“You don’t have to tell me,” Cate says, holding up her hands and looking mortified. “If it’s personal, it’s okay, I totally understand.”
I laugh again, but a part of me feels the tiniest bit sad. I mean, she’s been raised with such a narrow idea of right and wrong. Just as harsh, in its own way, as the way Jack grew up.
“Cate, it’s okay,” I say, grabbing those hands and squeezing them. “I’m bisexual. I’m open about it. It’s who I am. Jack is gorgeous, attitude notwithstanding, and the answer is hell yes. I’d totally take a piece of that, if he’d let me.”
A myriad of emotions flit across her face, almost too fast for me to read. None, however, is disgust. I see everything from curiosity to lust, and I wait it out, wondering where she wants to go with this conversation.
Finally, she smiles, and it looks a little fragile. Self-conscious. “So, when we slept together, would you have rather it have been…”
“No,” I say, and see the instant relief on her face. “Wanting Jack doesn’t mean I don’t want you, too. And seeing the two of you together?”
She goes even redder, squirming. I can tell part of it is embarrassment—those damn voices of “right” and “wrong” playing in her head—but another part of it… another part of it is something hotter.
I sit up and put my lemonade down on the coffee table, then take hers from her and do the same.
“Cate… come here.”
She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s surprised. I’m a pretty mellow guy, and I know she knows I’d never push her, but I can’t handle those doubts on her face, and that—combined with how much I’ve wanted her all week—makes my words come out a little more forcefully.
She stares back at me for a second, then stands and—when I grab her hand—lets me pull her down on my lap.
I kiss her.
For a second, she freezes up, and I wonder if she’s thinking of Jack’s lips… Jack’s mouth… Jack’s tongue inside her. And then, oh fuck, I’m thinking of those things, and my hands are tangled in her hair and I’m getting hard. Swelling under her curvy ass.
“You don’t mind?” she gasps, tilting her head back as I lick my way down the smooth column of her throat. “Really don’t mind? That I was with Jack?”
“I’m thinking of it, too, Cate,” I say, rolling my hips to let her know exactly what that does to me.
She moans, then laughs, and for once, she sounds free. Happy.
And then I’m laughing too, because whatever happens here, with the two of us—the three of us—it’s right. I know it. Everything about being in this house has always been right. Has always been exactly what each of us has needed.
“So, you don’t just not mind,” she says, pulling back a little and giving me an impish grin. “You like Jack, too, right?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. True, on so many levels. I grin at her. “Dude’s hot, what can I say? You’ve seen his suits, right?”
“Ugh,” Cate says, flushing as she laughs some more. She nods, though, even though she adds an obligatory, “He’s such a jerk.”
“Oh yeah,” I agree, nodding solemnly. “He looked like he was being horrible, kissing you like that the other day.”
“Shut up,” Cate says, still laughing as she leans against me and pouts playfully. “He is a jerk. But… maybe he’s a jerk with a spectacular ass.”
“Maybe?” I tease.
We look at each other for a moment, then both burst out laughing. It’s the most laughter I’ve heard fill this townhouse in a long, long time, probably years, and even though I haven’t been pining away for anything in particular, it suddenly occurs to me that having her here… having Jack in my life… they fill in pieces that I hadn’t really realized were missing.
Sully would be so happy. He loved us. All of us.
“Jack’s not a jerk,” I say, smoothing a hand down her back. Cate snorts, and I laugh again. “Okay, maybe he is a jerk, but that’s not all he is. He’s funny, and he’s quick-witted, and—”
“Sexy,” she whispers, then makes a little “eep” sound that’s adorable, as if the word had slipped out without her meaning it to.
I grin. “Yeah, that. And I know he can be abrasive and judgmental, but remember where he grew up.”
“You’re right,” Cate says, sighing. “Poor guy. I think I met his parents one time. It was one of the very few times they ever showed up at the townhouse to pick him up. They were brash, obnoxious, real class acts.”
