Tryst

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I try to say in a level voice.

  “He’s not what you think he is, Heidi. He’s not as good as you think he is.”

  “Shut up, Ransom. Don’t you dare act like you know the first thing about my husband and my marriage,” I retort. “You’re a kid. You have no clue what marriage entails. It’s not easy; it’s hard work. But when two people love each other, they do whatever it takes.”

  “Right. Sure,” he snorts. “So I guess that’s what you were doing with me this morning. Putting in some of that hard work. Tell me, was it easy to take my dick deep inside your tight, little ass? Or was that just you, doing whatever it takes? Because, baby, you sure can take a lot.”

  I’m trembling with rage, completely shocked and appalled that he would say that to me. What was I thinking? Was I really even considering being with Ransom—this punk kid? How could I be so stupid?

  “Fuck you,” I spew. “And pack your shit. You’re on the next flight back to Manhattan.”

  “No can do, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear? We’ve got a date—you, me, and the good doctor. Unless you’d like me to explain your sudden change of heart. Or maybe he’ll be able to see the evidence for himself. I don’t know if my scratches will heal by tomorrow night. Maybe I should go explain to him how his wife likes to draw blood.”

  “Don’t you dare. Don’t you go near him, Ransom, or I swear—”

  He’s in my face, just inches from my kiss-swollen lips that he’d ravaged just hours ago. “Or what? What are you afraid of Heidi? That he might see it—the truth between you and me? You think he’s fucking blind? Newsflash, baby. I’m all over you—permanently embedded in every inch of your skin. I’m inside you, H . . . even when it’s him you’re fucking. I’m fucking you too . . . always. And you know that. You know that every time you come, it’s me that’s making your legs quiver. It’s me you’re screaming for. It’s my back you’re scratching when you want it deeper. Mine. Shit, you can feel me right now, can’t you, baby?”

  “Shut. Up. Ransom!”

  “Stop lying to yourself. Stop lying to me. This is us, baby. We’re both fucked up in ways that he’ll never be able to understand. We’re the same, baby. And only I know what you want . . . what you need. You know that, don’t you? You felt it, just like I did. And you’re still feeling it right fucking now.”

  Flustered and furiously aroused, I turn around and stalk out with a huff, the echo of his laughter chasing me from the room. Ransom Reed is the biggest mistake of my life. And it’s time to right my wrongs once and for all.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I thought I could do it—I thought I could finally put my own selfish, narcissistic needs aside for the sake of my husband . . . my marriage. But I’m a coward. A coward that was too afraid of not only losing him, but, dammit, losing Ransom too. Because I do feel for him, I do want him, but I want my marriage more. I may want Ransom, but I need Tucker. He’s my husband, my life. So despite what he says, Ransom is nothing more than a passing phase. That’s all he can be to me.

  So here I am—in Justice’s playground. Ready to give it all one last kiss goodbye. I could have told Tucker that I’d had a change of heart and wanted no one else but him. But my insatiable hunger for more—for Ransom—is stronger than the desires of my heart. Or maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re more aligned than I’ve allowed myself to admit.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Tucker whispers in my ear, before leaving a trail of soft kisses along my collarbone. I am afraid, but not for the reasons he believes.

  We’re on one of the round beds—the ones designed for a crowd. There are fewer people here tonight, however, Justice is present. He watches us intently, those molten blue eyes unblinking. Yet, I don’t find his presence unnerving. If I’m being honest with myself, having him here—watching, studying . . . potentially wanting—only makes me want this more. He’s a powerful man, with a body fit for every woman’s erotic fantasy, and a presence that makes him seem ten feet tall. And in our world, there is no greater aphrodisiac than power.

  The lights are dim enough in the room that I can’t really see the other couples around us. I can hear their moans and mewls, but they’re barely visible unless I concentrate. I imagine it’s just us here in this room—just my husband and me. We’re in our bed back at home. We’ve just polished off a bottle of Cab and are feeling free and frisky after a long week. I close my eyes and focus on the feel of his lips moving down my chest and the soft scratch of his 5 o’clock shadow on my delicate skin. He loosens the tie of the terry cloth robe and lets it fall open, allowing cool air to entice my already pebbled nipples.

