by Lynda Aicher
Evan leaned forward to rest his forearms on the counter. “Hey. Just talk to us. We’re the last people who’ll judge you.” He jerked his chin to the side, his bangs flipping away from his eyes, only to settle right back where they’d started.
She studied him, taking in the sincerity she’d come searching for. She had to trust he was telling the truth or walk out their door and away from all of the crazy, insane desires and thoughts that made her want something she shouldn’t have. And she hadn’t been able to do that with any amount of success in the last two days.
“Can two men like each other—I mean, intimate like—and still want a woman too?” She moaned, folded her arms on the counter and dropped her head to hide in the soft sleeves of her sweater.
The oven timer went off with an interjecting beeeeeep that came across like a referee signaling pass interference. Or an opportunity to flee.
She bolted up, the stool skittering back and almost toppling in her haste to get away. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your dinner. I’ll go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Evan lunged around the counter to halt her flight. “Dinner will hold, or you can join us. But you’re not leaving until we help you.” He stepped in front of her, and she only had to lift her gaze a few inches to see the concern in his bright green eyes. He didn’t even hesitate before she was engulfed in a warm hug. “Stop running and talk to us, Allie. Whatever’s tearing you up needs to get out.”
She didn’t want him to be right. But the gnawing pit that had set up camp deep in her belly told her he was. Mustering the last of her dignity, she stepped away from his offered comfort and the sugary-sweet scent that told her he’d probably spent part of his day in a bakery tasting wedding cakes.
“I’m making a mess of this, huh?” She plastered on a wry smile and worked to tuck the escaped curl back into the bundle of hair forced into the clip at her nape.
Richard turned back from the stove, where he’d silenced the timer with a series of more beeps and clicks. His smile was warm and filled with the same understanding that was mimicked on Evan’s. “Which shows how much this is upsetting you. You’re not one to stumble over your words.”
Not usually. Now she couldn’t even manage to think without tripping down the rabbit hole of fear and insecurities. She perched on the bar stool, wrapped her around her waist and tried to slow her ramped pulse.
“To answer your question, yes, men can like both men and women. That’s what bi is all about.”
She studied Richard unable to decide if he was being snarky or serious. “Do you guys want to be intimate with women?”
The instant shudder that went through Evan, paired with his cringe, told her his answer. Richard was subtler. “We don’t. But everyone’s different. Some people are clearly defined in their sexual preferences, and others are more flexible in whom they desire.” He narrowed his eyes just a fraction. “Are you attracted to another woman?”
The smile that formed on her lips was part cynicism and part wistful. “No. In many ways, that would be easier to deal with then this.”
“So you’re attracted to a man who also likes men?” Evan asked.
“Men,” she mumbled, her arms pressed into her stomach as she stared at her toes. “I’m attracted to two men who like each other.” It might have been in her head, but the long ooooohhhhh of titillating discovery rang loud and clear.
“That has you confused.” Richard’s statement wasn’t even close to judgmental, but it left her feeling exposed beyond every level of comfort she knew.
“More like agonizingly, torturously baffled on what to do. Or how to feel.”
Evan topped off her lukewarm coffee with more from the steaming pot. “How come?” He finished the circuit, adding more of the liquid to the other mugs before returning the now-empty pot to coffeemaker and clicking it off.
The scene was all so normal when she felt anything but normal. “Because it’s not right. It doesn’t make sense, and I shouldn’t want it.”
“Says who?” Evan arched he brow as he took a sip from his mug.
“Everyone.” Her exasperation made her tone sharp. “My parents, society, the law.”
Richard jerked back frowning. “How so?”
“Polygamy is against the law in all fifty states.”
“Who’s getting married?”
“I know a fabulous wedding planner if you need one,” Evan quipped, his smirk matching the flash of mischief in his eyes.
“Oh,” she objected, her lips clamped in frustration. “Damn it. You know what I mean.”
Richard relented. “There is nothing wrong with being with two men if they want to be with you. I’m assuming they’ve made this known?”
She slumped against the back of the stool. “Yes. Very much so.”
Evan wiggled his brows. “Sounds fabulous to me.”
“Not if I’m in the way.”
“Did they make you feel like that?” Richard asked.
That was another problem. They hadn’t. Not outside of her own imagination. “No. But what if I’m just a passing interest?”
“What if?” Evan shrugged. “If you want to play, do. Just make sure you know the rules going in.”
“You make it seem so simple.” If it were really that simple, she’d be at Seth’s loft right now, doing all sorts of deviant things with two handsome men. But there was more. “They’re dominants.”
Richard cleared his throat and hid a smile behind a sudden need for a sip of coffee. Evan walked around the bar and pulled out the second stool so he could sit facing her. “So what bothers you more? That it’s two men, that they’re into each other as well as you or that they’re dominants?”
“When you put it like that, all of them.” She stared at Evan, the verbalization of her doubts swirling from her brain to her morals, making her sick. The coffee became a congealed ball of sludge that sat hard and painful in her stomach. She tugged on the waistband of her jeans, but it didn’t relieve the ache.
