by Wynne Roman
“Fuck, Marlie,” I groan. “We shouldn’t. Paige doesn’t—”
She pulls back, tongues the head of my dick, finds that place that makes me harder. “Paige doesn’t have to know. This isn’t any different from what we did when she was right there watching.”
True, but something tells me Paige won’t see it in quite the same way. She and I have been at odds over this shit all week, and pretty sure telling her after the fact that Marlie blew me behind the fireplace—where anybody could see—isn’t going to help my case.
But, goddamn. It feels so fucking good!
Marlie cups my balls, and my ability to think shatters into a jillion jagged pieces. I shove my hand against the back of her head, push her closer, and she sucks my cock down her throat again. And again.
She pumps her head up and down, fucking my dick with her mouth. She doesn’t just take me inside, but she uses her hands, too. Strokes up and down my shaft, cups my balls, licks and sucks and groans her approval, until I’m just seconds from coming.
A ruckus erupts from somewhere in the house. I hear it on some level, realize I’ve been hearing background noise for a while now, but the magic of Marlie’s mouth has every thought, every sensation, trapped in my dick.
I try to focus my attention outside of myself, but I can’t do it. My balls are tight, the base of my spine tingles, and the need to fuck my hips forward overwhelms me.
“Damn,” I growl. “Goddamn, Marlie, I’m gonna come.”
I erupt in spurts of thick cum that gush down her throat, into her mouth, over her chin. She moans, swallows, and it’s then that I hear my name.
“Noah! Jesus Christ, where are you, dude? Paige is looking for you. She needs you, man!”
Chapter Fourteen
Paige
Present Day
It takes a while before I’ve pulled myself together enough to leave the bathroom. Once I got in there, I gave myself permission to indulge in a nice, long, ugly cry. It wasn’t just about Noah’s admission; I knew that pretty quickly. Everything suddenly grew to gigantic proportions and that was the last straw.
It freaking overwhelmed me, and I needed the emotional release.
Now that it’s over, I’m a little embarrassed.
I creep out into the main room, no one is there. Noah’s gone.
I find a note on the kitchen island. I recognize his awful, scribbled handwriting.
Back soon.
Where did he go? Why? Am I relieved or pissed off?
I shake my head and grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Ugly crying like that dehydrates me, and I drink half the water in a couple of gulps. I lick my lips, empty the bottle, toss it in the recycle bin, and then look around the room.
Now what?
I wander over to the bank of windows and look out at the sunny skies that glisten above the Austin skyline. My mind’s settled enough to think again, and I can’t keep my attention away from reliving the conversation with Noah.
Now he knows how I felt—feel—about the ménage. Maybe he still doesn’t understand it all or get why, but he has to have always known the truth on some level. It’s possible he didn’t admit it, even to himself, but he’s too perceptive to have totally missed it.
Is he as shook as I am, knowing the truth?
I can’t believe he is. He’s been having threesomes for years since then, and always seems so naughty and flirty about it in interviews and on social media. A man like that can’t have a whole lot invested in an old girlfriend who freaked out over sharing her first boyfriend with another girl.
I’m clear on that intelligently. So why do I wish, just a little, that he did have regrets?
I stand there for a while, asking myself the same questions and at the same time telling myself to grow up. Get over it. Think about something that really matters, like finding an apartment or figuring out how to avoid Drake permanently.
And reminding myself to never get into another fucked-up relationship again.
I have no new wisdom, no conclusions, no answers to anything when I hear a noise behind me. I turn in time to see Noah enter through the front door. He looks at me seriously and offers a simple, “Hey.”
“Hi.” I have nothing else.
His eyes dart around the room, almost like he’s nervous. I don’t believe that but can accept that he’s probably uncomfortable.
“I got your car.”
“I . . . how?” I know I didn’t give him the keys.
“Towed. I have two spaces here. It’s parked next to the Range Rover.”
