by Mel Blue
He rubbed the soap over Brent’s shoulders, kneading at the tight muscles, working them until they loosed.
Brent hated himself for the moan of pleasure that escaped his lips. Of course a surgeon would know which buttons to press. Back down he went, pressing fingertips on either side of Brent’s backbone as if he were trying to memorize the vertebrae. Felt nice. Better than nice. The right balance of firm and gentle, with a sensual familiarity that had Brent transmitting chilly thoughts to his cock.
“Now you tell me,” Remy said, his voice deliciously close to Brent’s ear. “What would a football player know about hard work?” Remy paused the soap just north of Brent’s crack, while his left hand was pressed at his waist.
Brent couldn’t think. Wait, was this wrong? Was Remy trying to throw him off the trail? Confuse him and intentionally anger Eve? Did this count as cheating, or did it not matter because their marriage was already so screwed up as it was?
Eve would be just as angry at Remy, he thought. Then he groaned, angry at his brain for even hopping on that train of logic. Did he want this guy to touch him?
Yes. Fuck, yes.
But it was just about sex. This was a weekend about stripping inhibitions, and of course, he wanted to fuck them both. Difference between the two was that he loved one of them. The other was just a long-ignored thirst he needed to quench.
“Football was a long time ago,” Brent said.
Remy skimmed his fingers downward and rested near the hand Brent used to cap his throbbing cock. “I looked for you sophomore year, but you were gone.”
“Looked for me? Why?”
“Because you made me curious.”
The soap fell to the tub floor, and that’s when Remy put his right hand over Brent’s wrist.
“Curious how?”
Remy had to be getting soaked, as well as the floor, and when Brent turned his head to verify, he’d found at some point during their repartee, Remy had shed his pants.
He stepped over the tub side.
Brent turned around for a full admonishment, but Remy stepped in close and grabbed their two cocks in one hand, daring Brent with his eyes, then a whisper against his lips. “I’d expect you to be more aggressive, quarterback.”
“I’m not a quarterback any more.”
“But you haven’t lost the drive, have you?”
Remy squeezed tighter then rubbed up and down their joined shafts.
Brent hissed and pressed a hand onto Remy’s shoulder, which drew a chuckle.
“Is this some sort of test? If Eve finds out—”
“Eve knows what I am. Always has. Does she know what you are?”
“What am I?” Brent asked, even as he eased his hands down Remy’s wet back and spread his ass cheeks.
“Starving.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Eve woke to the sound of brisk tapping on the room door and realized she was in an empty bed. She sat up and surveyed her surroundings quickly, trying to gain her bearings.
The knock came again, and she called out, “I’m coming!” as she scanned for signs of the room’s other occupants. Remy’s things were unmolested, and judging by the patter of water in the bathroom, he must have been in the shower.
Maybe Brent locked himself out. Odd for him. He was usually so careful. Responsible. He’d had to be, since it had been just him and his mom when he was growing up. And Ms. Wheeler, oh, she was a hoot. She was part of the reason Eve was seriously trying to have a go at this marriage. Ms. Wheeler reminded her what being part of a family felt like, even a small one. The doting was a bit overbearing at times, but the woman meant well. Wanted the best for her son. She frequently asked when Eve’s life would calm down enough for them to make a baby or two. Eve giggled as she padded to the door.
She’d told Mrs. Wheeler she hoped it was soon, and that last time, she’d really meant it. Brent would make a fabulous father, even if the whole husband thing didn’t work out. Kids naturally gravitated to him the way some overly friendly dogs did to random strangers, and he was always so gracious about their pleas for attention. Local kids were why there was a basketball hoop set up in the rear lot of his car repair business, even though he rarely had the time during daylight hours to play.
She opened the door without looking and said, “Did you forget the card?”
She startled at her error. “Oh!”
Not Brent. Room service.
She backed out of the doorway and held the door open with her foot for the woman.
She pushed a cart covered in a white linen tablecloth and three silver dome plate covers.
Three.
Her cheeks burned hot as she reached for the check and scribbled her signature. What the hell was she embarrassed about? Certainly this woman was used to seeing extraordinary things, given her place of employment. They didn’t have so much as a pair of underwear out of place. It wasn’t like there were nude bodies chained to hooks installed in the ceiling. That particular kink had its place in The Beaudelaire’s expansion area, apparently.
This was just a regular room, though large given the age of the hotel. Used to be the plantation owner’s suite, apparently. She wondered if Remy had anything to do with their assignment.
“Would you like me to set up your meal?” the woman asked in her melodious New Orleans accent. Remy had a bit of that when he talked as well, but he mostly seemed to suppress it. He’d been away from home too long.
The woman clasped her hands behind her back, her lovely face a polite blank. Unreadable. But Eve could tell there was no judgment behind it.
She was overreacting. This woman, Giselle, her nametag read, didn’t give a shit about what was going on in Eve’s room.
“No, thank you. I seem to be short a dinner companion.”
“Ah. If you need anything else from the kitchen, room service is open all night.”
