“Who owns your orgasms, Avery?” Kai growls.
“You do.”
He laughs, soft and dangerous. “Yes,” he says. “I do. Every whimper, every moan. It all belongs to me.” His fingers grip my chin, and his blue eyes bore into mine. “You want to come, you beg for it.”
“Yes,” I whisper, my nipples hardening to points. “Please…”
He slides off the couch onto his knees. “I should spank you for your brattiness,” he muses. “But instead…”
He reaches for a small bag tucked into the cushions. I lift my head up, curious. “What’s that?”
Maddox raises an eyebrow. “Should I blindfold her?” he asks.
Kai shakes his head. “Let’s give her a chance to obey.” He pinches one of my nipples, and I bite my tongue to keep myself from yelping. “Here are the rules. You can tell us if you don’t want to do something. You can tell us to stop. Otherwise, all I want to hear from you are moans of pleasure. Got it, sweetheart?”
Every time his tone turns dominant, my pussy gushes. Every. Single. Time.
“Yes.”
I watch with wide eyes as Kai opens the bag and pulls out a butt plug. “Glass,” Kai smirks. “As promised.” He lubes it up and gives me a questioning look. “You okay?”
“Very.”
We hadn’t done anal, but a couple of times during sex, Kai and Maddox had stuck a finger in my ass. It had been the hottest, dirtiest thing my nineteen-year-old mind could imagine.
I’m twenty-nine now. I want more than a finger in my ass. I want their fat cocks thrusting into me, one in my pussy, one in my ass. I want to be filled completely by them.
Like I told them on Monday, I want everything.
“Good girl.” Kai’s approval settles like a warm blanket over my skin. “Remember, keep your voice down.”
I can hear the dim murmur of voices in the background. Kai’s neighbors are still in their backyard. My face heats at the idea of being overheard, and I squirm restlessly.
“Such a little exhibitionist,” Maddox accuses me, his eyes glittering with lust. “You’re turned on at the thought of them hearing you, aren’t you, Avery? But you’re going to obey us.”
“Yes,” I pant. “I’ll be quiet.”
Maddox leans forward, his hands on my thighs, holding them open. Kai trickles some lube on my anus, and pushes a finger into my tight hole, wriggling it around to loosen my muscles. Then he replaces his finger with the plug. “Push out,” he orders. “Don’t clench.”
I do as he says. I’m not nervous. There are a lot of things I’m afraid of, but this is not one of them. I know Kai and Maddox will never hurt me.
They could shatter your heart.
I push that sobering thought aside. Kai pushes the plug into me, slow and steady. Finally, with a pop, my tight ring yields and the buttplug is seated in place, my muscles closing around the neck.
“Good girl,” Kai says again. “How does it feel?”
“Heavy.” My pussy is swollen with desire. The weight of the plug makes me incredibly aware of its presence. “I think I love it.”
Kai’s fingers brush a strand of hair away from my face. “You’re being very good,” he says. “I think it’s time for a reward.”
“Pick a number between one and five,” Maddox says.
I remember Saturday. I picked three, and they’d edged me three excruciating times. “One,” I reply, thinking I’m being smarter this time.
Kai chuckles. “Just one orgasm tonight, Avery?”
He lowers his face onto my pussy, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over me, tapping the base of the plug at the same time. I inhale sharply as its weight shifts within me. “Please…” I whimper.
Maddox shifts forward and kisses me, his touch unexpectedly tender. Then his gaze turns wicked again, and he reaches for his beer bottle, grazing it over my nipple.
I arch my back, gasping as my nipple pebbles in response to the cold. “Maddox.”
“Yes, Avery?”
Oh God, what are they doing to me? Kai’s tongue dances over my folds, teasing my clit. I clench my hands into fists, my head rolling to one side, my entire body flooding with pleasure. Maddox rolls the cold glass over my nipples, and sucks my swollen nubs into his mouth, warming them up. He alternates sensation, cold and hot, sweet and hard. My breasts go heavy with desire, and I squirm and tremble under their onslaught.