  “Do you want this, Bunny?” he asks before sucking one into his mouth, not even bothering to wait for an answer. I try to speak through a moan but it comes out as an unintelligible mewl. A chuckle rumbles from the back of his throat, causing his teeth to nip my puckered skin. “What was that? You’ll have to tell me, baby. I need to hear you say you want me.”

  “Yes,” I whine, opening my eyes to gaze down at him as he worships my body with his mouth. “Yes, I want you.” And, dammit, I do. I want this man. I’ve never stopped wanting him, as difficult as that may seem. I may have developed a taste for more, but I never stopped desiring him. He’s my husband, and I love him. Nothing or no one can change that.

  My head falls back as he makes his way down my torso, with hands caressing what his lips cannot. I missed this—this attentive, gentle lovemaking. I feel beautiful in his arms. He cherishes me with every kiss, every touch, and every heated whisper across my humid skin. With Tucker, I don’t have to guess or worry. I know I am loved. And considering that he knows what I’ve done—he knows the depth of my perversion—and can find it in his heart to love me anyway, truly makes my heart swell with gratitude. Tucker is the best man I’ve ever known, and he is mine. And by some act of divine intervention, I am his. He still wants me. After all I’ve done to soil my marriage, he still loves me.

  “Tonight is all about you, baby. You’re in control,” he rasps as he slowly parts my legs, unveiling my sex. “I want to please you in every way. I just want to make you happy.”

  His words catch my attention and I meet his lustful stare. “I am happy, Tuck. You make me happy. Every day.”

  He responds with a nod before sinking between my thighs and pressing his hot tongue against my mound. The room seems to get dimmer . . . less solid. Lines blur and colors swirl and the air hums around me. I gasp his name as the wet, gentle scrape of his tongue fondles my sex with expert precision, mapping his way to my entrance. I reach between my legs and fist his hair, holding on to this feeling. Trying to keep us here in this moment for as long as we can. I’m on the brink of orgasm when Tucker pushes up to rest on his knees. Sex still gleams on his lip, along with a sinuous smile. I fix a finger to beckon him closer when a chill whispers across my dampened skin.

  I part my lips to protest but my breath is barren of all coherency when I allow my eyes to focus on the dark figure slowly stalking toward us, drenched in shadow. My body responds immediately, vibrating with exhilaration and fear. This was what I was afraid of. Not having sex in front of strangers. Not being completely naked and vulnerable in front of Justice. I was afraid of this . . . this feeling. Of wanting another man so badly that his mere presence makes my sex tingle with expectation and my heart break into a drum solo. I’m afraid that he’s right, that I do want him for more than just some premature quarter-life crisis. And I’m afraid that within these dark-stained walls and under the thin veil of candlelight, I won’t be able to hide it anymore.

  Ransom approaches with the cocksureness of a bullfighter, taking his time to circle the bed so he can see us from all angles and plan his attack accordingly. His eyes are like a moonless midnight, his too-sensual mouth a tight line of concentration. He isn’t dressed in the navy blue Oasis robe, but in a pair of ripped jeans and nothing else. I want him completely naked, like me. I want him to be just as exposed and arouse
d as I am.

  I watch Tucker watch Ransom with expressionless eyes. When the younger man finally pauses to place a knee on the bed, I feel the air escape my lungs. I feel Tucker shift upright between my legs, yet I’m too captivated by Ransom’s presence to see what’s happening. There’s pressure at my entrance, and before I can brace myself for impact, Tucker is filling me.

  “This is what you want, baby,” he grunts out, pushing in to the hilt. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

  I nod, too overwhelmed with eroticism to speak. This time, the roles are reversed. Ransom is watching Tucker fuck me. But I want him as more than just a voyeur. There’s no way I can not touch him with him being so close I can smell clean sweat and smoke on his skin. But then again, if I touch him—if I feel his skin on mine, our combined heat creating an inferno of lust that’s hot enough to melt the paint off the walls—I’ll never be able to stop. I won’t be able to kick this nasty habit that causes me to keep running from the safety and love of my husband into emotional anarchy. So I shouldn’t touch him, as badly as I want to. As badly as I need to.