I remember the time she’s talking about. It had surprised me, since most of the time, it had seemed like Jack’s parents didn’t give him much thought. Let him run wild, do his own thing. I don’t even think they even knew Sully was a part of Jack’s life for the first few years… but once they’d found out, well, let’s just say that they definitely cared about Jack rubbing shoulders with money.
“He was so embarrassed,” I remind her, my heart hurting a little for him, even after all these years. “The two of us were upstairs when his parents showed up, and I could hear his mom screaming for him to get his ass downstairs or he was gonna get it.”
“Jesus, yeah. He was already eighteen at that point, too, wasn’t he?” Cate asks, shaking her head. “Definitely way too old to deal with that sort of talk from his parents.”
“They still… reach out to him.” I grimace. Can’t help it. Normally, I like to look for the best in people, but either there really isn’t a lot of good to see in the Kelly family, or I just care too much about Jack to be generous.
“Really?” Cate asks, looking curious.
“Yeah, he mentioned it at dinner not too long ago. It’s just them looking for money, always looking for money. They try to guilt trip him with the family name, and how he’s not living up to it. I don’t know, it sounded like a bunch of crap.”
Even worse had been the look in Jack’s eyes. He deserved better. A family who loved him for him.
“Well,” Cate says, frowning. “I can certainly understand the family name pressure. Being a MacMillan is not a walk in the park, and I can’t count all the times I’ve dealt with my mother yelling at me for it. If Jack was too old at eighteen to be yelled at by his mom, I’m definitely too old at twenty-four to be yelled at by mine.”
“Agreed,” I say, glad that was never an issue for me. I’m “just” a Smith, but mostly I’m just… me. My mother never pulled that kind of bullshit, and it’s not in me or anyone close to me to care.
I’m still hard, but when her stomach rumbles, the part of me that wants to take care of her in other ways, too, wakes up.
“Dinner?” I ask, standing us both up.
For a minute, she looks embarrassed again, but she gets over it and nods. Seriously, the number her mother pulled on her… I shake my head. Cate’s perfect just the way she is, and hopefully once I cook for her enough, she’ll get over worrying about what she eats and just give in and enjoy it.
“We should ask Jack to dinner,” she says, following me into the kitchen.
I can tell it took some effort to say it, but I agree. Plus, I want to.
“How about tomorrow night?” I ask, grinning. “You and I can have one more evening to ourselves, then we could try it out again with Jack. See if we can keep everything civil over a meal, talk about the townhouse, and maybe…”
I shrug, smiling without finishing the sentence. I’m not sure what exactly I’m hoping for between all of us, but I don’t want to give up on working something out with our joint ownership of the townhouse, any more than I want to give up on either of them. Sully wouldn’t have. And maybe… maybe… the way things are going with each of us, maybe we can take the connection that’s always existed and turn it into something more.
Maybe.
10
Cate
The chains rattle hard against the heavy bag as I kick it, over and over again, against the backdrop of the blasting music keeping me motivated. Every single time, I let out a fierce yell, and every single time I’m thankful that Grandpa Sully
soundproofed the basement. Dylan is upstairs, cooking up a storm. I offered to be his sous chef, but to no avail. Secretly, I’m glad; this is the first time I’ve had an opportunity to really get a lot of the lingering stress out of my body.
Not to mention the frustration.
Yesterday, when Dylan finally kissed me again, I thought it would lead to some more of what we’d had in the kitchen. We got off track, though, talking about Jack, and even though we flirted the rest of the evening, I ended up in bed alone. That puts it at a week since I slept with Dylan, and just about a week since Jack almost made me come from a kiss alone. Compared to how unfulfilling my sex life was before coming back to Boston, that’s practically a miracle… but I’m greedy. My body is aching for more where that came from, and until I get the nerve to go for it on my own—or one of them steps up and offers—I’ve gotta keep my libido in check somehow.
Kickboxing helps.
