Polished

by Turner, Alyssa

  “Hey!” Rory protested, swatting at his fingers.

  Jack was undeterred. “You’re most beautiful when you don’t try to be.” He smiled. “I bet you never knew that.”

  She shook her head and looked to Spencer. The slow nod he gave her said that he agreed.

  “There, that’s better.” Jack took the somewhat unruly locks and pulled them forward onto Rory’s shoulders. “But I’m still not quite satisfied that you understand who’s in charge.”

  “What?”

  He wrapped both his hands with her shiny hair and tugged slightly. “If I want your hair down, you wear it down. You don’t try to stop me when I correct you.”

  “Oh…” She pressed her lips together. Jack noticed her pressing her thighs together too.

  Satisfied, he released her hair and cupped her cheek. “I think you want me to help you do the things you’re afraid to do, be the person people don’t expect you to be. That’s what you both want, isn’t it?”

  Neither of them answered.

  “That is the second time I’ve asked you something and you did not respond. Spencer doesn’t get to speak tonight, but Rory, I expect an answer when I ask you a question.”

  She swallowed and then stood straight up and looked him in the eye, bold and ready for the challenge. “Yes.”

  He grinned at her. “Good girl, Rory.” Later he would show her how good she could be. “Are we ready, then?” Jack asked them both. They nodded. Rory collected her small clutch purse from the dresser. Her inky blue silk dress hugged the round ass he’d been admiring since they met. He reached out. For now, just a touch to her hip to guide her toward the door would do. It was a soft yet deliberate press against her hip, guiding her with a measure of respect.

  The respect Jack felt for Rory only made the idea of topping her more erotic. She was independent and strong, with an intellect only rivaled by her innocence. Curiosity radiated from her, and he was certain there was plenty she wanted to experience—only she’d not yet had the opportunity. For all her professed sexual confidence, Rory was as vanilla as they came. At least so far.

  Jack smiled to himself, and let his thumb stroke the place on her neck where it met her spine as they reached the door. Being the master of her pleasure would be a privilege, which was a new concept for him as a Dom. In her eyes he saw trust. For the first time he wanted to be worthy of such trust. For the first time he actually thought he could be.

  Spencer was right behind them. Jack reached back to grab his hand. It was given freely to him. Mute Spencer was as docile as a kitten. Oh wow, did he like having these two on his arm—on his proverbial leash—for the night. It was like Christmas, and he’d gotten everything he ever really wanted for a change.

  * * *

  Rory made small talk with the silver-haired woman standing next to her as she linked pinkies with Spencer. Champagne flowed. The strings of tiny white lights dazzled above her head in the crown of the banquet-sized tent. Tapping her toe on the wooden floor to the music while the big band played behind her, Rory nodded and smiled as the older woman to her left prattled on.

  “Your boyfriend’s certainly a quiet one,” Frieda Weintraub said, peeking at Spencer over her champagne flute.

  “Spencer has to save his voice. He’s an opera singer,” Rory replied with a straight face. Spencer snapped his head in her direction and she cut her eyes to the corner to steal a peek at his expression. It was all she could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

  “Really? What company? Are you with the Met?”

  Spencer shook his head.

  “He’s with a small company from Mississippi,” Rory continued. “You haven’t heard opera until you’ve heard it with a Southern twang.” She was quickly losing the battle. Spencer pinched her in the side. The door on absurdity was wide open as far as she was concerned. Jack seemed to have placed Spencer under some kind of mind control with his decree for him not to speak, and Spencer hadn’t uttered a single word all night. No one would believe her—not that she had any intention of sharing a thing about this night with anyone, ever. Something about keeping all this a secret seemed really magical.

  Frieda gave her a quizzical look, as if she was trying to figure out if Rory was full of shit. Rory shrugged. “Or would you believe he has laryngitis?”

  Frieda wrinkled her nose and Rory reached out and touched her forearm with affection. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

  A faint smile played on Frieda’s lips, polite at best. Jack walked back over with two more champagne flutes and an arched eyebrow. “So, Frieda, I see you’ve met my friends.”

  “Quite the sense of humor on this one.” Frieda chuckled softly. “Please tell your father I asked about him.”

  No sooner had Frieda turned toward another partygoer than Jack placed his hand on Rory’s waist, holding her firmly in place as she waited for him to speak. He didn’t, at first. He just stared into her eyes, his expression narrowing with focus. She could feel the firm impressions of his fingers through the thin silk. Her back straightened. Without releasing her, Jack turned to Spencer. “Has your girlfriend been misbehaving?”

  Spencer quirked his lip at her and nodded, exposing her without remorse.

  Jack turned to Rory. “What did you say to my nosy neighbor to make her off and run like that?”

  Rory felt her cheeks burn with what could have been described as shame if she wasn’t enjoying it so much. “I may have had a little fun with her.”

  Jack squeezed her waist with just enough pressure to make her know he still had hold of her. “Tell me what you said.” His stare was intense, but his dawning grin revealed his amusement.

  “It was silly.”

  “Did you say anything, Spencer?”