“Why?”
“Because it’s not right!”
“So we’re back to that.” Evan sighed, giving a minor eye roll this time. “Okay, let’s try it this way. How do you feel when you’re with them? Don’t—” he interjected when she started to speak, “—think. Or doubt. Just say how you feel.”
She closed her mouth and bit her tongue to keep her denial to herself. She looked away, unable to handle what she’d see on his face. “Scared. Good. Overwhelmed.”
“Did they force you?”
“No. Never.”
“What about when they’re intimate with each other. How does that make you feel?”
The instant image of them kissing inches from her own mouth flashed in her mind. The needy, hot desire that she couldn’t seem to extinguish in her core burst to life. “Turned on,” she said quietly.
“And when they touch you?”
“Even more turned on.” Why was she telling them this?
“And when they’re dominant with you?”
She swallowed, her throat constricting to a small, parched pipe. “Like I want to listen. That I should listen and do what I’m told.”
“Why?”
God, not that question again. Could she answer, honestly? She had to. “Because...it feels...good to let go.”
Her cheeks burned. She couldn’t believe she was admitting these things aloud, let alone to Richard and Evan. She couldn’t even bring herself to talk to Kendra or Cali, and both of them had experience in the whole Dom/sub world. It was easier to admit this deeply, private stuff to these two men than her two best friends.
Richard’s and Evan’s judgments wouldn’t sit as heavily as her girlfriends’.
“So where’s the problem?” Evan rubbed her thigh, the warmth and friction reaching through her jeans. “When’s the last time you really let go and did something just because it felt good and was fun?”
“My career doesn’t give me a lot of free time.” It was a lame defense
Evan squeez
The flush that consumed her made the room feel like an oven, a sharp difference from the chill that had encased her not thirty minutes before. “But I’m not a dirty girl.”
He laughed, the lilting tune as free and light as his personality. “Sweetie, everybody has a naughty side. Letting it out can be exhilarating. Right, babe?” His wink and smirk were all for Richard.
“Behave, Evan. You’re embarrassing our guest.” Richard’s admonishment was anything but harsh.
Allie couldn’t help staring at the silent communication that passed between the two men. The soft look, quirk of a smile, the tiny lift of a chin in acknowledgement—all signals that spoke volumes without a word. They had a bond that was stronger than a lot of hetero couples she knew. There was real love between them. The kind she always seemed to be on the outside of.
Evan pulled his focus back to her. “Whoever put this puritan conservatism in you should be shot. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m not at all surprised you have two men after you.” He fanned himself and sighed. “That’s every gay man’s fantasy.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “But I’m not a gay man.”
He cocked a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell me it’s not every straight female’s fantasy, because I won’t believe you.”
“God. I don’t know,” she moaned, rubbing her hand over her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I usually go with my gut in these situations,” Richard said. He’d moved around to stand behind Evan’s chair and rubbed the other man’s shoulders.
“Oh, screw your gut,” Evan contradicted. “Go with your heart.”
“My gut is telling me I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled. “And my heart says run. Fast.”
“How would it feel if you walked away?”
She clenched her teeth, the truth hovering behind her tightly held lips, afraid to come out. But she needed to say it. “Liked I missed out on something special.”
“Yeah? Do you want to live with that?”
And that was the crux of her problem. “No,” she whispered. The rain spattered against the small window over the sink, the trailing rivers of water blurring the view of the courtyard. “But I don’t know if I can live with myself if I do.”
“That’s a decision only you can figure out.”
She looked up at Richard. “You won’t make it for me?”
“So you can blame me later? No.” He chuckled. “You have to own your decision, or it’ll never sit right with you.”
Which was exactly why she’d run the other night. She’d panicked when it had felt like she wasn’t getting a chance to decide. They’d swooped in and consumed her before she’d even understood what was going on. The little incident in the bed hadn’t prepared her for the double-teaming kitchen episode.
If she went back, it’d be on her terms. Not Seth’s or Tyler’s. They might want to dominate her, which made her all kinds of hot and horny to think of that happening sexually, but they wouldn’t dominate her life and her decisions.
She blew out a long, relieving breath. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Evan asked. “We didn’t do anything.”
She stood, feeling better than she had in days. “You talked to me without judging. That’s everything.” She gave them each a hug.
Evan got up and moved to the oven. “Do you want to stay for dinner? I made plenty.” He opened the oven door, a fresh, spicy waft of what looked like meat loaf coating the air.
She inhaled and was brought back to the close confines of her mother’s kitchen. The meal had been a favorite of her brothers. “It smells delicious,” she said. “But I’ve got to go. I’ve already taken up half your evening.”
He waved her off. “Don’t be silly. You’re always welcome.”
The rain was still coming down when she stepped off the porch and hurried home. Her own place was just around the corner in the adjacent building, but she was still soaked when she reached her condo.
