Double Team: A Menage Romance

by Sabrina Paige

  I want to feel his tongue inside me, to collapse as he brings me to orgasm, his mouth pressed between my thighs. I want to run my hands over his muscled chest, down his chiseled abs, to wrap my fingers around his hard cock and guide it into my mouth. I practically salivate thinking about the taste of his pre-cum as it touches my tongue and the way his hard cock feels between my lips.

  And then there's Noah…

  With one hand firmly on the desk, I bend forward, biting down hard on my lip as I thrust two fingers inside my slick pussy. I imagine Noah letting out a low growl under his breath as he grasps my ass cheek with his hand, his other hand guiding the tip of his cock to my wet entrance. I picture him thrusting inside me, his dick filling me up in one swift movement, the head of his cock pressing on the spot that sends arousal coursing through me in waves.

  Bent over with my skirt bunched up around my hips and my panties halfway down my thighs, I fuck myself with my fingers, gathering momentum as I picture myself being filled up by Noah at the same time that my lips are wrapped around Aiden's cock. When I imagine them coming inside me – Noah letting go as he thrusts his cock deeper and deeper into my wet pussy, Aiden's hands in my hair as he fucks my mouth – I crash over the edge. My orgasm overtakes me, leaving me standing there taking short erratic breaths.

  My office phone rings as I'm standing there with my fingers inside me, trying desperately to compose myself. With my free hand, I press the speaker button. "Yes?"

  I recognize the voice of one of the White House operators on the other line. "Please hold for the President of the United States."

  Fuck. I barely have time to slip my fingers from between my legs and compose myself before my father is on the line. "Yes, Dad?"

  My heart still races, pounding so hard it threatens to beat out of my chest. I can feel how flushed my face has become, and I struggle to sound normal when I've just been interrupted in the most disheveled, completely undone state I've ever been in.

  Once upon a time, I thought I could have a normal life in Denver, far removed from Washington, D.C. politics and my parents' careers. What a joke. Normal people don't get phone calls from the President when they're masturbating.

  "I don’t know what's gotten into you, but I love the new Grace. I wish I were there to see it in person."

  "There's no ‘New Grace’, Vi," I protest into the phone, flipping a page of the newspaper even though I've read nothing on it. The words are a blur, the large block print of the headlines melting together to become undecipherable. My evening routine involves reading several newspapers – it's old-fashioned, given that all of the news is online now, but I like it – except that tonight I've been staring at the same newspaper for an hour without seeing a single word on the pages.

  "Are you sure about that?" Vi asks.

  Am I sure? Hell, no.

  I agreed to spend two weeks on a ranch with two of the hottest, most available professional athletes in the world, one of whom I've seen nearly naked and the other of whom has had his hands on my breasts. I've now had too many fantasies about both of them fucking me – at the same time – to be in any way normal, and the other day I had to shut my office door behind me to masturbate thirty seconds after they left because I couldn't contain myself.

  I don't even know where the hell Old Grace – the girl who has been functioning just fine on a diet of all work and no sex – is right now. New Grace seems to have taken over my body.

  "Totally sure," I lie.

  "Because it seems to me that New Grace could be a bit of a ho," Vi jokes.

  "I am not!" I protest, trying to suppress the image that flashes into my head of me bent over my desk, finger-fucking myself to the thought of Aiden and Noah both taking me. "I only agreed to this because it's a good idea for the charity. Two professional athletes at the camp will be great for the kids. They're going to love it."

  "Right. This has nothing to do with having the hots for those professional athletes."

  "Okay," I admit, my voice faltering. "This thing on the ranch might be the worst idea ever. What's gotten into me?"

  Vi snorts. "Well, it's obvious what you'd like to get into you..."

  "I don't want either of them getting into me, thank you very much. They're – completely inappropriate. Aiden flew a blow-up doll over my house because he wanted to get my attention!"

  "It worked, didn't it? I mean, he already grabbed your attention pretty well when he answered the door naked, let's be honest."

  "Sure, Aiden is attractive. Obviously. He's all ripped and tattooed and he definitely has a bad boy thing going, but –"

  "So does Noah," Vi points out.