“I . . . thank you.” What else can I say?
“You’re welcome.”
I swallow and wander over to the sofa, to the place I’ve kind of taken over as mine, and sit down. Noah stays on the other side of the room by the door for a few seconds, and then he takes his place across from me.
“I’m sorry, Paige,” he says softly. “I really never meant to hurt you like that.”
His hair is pulled from its earlier ponytail, so it falls all around his neck and shoulders. Even with his earrings hidden, he looks so goddamn sexy.
It pisses me off.
“Couldn’t you guess it would?” I ask, sounding snappier than I mean.
He shakes his head shortly. “Didn’t let myself think that way, I guess. I was eighteen, and my dick got most of the blood flow those days.”
“And since then, too, according to the tabloids.”
“Well, I . . .” He shrugs “Yeah.”
Neither of us says anything for long enough that the silence grows seriously awkward. We should have been honest about this stuff long ago, at the time it happened, but I guess neither of us could do it. I know I was too scared.
Scared? The idea startles me. Of what?
I can’t answer, and the only explanation doesn’t make much sense. I mean, could I have been afraid that hearing the truth—actually confronting the man who was responsible—would make it worse somehow? How much sense does that make?
Noah shifts, puts his hands on his thighs. I don’t want to notice the solid strength of his legs, admire the way his jeans fit him, or remember what it felt like to have those hands in my hair, on my breasts, my hips.
Why do I always have to remember those things?
“I knew I was the one who fucked things up,” he says without enough emotion to tell me how he feels. “I knew the threesome changed things between us, and I regretted it. Regretted pushing it. After you—we broke up, I felt like shit so I walked away. I just lied to myself, I guess. About all of it.”
It’s more honesty than I ever expected from Noah, and I don’t quite know what to do with it.
“Lied to yourself how?” I ask, trying to understand.
“Told myself you overreacted. That you were too . . . vanilla. Proved it to myself, too, when I could get other girls to do it.”
“Why didn’t you ever—” I don’t want to say it “—get together with Marlie?”
His expression settles into one of fierce disgust. For her, or for Noah himself?
“Blamed her,” he says. “Told myself it was her fault everything went to shit. It’s maybe partly true, but the thing for me was that putting it all on her meant I didn’t have to own up to anything that way.”
He pauses, shakes his head. “That was bullshit.” He blinks, like he’s remembering. “It was all bullshit.”
I’m not sure what he means by all, but I let it go. It doesn’t really matter when nothing we do will change things at this late date.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask, pretending I don’t feel as weary as my voice sounds.
Noah folds his hands together, almost like in prayer, and presses them against his lips. He considers me for a couple of seconds, and I let myself look back. He’s hiding again, concealing his feelings behind a neutral expression that tells me nothing. I’m not sure why until he speaks.
“As for what’s between us . . . I don’t know.”
“Is there an us?”
> “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I’d like to think we can at least be friends.”
Friends? Friends seems like a stretch considering that this physical awareness I have for him is just a little too overwhelming, but he’s also been here for me. Saved me. Gave me a place to stay. Introduced me to his band family and shown me his life.
“Friends.” I nod like I’m agreeing.
“And the rest of it? Drake’s interview, I mean. I say we let it go—for now. My experience tells me that we have a fifty-fifty chance of it going away if we ignore it. I mean, I’m not really sure what he or Marlie have to gain if we don’t play their game.”
“Money?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Maybe. But if we stay quiet, the tabloids might not want to shell out any more cash over it. They can’t up the stakes if we don’t play the game.”
“And if they do?”
“Then we claim we were taking the high road. Trying to avoid a war of accusations over something so private, but we do have our limits.”
“Marlie—”
“I can flirt and joke my way through a lot of it, baby. Done it before.”
That’s true enough. I’ve seen and read enough of Noah’s interviews to remember his careless attitude. About many things, but especially sex. It just might help in this case. A surprising ember of hope flares to life.