A little.
Other than decoration, most of my hobbies didn’t revolve around the typical expected skillset of a society woman, as mother would say. I kickbox, I lift weights; I enjoy the feeling of my body working at its peak. It may have started because of endless ridicule and scrutiny from my mother—exercising has always been easier for me than dieting when it comes to maintaining my weight—but over the years, I’ve really made it my own thing.
I feel good when I use my body like this.
I feel strong.
The thought gives me pause, and I bounce on my toes for a minute, watching the bag swing. Mother had made her comment about me teaching classes in that snide, condescending tone that’s like nails on chalkboard for me, but you know what? Maybe I will do this more. I love decorating, but finding clients and setting up a business like that in a new city isn’t something I can hope to support myself with right off the bat… maybe teaching kickboxing or yoga is exactly what I should be doing out here.
At least for now.
I’m actually certified, believe it or not, even if I’ve never tried to earn a living doing it. I’ve done my fair share of impromptu or short-notice sessions for clients of MacMillan Design, though, and always got glowing reviews. Now might be just the time to hang out a shingle and become a professional instructor. Or, who knows, maybe even a personal trainer.
I grin. The possibilities feel endless right now, and I put a little more energy into my next few kicks, snapping the bag back hard, again and again, until the music stops. I drop to the ground as soon as it does, stretching out on my back and enjoying the cool polished concrete beneath me as I go through a yoga-pose cool down.
I stare up at the ceiling, and suddenly find myself blinking back tears. How can I give any of this up, ever?
I feel free here.
Dylan’s cooking spoils me. The house comforts me. Even Jack… God. That man has driven me crazy, one way or another, for as long as I’ve known him, but the idea of how he might drive me crazy in the future is just as tempting as the rest of this life I’m starting to carve out in Boston.
I want it.
Want him.
Want all of it.
He’s coming over in a bit—Dylan set it up—and I know we’re supposed to talk about the townhouse tonight, but… God, I hope it’s just fear and not intuition. I have a feeling that it’s not going to go my way. It’s just too hard to imagine Jack making it easy on me—on me and Dylan—when he doesn’t need this place like we do.
Doesn’t love it.
At least… I don’t think he does. I guess there’s a lot I may not know about Jack, though. A lot I might have been blinded to. What I do know is that I’m positively in love with this place, and no matter what it takes, I want to keep it.
It’s mine… and somehow, the fact that it’s theirs, too, doesn’t take away from that at all.
I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let go.
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and try to convince myself it might work out. A glance at the clock confirms that Jack will be here any moment, so I do a few more stretches—really making sure that my body is lean and loose in all the right spots—then hop up to my feet. About 15 minutes later, I’m freshly showered and have some basic makeup on. Nothing fancy, certainly not for Jack, but I can’t have either of them seeing me completely undone.
I guess sometimes, there are just some things you can’t shed from society living.
I open the closet and pull out one of my favorite dresses; a simple, red skater dress. I’ve always loved this dress and how it swishes around my hips and thighs. I lay it carefully out on the bed, and reach inside one of the drawers to grab my bra and a pair of panties.
The bra is easy to find. The panties, not so much.
Shit.
I shove the drawer closed in frustration. I completely forgot to do my own laundry. Dylan has utterly spoiled me this week, taking care of me, feeding me… I’ve been so relaxed that I guess I just spaced out on every single bit of responsibility. I bite my lip, not even remotely comfortable with going bare under the short dress but not really coming up with any other immediate solutions—I want to wear it. I feel confident and sexy in it. And then the doorbell rings.
Of course.
Why wouldn’t Jack arrive at the perfectly worst time?
I frown, the old voices in my head ready to blame him for everything, but as I throw my bra on quickly and then slip into the skater dress, I have to admit that I’m feeling something else, too. It’s the memory of having his lips on me. His cock pressed against me. I squeeze my thighs together, closing my eyes for a minute to remind myself that we’re talking about the townhouse tonight, not… the rest. But the minute my eyes are closed? I get another rush of heat, remembering the feel of Dylan’s erection pressing against my ass yesterday, when he pulled me down on his lap.
