His: MMF Bisexual Holiday Romance

by Chloe Lynn Ellis

  “I’m an intellectual-property lawyer,” I tell him. “My coworkers and I spend enough time talking to each other at the office. After hours, I prefer to seek out different company.”

  He nods, fussing with his napkin again, and I hope he’s gathering his courage to let me know he’s interested. To attempt to find out if I am. And I am. I’ve always been one to indulge my curiosity, to seek out the best life has to offer. Why let a little thing like gender get in the way of that? That’s trite, of course; gender matters a great deal to many people, but right now I’m too wrapped up in the possibility of taking Aiden home to dig deeper into a debate that interests me less and less the longer I sit across from him.

  I know what I like. And I know what I want. I hope that he does, too.

  Or, more accurately, that he’ll admit to it… and want to act on it.

  Of course I noticed his furtive glances at me in the department store; flattering, and, like that look in Ginny’s eyes, extremely intriguing. But more importantly than casual attraction is that feeling I get from him; the instinct that tells me he’s looking for exactly the kind of control, the kind of dominance and care, that I love to provide.

  I’d be a fool to ignore that.

  He visibly gathers his courage, setting the napkin down and folding his hands in his lap. He meets my eyes, hesitant, but hopeful. He feels it, too.

  “It must have been hard, moving halfway across the country,” he says. “Leaving all your family, your friends. Your, uh… partner?”

  His voice rises just a bit on the last word, the inflection betraying his uncertainty, and there’s the flush to his skin again. I don’t often say this about adult humans, but that was… adorable.

  Unfortunately, he also managed to stumble into my one conversational danger zone. The last thing I want to talk about is Corrina.

  “Friends, family, yes,” I answer him. “It has been hard. But ‘partner’ is a non-issue.”

  My voice comes out colder than I’d intended, clipped and distant, a reaction to Corrina’s betrayal, and Aiden hunches in on himself again. Responsive, as he has been from the first, to my mood.

  Dammit. I want to encourage him to deepen our connection, not smack him away when he tries to. I usually have more control.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, putting my hand palm up on the table, on the outside of my wine glass. It isn’t quite between us, but the visual signal should be there all the same: I’m open.

  “It’s, uh. It’s cool,” Aiden says. “Didn’t mean to pry.” His shoulders are still hunched forward again protectively, and it’s not just dominance that he stirs in me. I need to fix this.

  “No,” I say. “It wasn’t right of me to snap at you.”

  He gives me a surprised look, and I wonder who made him think he had to accept sharp words from anyone. I’d like to have a few choice words of my own with that person. Something about Aiden makes me want to protect him, even though nothing about him looks weak. I feel the urge to take care of him, in every sense of the word. I’ve never been with a man, never even thought about it, but I let myself indulge in a moment of thinking about the ways in which I might enjoy taking care of Aiden. I can feel desire stir inside me at the thought.

  “You asked me a perfectly reasonable question, and my response was far from reasonable,” I say. “To answer your question, no, I didn’t leave behind anyone who was special in that particular way. Relationships are… something of a sore subject with me. I was engaged, back in Arizona, but it ended very poorly about a year ago.”

  Aiden leans forward slightly, curiosity and sympathy overtaking awkwardness. “What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  My hand tightens on the stem of my wine glass, and I force myself to relax. Even after a year, Corrina’s betrayal hurts me more than I’d like to admit. She and I were supposed to be partners, she was supposed to be mine, and she had so little regard for me that she was sleeping with other people, from what I can tell, at random. I grit my teeth. “She neglected to tell me that our relationship was non-monogamous, at least according to her.”

  Aiden winces, then gives me a pained smile. “That fucking sucks.”

  I laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, that pretty well sums it up, doesn’t it? I’ve been more or less avoiding dating since then. I think that, maybe, it’s time for that to change.” I meet his gaze with my own, then slowly let my eyes wander to his full lips. Lips that I’d like to taste, just like I’d like to feel that smooth skin under my teeth. They’re slightly parted now as Aiden looks at me, his eyes questioning whether or not he understood me correctly. “What about you?” I ask. “Is there someone I should let you go home to? Girlfriend… or maybe boyfriend?”