I nod and let out a long breath.
“You tired?”
The concern in his voice, on his face, is obvious. I’d wonder why, but it’s probably no stretch of anyone’s imagination. My nose is still stuffy from my bout of tears, and I’m guessing my eyes haven’t completely lost their puffy redness. They feel dry and scratchy.
I hate revealing the evidence of my out-of-control emotions.
“Yeah,” I admit. Why lie at this point? “A little.”
“Why don’t you go lay down?” He nods toward the bedroom. “I’ve gotta meet the band at our old rehearsal space, anyway. Angel’s gonna be there, and we’re gonna—” he shakes his head “—figure shit out.”
That’s it? We’re just going to drop it?
I slide my gaze back to the city skyline. A small piece of me wants to hold on, and I figure it’ll be some time yet before I can accept Noah’s apology and let it go. If I can do that at all.
Honestly, though, most of me is relieved. Comforted. My emotions are too raw to keep at this for much longer.
Maybe taking a break to lick our wounds and get some perspective isn’t a bad idea. At this point, maybe it’s time I start to practice letting go.
Paige
Five Years Earlier
I should have never agreed to come to this party with Noah. Drake’s an okay guy, I guess, but his parties always get out of hand. His parents have a lot of money, or that’s what he says, and they let him do whatever he wants. They’re out of town this weekend, so he’s got two kegs, a bunch of pot, and I don’t know what else. I saw some pills and white powder, but I didn’t ask questions.
Unlike Drake, I know my limits.
Beer’s all I can handle tonight, and I don’t even really want that.
I spot my best friend Tiffany almost immediately and slip away from Noah. It hasn’t felt right to be around him all week, so I escape to hang with my bestie. She’s hot for Drake, even though he’s been with Nicole for a couple of months now. This is the night Tiff plans to make her move, she says. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but she’s not listening.
“There he is!” Tiff whispers and grabs my arm.
“And Nicole isn’t even five feet away.”
“Bitch.”
I snort a laugh in spite of my shitty mood. “He’s her boyfriend. She can’t be a bitch just ‘cause of that.”
Tiffany frowns at me. “Whose side are you on?”
“C’mon, Tiff.” I throw an arm around her shoulders. “I love you, you know that. But stealing another girl’s boyfriend? That’s skanky stuff. You said so yourself.”
She narrows her eyes. “You saying that because of Marlie?”
My heart clenches, then starts pounding, and I get a funny, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Marlie?” Her name doesn’t sound as dismissive as I want it to. “What’s she got to do with anything?”
Tiffany snorts. “Oh, c’mon. I’ve heard the rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“About Marlie and Noah. And you. You didn’t even tell me!”
“What are you talking about?”
Okay, so I sound a little anxious. Don’t I deserve to?
“C’mon, Paige. It’s me, Tiff.”
I can’t think of how to answer, and then she says, “About how Noah wanted to fuck Marlie. She said he couldn’t work it out without you knowing, so he set up a threesome. He fucked Marlie while you watched.”
“That isn’t true!”
That lying bitch! Not only is she spreading rumors, but she’s making shit up. Like it was all about her!
“So what happened?”
“I . . . ”
My voice dies as I think. What do I want to say? Tiffany might be my best friend, but I don’t want to tell her what really happened. I don’t want anybody to know. What choice do I have, though? Marlie’s lies mean I have to say something.
“Well?” Tiffany looks smug, and that pisses me off.
“I don’t know why you believe a liar like Marlie Davis.”
“I don’t, but you—oh!” She grabs my arm. “We’ll continue this later. Nicole just walked away. I’m going in.”
“Tiff.” She drops my arm, turns away, but I grab her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!” She jerks back. “Drake Johnson is worth it.”
She scoots across the room like her butt’s on fire, and I blink with a heavy sigh. I glance at my plastic cup and wrinkle my nose. The beer’s crap, and I’m just not in the mood, I guess. I look for a trash can rather than watch the train wreck of Tiffany going after Drake.