“On New Year’s Eve? Really? With everything you have going on, you’re keeping the kitchen open?”
Giselle nodded. “Oh, yes. This is a five-star facility, and Mr. Beaudelaire insists that we operate as such. If you have a need, we’ll do our best to fill it.” She gave the barest shrug. Then she leaned in close and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s not so bad during holidays. It’s fun here. More interesting than at my mother’s. Lots of beautiful men around. I’m not allowed to touch, but looking is a hell of a lot of fun.”
Eve laughed and whispered back, “Maybe you should book a fantasy weekend.”
Giselle’s eyes widened. “If I did, that’d be the last thing I’d do here. I’m trying to stay out of trouble. Can you imagine what my coworkers would say?”
Probably “lucky bitch.” Eve kept that idea to herself, though. She followed Giselle to the door.
“Let us know if you need anything else. Back down to the scullery I go.”
“A scullery? Really? Like, with cauldrons set over open flames?”
Giselle’s shoulders shook with her laughter. “It all modern. Stainless steel and top-of-the-line, but I do feel a bit like Cinderella at times. I guess I can’t quibble. Mr. Beaudelaire takes care of his staff, and I’m learning a lot about how hotels run. It’s a good job for now.”
Eve wanted to press her. Talk more, but she had other engaging concerns. For instance, one of her boys was missing.
She waved goodbye to Giselle, closed the door, and locked it.
She knocked on the bathroom door and slipped into it without waiting for a response.
“Remy? Did Brent say he was…”
She froze as she took in the spectacle.
Well, that explained the sudden lack of man in the bedroom.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
She’d caught them right at the moment of Brent’s big bang.
He stepped back, pulled his cock out of Remy’s ass, and cast her a guilty look as he stepped under the spray of water.
Eve was more interested in the other man. The one who’d rinsed his soapy body and stepped out of the tub as he said no
nchalantly to Brent, “There’s still soap on your back.”
Remy grabbed a towel, squeezed the water out of his hair, then rubbed his face.
Eve assessed the exposed skin, from his Adam’s apple to his ankles, and appreciated the well-honed physique and cock that was still at half-mast. Before that afternoon, she’d never expected to see the guy naked, even though she’d fantasized about it a time or two.
They’d just never gone there because they had to work together. Further, Remy always seemed to be with someone, and when he wasn’t with someone, she’d assumed he was rebounding. Where would she have fit in?
While Remy tied the towel around his waist, she crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure how to feel,” she said.
The old shower handles squeaked as Brent turned off the water.
Remy said nothing. He pulled a clean towel off the rack and passed it to Brent.
“Honestly, neither do I,” Remy said. He looped his arm around Eve’s waist and led her from the steamy bathroom into the much-less-humid and tension-filled bedroom.
He sat on the upholstered bench in front of the bed and bent down to root through his open suitcase.
A short time later, Brent joined them at the bed’s edge as he rubbed water out of his hair. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it, because he shook his head and went over to the sofa.
Eve followed him, hands propped on her hips, and set her foot on top of his bag to prevent him from opening it. “I guess we’re even now, huh?”
“It’s not like that, Eve,” Remy said.
Dishes clattered behind her, and she turned to see Remy, now dressed in dark-rinse jeans and wearing an unbuttoned oxford shirt, removing the lids from their dinners. The decadent smell of long-simmered beef filled the air, and although she hadn’t been hungry before, there was something about the smell of rich gravy that reminded her of home.
Her mother used to be able to make a holiday meal last a week. Sandwiches. Salads. Soups. Later on, Mom could have hired out, but she always insisted on preparing those big meals herself. Eve hadn’t understood why at the time, but now that Mom was gone, she realized it was because she wanted Eve to always remember what her love felt like.
She scoffed, not feeling the love right now.
She lifted her foot and strode to the table where Remy distributed place settings. “Tell me why you’re here, Remy. Really. No bullshit. If you wanted to break me up, I would have assumed you’d be classy enough to talk to me first. Fucking you was nice, but I suspect you have ulterior motives.”
“You’re right. I do.”
“Not even going to try to make up a lie, huh?”
“We’ve never lied to each other, so why bother now?” He pulled out a chair and gestured to it.
She sank into it and begrudgingly accepted the fork he extended. Maybe she was wary, but there was no reason to let good food go to waste. Furthermore, she hoped what was in that bottle in the champagne bucket wasn’t sparkling apple juice.
She could feel Brent’s presence behind her. He had that sort of energy about him where you couldn’t ignore him if he was in the room. His entire being called out “Look at me!” and she always had. Even if she didn’t know what to say.
What a big ball of surprise he was.
Remy had seduced plenty of men in the past who were not-quite-gay, and she hoped Brent didn’t fall in that category. She would almost prefer him to be gay than to be in some midpoint on the sliding scale of sexuality. Brent being gay would at least explain why in three months, he hadn’t touched her.
He pulled out the chair to her left and squeezed her knee under the table as he sat down.
