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When the Macarena came on, she burst out laughing. Despite his rolled eyes, Geoff stayed with them as the dancers formed lines and went through the steps. She dissolved into giggles as Geoff did them by standing behind her and putting hands on her head, shoulders and hips, instead of his own. She escaped behind Chris and the two men faced each other, doing the mirror image of the dance, Chris with great, studied precision and Geoff adding a little more jazz to it, to the amused delight of others on the floor. Particularly the women.
It was a fact of life that Geoff and Chris would always receive female attention, but now that attention made Sam glow with possessive pride. They were beautiful, arresting, and they loved her.
After the song concluded, a slower number came up. Geoff relinquished her to Chris graciously. "I need to hit the men's room," he told her, offering her a lingering kiss. "Chris'll take good care of you."
"He always does," she rejoined, and won a smile of agreement.
She slid her arms under Chris's as he wrapped one over her shoulders, clasping the other over her hips. As she laid her head on his chest, he pressed his jaw against her temple. "Having a good time?" he asked. She liked how the louder environment required him or Geoff to speak with their mouths on her flesh.
She nodded, closed her eyes and held on. Chris's hand slid down her back, thumb teasing her bra strap under the shirt. At length she lifted her head, rising up on her toes to put her lips against his ear and press herself fully against him. "Geoff told me what he wanted to do with me tonight when we get back to the cottage," she said. "How about you?"
He tilted his head to meet her eye to eye. "I think you know. What interests me more is what you want us to do to you."
"Everything," she mouthed, trailing her fingers along his cheek. She pressed her nose into his soft, thick hair. "Doing everything is the best kind of drowning. But I also want to just hold you both and be still, so the universe won't notice how happy I am and do anything to screw with it."
He drew back and touched her face. "We won't let it," he promised.
***
Geoff washed his hands and did the obligatory quick check to make sure nothing was left between his teeth from dinner. Noticing his appearance was second nature when it came to his job, but this weekend it had more to do with how he wanted to look for his two . . . friends? Friends for certain. Lovers. Sub, in Sam's case.
As for Chris, he was Geoff's best friend. One whom he wanted to keep as a best friend and yet push deep into territory that encompassed even more than that. Boyfriend didn't fit, nor did submissive. There really wasn't any word but mine that seemed to fit. It wasn't a caveman thing; more like saying that the roots belonged to the tree, an inseparable part of it.
Mine. The moment he repeated it in his mind and bracketed it around his image of Chris, he knew that was the word he'd been seeking. Giving himself a rakish grin in the mirror, he left the bathroom.
The wide hallway spilled into an open area with couches and chairs where people could mill and chat. A transparent dividing wall helped mute the music while still allowing a view of the dancers. He could see Chris and Sam had moved to the edge. Sam was leaning against him in front of the low wall that surrounded the dance floor. Chris had his arm propped on the other side of her so she was in the shelter of his body, protected from being jostled by people passing behind them. If there weren't a constant flow of people around them, Geoff might have copped himself a nice view of Chris's ass in the black jeans, which, because he wore them less often, fit a little tighter. And Sam's legs were like willow stems in her short skirt. Geoff wouldn't mind working his way up them with mouth and fingers until he found the treasure between.
"Hey, dude. Hey, over here."
Geoff paused, drawn out of his thoughts by the shout, the wave of a hand. When he'd arrived at the men's room, there'd been a knot of three college guys standing at the head of the hallway, holding beers and scoping out women coming and going from the ladies' room. It was a good choke point to check out the array of potentially available females. Though they were a little too obvious about it, Geoff figured it was a decent tactic. However, from the raucous tone of their conversation and exaggerated body language, he could tell they'd already gotten their Friday-night drunk on, a less intelligent decision if they hoped to get lucky. One of them in particular was the loud and obnoxious kind of drunk who'd be better off on the dance floor, where the sound could absorb his rowdiness.
But you were only young and stupid once, and it wasn't so far in his past that he couldn't grin at their behavior and give them a moment of his time now. They'd moved to a circle of three chairs, and it was the obnoxious one hailing him. "Hey." He gestured at Geoff again, even though he was already headed over. "Hey guy, come over."
"What's up?" He gave them a nod and got a variety of friendly responses.
"I'm Dave. This here's Brad and Kent. You dance pretty good for a straight guy." They all snickered, but Dave waved his hand, showing they weren't meaning it in an offensive way. "Had some of the girls watching you, that's for damn sure."
"Dancing is a
great way to get women," Geoff said. "Much better than drinking."
"Yeah. But once the girls get drunk, too, you can get them without dancing," Brad pointed out. He had a goatee and a diamond stud in one ear and wore a tank that showed off a myriad of colorful tattoos. "We become a lot less repulsive."
Geoff grinned again; he couldn't help it. "Truer words, friend," he said, and began to move off. Dave, built like a bull and enhancing the look with a brush cut and 49ers jersey, lifted a hand again. "Hey, dude. Not finished with you. What you and your buddy have going with that girl is hot. You think once you're done with her tonight, she'd give us a spin?"
Geoff came to a halt and turned back, not sure for a moment he'd heard Dave right. The man was pressing on, though, oblivious. He tilted his head toward his two companions. "We got a place up at the lake where we hang out. We could all go up there later, have some more brews. Share her, since she's into doing multiple guys. Then we can split the cost of being nice to her. You know, giving her beer and getting her home, that kind of thing. Maybe even give her some extra money for being nice to us, if you get my meaning."
Any amusement or affinity Geoff had felt for the three vanished. Even at his drunkest, he'd never have assumed such a thing about a woman. Alcohol lowered inhibitions and impaired judgment, but it didn't sever a person from his moral compass. Which was why inebriation wasn't a get-out-of-jail-free card for felonies like rape.
But the basics were still true. They were young, stupid and drunk. He should just ignore them and move on. But he couldn't help but think of how Sam would react to this asshole's assumption. It had taken her a long time to get over how Anthony had treated her. She'd struggled with whether any of it was her fault, if her behavior had encouraged him to not take no for an answer. If she'd worn the wrong clothes, put on too much makeup. Women often blamed themselves for such things, but with a service submissive personality, she'd shouldered even more of the guilt. For far too long, she'd thought she should have been able to do something to keep it from happening.
He and Chris had done everything they could to help her rebuild her confidence, embrace her beauty and natural sexuality again. Christ, in truth, they'd probably suppressed their desire to pursue their relationship a lot sooner because of that, not wanting to affect her negatively in any way.
But whereas Anthony was not her fault, Geoff accepted the blame for this moment. He'd been thinking of nothing but enjoying her, and had forgotten his first job was protecting her. Why wouldn't their behavior attract attention, desire, envy? Or encourage this kind of thinking.
He didn't have to resort to violence, as tempting as it was to hammer the point into them using the nearest unyielding surface. However, it was his job to set them straight on what kind of woman she was.
"No," he said tightly. "She's not a whore. She's a beautiful woman who likes to dance. And because we treat her with love and respect, she trusts us enough to express desire without worrying that we're going to interpret it as something it's not."