  He shakes his head, slightly shaggy hair moving gently around his strong jaw. It’s immensely attractive, the way such masculine features can be offset by those tiny touches of softness. “No, nobody.”

  Clear communication is the key to any successful relationship, whether business or pleasure. I want to make sure Aiden understands completely that it’s pleasure I have in mind. I place my hand next to his arm, palm up, and he takes it almost without thinking. I grip his hand gently but firmly, caressing the tops of his knuckles slowly with my thumb, showing him how I like to play. Firm but kind.

  He bites his lower lip, uncertain, but his pupils are dilating with desire, with need. Hunger roars inside me, responding to his own.

  “I want you, Aiden,” I say softly, looking into his gorgeous eyes. “I know this is extremely fast, but I want to take you home with me. If you want that, we’re going to enjoy our meal, we’re not going to rush. And then—” I lower my voice so that only he can hear me, “—and then, I’m going to take you back to my apartment, I’m going to take the reins, and I’m going to put you through your paces. Do you understand, Aiden?”

  That’s about as explicit as I’m willing to be on a first date; if he reacts poorly to that, we won’t work together sexually. I’m looking forward to properly romancing Aiden, now that I’ve made peace with my attraction to him, but I’ve gone too long without satisfying sex. Judging by Aiden’s expressions, his body language toward me, he’s in the same predicament.

  “I—” Aiden begins, licks his lips. “I think I get you, yeah.” He glances around the restaurant, as though some kind of kink police is about to descend upon us. Then his eyes return to mine, and I see exactly what I want to in them: beautiful, sweet surrender. “I think I might maybe, uh… want that, too.”

  The rest of the meal is the best kind of torture. I can see Aiden almost squirming in his seat as I leisurely enjoy my steak, my wine. I make a point of engaging our waitress in light conversation when she stops by to refill our waters. I even insist we get dessert and coffee. Aiden is looking at me like he wants me to just rush through and get us out of here, and the bulge in his jeans tells that story very clearly. Of course, I’m equally eager, but it doesn’t do to let that show, not when I promised Aiden I’d make him wait.

  When I’ve finished the last drop of my dessert coffee and can see no other way to draw things out, I settle our check and open the Uber app on my phone before sliding it over to Aiden. “My address is already saved,” I tell him. “Schedule us a ride home, Aiden.” It’s the first order I’m giving him, but it’s also his first chance he’ll have to change his mind.

  When he immediately grabs the phone and begins requesting the ride, it takes every bit of my carefully cultivated control not to grin.

  By the time Aiden and I step outside of Verve, our Uber is already pulling up to the curb. I open the door for Aiden; he blinks at me, but I see the barest ghost of a flush high up on his cheekbones. I want more of that look.

  The driver has his music up loud and I don’t mind it at all. It saves us from having to make awkward conversation; I haven’t felt awkward since high school, but Aiden seems to be another story entirely. I have no worries about someone thinking I’m gay, but that’s clearly something that makes Aiden uncomfo
rtable right now.

  I’m grateful that my top-floor condo in Back Bay has an elevator—I want Aiden all to myself as quickly as possible. And when I say all to myself, I mean all to myself—I’m still hurting from Corrina’s betrayal, more than anyone knows.

  And now it’s time to see if my instincts were right, if Aiden has that submissive leaning I require in my partners.

  A lot of people consider BDSM as something that’s for now and then, something to spice up one’s love life. But, for me, it’s an absolute necessity. Submissiveness isn’t something you train into a person, or something that you make a partner suffer through for your own needs, not if you’re even halfway worthy of calling yourself a dominant. It must be something that person enjoys, something that they feel drawn to. They must need to surrender just as much as you need to conquer.

  When it’s right, it’s a perfect match.

  I’m gentle, but it’s absolutely vital that Aiden is aware of exactly what he’s getting himself into: if he says no, then we will part ways amicably.

  But if he says yes to me, I’m not going to hold back.