  As if he’s crawled into my mind and played Scrabble with my disjointed thoughts, Ransom crooks a wicked grin and utters in that voice on the cusp of a moan, “This is what you want too. Isn’t it, H?”

  I look up at my husband who still appears unshaken, only his brow furrowed in concentration. He’s inside me yet he’s not moving, his restraint causing a sheen of sweat to bloom across his forehead. He stares back at me, but answers to Ransom. “Yeah. Yeah, she does want that too. Why don’t you give it to her?”

  Without hesitation, Ransom makes quick work of his fly and zipper, but hesitates just before letting his jeans slide off his hips. I’ve been so captivated by the sight of his chiseled body, that I didn’t realize that our threesome had become a foursome.

  “Whatever you want to do tonight, Heidi, it’s your choice” Justice says from the other side of me, his smooth, deep voice adding a new dimension of excitement. “If you want both Tucker and Ransom, you can have them. They are here for your pleasure. But if you choose to do this—if you push the dynamics of your relationships—be absolutely sure you’re prepared to handle all that comes with it.”

  Through the haze of hedonism, a contradicting mix of insecurity and arousal clouding my judgment, I take a beat to consider his words. I’ve had sex with Ransom, and I’ve obviously had sex with Tucker. But both of them? Together? Could my marriage survive it? Shit, could I? And do I even want to?

  “I’m sure,” I hear myself reply, the certainty behind the words as shaky as my current moral ground.

  Everything seems to move all at once. Justice steps away yet stays nearby. Ransom lets his jeans hit the floor, unsheathing a hard, proud cock. And Tucker . . . Tucker moves inside me with deep, languid strokes. The kind of strokes that remind me of forgotten lazy Sundays spent in bed making love. I relish the feel of him and the sight of Ransom as he moves closer to me on the bed. He’s nearly hovering over me, the tip of his erection so close to my lips I can taste him. He reaches over to graze my nipples with the pads of his callused fingers while Tucker continues his unhurried thrusts.

  I want more. I want so much more of him . . . of this. So I do what any sane, hot-blooded woman would do with nine inches of hard-as-steel male in front of her.

  I take it.

  I’d wanted to taste Ransom since that very first night in his suite, but it was Tucker calling the shots. So since it’s my turn to take control—to demand my own pleasure—I’m going to have these two beautiful men every way I can get them.

  He’s pulsing in my palm, little ripples of vein and flesh quivering as I caress it gently. A low growl rumbles in his throat and I look up to see that Ransom’s eyes are closed and his head is tipped back. I turn my gaze to Tucker, who is watching me—watching us—intently. How would he react to the sight of another man’s cock in my mouth? Only one way to find out.

  Ransom trembles on my tongue as I take as much of him as I can. My eyes still trained on my husband, I start with gentle licks up and down his shaft before falling into a rhythm that matches Tuck’s strokes. He thrusts, I suck. It’s fiercely erotic and soon I feel myself tightening below, overwhelmed by this new level of pleasure. Ransom takes it even further by pinching and twisting my nipples with one hand and reaching down between my legs, down to where me and Tuck are connected, and rubbing small circles in my clit. It’s the devastating blow that does me in, and with me moaning wildly around Ransom’s thick length, I come apart.

  Tuck’s never been able to hold on for long after I’ve orgasmed. The feel of my body greedily sucking him deeper always sends him over the edge, so he quickly pulls out. We’re in motion again, and while I’m still trembling with aftershocks, I still want more.

  “Lie down,” I instruct Ransom after I release him from my mouth. He does as directed, stretching his long frame beside mine.

  I look to Tucker, who is still between my legs, his sex still wet with my release. “You too.”

  I’m sandwiched between two of the sexiest men alive, wondering what the hell I plan to do with them. I turn to Tucker first, who is at my right and kiss his lips. Still ravenous and on the edge of orgasm, he eagerly snakes his tongue in my mouth, devouring every one of my soft whimpers. His hand trails up to knead my breasts, just the way he knows I like it. Breathless, I pull away and turn to Ransom. He gazes back with dark, hooded eyes, his sensual lips parted in expectation. I give him my mouth, my tongue. I give him my heart in that kiss, and let him taste my soul. I drink his anguish and lick love letters on his lips.