She didn’t look at him. Just flaked off some beef and dragged it through a trail of dark sauce.
Remy sat at her right, across from Brent.
Both men respected her silence and let her eat. The tension in the air was punctuated by the occasional clattering of utensils and the pop of ice as it settled in their tea glasses.
Eventually, they seemed to forget about her altogether. Brent needed both of his hands for his food, and Remy spouted off a non-stop series of questions about people he knew and wondered if Brent knew them, too.
What had she missed while she was asleep? She’d only been out a few short minutes, hadn’t she? When she’d nodded off, the two men were practically on opposite sides of the room avoiding each other, so any woman would be stunned to walk in and find them going at it in the shower like big, tall, bunnies. It was a wonder they didn’t rip the grab bar right out of the wall during their oh-so-masculine fit of passion.
“You’re such a tramp, Remy,” she said and didn’t even care if she hurt his feelings. She nibbled at her dinner roll and furrowed her brow. Yeah, she could see the hypocrisy of the situation. She’d certainly enjoyed it when her legs had been draped over his shoulders and he’d pounded into her like he was a nail with no pilot hole. It’d been everything she’d imagined it would be.
But she was woman enough to admit her feelings were bruised. She felt left out. Secondary.
“You say that like you really mean it,” he said. “Kind of hurts coming from my best friend.”
“You have a knack for making things all about you. Sometimes you can’t help it. I know that. People just want to do things for you.” She looked to her husband and said, “And to you, apparently.” She looked back to Remy. “I came here confused but hopeful. Now I just feel fucked. Oh my god, I can’t believe I fucked you. That’s going to make going to work on Tuesday so exciting.”
She’d be lucky if she didn’t keel over dead from all the blood draining from her head every time she had to go near him. She’d think about how fucking hot it was that he could come without so much as a hand on his dick, and that when faced with a man like Brent, Remy took beta. He’d been absolutely passive in Brent’s grip, as if he’d wanted to lose control for a change, instead of being the one who always steered the ship.
She knew that feeling, and the two of them together were hot.
Good for them. It was nice they’d found each other. Now what about her?
Appetite gone, she pushed her chair back and dropped her cloth napkin onto her dish. After wrapping her pashmina around her shoulders, she strode to the door before remembering at the last second to grab a key.
“I’m going to go get some air,” she said.
“Let her go,” she heard Remy say before the door slammed.
“That’s right,” she murmured as she strode down hall with anger resounding in each footstep’s echo. “Let me go.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Eve was more resigned than angry when she returned to the room. After all, it was no one’s fault but her own that she hadn’t expressed to Brent what she’d wanted from him. She’d known soon after they’d gotten married what she wanted, but she didn’t know how to ask. It sounded juvenile, even to her.
Do you like me? I like you. Let’s be boyfriend and girlfriend.
She let the door close quietly behind her and waited for her eyes adjust to the dim light.
The dishes had been cleared away, save for a cluster of wine glasses, some used, some clean, and the television played quietly in the corner.
Some eighties comedy she couldn’t put a finger on. Billy Crystal movie.
She took a bracing breath and blew it out slowly when the bed came into sight.
One man lay atop the covers, clutching his cell phone against his chest. The other was on his side with his back to his bedmate, under the covers.
It was barely nine, but she couldn’t fault them. Between the heavy meal and the long day, anyone would be ready to sleep.
And…where would she sleep?
She could go downstairs and request another room, but what would that get her? Knowing her luck, she’d be tossed into a BDSM dungeon with a man nowhere near as pretty as the two she was currently fuming at.
They’d just have to get over it. She was tired
, and no way in hell was she sleeping on that antique sofa. It was just begging to flare up her sciatica, and she sure as shit didn’t want to spend New Year’s Day walking with a hunch.
She draped her wrap over the chair atop Remy’s oxford shirt and stripped down to bra and panties. She hadn’t brought anything to sleep in, figuring what would be the point? They were there to fuck and connect. Bedclothes seemed like an unnecessary waste of suitcase space.
As she looked from one sleeping man to the other, she figured the lesser of the two evils was Remy as he was on top of the covers. She slipped under blanket to his right and settled in for a long sleep. They could talk it out later. Or not.
Whatever.
***
Remy was surprised to find Eve nearly naked beneath the covers when he shifted position in the middle of the night. Out of respect for her previous mood, he didn’t act on the opportunity, although his cock stiffened the moment his knee skimmed her lush ass.
He should have been spent after two fast and hard ejaculations in only a few hours, but his access to her was a novelty that had likely already come to a screeching halt.
He couldn’t blame her for being wary. After all, he’d broken down her wall the moment she’d stepped into the hotel room, only to reach in and put a squeeze on her heart.
Their relationship had always been about trust and mutual respect. When they’d had the opportunity to work together in the operating theater, they had to believe the other had the patient’s best interest at heart, and that they’d know when to stop, when to seek the advice of the other.
The current situation was really not much different than a surgery. It required knowledge gleaned over time, as well as delicate handling. Well, this time, he’d been too rough. Too aggressive.