I look back at Dylan, biting my lip as my eyes well with tears. He means so much to me. “I’m so sorry, Dylan, I wasn’t planning on any of… this.”
“It’s okay,” Dylan says calmly, smiling.
That rattles me more than anything. I know Dylan, and I know he doesn’t lie. He doesn’t have a dishonest bone in his body. How can he not think I’m horrible right now?
“I don’t even like Jack!” I shout, driven by the need to make my point despite the fact that Dylan isn’t asking.
My outburst snaps Jack out of his silence, and his expression immediately darkens.
It twists something up inside me to see, and now I feel bad for a whole new set of reasons. God, I was about to go to bed with him.
Not that we would have made it as far as the bedroom.
I draw a shuddering breath, quelling the surge of heat that the thought sends through me, even now. Jack, pushing me up against the wall. Pulling off my panties and balancing my ass on the railing while he…
I blink. No. God. Jack’s face is like a storm cloud, and here I am, imagining things that can never happen between us, no matter how ready I was to have him take me exactly like that a few minutes ago.
I owe him an apology, even if what I’d just said was true. Well, sort of true… but clearly, it isn’t the whole truth.
“Jack, I didn’t mean…” I trail off as he turns hard eyes on me, his expression totally closed off again. I try again, “It’s not that I… Shit.” I give up. Jack isn’t giving me an inch, and I don’t know what to say, anyway. I wanted him. I wanted Dylan, too. And I’m so fucking tired of feeling bad about what I want. I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated. “I just didn’t want this to be complicated!”
Jack’s lips tighten into a thin line, but Dylan laughs.
“I mean, it doesn’t seem all that complicated to me,” Dylan says, smiling at me warmly before his eyes move over to Jack. Dylan looks him over slowly, and even watching it, his gaze feels like molten honey to me, lingering on that mouthwatering erection that—despite Jack’s angry scowl and closed-off expression—is still at full mast.
God, Jack wears suits like nobody’s business, and this one looks particularly sexy against that strong, lean body.
I have no doubt that my own expression matches Dylan’s at this point, but I only realize it when Jack looks back and forth between the two of us, swallowing hard as his scowl turns to a sexy brand of confusion.
“What?” he manages, crossing his arms as if he can shield himself from both of us.
It’s almost cute—not a word I’ve ever associated with Jack—and a part of me wants to laugh. This is the man who’d just taken my mouth like he owned it?
Dylan looks over at me, the same warm heat I’d seen in the kitchen flaring in his eyes.
“Not complicated from where I’m standing, Wildcat,” he says. “I mean, hell. Jack’s hot. I’d probably kiss him, too, if I got the chance.”
I suck in a sharp breath as his words make do something wicked to me. These two men… I bite my lip, stifling a moan. So hot.
Jack makes a small sound, and my eyes snap to his. His confusion has turned into something close to terror.
He shakes his head, holding up his hands in front of him. “Jesus fuck, Dylan!” he shouts. “Why would you think that’s an okay thing to say about me?”
Dylan’s open expression suddenly goes dark. It might be the first time in my life I’ve ever seen him looking anything other than easygoing and relaxed.
“Jack, I’ve never hidden my feelings. If you can’t handle it, get over it, but I’m an adult now, and I don’t have time for that kind of bullshit anymore.”
Jack takes the last few steps down to the landing, his body hugging the wall as if he really is scared of what Dylan’s saying, and he almost trips over his own briefcase as his eyes dart toward the front door. Toward escape. He’s obviously embarrassed and upset, and when he snatches his briefcase up from the floor, he makes a break for it. He doesn’t say another word to either of us, just storms past Dylan and clatters down he stairs to let himself out.
The front door slams hard after him, and I wince at the sound.
“Guess we aren’t talking about the house tonight, eh?” Dylan says, joking lightly as he looks at me with concern. “Are you okay, Cate?”
I draw in a shuddering breath, trying to will my body to ramp it down and my mind to kick into gear. I want to talk to Dylan about… all of it. But complications? Yeah, here they are. In spades.
