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I grab her hand and pull her down the boardwalk in the direction we came. A part of me feels like I'm going to Hell for even considering this, but another part of me doesn't care. Joel has watched me fuck before, and I've watched him. We've partied together our whole lives. That part doesn't bother me, but the person it involves this time unlocks some dark fantasy I wasn't even aware I had.
I just hope come tomorrow I can look Saxton in the face without feeling like the shittiest person in the world, because betrayal has never looked so enticing.
Chapter Eleven
Tynleigh
I'm drunk.
The lights of the club give off a hazy glow and my eyes feel a little heavier than when I got here. I feel free. My body is completely relaxed; moving along in a rhythm to the beats weaved through the song playing. Bryant took me to Joel's apartment once we got back to mine to drop Saxton and Kambry off, letting them know they'd have the apartment to themselves all night and tomorrow.
It was well after dark once we got there, because when Bryant and I got to Deno's Wonder Wheel they were still making their way around the various parks, so Bryant and I made use of the time and did a few things that we hadn't already done, waiting for them to finish. They didn't argue at the opportunity to be alone. Saxton looked more excited than anyone. I can't say that I was upset to leave them either. They're in this weird love bubble that I can only take so much of.
I think Bryant was expecting an awkward meet and greet once we got to Joel's because of the text message earlier. He obviously doesn't know me at all. I'm a very open girl when it comes to meeting people and having a good time. I may only keep a few people close, like Meg, but I have plenty of contacts when I want a night out.
Joel has an easygoing personality, and no filter just like Bryant said. I love it. Instantly it was comfortable from the time he opened the door and extended a drink to me. His first words were, "At least you don't look like Saxton. I really don't want to picture a naked female version of a guy I've known for years. Now drink up, sexy, I'm ready to see if you're just as hot beneath the clothes."
I laughed and did what any other girl would do given a free drink. Drink up of course. You can tell both of them are related, but I think I definitely got hit with the hotter of the two. That could always be my opinion because I'm already fucking one. A little conversation and a couple of drinks down and we were on our way. Joel has kept his promise too. He opened a tab when we got here and he's kept the shots coming ever since. I haven't opened my purse since I walked in and put my license back inside.
Now, here I am, on this dance floor lost in my own senses. And I've decided. Tonight, I'm giving myself a freebie, consequences be damned. I've worked my ass off for years, lived by the book, and indulged in nothing but alcohol, still keeping it classy. If I'm going to indulge in a dirty fantasy with two men, then I'm allowing myself the mindset to enjoy it at the fullest. Whatever that may entail . . .
Bryant's hands continue to rub against my body in the most amazing way as I grind my backside against his front. I can't say that I've ever had a dance partner keep rhythm with me as good as him. It's pleasantly erotic, and much like fucking with your clothes on, especially feeling the hard limb rubbing between my ass cheeks, reminding me it's waiting for me.
He has an exceptionally perfect dick. There are dicks that are so big they aren't as enjoyable. Us women only have so much square footage in that canal we call our vagina, and I don't like limitations during sex. It's like having a car with too much horsepower on a narrow winding road. What's the point in having it when you can't use it to its full potential? Then there are the ones that make you go out and buy that big dildo to keep for the occasion when you need more than what it's giving without destroying the man's ego. Lastly, there are dicks like Bryant's: perfect fucking fit, just right length to girth ratio, physically attractive in every way. And finally, not only does he have size on his side, but also he knows how to fucking use that God-given appendage in the most incredible way.
His lips skim the muscle stretched from shoulder to neck, his facial hair causing chill bumps to erupt all over my skin. I work my body through the sweat, the heat, and the loud music, enjoying every second, every tired muscle, and every bead of perspiration leaving my skin damp. I have no idea how long we've been out on this dance floor, but I know it's been at least an hour. The ends of Bryant's hair are damp and flipping out from the overheating of his body as our body temperatures mix and mingle with one another's. I've always loved setting alcohol free in my veins and dancing the night away.
"You're fucking beautiful, Tynleigh," he says, his voice husky and his hands resting just below my breasts, almost in a cupped position. They ascend, until his fingertips are clamped over the fabric of my black, strapless dress. "I really like these tiny dresses that you wear out. One little slip of the wrist and those spectacular tits would be on display." He roughly tugs on my ear between his teeth. "And it's so damn tight."