Kai pushes a finger into me. “You’re dripping wet, Avery.” He taps at the plug again, while adding another finger. He sucks my clitoris between his lips, and I almost jump off the table. “Keep still.”
I try to obey, but it’s impossibly difficult. Kai licks me, his strokes long and steady, tapping at the base of the buttplug as he pulls pleasure out of me. Maddox feasts on my breasts, nibbling, nipping and pinching. My nipples throb, my thighs tremble. My muscles clench.
My climax rushes toward me. I struggle to hold it back. I have to ask for permission. “Please can I come?” I beg. “Please…” My voice trails off in a sigh as Kai’s tongue circles my clit.
Maddox’s brown eyes hold mine. “What’d you think, Kai? Should we let her come?”
Kai chuckles, the sound vibrating against my too-sensitive pussy. “She remembered to ask,” he says, lifting his head and looking at my face, damp with sweat, flushed with arousal. “That deserves a reward. Anytime you want, Avery.”
That’s all I need. Kai thrusts two fingers deep inside me, and that, combined with the weight of the plug and the steady thrum of his tongue against my clit is impossible to resist. My control snaps and I explode, writhing and flailing, pinpricks of color bursting behind my clenched eyelids. I ride the storm, feeling the desperate, keening ache in my core, thrusting my hips into Kai’s mouth and rubbing against his lips, shameless in my need.
It goes on and on, my climax, one wave riding into the next. I try to flail away from the overwhelming sensation, but Kai’s grip on my hips tightens, and he holds me until the pleasure dies down to little shivery shocks.
“It’s a good thing I said one,” I murmur, drained. “I don’t think I can take another one.”
Maddox chuckles. “Those are fighting words. Trade places with me, Kai.”
Kai gets up. As I watch, he strips out of his clothes, quickly and efficiently. His cock is hard, erect. “I believe I was promised a birthday present.”
I lick my lips. “Yes.”
I don’t think I can come again, but Maddox proves me wrong. He starts licking me, sweet and slow, and I sigh in pleasure, moaning around Kai’s cock, wrapping my hand around the base and taking him deep into my mouth.
“Fuck,” Kai groans. “Happy birthday to me.” He laces his fingers in my hair, but lets me set the pace, while Maddox’s tongue lavishes my clitoris with achingly soft attention.
It doesn’t take long for my desire to flare up again, for the sparks to grow into an inferno.
Maddox starts to play with the plug. Unlike Kai, who just tapped the base with his fingertips, Maddox twists the plug, pulling it out and pushing it back in. “Tomorrow,” he growls, “we’re going to fill your pussy and your ass, Avery.”
I moan into Kai’s cock, bobbing faster, sucking hard, loving his low groans of pleasure. I’m seconds from losing control again, and, from the way Kai’s hands grip my hair, so is he.
Then Kai comes deep in my throat. I swallow every drop, and over the pounding in my head, I hear Maddox’s voice, giving me permission to come. That’s all it takes. I come again, biting my lip so I don’t scream, thrashing on the coffee table, surrendering to the sweet, primal urge once again.
“I should go.”
I’ve removed the buttplug and cleaned myself up in Kai’s bathroom. It’s almost eight. It’s not late, but I have an early morning client, and a week’s worth of paperwork to get through before I leave for the club tomorrow.
“You can spend the night if you’d like.”
I shake my head. I can hear the note of hesitation in Kai’s voice, and it makes m
e want to cry. I’m probably PMSing, but I need to leave before I start bawling. My feelings are too complicated at the moment, and I need to be alone if I’m to have any hope of sorting them out. “I’ll just call an Uber.”
“We’ll ride with you,” Maddox says.
“You don’t need to do that,” I argue.
“I’m not asking, Avery,” he replies, his voice hard. “I’m telling.”
They kiss me in the cab, both of them, unmindful of the driver’s curious gaze in the rearview mirror. “You like that he’s watching, don’t you?” Maddox whispers in my ear. “Bad girl. I’m looking forward to punishing you tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to being punished,” I say meekly.