  Spencer shook his head. Rory spoke for him. “He was good. He didn’t make a peep.”

  “So, let me get this straight. Spencer was good and you were not.” He leaned close to her with a telling grin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “That means punishment for you, and a treat for Spencer.”

  “Punishment?”

  “You refuse to let me in on the little joke you had with Frieda.”

  Rory felt her heart start to pound. Fear? Excitement? Both. Definitely both. “I played like Spencer was in the opera. Told her he had to save his voice.”

  “Too late. You’re still in trouble.” Jack’s expression was unreadable—controlled would have been an accurate way to describe it. Powerful. Sexy as hell could also qualify. His voice dipped about an octave, firmer than a whisper but still meant for her ears alone. “Take off your bra.”

  Rory felt the air escape the atmosphere. “What? Here?” She hastily peered at the elegant and fashionable partygoers huddled in small clusters around her, chatting it up before dinner.

  “I think you have way too much clothing on. It would be my choice to have you naked around me all the time. But if I can’t, I at least want to see your nipples perk up under your dress.”

  “I’ll go to the bathroom…”

  His brows knitted together. “No, here.” He slipped his finger under the strap on her shoulder. “Now.”

  Rory glanced at Spencer, who shifted just slightly, licked his lips, and then swallowed hard. Jack tracked her gaze.

  “Don’t worry if Spencer is cool with this. Take a look at his dick. It will tell you all you need to know.”

  Rory looked down and Jack moved Spencer’s hands from their folded position in front of his zipper. He was swollen there, the start of an impressive erection.

  “Have you any ideas about how I’ll be able to do it without being seen?”

  “It’s dimly lit in here; everyone is wrapped up in their own conversations. No guarantees though, Rory. Someone could see you and disapprove. They could think you’re a dirty little slut.”

  That brought sparking heat to Rory’s cheeks. Spencer frowned at Jack, his stance suddenly rigid. Rory placed a hand on his chest. “Who cares what they think, right?” she said, feeling a pull
of something thick and wicked inside her.

  “Get closer to her.” Jack instructed Spencer to step up behind her while Jack closed in from the front. They huddled around her closer than would be deemed polite to the casual observer. Jack reached around and pinched the latch of Rory’s bra through her dress, releasing it with effortless skill. One strap fell off her shoulder and Rory quickly placed her hand on it.

  “I can’t do this.” The band continued to play behind them, blending with the constant murmur of mingling acquaintances. Everything was suddenly quite loud, including her heartbeat. Spencer placed his hand over hers and squeezed softly.

  “We can stop right now. Say the word,” Jack prompted with a whisper in her ear. Prompted her or taunted her? She wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Be brave then.”

  She wanted to be brave and bold, and find the audacity to be inappropriate and reckless. And she could be, sandwiched between a man she loved and a man she trusted. They were her safety net, surrounding her with their sharply dressed bodies, firm and sure. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought, did it? This was their game and theirs alone. She could do this. Of course she could.

  Rory moved with slow grace, shrugging her shoulder up to her ear and pressing her head to the side as she dragged the thin elastic strap down her arm. The movement stretched her neck long as her hair fell away.

  Spencer nudged in closer, his cock pressing into Rory’s ass. He dragged a finger over the length of her collarbone. His warm breath soon traced the line of chills he’d inspired. She looked over her shoulder at him, but he was looking at Jack.

  “You have permission to kiss her,” Jack told him. Only then did his lips fall onto her neck with a tiny flick of his tongue, igniting her insides.

  She reached back for his thigh, taking a handful of iron muscle. “Oh, Spencer…”

  He growled a little—low, barely heard, but there.

  Jack pulled the other bra strap from her arm and the entire lace contraption slid through the opening. She watched him fold it and tuck it into his breast pocket. Then without warning, he stepped in close once again and pinched her nipples hard between his thumb and index finger. The movement was quick and his hands were resting on her shoulders in one crashing beat of her heart.

  “Everyone, please find your seats. Dinner is served.” The announcement came from a tight-mouthed woman atop the bandstand.

  Rory shuddered from the fast and bright burn Jack’s pinches had left, and the way the silk of her dress grazed against her bare, sensitive nipples. She looked down at the pointed peaks outlined in garish detail under the thin fabric. Jack stepped aside and, with a firm hand between her shoulder blades, guided her toward the table they’d been assigned. It felt as if her nipples were leading the way.

  Jack’s hand slid down to the small of her back, encouraging her to arch and walk erect. “No hiding,” he said with more pressure on her spine. She rolled her shoulders back, proud that she could find the strength to please him.

  She was wet, too wet, soaking her panties and keenly aware of it now that her legs swished back and forth as she walked. From the moment he’d suggested—no, demanded—that she remove her bra and let everyone see her breasts jiggle and her nipples peak, she’d felt the first drops of arousal begin to mock her. She’d protested, but why? The idea clearly turned her on. It wasn’t like she’d never gone without a bra before. But somehow this was different, especially flagrant. People passed them, men and women alike, all of them compelled to look at the soft sway of her breasts under the fabric. With how pronounced her nipples were from Jack’s pinches, they just couldn’t be ignored. Rory’s cheeks were on fire, but she prevailed, feeling more giddy with each step she took.