I just nod, and Dylan—perfect, perfect man that he is—lets me get away with it, not pushing for more.
I’m grateful.
For now.
But oh Lord, as I turn and head back up the stairs, trying to focus on other things—like figuring out what I’m going to do for work out here, how to get my belongings from New York, how on earth the three of us are supposed to sort out the details with the townhouse on top of everything brewing between us—I know that not talking about what happened with Jack… what was said between Jack and Dylan… what happened with Dylan and me…
That reprieve isn’t going to last long.
And, if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I want it to.
8
Jack
What a fucking bust. I throw my house keys on the counter, kicking my apartment door shut with my foot. I must have put more of my frustration into that kick than I expected, because the heavy wood slams hard enough to make it rattle in the frame. I scrub my hands over my face and through my hair.
Shit.
Dinner with a pretty woman shouldn’t make you feel like you’ve got a piece of tinfoil stuck in your teeth, but my last two hours felt more like being at the DMV than on a date. Office has had this temp paralegal, Mindy, for the past couple of weeks—cute, bouncy curves, and does she ever know it. She’s been batting her eyes at me since she started, and today she made her move when I came to get my mail from her at reception. Dinner, drinks, very heavily implied post-drink fun.
I said yes, because God knows I needed the distraction. All week, I’ve been fighting to not think about Cate, about Dylan, about the whole mess, and it’s taken every bit of willpower I have. I threw myself into work like I was bucking for a promotion, and then as soon as I got off work I was hitting the gym to punish my body into exhaustion so I wouldn’t get stuck in my own spinning thoughts. So by the time Mindy got to me, yeah, I was kinda desperate for anything that might keep my mind off all of it.
Turns out, though, going out with Mindy was the exact wrong move to make.
Every time she giggled I thought about how it wasn’t Cate’s laugh; every time Mindy leaned forward to push her breasts up in her low-cut dress I thought about Cate’s gorgeous body, dripping with soapsuds… pressed against mine… and fucking Christ, those moans.
Basically, I spent the whole damn date arguing with myself inwardly, trying to deny that I was thinking about Cate at all and berating myself for doing so at the same time. Complete and utter torture. I couldn’t even make it through dessert without bouncing my leg, I was that eager to get away. Mindy had looked almost shocked when I pleaded an early morning and bundled her into a cab I paid for, just to get some breathing space, but I had to, right?
She wasn’t what I needed.
I almost growl as I take my shoes off at the mat, and the sound is loud in my empty apartment. Tonight is no different than the rest of the week: I can barely focus, can’t seem to enjoy anything—the fuck is wrong with me?
I sigh, some of the steam going out of me. I know the answer. Cate is what’s wrong with me.
Big surprise, she’s throwing a wrench into my life again. Stuck-up, self-righteous Duchess, taunting me with how hot she is before yanking it all away. Not that I can blame her for pulling back when Dylan showed up.
My cock twitches, and I frown, not willing to let my mind go there. Instead—
That doesn’t sound like the girl Sully always talked about. The memory of what T
ina, the bartender, had said cuts through my familiar internal ranting. Sully made her sound like she was shy… had some things she was struggling with.
I snort. Phrased a hell of a lot nicer than the shit Cate screamed at me, but bartender-style tact or not, same sentiment.
This is part of why I tried so damn hard not to think about her all week. Not just the massive case of blue balls she’d left me with, but also the confusion of maybe starting to see her in a different light. Cate’s hot, yeah, but she’s also maybe… not what I’d always thought. Honestly, if I think too hard about what she’d yelled at me on those stairs—especially in light of Tina’s words—I end up feeling not just confused, but maybe a little ashamed, too. The last thing I want to do is have to re-evaluate my whole opinion of her, maybe admit I’d been wrong, but now, alone in my apartment with no work left to do, I think I’m not gonna have a choice.
Fuck it. Not without a drink, though.
I carefully hang up my suit jacket and tie in the closet and toss the pants and dress shirt into the hamper to go to the dry cleaners. I still feel constricted, my undershirt too tight, so I shuck that, too. Feels a little better to be down to skivvies, to stretch and get some cool conditioned air on skin that’s way too overheated.