They walk me to my door and wait for me to get into my condo before leaving. Once they’re gone, I sink onto my couch and stare into the distance. I’ve barely thought about my mother all afternoon. I haven’t worried even once that she hasn’t called me. I haven’t even stressed about my stupid engagement ring, still being held by the police. I’ve been so immersed in Kai and Maddox that the cares and concerns of my real life have melted away.
You’ve fallen in love with them.
That realization hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I groan out loud, burying my head in my hands. How the hell could I be so stupid? How the hell could I allow this to happen, and so quickly? It’s been less than seven days, damn it.
Ten years and seven days, a small voice reminds me.
Even so. What a dumb thing to do.
I get up to brush my teeth and change into my sleep t-shirt, and notice that my voicemail light is blinking.
It’s a message from the detective who interrogated me on Monday. Garrett Breyman.
Mr. Victor Lowell is claiming ownership of the ring, the message says. He wants us to pursue charges against you. Frankly, this is a domestic matter and a waste of my department’s time, but the pink diamond is valued at over half a million dollars, and Lowell’s pulling some strings. Call me on Monday so we can discuss what to do next.
22
Kai
I lay awake in bed for a long time. My thoughts keep returning to Avery, to what she’d said in today’s stress management workshop. I find it helpful to isolate what it is I’m worrying about.
I’m worried that I’m never going to be able to operate again.
Follow that thought through to its worst-case scenario, Avery’s voice urges. What’s your fear?
That my life won’t have any purpose. For ten years, ever since Avery left us in Dublin, I’ve poured myself into work. I don’t have much of a life apart from surgery. No real hobbies. Maddox and I are close friends, but he’s almost never in town. I don’t date. I’ve avoided commitment.
Without work, there’s nothing. My future stretches out in front of me, empty and barren. A cold wasteland.
There’s a tight knot in my chest. I take a deep breath and force myself to face my fears. Okay, I tell myself, if you can’t operate, what can you do?
I could teach.
I consider that idea, intrigued by the potential of that option. Georgetown is a teaching hospital, and I like the idea of passing on everything I’ve learned to the next generation of doctors.
Am I really okay with never cutting again?
I exhale and admit the truth. I’m not ready to give it up. I want the tremors to go away, and I want to get back to the OR. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.
Face your fear.
What if the next patient dies on the operating table?
The logical part of me knows that’s not very likely to happen. Melody Simon’s death was horrible, but it hadn’t been my fault. After days of avoiding the autopsy report, I’d finally broken down and read it. The patient had had a stroke during the surgery.
Life is random. Unpredictable. And as much as I’d like to control everything, I cannot. Sometimes, even seemingly healthy patients die.
From today’s turnout at my party, it’s clear that while I’ve been blaming myself for Melody’s death, none of my peers do. Rajesh Sharma, had, in fact, come up to me during a quiet moment and asked for my help with an upcoming surgery. “It’s tricky,” he’d said. “I could use your insight.”
My throat is still tight. My heart still races and a sense of inexplicable anxiety fills me. If it’s not my hand tremors, what is it?
Dig deeper.
I could lose Avery all over again.
I sit up, a shock of clarity jolting through my mind. My fear has twisted on itself, mutated, gained strength.
I don’t ever let myself think about that dark time, but the year after she’d left had been the worst year of my life.
I still had a year of my residency, and I’d been forced to stay in the city. I had to find a new route to work so I wouldn’t walk past the King’s Arms every day. Every bartender in London reminded me of Avery. Everywhere I looked, I was faced with the magnitude of my loss.
Maddox had had the luxury of leaving London and running away from the memories, but I couldn’t. I had to stay. Endure.
When I wasn’t at the hospital, I was drinking myself into a stupor. Fucking any woman who would have me. I was trying to drown my sorrows in a combination of cheap booze and easy pussy.