It takes some searching, but I finally find an overflowing garbage bin out by the pool. There are a bunch of kids in the water, some making out on loungers, and it’s noisy as hell. I don’t care. The night air is a relief.
I waste a couple of minutes gathering up the excess trash and trying to shove it into the receptacle, but it’s too much. I push down with all my might, but the garbage won’t budge. It’s full, and I’m wasting my time.
“Hey, Paige.”
I turn, squint into the shadows. “Oh, Mike. Hi.”
I don’t really like Mike Richards. He’s not a very big guy, maybe 5’8” or 5’9”, but he works out to make up for it. His chest and biceps are surprisingly muscular for a guy his size. He always wears a smirky grin and acts like he thinks he’s God’s gift. Not just to women but to society in general.
A Napoleon Complex, according to a discussion we had in my psych class.
“What are you doing out here alone?” he asks, sounding like he knows something I don’t.
I shrug. “Just looking for a trash can.” I nod toward the bin next to me. “Found one, but it’s a mess.”
“Drake’ll clean it up.”
I raise my eyebrows and add a little sarcasm to my voice. “Drake will?”
Mike laughs. “Okay, not Drake. Think he’s got a cleaning crew hired to come in tomorrow. His folks let him get by with a lot of shit, long as they don’t come home to a mess.”
I shake my head. “Must be nice.”
Not that my parents would actually do or say anything if I had a big party and made a mess of the house. I’m not sure they’d even notice, unless I blew the place up or something. Then they’d just look at me with disgusted disappointment in their eyes and shake their heads.
Like anything I did could be worse than the stuff they pulled?
Mike reaches out suddenly, drops a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, pulling me out of my head. Or maybe it isn’t sudden and I just wasn’t paying enough attention, didn’t see him moving in the heavy shadows. Whatever it is, I d
on’t like it.
“Know something else that’d be nice?” he asks.
“What?”
My voice is as stiff as my shoulders. Mike’s never come close to touching me before. I didn’t think he even knew who I was, except maybe as Noah’s girlfriend.
It doesn’t matter. His hand needs to get off me, even if it’s an innocent touch. I try to shrug free, but his fingers tighten.
“You and I should get to know each other,” he says in a silky-sounding voice.
“Get to know each other?” The words are as disbelieving as I hoped they’d be.
“Yeah. You know. Like you and Noah know each other. Or Marlie and Noah. Maybe even like the three of you know each other.”
An odd pain races up my spine, spreads out to my heart and my lungs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.”
He moves closer, and I step back. I try to shift to one side, but Mike’s right there. He pushes me back against the wall.
“Back off, Mike,” I snap. “I’m with Noah.”
“Aw, c’mon, Paige. I heard the rumors.”
He sounds whiny and confident at the same time, and his fingers tighten again. He leans forward, drops his head. Maybe he isn’t as big as Noah, but he’s still got me beat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now let me go.”
“Aw, don’t be a bitch, babe.” His voice is now harder, surprising me and yet not. “You been givin’ it up to Dexter for years,” he adds. “He’s off fucking Marlie, so how ‘bout givin’ me some of what you got?”
“What?”
He smashes his mouth against mine, shoves his tongue against my lips. Screw him if he thinks I’m going to open for him.
I twist, jerk away, but he’s strong enough to keep me from going far. He counters my movements, and the second I part my lips for a breath, his tongue thrusts forward. I gag on it and on the taste of flat beer and stale cigarettes, but he doesn’t seem to notice until I finally bite him.
“Damn! You little bitch!”
He slaps me—he fucking slaps me!—and pushes my shoulders hard against the wall and shoves his leg in between mine. I’m pinned there with his crotch against me, his hard-on poking against my stomach. The smell of sweat, beer, and some disgusting piney aftershave makes me want to puke.