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She looks up at the moon and shrugs.
I clarify, “Moneybags, you’re drunk. We’re going to need you to sober up if this isn’t actually about yard work.
Sweet Pea says, “I don’t think I’ll be able to let you do yard work if I’m sober.”
I smooth her silky hair behind her ear, then grab a fistful just enough to turn her head my direction.
“They may let you write a huge check while you’re drunk, but we won’t let—”
She interrupts me. “Right, consent and all. I get it. Can we please avoid the explicit details and capitalize on my liquid courage to live out a fantasy?”
My dick stiffens in my pants. She just put it out there, everything we’re hoping for. I stare into those pretty dark blue eyes under the mixed glow of the full moon and the garish light from the fixture we’re under.
Composing myself, I say, “If we’re going to play out your fantasy, you’re going to want to remember every second of it.”
Purge jumps in, “He’s right. For now, the only DTF we’re going to accept from you is being Down To Fundraise. We need you to sober up before we do anything else.”
Tank gives me an irritated look before leaning closer to Sasha. “But there’s nothing wrong with you telling us what you want us to do.”
Four
Sasha
I’veseeneachofthese men in public, but I’ve never been this close. And I’ve never just purchased them.
Sitting on what I presume is Purge’s bike with the three of them huddled around me, Purge and Winger in front, and Tank at my back, I feel so small, and tiny, and delicate.
There’s a big size difference physically, but their confidence and their ruggedness amplify it in a way that I think my math teachers talked about. Exponential stuff. Math stuff I never understood. If they would’ve done it in terms of three guys, three bikers huddled around me, I think I could have understood exponential growth.
The brisk air takes my intoxication down a notch, and a flicker of sanity rushes into me. Am I crazy to toy with the idea of telling them my fantasies? This can’t possibly be real. They’d probably jump back a hundred feet if they knew I was a virgin.
A vanilla virgin at that. I clamp my eyes shut to force John from my mind. I’m not vanilla. I wanted things he thought were ridiculous. Things these guys might be willing to give me.
I want my first time to be memorable. To be with experienced guys who will do it right. Not to be lying in a bed with a guy slogging over me like some of my girlfriends have talked about. I want to be an active participant in having fun, and I want them to have to chase me and want me and claim me.
Tank circles around in front with the other two.
If I tell these guys my fantasies, will they make them come true? Or will I get in over my head way too fast? I’m pretty sure the tequila is the reason for the first thought. The second most likely aligns with reality.
I put on a pretty smile and say, “You’re right. I should sober up. I’m not normally the type that does this sort of thing. I can have my girlfriends drive me home and I can send you the address to my grandmama’s house.”
Purge puts a finger on my lips. “That’s not what we meant, Money. You wouldn’t have liquored up to place the bids if you only wanted help with yard work.”
He nudges his leg between my thighs, and oh my God, he’s thick. His leg, that is.
I squash the desire to find out if he’s thick in other places. I wouldn’t even know what thick means. I’ve felt my boyfriend’s erection through his pants but that’s all, just his. I can hear my biology teacher emphasizing the importance of sample size.
I squeeze my thighs around his leg, and he tucks a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up.
He says in his rich, deep voice, “Go ahead and tell us your fantasy.”
Winger lifts my hand before I can answer. “You’re still wearing your class ring. How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
Winger coughs. “And you’re drinking?”
“My friend wanted to help me calm down.”
