I need more, I need it so much that I could explode.
I groan in mingled frustration and pleasure, bracing one foot on the edge of the tub for better leverage as hot, tingling waves move through me, centering on my core. I’m so close, my fantasy lover doing things to me in my mind that make me buck and writhe in the soapy water. God, I want this.
I want this.
I can hear my own breath starting to come in short, sharp moans, loud and shameless, and I bite my lip hard, a whimper of pure, aching need escaping anyway.
I’m almost there, I’m almost right there, and I’m trembling so hard that I can hear the water slosh around me. A hot, sweet sensation runs through my entire body, lighting up all my nerves, and I feel like I’m balancing on the edge of a cliff, about to tip over into ecstasy.
I moan as I grind against my fingers, wanton and needy and putting the fake-porn soundtrack I’ve used with past boyfriends to shame.
Just a little… bit… more…
There’s a soft sound, an unmistakably male sound, and my eyes fly open as shock jolts through my body.
A man is standing in the doorway of the bathroom—an incredibly handsome man; tall, built, piercing blue eyes and a short, dark beard straight out of my fantasies—and on his gorgeous face is an unmistakable expression of raw, unabashed desire.
Desire for me.
I should be mortified. I am. But God, the look on his face—
Pleasure rockets through me, and even though a distant part of my mind is screaming to cover up and hide, my body is in control, responding to the heat in the stranger’s gaze despite the alarm and humiliation flooding my brain. The shame and horror and shock of having someone catch me pleasuring myself crash through me, and the erotic surprise sends me over the edge in an overwhelming, hot rush that I couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried.
A throbbing cry rips from my throat, and my whole body goes taut.
I’m coming.
I’m coming.
My eyes are locked onto the man’s face, his greedy eyes eating up every trembling ounce of my ecstasy, and I’m so wrecked by it, that—at least while the orgasm rolls through me in endless, bone-melting waves—I can’t bring myself to feel anything but sensually, shamelessly satisfied.
I’ve never come so hard in my life.
2
Jack
It’s already been a hell of a morning for me. I had to drag my ass to South Station and hit the commuter rail up to Worcester for a deposition at six a.m. Uncooperative witness, and garbage coffee in that conference room. It was so bad that the commuter rail back into Boston was pure heaven in comparison. Once it was all over and I finally got back into Boston, I still had a little time before my next appointment, so I decided to hit Sully’s.
Best case: I might bump into Dylan before he leaves for the day. Worst case: at least there’d be good coffee.
I cross the park and I’m almost to the outside steps when I notice a familiar car just starting to pull away. Looks like Gary’s. I wonder what he’s doing here; we don’t meet until tomorrow, at least as far as I can remember. Maybe he was talking to Dylan?
Whatever, not important. Coffee. Coffee’s what’s important right now.
I slide my key into the door and open it wide, and man do I love that old leather and polish smell. I could live here for a million years and never get sick of it.
I overdressed for the deposition, went with the full nine. Tasteful deep chocolate, pinstripes, and my favorite suspenders. I slide my coat off and hang it delicately on the stand near the door, along with my tie. I treat them carefully, and I smile as Sully pops into my head.
I had nothing when I met that man. Was just about to have a hundred bucks from him, though, judging by what his money clip felt like while I was trying to fish it out of his pocket. I thought I was real slick back then, just this townie kid who knew the streets. I remember being shocked as hell when he busted me before I could even get my hand out of his pocket.
When Sully offered to pay me for being his errand boy, I remember thinking that he might have been slick, but he wasn’t too bright. It was easy money, though: drop some milk and potatoes off in the morning, come by to sweep up the walk after school and do my homework at one of the smaller desks in his study.
I thought about robbing him blind every single day. And somehow, every single day, I didn’t. I just kept showing up, more and more.
Sully was with me when I bought my first suit, back when I started interning for him. He showed me the ropes, taught me how to tie the perfect Windsor knot, all the stuff my own old man should have been teaching me how to do.
Too busy at Suffolk Downs, I guess, throwing his paycheck away on the racehorses.
It didn’t take me too long to realize that Sully wasn’t old money. Rather, he was one of those hardworking, earned-every-dime types. It meant that he didn’t let me slack. He always demanded that I hold up my end of the bargain, but more importantly, it also meant that I could drop my guard with him over time.
He taught me everything I needed to know about how to take the backdoor into upper society. Snow ’em, he told me while we looked in the mirror at that first suit of mine. It fit perfectly, like a glove, and I can’t remember a time where I’d felt safer than I did at that moment.
Snow ’em, and don’t take their guff, Ditto. We work for what we have, and we deserve every bit of it.
Ever since that first suit, I treat every single one of them like it’s my only suit, and I respect them accordingly.
I make sure that my coat and tie are set, and I reach up to the doorframe, running my finger over a particularly worn spot in the wood. Sully used to tease me about being so tall, kept telling me that one day I’d knock my block off by forgetting to duck through the door. I rub that spot for luck every single time I’m here. Luck, and a reminder to duck my head.
I hear a splash, and find myself snapped out of my little trip down memory lane. What the hell could that be? Dylan, maybe?
