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I mean, I don’t hate it. Isabel fits so nicely under my arm, her head not even reaching my shoulder. I never really got off on this alpha/minething with other people, but when Isabel tucks herself against me, something primal wakes up inside me, and it feels good. I actually imagine myself protecting her, laying out some asshole who dares to touch her—like the incident in Austin. I want to be the guy responsible for keeping her safe.
“We should go to the real Venice. I bet it’s even prettier,” she says while we wait in line for the gondola ride.
“I bet it’s crowded and touristy,” Hunter replies. “But if you wanna go, Red. We can go.”
Then she glances up at me. “You in?”
I can’t help myself. I lean down, pressing my lips to her temple. “I’m in.”
To be fair, I would have always been down for a vacation with them. It was hard enough getting them to go on a honeymoon without me, and that was before Hunter made the big bucks, so it was just a small trip to the beach, but every other trip, they’ve dragged me along.
When we reach the front of the line, I start to pull away. “You two go.”
Isabel looks up at me in shock. “Nice try, big guy. Three’s company.” Oh yeah, she’s drunk already. Her words slur a little, and it’s adorable.
“Actually, the saying goes, ’Two’s company; three’s a crowd.’”
She scoffs. “That’s a dumb saying.”
And she doesn’t let go of my hand. She somehow hauls both of us onto that gondola and it does not go unnoticed by the gondola guy or the crowd around us that she’s holding both of our hands, rubbing both of our legs, and by the end of the ride, she’s had her lips on each of ours.
I can tell Hunter is tensing up a bit, but I don’t care. I love it. This is the first time I’ve really felt like I wasn’t the third wheel, like I’m reallypartof their relationship. It’s not bad.
The entire day is actually pretty fucking awesome, but there’s a looming uncertainty in the air because tomorrow we really do go home. Tomorrow, the fantasy ends. Vacation over and this threesome vacation version of us over along with the trip.
Maybe that’s why tonight feels different.
After dinner, Isabel’s margarita buzz has worn off and we wander together toward our room. I don’t even know what time it is—three a.m., maybe.
In the elevator up, the mood is a good deal more somber than it was last night. We don’t make out this time. She takes both of our hands and pulls us close, then she drags us slowly toward the room.
Instead of the wild fucking we got into last night, tonight we do what would likely be considered making love instead of fucking. Cuddled up in one bed, Isabel comes first by my mouth and again by Hunter’s hands. Then she rides my cock while he watches before falling into his arms and letting him take her sensually from behind while I cover her face with kisses. Our pleasure melts into one, so we feel every orgasm together as if they belong to us all. It’s slow and sensual with a sense of finality and foreboding.
Because this is it. This is the last time we’re ever going to be like this. And we all know it.
* * *
“That’s the last one,”I say, dropping the final box in the storage container and pulling the bay door closed. It’s depressing how quickly we were able to pack up my possessions in the apartment. It took less than a day to load up my couch, bed, and some random boxes onto the truck and haul it over here. Now I’m left with nothing but a suitcase and a guest room at my best friend’s house.
We got home yesterday morning and everything has been a whirlwind since. The only saving grace of the whole being evicted situation is that it’s distracted us from how weird this is now. We were so busy yesterday with recovering from this long trip that I didn’t even bother to worry about sleeping arrangements or awkwardness. I crashed in the guest room. They slept silently in their bed, and that was that.
Back to normal.
I should be happy. This is what I wanted. But when I woke up alone this morning…I didn’t feel happy.
“I’m headed to the club,” Hunter says as we climb back in his car. “We have a meeting at seven, but I can drop you off at the house if you don’t want to come.”
“Have you figured out what you’re going to propose?” I ask. Hunter has been busy spinning his wheels all week, and I know he’s trying to think of ways to impress his partners with the new ideas he’s gleaned from this trip.
“Shibari demonstration, for sure. I’m thinking about asking that Silla girl from New Orleans to come. I liked her.”
“I liked her too,” I reply, remembering the deep conversation we had at the club that night and how I felt comfortable confiding in her since she was always going to remain an outsider. Now I’m frantically trying to remember just how much I told this woman before she shows up at my doorstep armed with my secrets.
“I definitely liked Pitch,” he adds, and I swallow down the thrill that tries to creep up with those words. I don’t respond to that because, what the fuck would I even say? He loved it. I loved it. Those aren’t secrets. That dark room was fucking amazing—right along with everything we did in it. Right up to the moment he ditched me there.
“I’m sure they’ll love any ideas you bring,” I say finally.
“Thanks,” he mutters. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
