And of course, I can’t ignore the way my body responds to their touching and filthy words.
I want them both.
Rolling over in bed, I put my hands over my eyes, thinking. Could I get them to share? And even if I could, is that the kind of life I want?
I sit up to check the time on my phone. A text is waiting from Mr. Capulet—and he didn’t send it only to me. He sent it to Tag, too. What the hell—he created a group chat? That’s so weird.
You’ve had dates with us both, Janie, he wrote. What did you think?
He wants me to answer this now, to both of them? I stare at my phone screen, heart pounding, mind whirling. Finally, I decide to send the truth.
I can’t decide between you two.
Sweetheart, Tag writes back, you don’t have to decide.
I sit with that for a long moment. I don’t know how to respond. In fact, I get up entirely, leaving my phone on the bed. I need to get away from the pressure.
They would share me? Would it be like Ariel, with Lyle and Austin? Or do they have something different in mind?
Before I ask questions, I should figure out what I want in a relationship with two men. I don’t want them to fight over me, or resent each other. I couldn’t live with that kind of tension.
I go into the bathroom and start the shower. This is a guaranteed ten-minute break from texting them back after Tag’s bombshell.
After I undress, I turn with my back to the mirror. I look over my shoulder to see my ass, and the fading pink handprint over my right cheek. Tag. A surge of lust moves through me at the sight of it, at the memory of him taking me over his knees.
When I turn back around to face the mirror, I notice little marks on my inner thighs.
Mr. Capulet. Christopher. He bit me down there while he was giving me head. He wanted me to wear a memory of him, too. My arousal increases, making me slippery between my legs.
The warm shower water pounds over my shoulders and down my back. I’m pleasantly sore from last night, and the night before that. Two men worshipped me in different ways, giving me pain, protection, pleasure.
The night they pleasured me together was just as incredible. I imagine taking them both at once. Mr. Capulet touched my asshole last night, his finger sliding against it with enough pressure to embarrass me and get me off at the same time. Would one of them go there?
My hands wander to my pussy. I don’t touch my ass—I don’t have that kind of nerve. But I flutter my fingertips over my clit and penetrate myself with another finger, shuddering and shaking as the water cascades over my skin. I imagine them—Tag and Mr. Capulet—their hands, mouths, and cocks covering and filling me.
Best shower ever.
By the time I turn off the water and dry off, I’m no closer to a real decision.
Luckily, there’s a new message waiting in our group chat.
Come to my place for New Year’s Eve, Mr. Capulet wrote. Both of you. We can discuss this in person.
I stare at the text for a long, long moment.
Do I want this? Do I want both of them? Even though there’ll be hurdles and difficult conversations?
I pick up my phone, fingers poised over the texting app.
I’ll be there.
TAG
I face Janie’s brother, Joe, over an outdoor table in downtown San Esteban. It’s cold out here, but better than having a private conversation among all the people inside.
Joe clutches his cup of coffee, staring at the dark surface like it failed him.
“Dude, what is going on with you?” I ask.