I’d become more disciplined when I returned home. I’d put Avery out of my mind with ruthless determination, and I’d been determined to pull myself out of the self-destructive spiral I’d fallen into. Xavier Leforte was opening a sex club, and he’d been looking for seed money. I’d given him some, and I’d sought refuge at Club M. In the tightly controlled atmosphere of the club, I’d allowed myself brief, transient pleasure.
But never anything lasting. Never anything that mattered.
Now Avery’s back. I thought I’d be able to keep her at arm’s length, but that’s a joke. I introduced her to my co-workers today. I brought her to my house.
It was never about sex with Avery. It was always more.
I should have left the instant she walked into Club Menage. I hadn’t. Now Avery’s in my heart again, and I’m terrified. I remember only too well how anchor-less I’d felt when she left us. I remember only too vividly the pain, the heartache, the blinding, gaping sense of loss.
Face your fear, Avery had said earlier today. The worst-case scenario might not be as bad as you think.
She’s wrong in this. Losing her would ruin me.
23
Maddox
I sleep terribly. Finally, at six in the morning, I give up and get out of bed. A cold shower and three cups of coffee later, I feel human again.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mother. We’re still on for breakfast?
Fuck. I’d totally forgotten. Still, I’m up anyway. Sure, I reply. Where?
The Jefferson, she replies. I made reservations for us at eight.
I groan again. Kiki Wake isn’t pretentious. We’d eaten in a greasy spoon last week, after all. But she’s got a soft spot for the downtown hotel, one I don’t share. The breakfast menu is uninspired, and I’m not a fan of starched formality.
Fine, I type. Next time, I’m picking the restaurant.
“I liked the diner better.” It’s true. After a life on the road, I’ve learned that the best meals aren’t necessarily in the fanciest restaurants. The most amazing bowl of soup I ever had was at a roadside stall in China.
My mother laughs at the expression on my face. “I know, I know. This isn’t your style.”
“And it’s yours?” I look around the room. Two tables over from us, Lorna Pritchett is seated with three of her friends, women I vaguely recognize. Lorna runs DC’s biggest gossip blog and had been one of the most avid gawkers during the trial.
She gives them a dismissive glance. “I’m quite fond of the Jefferson,” she says. “Stuart and I got married here, you know. The patrons, on the other hand…” Her shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
I met a woman.
“Nothing much,” I r
eply. “It’s been quiet. I’m heading to Miami for three days next week.”
“Work?” she asks, interested. “What are you shooting?”
“The Everglades,” I reply. “It’s going to be hot as hell. What about you?”
“The Dermot Gallery is showing a collection of my most recent paintings,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “The opening is in six weeks.” She gives me an amused glance. “Any chance you’ll be around?”
I exhale. “I don’t know.”
And that’s the truth. Six weeks at home is a bit of a record for me. Usually, by about this time, the itch to be somewhere else would have hit me.
It hasn’t this time around. I’d almost wanted to pass up the Miami job. Last night, I’d realized at some point in the evening that even if I wanted to invite Avery to my condo, I couldn’t. I had no furniture, no paintings on the wall, no bookshelves overflowing with books.
That’s never bothered me before. Being unencumbered by possessions has always felt like freedom to me. After yesterday, I’m not so sure anymore.
Fourteen weeks with Avery at Club M. Three and a half months. That’s what I’d asked for. But will I stay?
She nods. “I’ll send you an invitation just in case,” she says.
Lorna Pritchett has noticed us. She’s straining to hear our conversation. “Hag from hell,” my mother says calmly. “Ignore her.” She rummages through her bag and pulls out a newspaper. “This was in last week’s Arts and Culture section,” she says.
I look at the article she’s holding out to me. Damon Ettenberg is exhibiting some of his work at a DC gallery next week.
My biological father is going to be in town.
“I thought you didn’t want me to see him,” I say cautiously, trying to feel my way around this conversation. “Last week, you seemed upset about the idea of me contacting him.”
“I was wrong.” She butters her toast carefully, not looking at me. “I was jolted by the idea, and I’ll admit, I was afraid.”
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