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Then Carter growls and explodes, thick ropey bursts of cum shooting everywhere, coating my palms, splattering against my back, pushing me off the edge. I cry out as my own orgasm rips through me, a storm of raw, powerful sensation.
Dominic rips off the blindfold and kisses me deep, his tongue fucking my mouth. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls. “And to think, we’re just getting started.”
I laugh, breathless and dazed. Dominic’s chin is glistening with my juices. My palms are coated with Carter’s cum. The scent of arousal hangs thick in the air. “I’m going to need a minute to collect my wits.”
Carter wraps a hand around my waist and pulls me against his chest. I lean against him, and he nuzzles my neck. I stiffen automatically. Sex is easier than cuddling—cuddling takes trust, and my shitty track record has made me wary. Then I remind myself that Dominic and Carter don’t have to pretend. This is a hookup, one with a clearly defined start and end.
I take a deep breath and make myself relax. If Round One was anything to judge by, Round Two is going to be spectacular. That’s all I should be thinking about. That’s all that matters.
On the dining table, my phone buzzes. Dominic looks up. “Do you need to get that?” he asks.
I shake my head. “That’s just my notifications,” I reply. “It’s the middle of the night. What could possibly happen now?”
Even as I say those words out loud, I know how idiotic my statement is. Because the middle of the night is precisely when things happen on social media. People have a drink or two. They get bored. They get lonely. The filters drop, and they post the real, unvarnished truth on social media.
And their publicist—me—is left cleaning up the mess.
My phone buzzes again. And again. And again. My notifications are going haywire. A sinking feeling goes through me, and I get to my feet, wipe my hands on a paper towel, and retrieve my phone.
Yeah, it’s not good. Jorge Almeida—Nicky’s ex—has a bitchy post on Instagram about how women drop guys the second they get famous. He doesn’t mention her name, but it’s obviously about her.
Asshole.
So far, Nicky hasn’t responded. Thank heavens. But I need to step in. “I have to go,” I say regretfully. “Social media crisis. I need to get to Nicky, pry her phone out of her hands before she posts something she’ll regret.” I was looking forward to Round Two, damn it. I really wasn’t ready to leave. “Can I take a raincheck on tonight?”
What I really want to ask is if I can come back once I deal with this crisis. But that seems like an imposition, and I’m not brave enough.
Dominic nods. “Of course.”
He’s still dressed. His sleeves are rolled up, but otherwise, you could look at him and you wouldn’t even realize that he just gave me one of the most amazing orgasms of my life. Even thinking about his mouth on my pussy makes my toes curl.
His reply feels like a polite dismissal. I’m about to wipe my face free of expression when I catch a glimpse of his cock tenting his trousers. His eyes follow mine, and his lips lift in a rueful smile. “I’m trying to be respectful of the demands of your job,” he admits. “What I really want to do is throw you over my shoulder, carry you to my bed, and pick up where we left off. I want you on your hands and knees, Gabriella. Your pretty lips wrapped around one of our cocks. Maybe with Carter spanking your ass.”
That’s a very vivid, very tempting image. I feel myself start to blush. “Carter? Really?”
Carter winks at me as he gets dressed. “I have hidden depths, you know.”
Dominic snorts a laugh. “Please. You’re a teddy bear.”
Carter responds by giving Dominic the finger. He grins at me. “I’ll walk you down.”
I shake my head. “We shouldn’t be seen together, remember? You don’t want Denton Mitchell to find out I know you.”
“Yeah, right.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.
My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing. “I have to go.” I kiss both men, one after the other, and feel very, very naughty as I do it. “I had a great time.”
“Come over tomorrow,” Carter says.
“Nicky’s performing.”
“After the show.”
A smile spreads over my face. “It’s a date.”