  I can barely contain my curiosity, my eagerness to get started on exploring all the differences between my scores of past female partners and the new, exciting territory that is Aiden. I know that most men would probably be more hesitant about pursuing this, more agonized about what it means. But at the moment, I’m focused on Aiden, on this night. I have all the time in the world to work through any questions about my sexuality and how it impacts my life. Right now, though, I am taken completely by my needs, driven by Aiden’s needs. It’s been so damn long for me, and he has so much potential.

  When we get inside my condo and I take off my coat, I realize Aiden is waiting to do the same. Waiting to follow my lead.

  “Do you want a drink?” I ask, gesturing him toward the hall closet as I head over to the industrial-style bar at the edge of the open-plan kitchen.

  I love my apartment; the living room and kitchen are in the same surprisingly large space, exposed brick and gleaming hardwood set off nicely by the gas fireplace and a great view of the Boston skyline through the huge bay windows. It’s expensive, but I work hard for the money I have and a beautiful home is important. After all, isn’t that really the point of having money to begin with? To create a beautiful space for yourself and the people you care about. It’s the whole reason I took the job in Boston, with its high salary, rather than stay in Arizona; I’ve always known I want to provide for the people in my life, and money means you can afford to do that. Whatever they need, you’re prepared to take care of them.

  He hasn’t responded, so I prompt him a bit more directly. “I’m having a scotch,” I call over my shoulder. “What do you want?”

  “Uh, that sounds good. Same, thanks,” he says, then pauses, like there’s more he wants to say.

  I give him a few moments to himself, taking my time fixing our drinks before I turn back.

  “Luke,” Aiden begins, then runs a hand through his dark hair. He looks like an awkward schoolboy, torn between what he should do and what he wants to do. The desire is practically rolling off him waves, but there’s something holding him back from letting himself have what he wants. If I’d have to guess, I’d say societal baggage of some kind. “What is this?” he asks me finally. He looks at me, his dark, sexy eyes almost pleading.

  I set my scotch down on the granite bar counter of my kitchen and cross the few feet to him, pressing the tumbler of whiskey gently into his big hand. “I thought I was perfectly clear, Aiden,” I say, and my tone is that of an indulgent teacher, gentle but no less authoritative. “I brought you home with me because I want you, Aiden. I want to touch you. I want you to give yourself over to me, to my care, to my control. To trust me to bring you pleasure, to trust me to give you what you need. What we both need.”

  I give him a second for my words to sink in before I press on. “What happens tonight is all up to you,” I say. It’s important for him to make the decision; there can’t be any room for doubt in his mind that this was his choice. True submission, correct submission, is entered into willingly and knowingly by everyone involved.

  “No matter what happens tonight, whether or not you decide you want to stay, I want to see you again; not as a dirty secret, not as a distraction, but as yourself. I know that, physically, you want this, too,” I say. He looks at me, startled, but that hot-blooded flush is starting to reappear on his cheeks and he’s trying to hide the growing erection in his jeans.

  “If you surrender to me, it’s my job to pay attention to you, to monitor your reactions and adapt accordingly so it can be the best possible experience. And believe me, Aiden, I want you to surrender to me. Now, as to how I know… your pupils are dilated,” I explain. “Your skin is flushed, and it doesn’t seem to be from the cold. I could feel your raised heartbeat when we held hands in the restaurant. Not to mention the obvious,” I say, smiling, with a quick flick of my eyes toward his groin.

  That flush on his cheeks explodes into a full-on blush. I think how charmed my life must be, that the first time I find a man attractive, he’s so extraordinary.

  “But,” I say, “none of that matters if you don’t want this, here—” I brush my fingers against his temple, “—and here,” I say, as my hand trails down to rest on his chest. “I know what I want, Aiden. So tell me,” I say, meeting his eyes. “What do you want?”

  Aiden lets out a ragged breath, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’ve never, uh, done this,” he says.

  I smile. “That’s perfect; neither have I. We can discover this together.”

  He looks startled. “You—seriously?” He looks at me stunned. “I mean, I would’ve thought you…” He trails off, shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “Yes, I’ve had a lot of sexual partners,” I tell him. “But you’ll be my first man I’ve ever been with. If you decide that this is what you want, that is.”