I head back into the kitchen for a scotch at the counter, just a small one. I’m never gonna let myself drink like a “real Kelly”—like my old man—but now and then, a little helps put me in the right mindset to mull shit over. I know I’ve got a hot temper, but for a lot of reasons, I’m going to try to keep a lid on it and think this through a different way. For one thing, like it or not, Sully has put me in a position where I’m gonna have to deal with Cate, at least until we come to an agreement on what to do with the townhouse.
But it’s not just that.
Christ.
The way she’d felt in my arms, the way my cock had felt like it needed to be inside her… not just horny. Hell, I’d never had trouble finding a girl to take care of that when I needed it. But with Cate, for a minute there, the idea of fucking her had felt like coming home.
I adjust myself and drag my thoughts out of her panties with an effort. I’ve gotta try to look at my history with her in the same way I’d look at a case file. Really look at the facts. Be objective, instead of letting teenage hurt and horniness color my memories.
I exhale hard through my nose. So, what new info do I have? I tick it off on my fingers. Weigh it. Analyze it.
I’ve got Tina’s word about what Sully said, and yeah, I put a lot of weight behind that man’s opinion, even posthumously.
I’ve got Dylan’s tight friendship with her, which, not gonna lie, speaks volumes. Dylan knows people, and the man is… well, to be honest, after Sully, he’s the best man I know.
And back to Sully: I’ve got my own knowledge of what he was like. What traits he valued. How he always put his money where his mouth was and treated people like people, regardless of their net worth. And even without Tina’s extra insight, guess I’d always known that Sully thought the world of Cate. I snort again. I know damn well that Sully’s high opinion of her wasn’t just because she was family. He didn’t roll like that; the proof was in his relationship with his daughter, Cate’s mother.
That woman was a piece of work.
Imagine Cate, growing up under her thumb. I’d always figured Cate was a chip off the old block… but if I’m truly being objective, if this were a case, I’d have to say that when I discard all my old filters, the answer is pretty fucking obvious.
Cate wasn’t a snobby, too-good-for-me rich girl, looking down that cute nose at me. She was shy. And maybe a little screwed up by the pressures on her, too. Different pressures than being a Kelly, but—with her mother’s attitude about being a MacMillan—probably just as intense.
I shake my head, annoyed now that it took me this long. I’m usually so fast on the uptake, pride myself on it, but this is a years-long blind spot. Don’t know how ready I am to say it to anyone else, but right now, I can at least admit it to myself. I got it wrong. I got it so fucking wrong.
Jesus, Jack—who’s the asshole now?
Any way I slice it, looks like the answer is me. Me now, cynical and confrontational, picking any fight I can because I don’t want to go back to feeling like a scorned teenager. Still always running away from something I left behind a long time ago. Me back then as a dumb, angry kid, always snapping at Cate when she didn’t treat me the way I wanted, the way—maybe in retrospect—she wasn’t confident enough to. Hating her then for what I thought was snobbery. Never giving her a chance or looking any deeper, despite my best friend at the time—Dylan—always telling me I should, showing me by example.
Truth is, I suspect I’ve been a dick to Dylan, too, but that’s still too much for me to look at yet.
I throw back a little more scotch, letting myself go back and think about the other day with this new point of view. I’d thought that maybe Cate was trying to prove something, that she could make me want her—at least, up until I couldn’t think at all because of how damn good she felt against me—but now I’m really thinking about what she’d said. Ugly? Jesus H. Christ. The woman was a goddess. How the hell could she have ever thought I considered her to be plain, accusing me of always overlooking her, when I spent every single summer practically drooling over her?
Shit, I know damn well that the stuff going on in your head isn’t always logical, but Cate thinking she’s anything other than gorgeous is just so unbelievable. Even when I was a teenager and I thought I hated her, that didn’t stop me from rubbing one out to the thought of her every chance I got. My cock stirs again at the memory, and it hits me that maybe that’s the problem right here and now. I’ve been forcing myself not to think about Cate so damn hard that I haven’t taken care of myself at all.
