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“I don’t want to hurt you,” I reply, my voice strained by the overall sensation of this. I feel them both so closely, we are practically one.
“You won’t. I promise. Just fuck me.”
Her sexy plea is enough to drive me wild. Holding her under her knees, I bounce her harder on us, letting the sound of her cries guide me. Hunter is grunting with each thrust, his lips so close to mine, I feel his breath on my face.
And just when I least expect it, he leans his head forward to kiss me, another rough, carnal kiss.
“Oh God, yes,” Isabel cries out. “More. Harder.”
I have to pull away from Hunter’s mouth to slam her down on our cocks even harder, and she lets out a guttural cry as I do.
“I’m gonna fucking come,” Hunter mumbles, barely keeping it together.
“Me too,” I grunt.
“Please don’t stop,” she begs. “It’s so good.” It’s not easy, but we hold our orgasms at bay long enough to feel her spasm and tremble in our arms.
But when I feel Hunter’s cock start to twitch inside her, I lose it. It’s too fucking hot and filthy. Soon, we’re both filling her up as she slumps in my arms.
I want this moment to last forever, the three of us in a tight embrace with Isabel’s petite body swelled between us. It doesn’t matter that my face is starting to itch where the frosting has crusted or that Isabel is covered in chocolate, or that the kitchen is a disaster. I never feel as whole as I do when I’m with them.
The three of us are gasping for air together as Hunter and I pull out of her. He takes her from me, never letting her feet touch the floor as he carries her in a cradle hold toward the stairs. Just when I think I’m going to get left behind again, he turns toward me.
“Come shower with us,” he says, and I hate my stupid fucking heart for the way it beats faster at those words.
“I’m coming,” I reply, following closely behind him. Because that’s what I do.
That’s what I always do.
Rule #30: If it sounds like an invitation, it probably is.
Hunter
We shutdown Salacious for two nights this week for renovations. One of those renovations is the addition ofquickie closetsas Garrett has deemed them. There’s one on either side of the club, toward the back, so they’re not obvious, but just discreet enough. Of course, for the purpose of red tape and city codes, they are officially classified as changing stalls…like a dressing room.
What they really are is enough space for a little action, without having to reserve a room or change any sheets. A clever idea to boost membership, honestly.
The other renovation is turning the back two rooms into an interchangeable workshop room, and Drake is being obstinately resistant to this one. Maybe because we’re only giving him two days to work on it when he fought Emerson for more. Maybe because the mention of workshops brings back too many tense memories.
It’s kept Drake’s mood a little grumpy lately, and I can’t help but feel like that it’s partly on me. So when he doesn’t come home…I mean, back to the house, one night, I decide to pay him a visit. Isabel is teaching a class at the studio, and I hate being home alone.
It’s past seven when I show up at the club. All the trucks are gone, and it’s quiet inside. For a moment, I start to worry that he’s not here. That maybe he’s on another date.
After our little rendezvous in the kitchen last week, I sort of figured he was done with dating for a while. As far as I know, things with Geo didn’t go well.
If he can just avoid seeing other people, stay at the house with Isabel and me, and we don’t have to define this or make anything official, it would be perfect. Seamless and easy for everyone.
Yeah, right.
Even I know how unfair and unlikely that is.
I just never expected all of this to get so complicated. Everything is a mess, and it’s only a matter of time before our flimsy little arrangement implodes. As far as what happened last week with Drake, I’m not really mentally acknowledging that right now.
As I enter the club from the staff entrance at the back, I hear music coming from somewhere down the hall. It’s a heavy rock beat, and it’s blaring through the empty club. I walk cautiously down the hall toward the two back rooms, where the bulk of the renovations are happening.
Once I reach the doorway, I pause, blood pumping its way up to my cheeks, making me blush as I stare with my mouth slack. Drake is shirtless and sweaty as he lays planks of wood on the floor, pounding in each piece. He’s completely oblivious to my presence, and I keep it that way as I let my eyes rake over the rippling muscles across his back and shoulders with each piece of wood he installs.
Have I always been this attracted to him or is it just happening now that I’ve finally allowed myself to act on it? I’ve always known that Drake is good-looking. He gets the attention of every girl, in every bar we walk into. I’m not much shorter than him and I don’t consider myself that much uglier, but I don’t have those long blond locks or charming blue eyes.