Nope. His bike isn’t up against the wall where he always keeps it. No Dylan.
There’s another splash, and I immediately feel my adrenaline begin to surge. At this point, there’s no way I can’t investigate what this is, so I roll up my sleeves over my forearm tattoos and unbutton a couple of my collar buttons. Always best to be as free and loose as you can in a fight.
I was always more of the roguish type, and got real good at sneaking around when I was a kid. I don’t need to kick my shoes off to be quiet. I slowly make my way to the stairs and carefully step up without making a sound.
That splashing is still happening, faint but definitely there by the time I get to the top landing. Now, though, I can hear the moaning, too.
Sexy, gentle moaning.
My eyes fall to the floor, and I spot the trail of clothes leading to the bedroom, starting with a tasteful rose blouse. Is this my lucky day? I can feel myself getting hard at the sound, and the adrenaline sure isn’t helping with that.
So, I follow the clothes into one of the bedrooms. Heels by the door, pants just inside, then a lacy ivory bra that’s creamy in a way that reminds me of French vanilla ice cream. Matching panties on the floor, at the opening of the bathroom. The moaning is louder now, more frantic, and my heart feels like it’s about to rip through my chest.
It’s not the only thing that feels like it’s gonna tear itself out of my clothes, either.
Do I walk in? Of course I do. No turning back now.
When I see her, I can hardly believe my eyes. It’s a woman. A gorgeous woman, to boot. Her long, silky brown hair is draped over the side of the tub, leaving her face fully exposed. And her face... her face is beautiful, especially flooded with pleasure like it is now. One long, gorgeous leg is braced against the edge of the tub, and there is absolutely no mistaking what she’s doing.
It’s all I can do to not reach inside my pants right now, but I suppress the urge as best I can, trying to remain silent. But then she gets frantic and arche
s her back. I see the tops of her perfect breasts, lightly covered in soap bubbles, as she comes, and before I can stop myself, I suck in a sharp breath.
So much for remaining silent.
Her eyes fly open—an intoxicating caramel color that reminds me of good whiskey—and I can tell she’s equal parts panicked and aroused, stuck in the throes of her orgasm.
It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“What?!” she screams, immediately moving to cover up. She darts her head back and forth, like she’s looking for a hiding spot. A moment later, I watch as she dunks herself under the water a little too fast. Her legs fly into the air as she slips around in the tub, and she fights to regain her balance before clutching at the lip of the tub and climbing to her feet.
It’s so hot, and so ridiculous, that I can’t help but laugh.
“What the fuck?” I say with a grin on my face. I’m sorry, but real things just don’t happen like this.
“Who the fuck are you?! Don’t laugh at me!” she screams, her eyes darting between me and the towel nearby, just out of easy reach. She settles for throwing one arm across her incredibly tantalizing breasts, and one hand down to cover the enticing dark curls between those perfect, creamy thighs.
I think I might be in love.
I follow the line of her cleavage up, and notice a small necklace closer to her throat. I know that necklace. I used to see it every summer when we were kids.
Holy shit, it’s Cate.
Sully called her Wildcat. I always called her Duchess. It seemed appropriate for such a completely spoiled little brat. We were just kids, but I’ll never get over the way she treated me, leaving the room every time I’d walk in, or staring at me like I was an oil stain on the carpet whenever she thought I couldn’t see her.
She’d made it clear that she never wanted to be caught dead in the same room with me, let alone talk to me. I thought she was cute as hell back when I was 17… until I realized she was just 13. Doesn’t mean I didn’t try to talk to her at first, try to make friends with her. Eventually, though, I figured out that she thought I was nothing more than trash from across the tracks.
I’ll never forgive her for treating me that way.
How utterly, deliciously ironic that here she is now, naked and exposed before me. I can’t help but take a moment to fully absorb how much she’s changed. Before, she was cute and curvy, and all the things I loved. Now, though, she’s smoking hot with a showstopper face and a killer body. She definitely added plenty of danger to those curves, that’s for sure. Not a little girl anymore, as far as I’m concerned.
I must be lingering for way too long, because she gets agitated and shouts at me. “Do you mind?!” she yells, staring me down.
I reach for the towel nearby. “Not at all, Duchess,” I say, unable to resist the old nickname. I certainly haven’t seen any reason to think it doesn’t still apply.
I throw the towel to her. I don’t put as much force into the throw as I should, and it lands on the floor just out of reach.
Oops.
She bends down quickly to pick up the towel, and I get an eyeful of her sumptuous cleavage and a long view down her back, just enough to lay my eyes on the start of a plush, perfect ass.
“Jack!” she shouts as she pops back up, throwing the towel around herself. “I can’t believe—” She scowls and cuts herself off mid-sentence. Now that she’s covered, she starts to step out of the tub. “You’re such an asshole!” she yells.
I feel my face get hot. With her, the cut was bound to happen eventually, but it’s been so long since anyone has talked down to me like this. She always had an uncanny ability to jab her icepick right into my heart, though.