All guys do it, and yeah, maybe me more than most—just something I do to keep my head clear more than anything else—but ever since I’d walked in on her in the bathtub, a part of me has known I wouldn’t be able to even touch my cock without her springing to mind. My balls are so blue right now they’ve practically got real estate in the Hamptons. Being that pent-up would make anyone get a little crazy.
I grin. Maybe finally letting myself think of her can be a relief in more ways than one.
I down the last bit of my scotch and head to my bedroom, then settle in on top of my covers with an arm behind my head. My dick starts to perk up the second I really let myself picture Cate’s face. Fucking gorgeous. No doubt. I’ve dated some beautiful women, but Cate… Cate takes the cake. Maybe it’s because I met her so young, always had so many emotions wrapped up in our relationship, but can’t deny that she’s always been the standard for my perfect woman.
Physically, up until now. But now, maybe more than just physically.
I push a hand under my boxer briefs, covering my cock while it pulses like it knows I’m about to make it happy. Or Cate is. Fucking-A, she had it really fucking happy there on the stairs, even if that didn’t end the way I’d sort of started thinking it might. For a minute there, none of my anger was in the way of wanting her.
And, huh. Guess it isn’t now, either. In fact, without that protective barrier to hide behind, I can’t keep myself from picturing all the things that make me so damned attracted to her. Don’t even want to. It’s almost insane how much hotter she is now, as a grown woman. She’s got so much more personality, she’s so much stronger and more confident.
I tighten my fist around my shaft, so hard I’m practically throbbing, but I hold on and wait. Kinda tempting to just go for it, fast and furious, but damn, it’s been this long, I’m going to let myself enjoy it.
I close my eyes and let my mind drift over my picture of Cate, working myself a little, but not enough to get things moving too fast yet. Her strong, fit body with all those delicious curves felt unbelievable pressed up against me. And Christ, those lush curves of hers would feel so much better in my hands. All too easy to picture those long legs hooked ov
er my shoulders.
I groan, feeling my balls start to tighten a bit even though I’m really not doing much for my cock yet.
Cate is, though.
The memory of her, at least. Of that kiss. All the hotter because she was being so fierce, driving me wild with the fight I’d never gotten to see in her before. Might have been shy once, but little Cate had definitely grown out of that, huh?
I liked it.
Liked her.
Got off on how she’d stood up to me, hell, how she’d threatened me. That fragile Duchess image I’ve always had of her definitely doesn’t mesh with that ferocious, sexy woman calling me a son of a bitch. I can’t help but grin, but it turns into a grunt as hunger curls through me, and I start stroking for real.
I kind of have to, the way the memory is affecting me.
Cate would never be boring in bed, I can tell that much. Wildcat. Not a joke anymore, just fact. Here, kitty kitty.
I hiss through my teeth, remembering the scent of her. She’d been beyond turned on. I’d felt her heat through those thin panties, smelled how wet she was, pressed my cock against it… I groan again, my eyes snapping open as I shove my underwear all the way off so I can do this the justice it deserves. My body’s responding so fast and hard that my take-it-slow-and-enjoy-it intentions are shot to hell. Well, not the enjoy-it part, but fucking Christ, this is gonna end hot and fast if the need shooting through me like a lightning storm is any indication.
Where could that kiss have gone?
Was she still pissed at me?
Would she have given in to it?
Seemed like she had been. Maybe. At the time I’d been sure. There’d been a passionate hunger in her, a brutally hot, strong pull between us—was I right? I’d been a little lost in her, to be honest. What would have happened if Dylan hadn’t come home and interrupted?
Or… if we hadn’t noticed, hadn’t jumped away from each other?
My hand stills, even though my throbbing cock doesn’t like that. Dylan again, interrupting my fantasy the way he’d interrupted me and Cate. I mean, I had to stop when he walked in, right? What Cate and I were doing, that’s not a show you put on for someone else.
Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance Page 10