God, I’m shameless.
I want them both.
I sigh, opening my eyes, and try to find the balance between the exhilarating sense of freedom I’ve had ever since walking away from my life in New York and, well, reality. Sure, it was fun—and hot, if I’m being honest—to talk about Jack with Dylan yesterday. Doubly hot to picture the two of them… but as wanton as I’ve been since I got here, I know that sort of thing isn’t the way real relationships work. And no matter what goes down tonight about the townhouse, I don’t want to let my relationships with those two—that’s right, even with Jack—go back to where they’ve been.
Meaning: to not having one.
I hold my head up and leave my room, the movement of air under my dress as it swishes against my thighs making me feel bold and a little excited, like I’ve got a secret. And it is my secret. I’ll stay focused tonight—if we’ve got a deadline to sort out what we’re doing with this place, that’s important to me—but it’s still nice to have this little something that’s mine.
This little bit of naughtiness.
As long as I keep my legs tastefully crossed, no one has to know, and I give myself a sly smile as I pass the mirror in the hallway, surprised at how confident and, well, sexy I look.
Maybe that’s just what confidence does.
When I get downstairs, Jack’s seated at the kitchen table, his briefcase on the chair next to him. Dylan and I decided not to do the formal dining room, it’s not exactly stuffy, but it’s also not as comfortable as just eating in the kitchen. And comfortable will help right now, I hope.
Jack glances up at me as I enter the room, something flaring in his eyes too fast for me to make sense of it before he shutters them, his face impossible to read. Before, I might have rolled my eyes or made a snide comment or just silently seethed at what I interpreted as his dismissal of me, but now?
I can’t help another one of those rushes of heat between my legs.
My eyes dance over his shoulders and neck… the freshly cut hairline at the nape of his neck… the shape of his jaw. That sexy, light beard of his that felt soft against my face, but also just rough enough to drive me wild.
My whole body f
lushes, and I jerk my eyes over to Dylan.
It doesn’t help.
Although, I guess that depends what kind of help I’m looking for.
The two of them couldn’t look more different right now, but both make my mouth water. One of them buttoned-up and sitting at the table looking like professional eye candy, the other with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his shirt collar undone enough to show off the tops of his pecs as he works on plating. I have another quick flashback to my conversation with Dylan—to the idea of the two of them, together—but like I said, sometimes I’m greedy. Before I can control the direction of my thoughts, the image has me in it, too.
All of us.
Together.
A little sound tries to escape my throat as my whole body flushes, and I regret not figuring out a solution to the panty situation. I’m wet and throbbing, and I bite my lip hard, hoping that neither man is paying attention. That neither can read me as easily as I think they can.
“Everything okay, Duchess?” Jack asks, smirking at me.
I narrow my eyes, my hackles rising from long habit. Does he know that I’ve just fantasized about the two of them at once? He can’t.
“Perfect,” I say brightly. “Glad you could make it, Jack.”
That seems to fluster him, and he grabs his glass of wine and takes a deep drink.
I grin, feeling like I’ve won something, even though I’m not sure what.
“Hey, you,” Dylan says, smiling at me and letting his gaze move over my body in a slow, gentle slide.
I want to moan again. Does he know what he’s doing to me?
“You look beautiful,” he says before turning back to the food. “I’m just about done here. Pour yourself a glass of wine, settle in, and I’ll be right there with the first course.”
I do it, and Jack jerks his smartphone out of a pocket and immediately lowers his eyes to it.
That’s interesting.
I’ve taken the seat on the opposite side of the table from him, and where once I would have made up a story in my head about him not wanting to look at me because he couldn’t stand the sight, now—after the way he devoured me the week before on the stairs—I wonder if it’s something else.
Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance Page 12