  Spencer pulled the chair back for her and Jack did the same for Spencer, placing himself between them at the table set for ten. Other guests sat down and nodded their introductions over an ethereal-looking glass centerpiece that reminded Rory of a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. It glowed from within and reflected the twinkle of lights above. Several bottles of wine and a myriad of drinking glasses crowded the table. The complicated place settings were awash in lavender and chocolate. It all looked so well-done, so posh and proper. Jack leaned over to Rory and smiled. “If you misbehave again, I’ll make you remove your panties as well.”

  She bit her lip as a ripple of excitement coursed under her skin. Could she keep from misbehaving? The bigger question was whether she wanted to.

  She shifted again in her seat, but nothing helped her feel less aware of the slick wetness between her legs. She excused herself and headed for the bathroom. When she looked over her shoulder she half expected one of the others to follow her. Jack was still in a deep, but rather dull conversation with one of the men across from him about the real estate market on Long Island, and Spencer toyed absently with the rim of his glass. She sniffed, not sure if she should be relieved or disappointed.

  She stepped into the clubhouse, which was much more brightly lit than the tent. The urge to fold her arms over her chest clawed at her, but Rory resisted. There were rules—Jack’s rules. She wasn’t a cheat—and what’s more, she didn’t want to disappoint him. It was a little disconcerting how much that mattered to her.

  The bathroom wasn’t hard to find. As she had expected, a small line of women gathered outside the door. Rory tapped her heel on the carpeted floor as she waited her turn, looking around at the framed pictures lining the walls. A shot of Jack and a man who had to be his father caught her eye. Jack was much younger, perhaps sixteen in the shot, in which they were being presented with some kind of plaque.

  Inside the classically designed white marble and mahogany ladies’ room and sequestered in a stall, Rory tried to clean herself up some. Her phone rang from inside her clutch, but a check of the unrecognized number resulted in her sending it to voice mail. She hiked up her dress and eased her panties down, carefully pulling them over one strappy stiletto heel. Her phone rang again just as she perched her leg on the toilet seat. Same number.

  “Oh hell,” she mumbled and accepted the call. “Hello?”

  “Don’t you dare wash away any of that tasty juice you’ve got cooking under that dress.”

  “Jack?” Spencer must have dialed for him.

  “Tell me how wet you are.”

  “Oh fuck, Jack.” Her knees quivered at the sound of his command.

  “Stick your fingers inside and tell me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Where I can say anything to you that I want without being heard.”

  Rory ran a lone finger over the rim of her channel and lowered her voice. “I’m really slippery.”

  “What do you say?”

  “Thank you?” It sounded like a question, because it was.

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Thank you, Jack.”

  “Come out here where I can see your cheeks turn all red when you say that.”

  She bit her lip. “Where’s Spencer?”

  “He’s standing right next to me. Are you coming out, or do I have to go in there and get you?”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Not yet sweetheart, but soon, I promise.”

  She smiled at that. Somehow, the play on words didn’t sound trite from him. Maybe because she knew he was telling the truth.

  She pressed her luck. “I just need to clean up a little bit.”

  Jack laughed under his breath. “Oh, Rory. You know just how to push my buttons already.”

  Rory beamed within the privacy of the stall.

  “I warned you not to misbehave. You weren’t listening.”

  Oh, she had been listening, all right. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re going to have to give up your panties for that.”

  “I know.” Rory took a breath and slipped the lacy thong from her other ankle. Such a small scrap of fabric held so much psychological security. Tucked into her purse, its absence made her want to co
nfess her every sin. She was exposed, raw and soaked all the way to her thighs.

  “Jack?” she whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Spencer has been curious about a threesome for a while now. I am too.”

  “No doubt.”

  “He needs you, Jack.” Rory swallowed. “He just doesn’t know how to ask.”

  There was a moment of silence. She wondered if she’d gone too far.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’ve fixed it so he doesn’t have to.”

  Rory smiled. Yes, he’d taken care of that. She was getting the idea that he could be good at taking care of a lot of things. She smoothed down her dress and left the stall. Just outside the ladies’ room she found them both approaching.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through dinner,” Rory admitted as she walked between them back to their table.

  Spencer chuckled softly, biting on his bottom lip. She imagined he was having the same problem. Dessert couldn’t come fast enough.

  She suffered the steady thump-thump nagging in her clit while Jack insisted on drawing circles on her bare knee under the table. If that alone wasn’t enough to drive her mad, she had to deal with the mystery of what he might be doing to Spencer on his other side.

  He didn’t creep an inch past her knee. She almost wished he would, almost hoped that he’d clear the table and ram his fingers into her flooding cunt, just to relieve the tension coiling like a snake ready to strike inside her womb. It was much, much too much. But somewhere in that thought was the certainty there was plenty more he had planned for them. That was a scarily thrilling notion.

  She picked at her food, pushing the filet of sole from one side of her plate to the other. “Please, can we go?” She hadn’t meant to sound like she was begging. But, oh God she was.