  I kiss Ransom like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, hoping that somewhere in the midst of our lust he can taste the goodbye that I can’t bring myself to say. Because that’s what tonight will have to be: goodbye. When I pull away, the desolation in his stare tells me that he knows it too.

  Tucker is still hard and ready behind me, his hands roaming my body in search of release. If we’re here to push the limits of our marriage, I’m going to take this opportunity to put it all on the table. I may not ever get another chance.

  “I want to feel you,” I whisper to him, turning my head to look at him from over my shoulder. I reach behind me to stroke the hardened flesh that’s sliding between my cheeks and take it one step further, placing the tip of him at my puckered entrance to show him exactly where I want to feel him. Tucker has never been willing to try it. He’d always been too afraid of hurting me. But now that we’re here, throwing every speck of inhibition to the wind, there’s no better time like the present.

  As I expect, shock and alarm flash across his features, but he quickly tamps it down. “Is that what you really want?”

  I stare back with unshakeable certainty, despite the coiled doubt in my belly. “I do.”

  I lift my gaze to find Justice staring back at me. Without a word, he strides over to us and extends his palm to Tucker, revealing a small tube of lube. With the tentative tips of his fingers, my husband receives it then looks over my shoulder to Ransom. Something passes between the men, something that encourages Ransom to grasp my thigh and drape my leg over his hip.

  This is happening. Against all my better judgment, against the niggling voice in my head that tells me to shut this shit down right now and escape with my marred dignity and what’s left of my marriage, I’m seriously going to do this.

  I look up to find that Justice is still looming over us, his expression terse. When our eyes meet, the line of his bowed lips tightens until they’re completely white. I know how he feels about me and what I’m destroying in this moment. But he’s made his living off building fantasies, even for those who don’t deserve them, like the sexist, spineless husbands who would send their wives to him for instruction. Even for people like me, the twisted, the weak, the unfulfilled. His nostrils flare just subtly before he takes a step back. However, that’s all the distance he puts between us. He wants to see. He may deal with every sordid type of sex there is, but he is st
ill a man.

  With my leg angled like this, my sex open and so close to his, I hold my breath, awaiting contact. I turn back to Ransom and gaze up into those dark, sultry eyes, seeking comfort and solitude. I can hear the shuffling of Tucker fiddling with the lube. When the cold gel touches my inflamed skin, I nearly yelp in surprise. It’s only Ransom’s face and his tight hold on my thigh that stills me.

  Without warning, he crushes his lips to mine, wrapping me up in an intense kiss that steals the oxygen from my lungs. He tastes like the sweetest sin, his mouth as captivating as the lyrics that fall from his tongue. I’m losing myself in him when I feel a prick of pressure behind me. Instinctively, I try to fight against it, but Ransom just holds me tighter and pulls my leg wider, giving Tucker more room to push inside me. I squirm and groan, but Ransom just absorbs it all, continuing to kiss me deeper and hold me tighter.

  When Tucker pushes in to the hilt, we all sigh audibly. He kisses my hair and shoulders, kneading my ass as he allows me to adjust to his size. I know he’s still afraid to hurt me, but the way that he’s pulsing deep inside me and groaning with the need to move, tells me that he likes it too. He feels so good here that I want to cry. Not only from the physical sensation, but from the fact that he’s overcome so many of his hang-ups, all out of love for me. I turn to him and smile lazily, basking in his body connected with mine. He kisses me slowly, tasting Ransom on my tongue, when he begins to move his hips. I gasp into his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His strokes are gentle and unhurried, but each one fills me to the brim, making it difficult to do much more than let my head fall back onto his shoulder and moan his name. Tuck isn’t as long as Ransom, but he’s a good bit thicker, and right now, I can feel every strong inch of him caressing places that he’s never dared to touch before.

  Ransom’s hands slide up to my breasts where he rolls my nipples between his callused fingers. I cry out at the sensation, but I need . . . more. I need to be stimulated everywhere. I need him to fill me too.