I could say the same thing about the fitted tee he's wearing; the thin cotton showing off the muscles underneath, especially his biceps due to the fact the snug sleeve stops just above it, making it more appealing to the eye every time he contracts from a movement of his arm. I'm definitely an arm and chest kind of girl, and he has that whole package going on. So often with the business types you miss out on that. At some point, to most men, money becomes more important than body sculpting or a strenuous schedule at the gym, especially in the middle of New York City when it comes to the financial district. I've gotten used to the lean muscular types and some not so much; even learned to appreciate it, but Bryant is the kind of man I've missed from the days of college. No suit, no clean-cut face, and no short haircut. I love the way it makes you feel tiny when a bigger guy bear hugs you.
I turn in his hold, our lazy eyes immediately locking with each other's. Something happens within myself that is foreign. The sudden urge to kiss him arises. And I act on it. It starts slow, and quickly turns into a needy depiction of starvation. Tongues collide. Tangling occurs. Twisting and tugging take place. And then we finally break away, trying hard to find our breath.
The thing is, a kiss can mean nothing or everything. It's not all that often I kiss a man, and it's even rarer that it happens out of nowhere; a yearning I can't turn off or an unbearable craving that I can't crush. And often after we're done I feel like I'm living through a sugar rush.
Falling into bed with someone is an act that can be done without kissing, and most often it's exactly how my encounters go. The easiest way to avoid it when you have a kisser on the other side of that wild encounter—dirty talk. Hormones flooding the senses are powerful enough to get the job done without having to combine bodily fluids by ways of mouth. Condoms protect from so many things, yet the mouth can be such a dirty place, especially when you're not monogamous. With Bryant, kissing is becoming a constant want that I can't seem to will away. And I'm not sure what that means.
No thinking.
"Want to go get another drink?"
"I think I'm going to need one if we're going to be here for a while, because if you keep kissing me like that we're going to the bathroom. I'm already fucking hard."
We walk back to the corner section Joel is sitting at so we don't lose it, drinking and people watching from the small couch, his arm stretched over the back. He smirks when I take a seat next to him. His hand falls from its perch and begins subconsciously twirling his long fingers in the ends of my hair. "Drunk yet?"
Bryant sits on the other side of me, leaving me sandwiched between the two of them. I notice from the corner of my eye him swatting Joel's hand away, and it discretely goes back on the top of the couch back, the two of us still looking at each other. He has the same type of beard as Bryant, only a slightly darker shade of brown and trimmed closer to the skin, no room for tugging, even though neither are long in length—with Bryant just enough to grip onto with your hand and cause a combustion of feelings when between a woman's legs—which is what makes them sexy. The thickness is there without it being a version of the redneck men from that show Duck Dynasty. I'm sure that look works for some people, but I won't ever be one of those people. Theirs, though, works for me.
His hair is also a longer cut like Bryant's, though finer in texture, but shorter than Bryant's on the sides and back—mostly long on the top like a fade. His build is also significantly smaller than Bryant's even though he clearly does have one, just a leaner, meaner version. If I had to guess his personality gets him laid way more than anything else, even though he definitely has the attraction to back it. "You do realize I'm not modest right? I don't have to be drunk for you to watch."
The server drops off another round of shots. He grabs them two by two, handing them out between the three of us. "That may be, sexy, but things are always more fun when you're drunk or high."
He looks at my rack; just before tipping back the shot quickly, swallowing it without pause. I scoot toward him, pulling the extra shot from his hand. I don't get very far in range before Bryant's hand grips against my front, pulling me back toward him. I glance down at his hand, and the second I glance up my eyes meet Joel's, the knowing smile present on his face. He grabs a fresh drink off the table, the small black straw immediately going between his lips. "I'm just saying I'm game for anything or I wouldn't have sent that text . . . sober."
"I believe you, beautiful," he says, his eyes darting above my head. "But the question here is whether B will share or not. He's being a little stingy lately. That's so unlike him." From the tone of his voice I can tell he's instigating Bryant. When his hand touches down on my thigh I shoot the shot in my hand followed by the second one I confiscated from him. I'd be lying if I pretended I wasn't interested in where this conversation may be headed. What woman wouldn't? This is grade-A research material.
I place the empty shot glasses down for the server to pick up, signaling we need another round, and glance at Bryant. He's staring daggers at Joel, not paying me any attention. "You said watch. Nothing was ever agreed upon in regards to you joining in. Find your own pussy. Maybe I'm just not in the sharing mood," he snaps, knocking Joel's hand off of my thigh.
Interesting . . .
