to stay?” she said.
Miserably, Dylan said, glaring at Evan. “Here. You were supposed to stay here. Evan, why don’t you just kick the damn dog while you’re at it?”
“We don’t have a damn dog because my stalker might kill it,” Evan snarled, striding to the windows, rage still burning inside him and pain.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lily said, her voice thick. “I can find a hotel.”
Evan turned on his heel, looked at her. She was so beautiful. And she was leaving again.
“Go, then,” he shouted.
She flinched. Lily never flinched. She fought back.
Her eyes were too big, too bright, her expression was shocked, stunned.
“Just for general information, I never wanted to leave,” she said, quietly. “You never gave me any indication you wanted me to stay. How was I to know what you wanted it if you never told me? I was so in love with you and you paraded one model after another through that kitchen. It killed me. I wanted you so badly. I knew it was stupid, every other woman in the world wanted you, too. Why in the world would you want me? You could have stopped me, but you didn’t. You could have come after me, too, but you didn’t do that either. You let me go.”
Lily went, snatching up her purse as she walked toward the door.
“I didn’t want to leave then,” she said, as tears shimmered in her soft brown eyes, “and I don’t want to leave now. It’s your choice, Evan.”
The door closed behind her.
“FUCK!” he shouted, picking up another glass, fighting the pain and flung it at the door in fury.
It shattered in an unsatisfying explosion of glass.
Chapter Seven
Breath hitching, Lily heard the crash of glass behind her as the door closed. She ducked reflexively. It seemed appropriate punctuation for what just happened. At least she’d kept herself from saying the next words, the ones on the tip of her tongue, words that would have betrayed her, shamed h
er. That she loved him still, that she’d never stopped loving him.
Dylan’s voice, muffled, came through the doors. “Evan, go after her.”
“You go after her,” Evan shouted, the sound oddly thick. Then, more distantly, as if he’d turned and walked away. “You go after her.”
“I didn’t say it,” Dylan uncharacteristically shouted. “I wasn’t the one who sent her away.”
She stabbed at the button for the elevator, fought back tears. Hearing his voice sent a shard of guilt lancing through her. It wasn’t fair that she had to leave him too, but it was both of them or neither. She certainly couldn’t work on the show now.
Everything she’d done, everything she’d changed to come here, all of it had been for nothing. Once more Evan had chased her out, chased her away. She’d been stupid to come, stupid to believe it could be different this time.
She bit her lip, hard, to hold back the burning in her eyes.
The elevator doors slid open. Behind her was silence. She stepped through the doors, turned. The door to the suite remained closed.
With a hiss the elevator doors slid shut.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
What would Joe the doorman think if he saw her crying? One more of Evan’s disappointed bimbos? She had too much pride for that. After that last fight there’d been times when pride was all she had.
She dashed the tear away, held onto control, refused to think.
The elevator reached the lobby.
Clearly surprised, Joe turned to greet her. “Leaving so soon, Ms. Cavanaugh?” Then he looked harder at her, sharper. More gently, he said, “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
She smiled a little at the understanding in his eyes, the compassion in his voice.
“A cab to the nearest hotel?”
Tipping his hat to her, he nodded.
“I’ll wait outside,” she said, softly.
“Of course,” he said. “It won’t be long, I promise. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“Thank you, Joe,” she said, knowing her eyes were too bright again at the unexpected kindness.
“No problem, ma’am.”
It was a windy night. She stepped out of the building into the cool night air, holding her hair back from her face with one hand as she stepped out into the darkness and shadows, the noise of the traffic and looked up at the cold, impersonal buildings around her, but not at the one behind her.