  "Noah is different." Noah isn't over-the-top the way Aiden is, the one who's clearly used to women throwing themselves at him. He's quieter than Aiden, more intense. When I think about the way he looked at me that night of the event, like he wanted to consume me, it makes me wet. I clear my throat. "Neither of them is a good choice. They're both about as far from appropriate as you can get."

  "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Vi asks. "Because I'm not the one who conveniently arranged to have a private two week getaway in the middle of nowhere with two of the most eligible bachelors in professional football."

  "I did not ‘arrange for a getaway’," I state firmly. "This is a charity camp, and I do it every year for the first set of campers, thank you very much. I didn't start doing the camp because Aiden Jackson and Noah Ashby showed up to volunteer their time." I'm suddenly very defensive, my words spilling out more and more rapidly.

  Vi laughs. "Whoa, girl. Slow down. I didn't say you started doing the camp because two hot-ass football players showed up."

  I swallow hard. "Obviously. Because that's clearly not what's going on here."

  "I just said that you arranged for two of the most eligible professional athletes to be alone with you while chopping wood shirtless and building fires and –"

  "Do you have any idea what we do at the camp?"

  "Well, right now I'm picturing Noah Ashby and Aiden Jackson shirtless and sweaty."

  Great. Now I can't help but picture Noah and Aiden shirtless. Apparently I pause for longer than I think, because Vi laughs. "Clearly you are, too," she observes.

  "The summer camp isn't going to be a problem," I declare, more for my benefit than for hers.

  "Keep telling yourself that, Grace."

  15

  Aiden

  "Oh my Lord," Mama Ashby says, her hand flying to her mouth.

  She stands in the middle of the living room in the same tiny split-level house she and her husband Paul have lived in for the past forty years. Noah periodically tries to buy them a new house, but they refuse every time. Bess Ashby jokingly accuses him of trying to get them to settle in a retirement village full of old people, “and we're not old!"

  "Do you like it?" Annie pauses just inside the living room.

  "Where did half of your hair go? And did you fall into a vat of fruit punch?" Bess wipes her flour-covered hands across the front of her apron, giving Annie a half-amused, half-appalled glare.

  Annie grins, pleased with herself for eliciting the reaction from Bess, practically running across the room and dodging four yippy Jack Russell terriers to throw her arms around the woman. "It's cute, right?" she asks, her hand going to her head.

  I roll my eyes. "Cute isn't exactly the word I'd use."

  "Shut up, Aiden. You're so old, how would you know what's hot right now? I like it and my friends like it.” Annie sticks her tongue out at me.

  “Super mature, Banannie.”

  "It's very…pink," Mama Ashby observes, looking at me from across the room, her eyebrows raised. I give her a what-can-you-do gesture, then return to surfing the internet on my phone. Noah sits on the other side of the room, half-sprawled across the sofa because that's about all of him that can fit on the furniture, pointedly ignoring me. Ever since the whole Grace Sullivan thing, he's been cranky as hell.

  "Thanks! I figured I'd try somethin
g different."

  "I need a change, too," Bess says, laughing. "Should I go pink?" She pats her greying hair, pulled back into a bun on the top of her head.

  "Definitely," Annie says. "Paul would love it. He's cool. He has tattoos and works at a garage. You could rock the pink hair, Bess."

  Bess laughs warmly. "Those tattoos are from his Navy days back when he was eighteen years old. Can you imagine? I'd be the only one at the Thursday night bridge game with pink hair."

  Annie wanders over to the kitchen counter and picks through baked goods. "Did you make raisin bread for me?"

  "Of course I did," Mama Ashby says, "Five loaves. Just in case your brother and Noah want a little light snack."

  "Light snack," Annie scoffs. "You need to watch your weight, big brother."

  "Whatever. I'm in my prime."

  Even if I were watching my weight, I'd throw that right out the window with Mama Ashby's cooking in play. She's always been of the belief that family dinners and a good dessert could solve most any problem, which is why come hell or high water, Noah, Annie and I are required to come back to West Bend for monthly dinners. I missed last month – the first time in a year – and got an earful from Bess.