  Aiden takes a slow gulp of the scotch, then coughs. “I’m bi,” he suddenly blurts.

  I wait, but he’s looking at me like he’s expecting me to react badly. “All right,” I say mildly. I set my drink down on the counter, and let my hand rest on the back of his neck. A possessive gesture, but I can feel him right on the edge of letting himself say yes; I want him to feel sure that I won’t back away if he does.

  “Doesn’t that bother you?” Aiden asks.

  I smile. “Why would it? Women are fantastic.”

  He laughs, relieved. “Yeah, pretty much.” Aiden shakes his head, takes another drink, more relaxed. “The last time I tried to explain that, it went, uh,” he half smiles and quotes my own words from earlier back at me, “very poorly. My parents…” The smile fades. “They didn’t react well, and—and we don’t talk, any more.”

  Ah. I feel a flare of anger, not at Aiden, but on his behalf. “Nobody here is going to make you ashamed of anything you want, Aiden,” I tell him. I can see that he’s right on the edge; now he just needs a little nudge. “Now, kiss me.”

  Something seems to break inside Aiden then, like he was just waiting for permission, reassurance. He reaches for me, and I’m glad I put down my glass because my hands tangle in his hair, pulling him in close as we kiss. His mouth tastes of the scotch, peat and smoke and fire, and of the delicious, rich flavor that’s all him. We half-walk, half-stumble into the living room, falling together onto the big leather sectional couch. He’s eager, hungry, and so am I, our hands a flurry as we tug open shirts and undo belts. I can see us in the mirror above the fireplace, and the sight of us, of Aiden’s lust, only turns me on more. We look right together.

  Aiden’s hand goes to the fly of my pants, then he hesitates. He meets my eyes, questioning. “If you want it, Aiden, take it,” I say. My voice is husky, raw. If he stops now, finishing myself will take approximately half a second.

  His eyes seem to blaze in response to being given permission, and the part of me that loves to control others in bed pumps its fist in the air in celebrat
ion. His hands are fast now, decisive, and my aching cock springs free as he undoes my fly and tugs my pants down. He gets them down to my ankles, kneeling between my legs on the floor before he looks up. “Shit,” he whispers, staring at my erection. “You’re, uh, you’re big.”

  “Now you show me yours,” I tease, wrapping my hand around myself and pumping slowly as he stares.

  Aiden rushes to comply, fumbling at the fly of his jeans. He commented on my size, but he has nothing to worry about comparing to; granted, I haven’t seen another man’s cock outside of porn, but Aiden certainly seems to measure up just fine. I savor the way the cut muscles of his abdomen lead my eye down to his groin, consider what it might be like to run my tongue down that line to the waiting cock at the apex of his lean swimmer’s thighs. So different from what I’m used to, from a woman’s soft curves, and I find myself captivated.

  “Gorgeous,” I tell him, and he lets out a breath of relief. “I like you there, on your knees,” I say, smiling at him as I stroke myself slowly. He licks his lips, his breathing ragged as he watches me touch myself. “It’s pleasing to me. Do you like being pleasing to me, Aiden?” I ask.

  He nods slowly, and then his hand is wrapping around my own, wrapping around my cock and stroking with me. It’s a thousand times better than my own touch, and I groan. Fuck, what he’s doing feels amazing.

  I slide my hand out from under his, letting him take over. “That’s it,” I murmur. “That’s perfect.” I look down at him, meet his eyes. His pupils are blown so wide with lust that his irises look almost entirely black. “You’re perfect,” I say softly.

  Aiden shudders, closing his eyes, and his grip on my cock tightens reflexively. Ah, there it is. I was wondering if ‘perfect’ would be the word that he needed to hear. Dominance isn’t always about the insults, the degradation—for a person like Aiden, someone who’s had enough of being made to feel like garbage, a word of praise can undo them.

  “Can I—” He swallows hard, looking up at me, and his lips part as he glances between my eyes and my cock. “Luke, I want to—” He growls with frustration, unable to get the words out.