Before I can let it show on my face, I recover and smirk. “Hey now, language, Duchess,” I tease, with a bit of a cruel edge in my voice. The way she used to treat me? It broke my heart; I don’t feel too bad about taking a little revenge. “After all, we can’t have you sounding like you’re a townie like me.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening,” Cate says, shaking her head. “What are you even doing here, Jack? What the hell?”
“Me?” I say angrily, furrowing my brow. “Why wouldn’t I be here? I work for Sully, you know. I have every right to be here. More importantly, why the hell are you here? Grandpa’s little Wildcat feeling guilty about running away right after the funeral?”
She scowls at me, and I probably deserve that, but I don’t care right now. All I can feel are the memories of being treated like a dog, all flooding back in.
“Excuse me, please,” she says as she steps toward me. For a moment, her chest rubs against mine, and I can feel her breasts between her towel and my shirt. Just as I feel like I couldn’t be any harder, my cock betrays me and tightens even more.
If I weren’t so aggravated by her, I’d be doing my damnedest to talk her into the bed a few feet away.
Then I look down and notice that there’s a big, soapy wet streak on my shirt.
“Hey, pay attention to what you’re doin’ with all that mess!” I shout, reaching for a dry washcloth and pat-drying myself down.
“This is so completely, insanely inappropriate,” she says tightly, picking up her bra and panties and turning to face me. “Please leave, Jack. I need to get dressed, and I can’t have you staring at me like this.”
“Yeah, right,” I say, continuing to pat-dry my shirt. “It ain’t any fun when you’re the one being stared at, eh?”
She recoils as though I slapped her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t act like you don’t remember the way you treated me,” I shout, unable to keep my cool anymore. “Just a piece of trash, a little stoop-sweep for Sully who didn’t deserve the time of day. You thought I never saw the way you looked at me? I remember all of it, Duchess.”
“The way I looked at you?” she repeats, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.
Maybe she can’t remember that far back, or maybe mean people just forget how many people they were jerks to.
“Jack…” Her voice is slightly softer, and it weakens my resolve to hold onto my anger just a bit. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Well, not that much. What, I wasn’t even important enough for her to remember?
“Yeah, not enough room in your life for the townie. I get it.”
“No, Jack, I mean…” She lets the words trail off again, sighing and shaking her head. “Look, I need to get dressed, and I’m so beyond caring right now, so.” She lets the towel drop and holds out her arms. “Here I am. Here’s all of me, every last bit. You happy now, jerk? Seen everything you want? I can’t believe you, Ditto.”
Now it’s my turn to feel slapped. Ditto was the name Sully had given me back when I was just a dumb teen. Because I have to tell you everything twice before it sticks, he would say back then. I’m genuinely shocked that she remembered that.
I have nothing to say back to her, but this seems like a good moment for it, as I watch her put on her panties. I can’t help but follow the fabric as it caresses the tender flesh of her legs, covering up that delicious mound in such an appealing package.
Just as I’m feeling like I’m suddenly the vulnerable one, I catch it. That look, as she tilts up her head while standing up from her bent position. There’s no mistaking where her eyes are; I can practically feel them running over my body, undressing me in her mind, focusing on my cock—so obviously pressed hard against the fabric of my slacks.
Her eyes slide up my body, over the tattoos on my forearms, over the damp patch on my chest. All the way up to my eyes.
For a moment, I can feel it.
There’s a spark, a mutual hunger, burning bright between us.
A perfect moment of balance before the scales fall either way.
“You left so damn fast after Sully’s funeral,” I say, cutting through the silence.
“I was tied up,” she says, still standing tall and open before me, bra in
hand. “I couldn’t get away.”
Those breasts.
Damn.
“He missed you, you know,” I say, pulling my mind away from where it won’t do either of us a bit of good to go.
“Excuse me?”
Yeah, that’s right. Her voice is sharper now.
“He missed you,” I repeat, thinking about Sully’s kind face. “You were only ever here for the summers. I was here year-round, and he missed you for the other three seasons. He was good about keeping it under his hat, but I knew. I might not have cared what you thought of me, but I cared what he thought about you.” I drop the washcloth to the ground. It’s done as much as it can, and I can only hope my shirt will be presentable by the time I get to my next appointment.
My words sting, I can tell. Cate’s face has always been so damn easy to read. Best to finish it.
“He deserved better than being run out on by a part-time grandkid,” I say, because it’s true. And also, yeah, to kill the other thing that felt like it might have been happening for a second between us. “Especially at his funeral.”
The moment is over, and we both know it. Any spark that was there has disappeared without even a puff of smoke to leave behind.
“Jack,” she starts, the impatience and anger back in her voice as she throws her bra on and covers up those delicious breasts.
No, not just covers them. Puts them on display. Her underwear is a temptation.
I jerk my eyes back up to her face.
“I don’t care,” she says, clasping the bra shut with jerky motions and reaching for her pants. “I’m hungry, and I’m exhausted, and you don’t belong here. You need to get the fuck out of my house.”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks.
You don’t belong here.
I don’t even see her killer body anymore; I only see the memories of how she treated me when I was a kid.
I grit my teeth together, my stomach churning.
“You’re mistaken,” I say, as calmly and coldly as I can manage. “This house is mine, Duchess.”
Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance Page 3