  "You know I made apple pie for after dinner," Bess calls from the kitchen.

  "Did Aiden tell you what he did for my birthday?" Annie asks. She leans back against the counter, biting into a piece of raisin bread.

  "Are you going to just eat that right in front of me?" I yell. "Why don't you get me some while you're up?"

  "You're so lazy, Aiden," she calls back. "Get up and make a piece of toast yourself."

  "Just toss the rest of the loaf of bread at me. You know I'm going to eat it anyway."

  "Were you raised in a barn, Aiden Jackson?" Bess stands with her hands on her hips, her expression stern but her eyes twinkling, indicating she’s not at all angry.

  I immediately jump up anyhow, crossing the kitchen to kiss her on the cheek. “No ma’am.”

  She swats me on the arm. “Don’t you forget your manners just because you’re rich and famous now.”

  I grab my sister’s toast from her hand before she can object and shove half of it in my mouth, jumping backwards when she tries to hit me. “He doesn’t have any manners!” Annie yells.

  “I have tons of manners,” I protest, but it comes out more like mmph-mmph-mmph because my mouth is full of bread.

  “You’re so gross,” Annie says.

  “Your son’s angling to be the rich one,” I say, glancing at Noah, who’s apparently too engrossed with what he’s doing on his tablet to pay attention to us. “I settled for my contract already.”

  “He says he settled,” Mama Ashby says, rolling her eyes. She passes me in the kitchen, swatting me on the ass with a wooden spoon. “We should all be as lucky to ‘settle’ for getting paid millions of dollars to do what we love.”

  “That did sound spoiled, didn’t it?” I ask, laughing.

  “Uh, yeah,” Annie says. “Where’s my birthday present, anyway?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie.

  “You stole my toast and now you’re reneging on my birthday present? Some older brother you are.”

  “You’re awful quiet over there, Noah,” Mama Ashby notes. Noah looks up from his tablet and grunts before swiping something on the screen. When I cross the room to grab Annie’s gift from my bag, Noah tosses me a dirty look, obviously still pissy about the whole Grace situation.

  I should ignore it, but what can I say? I’m an overgrown child and I like pushing Noah's buttons. “He’s just in a mood lately.”

  Now Noah gives me an even angrier look. “No reason I can think of for that.”

  “Are you two getting on each other’s nerves being roommates?” Mama Ashby asks absently as she reaches into the cupboard for dinner plates and hands them to Annie. “You’re only staying with him until your renovations are done. Right, Aiden?”

  “Yeah, if I don’t kill him first,” Noah growls.

  “The two of you have always been so close, but you’ve also always been at each other’s throats,” the woman notes. “Everything is a competition with you boys.”

  Noah makes a grunting sound from the sofa. "Nothing's changed," he says bitterly.

  Noah and I have known each other our whole lives. Even before the Ashbys took Annie and I in, we were best friends. But our version of friendship has always involved a shitload of competition. It's that competition that drove us to be great at football.

  Despite being competitive in sports, Noah and I have never gone after the same girl. We’ve never had a reason to before. I’ve been perfectly happy with the girls I hook up with – mostly hot chicks just looking for a good time and nothing else. It’s not that I’m a player; it’s just that I’ve never much seen any reason to tie myself to one woman. I’d rather keep my options open.

  Of course, I’ve never exactly been interested in a girl like Grace Sullivan before, either. She’s way out of my league, that’s for sure – leagues above any of the women I’ve ever hooked up with – smarter, prettier, and just a hell of a lot classier.

  Plus, she’s uptight and everyone knows that uptight girls are the wildest in bed. They just need a little push. And I’m the one to give her that push.

  Unlike Noah. On the surface, he seems like he’d be more Grace's type – nerdy, smart, and way too damn serious – but that’s exactly why he’s not right for her. Besides, I can’t even remember the last time he got with a girl. He’s obsessed with football. There’s “work hard, play hard” - that’s my philosophy - and then there’s “work all the fucking time,” which is Noah’s life’s motto.