Locking the door behind her, she slipped off her shoes then yanked off her wet sweater as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom. She needed to think and for some strange reason, her best thoughts always happened in the shower. Of course, she’d been thinking for days without success, but she had more to stew on now.
Her research skills had been put to good use the last two days. She’d learned more than she’d ever thought possible about the BDSM world after a thorough internet search. There were things she’d never be interested in. But there were components that had excited her. Even if it was hard to admit.
She had knowledge now, and that gave her power. How she chose to use it was up to her.
Chapter Fourteen
Seth reclined on his leather couch and wormed into the cushions that conformed to his back. The television blared some action-fight flick that really didn’t interest him, but it filled the space in his mind. And that was way better than all of the crap that normally filled it.
He looked around his loft, briefly wondering what other people thought of his place. Of him. Everything was top-of-the-line, from the electronics and furnishings to the art and knickknacks selected by a designer. It was all precisely blended to define the masculine, successful bachelor.
And sometimes, it made him want to puke.
It felt like such a sham. He was a sham. Any day now, everyone was going to figure that out, and it would all be gone.
“Do you want to watch something else?” Tyler turned his head and looked up at Seth. “This movie sucks.” The grin he flashed was filled with the gentle confidence that Seth was discovering was the real Tyler.
“Whatever you want,” Seth answered. He’d do whatever it took to keep Tyler relaxed and content. The last two days alone with the other man had been some of the most enjoyable he’d had in a very long time. There’d been nothing sexual between them since that first night alone, outside of a few kisses and moments like this, which were more comforting than sexual.
In some ways, it was like they were both waiting for Allie to come back. Not that there was much chance of that. In the meantime, they were getting to know each other without pressure or expectations. It was a novelty, one he was enjoying. He’d been surprised to discover that Tyler’s gift for cooking really was that. The man had a talent for bringing random ingredients together to make an excellent meal. He’d said it was a survival skill he’d learned growing up. Seth understood that. It wasn’t that different from what Tyler did now to earn money. Survival skills.
Tyler turned back to the television, resuming to his position of using Seth’s lap as a pillow. His long legs were stretched down the couch, his feet hanging off the end. He started flicking through channels, pausing here and there to read show descriptions before moving on.
Seth glanced down the expanse of Tyler’s back. The marks were healing nicely. The lesser ones had already faded. The deeper ones had scabbed over and were diminishing more each day. There was still a chance of some scarring, but the prescription medication helped with that. Every time he looked at the damage, his resolve grew stronger to make Master Rex pay. But unless Tyler acted, Seth’s hands were tied behind the legality of the club’s contracts—and Tyler was insistent on letting it go.
It’d taken time, but Tyler had finally relaxed and let Seth care for him. The first time Tyler had lain quietly without tensing or complaint while Seth had applied the ointment to all of his injuries had been amazing. That small act of submission had displayed a trust that he knew wasn’t easy for a man who came from the streets and made a living giving his body to others. And Tyler had given that trust to Seth.
There was a part of him that didn’t want Tyler to get better, only because that would mean he’d leave. It was a sick thought that he acknowledged, but it didn’t change his feelings.<br />
He stroked his fingers through the soft strands of Tyler’s hair. Each swipe pulled the longer bangs back before falling forward once again.
He would miss this right here. He didn’t want to, but it wasn’t often that he got to just sit with someone and simply enjoy it. Tyler hadn’t run after Allie left. But every day since, a part of Seth had been waiting for that to happen.
The activities that took place in the club were something Jake and Deklan enjoyed more than Seth did. Putting on the clothes and attitude was simple enough, and he did it to maintain the image of The Den. But finding excitement or pleasure from inflicting pain? Not his thing. This, here. This was his thing. Not that anyone knew that.
The hard knock on the door startled them both.
Tyler jerked up and turned his head to frown at Seth. “You expecting someone?”
“No.” Seth glanced at the wall clock, the lateness already telegraphed by the darkness outside. “It must be Dek or Jake.” There weren’t many who knew the elevator or stairwell code to get to this floor. That meant there were problems at the club, and Seth really didn’t want to go down there tonight. He’d turned his phone off for that reason.
Tyler started to sit up, but Seth halted him with a gentle pressure to his nape. “Don’t. You’re fine.” Tyler settled back down, but there was a new tension to his shoulders. Still, he stayed, and that said more than words.
“Come in,” Seth hollered. “It’s open.” He didn’t feel like getting up. Plus he wanted to see how Tyler responded around others. They’d been in their own little world for days. It was time to test if what they were building had any chance of making it past this week.
The door clicked open, and Tyler muted the television. The rumble of luggage wheels announced Allie’s entry. The breath stalled in Seth’s lungs, the implications shocking him silent.
Tyler went still as Allie closed the door and set her suitcase in the entry. She removed her wet coat, hung it over the upright handle of the black roller bag and slipped off her shoes. Seth could just pick up the faint patter of rain through an open window. The fresh scent of wet mixed with clean cement floated through the room.
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