  A girl like Grace Sullivan needs someone to help her let loose. So, competition? In my eyes, there’s no competition. This race is already won.

  Mama Ashby eyes me skeptically. “What are you two competing over? You’re off-season and you’ve already signed a contract.”

  “Is that my present?” Annie interrupts, unknowingly letting me dodge a bullet with Noah’s mom right there. She doesn’t wait for me to say yes before she grabs the folder out of my hands and flips it open.

  “Okay, help yourself,” I say sarcastically.

  Annie looks down at the folder and then up at me. “No way.”

  “That's not the real thing,” I explain. “The travel agent just gave me that so I’d have something to give to you so it would be less lame than just saying, ‘Here, I got you a plane ticket.’”

  “A plane ticket? Where’s he sending you?” Bess asks, her hand on her hip.

  “Europe!” Annie runs at me, slamming into me and throwing her arms around my neck before I can respond.

  “I guess you're happy about it?"

  “Are you serious? It’s like an open-ended ticket!” Annie yells. “Did you tell him to get it, Noah?”

  Noah grins for the first time since we got here. “I didn’t. But I’m glad he saw reason and got it for you. You’ll have a great time.”

  “Oh my God. I have to call Lucas and Avery. They’re going to be so stoked. They’re leaving in three weeks. Shit. The restaurant’s not going to let me go.”

  “I already talked to your manager,” I tell her. “Besides, you’re going into senior year. You shouldn’t be working at a restaurant. You’re supposed to get something work-study, or at least something that’s going to help you get a job after college. That's what Noah tells me, and you should listen to him since he graduated magna whatever-the-fuck.”

  “Watch your language!” Bess yells. “Just because you’re all grown up, doesn’t mean you can drop the f-word in my house.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply, hanging my head.

  “Magna cum laude,” Noah corrects.

  I snort at the word cum.

  “Thanks, Aiden!” Annie squeals, already across the living room and heading for the front door with her phone in her hand. She flings open the front door, nearly bowling over Noah’s dad Paul. She gives him
a one-armed hug, her phone pressed to her ear.

  “Where are you off to, girl?” Paul asks.

  “Europe!” she exclaims before bouncing out the door.

  Paul raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, slipping off his work boots. He’s still in his coveralls from the shop, grease slicks down his tattooed forearms. When he makes it into the kitchen, he heads straight for Bess, the way he always does.

  Bess laughs as he half-slips an arm around her waist, swatting him away playfully. “Get your grubby hands off me. Go wash up.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t leave a grease-stained handprint on your ass, woman.”

  Bess gasps in mock surprise and hits him with a dishtowel. “Paul Ashby, what’s gotten into you?”

  Paul turns to me. “Your sister’s going to Europe with pink hair?"

  I shrug. “She’s twenty-one now. It’s not like I can argue with her. She wanted to go for two months with her friends.”

  Paul shakes his head, sighing exaggeratedly. “You kids," he says. He looks across the room at Noah. "What are you doing over there ignoring everyone?"

  "I was going to say hi, but you didn't let me get a word in edgewise," Noah says.

  "These two are fighting about something," Bess says, giving Paul a look.

  "No one's fighting about anything," Noah roars.

  Bess raises her eyebrows. "Uh-huh."

  "Oh, Lord." Paul rolls his eyes. "Don't break anything."

  "We're not going to get injured," I assure him.

  "I wasn't worried about you two. I was worried about my furniture."

  "Thanks for the concern, dad," Noah calls as his father heads off to clean up.

  Paul and Bess are fixtures in West Bend, Colorado. They were born and raised here, and Paul has been running the only auto repair shop around for thirty miles since he finished his enlistment in the Navy when he was twenty-two. Noah was supposed to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business, but it was pretty clear mid-way through high school, after the football team won our second state championship and Noah and I were identified as rising stars, that Noah wasn't heading in the same direction as his father. Luckily, his sister Denise turned out to have a knack for auto repair and was perfectly happy taking the mantle – not that Paul is ever going to stop working. The man will probably keep working until he keels over.