Ice-blue irises are swallowed by the black of his pupils, and though I can’t hear it over the music and girlish squeals of laughter, I know he gives me a lusty growl in response to my brazen move. He jumps down and hoists me up his body with his arms wrapped tightly under my ass. I hold on to his bare shoulders and bow my head so my hair falls like curtains to hide our faces.
He nips my lower lip, making me suck in a sharp breath. “Trying to make me lose my shit in front of all these nice people, babe?”
“Not at all, my Roman sex god,” I say with a saucy grin, proud of myself for using his name in that one. “I’m trying to make it so you take me somewhere you can lose your shit in front of me.”
“All in due time.”
Before I can complain about him giving me his usual cryptic BS, he spins me in his arms and catches me around my hips again. I’m facing away from him now, and I barely brush the hair out of my eyes when I hear him say, “Grab onto the chair.”
I look down at the chair, which from this height might as well be a mile. I feel one of his hands between my shoulder blades. “What? I can’t—ahh!” I let out a short bark of surprise as he pushes me forward so I’m draped over his other forearm and the chair is now well within reaching distance. I grab the sides of the chair to help support my weight while Roman positions me into straddling him in mid-air and grabs hold of my hips.
My nervous laugh is cut off at the first roll of his cock against my pussy, the double layer of our jeans a cruel tease of what we could be enjoying if we weren’t in a crowd of people. I hook my ankles behind his back, drop my head forward, and breathe through the sensation of tingles radiating in my sex.
I lose all track of time and the rest of the world fades away as Roman continues to mimic things he does to me in private, manipulating my body into position after position until I’m a total mess, sober as a judge except for being drunk on dry-humping like I’m fifteen again in the back of my prom date’s pickup.
Finally, he puts me back in my chair, leaving me with all the exhaustion of sex and none of the release, but I can’t even care because I’d endure this torture and so much more as long as I can keep watching him dance. The man is magnificent, and he uses his body in ways I didn’t know were possible, and ways that should definitely be illegal in public.
As the song ends and rolls into another sexy number, Roman takes pity on Julia who’s been slack-jawed and nearly drooling this entire time, giving her some much needed stripper love. This should probably bother me on some primal level, but it doesn’t. That doesn’t mean I’ve joined his school of thought on sharing—a bitch would have to pry his dick out of my cold dead hands, and even then I’d probably terrorize her from beyond the grave—but the attention of the other women on him doesn’t give me a twinge of jealousy. Not even when Julia runs her hands over his chest and abs, or when she grabs his ass.
I find myself actually smiling because I know he’s not interested in them for anything more than what this is. He stressed from the beginning that he’s a one-woman man. His sharing only extends to me with other men.
Speak of the devil, Austin sidles up in front of me and starts doing his stripper thing. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the infamous phone call, and I’ve been nervous about how things were going to be between us, but it was all for nothing. True to form, he gives me a wink and a charming smile—not lustful or sexual in the least—and uses moves on me that are more playful, like a friend having fun with you at a school dance so you don’t feel awkward being the only girl without a date. Not that I’m dateless, but mine is a little busy at the moment.
I laugh and stand up, adding some exaggerated moves of my own until we’re having a ridiculous stripper dance-off with each other. Roman and Julia join in so we have a guys versus girls thing going. When I can barely stand from laughing so hard, we all find seats—Roman sits in mine and pulls me into his lap (cue lovesick sigh)—and enjoy the party that’s shifted from makeshift strip club back to graduation party, with the addition of gorgeous men.
After another hour or so, Roman leans in so his lips brush my ear when he talks. “Feel like continuing the party in a more private setting?” A rush of heat flows through me and settles between my legs. I nod almost imperceptibly, but he reads me loud and clear. “There’s a guest bedroom in the basement, off of the game room. Do you know where that is?” Another nod. “Go there then close and lock the door. Strip completely naked. Get the blindfold on the bed and make sure it’s good and tight, then wait. I’ll follow you soon.”
“But the door?” I ask.
“Chance gave me the key.” I feel myself blush as I glance over where Chance and Jane are talking to their moms. “Don’t get shy on me now, babe. It’s not like Chance plans on announcing it to the party.”
He’s right. Who cares if Chance knows Roman has a sexual interlude planned for us in his house? I know for a fact Chance has screwed my best friend while I was in their house before, and my only thought was, “Get it, girl!”
I turn my head, frame his stubbly jaw with my hands, and kiss him wholly and deeply before pulling back and whispering. “Don’t make me wait too long, or I’ll be naked, blindfolded, and ornery.”
“Fucking you happy again has appeal. You should know better than to issue me a challenge.”
I give him my best sassy grin and say, “Oh, I do.” Then I rise and sashay my ass across the patio and into the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Addison
I’ve never had sex while blindfolded before. Come to think of it, I’ve never done anything blindfolded before. There’s not a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey or game of Marco Polo story in my past. I’m not comfortable facing the world at a disadvantage. God forbid, if I ever went blind, I would need a shit ton of therapy in order to adjust.
So standing in this guest room, in front of the bed, completely naked except for the thick, black blindfold tied in a knot at the back of my head…I’m more nervous than the day I took my bar exam.
I jump at the sound of Roman using the key. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm the hell down before he enters the room and senses my unease. Shoulders back, head held high, I wait as instructed and reveal nothing of the fluttering in my stomach. He doesn’t say a word as he closes the door and locks it. I hear him remove his clothes, and then I sense him approach me.
The heat from his body radiates into mine even without contact. I lift my hands, needing to touch him, to feel his strength beneath my palms. To feel his heartbeat racing so I know he’s every bit as affected as I am, since I can’t see the proof. But he captures my wrists then guides me to clasp my own elbows at my lower back. A silk scarf, seeming to appear out of nowhere, since he didn’t move away from me and I can’t see where he got it from, is wrapped around the length of my forearms. Once he binds them completely together, he ties it off in a knot then checks that it’s imprisoning without being harmful and gives me a reassuring squeeze before allowing his hands to roam.
His fingers trail lightly up my arms, over my shoulders, and down to my breasts where he pinches my nipples and tugs them hard. I suck in a breath, not ready to give him the satisfaction of my verbal arousal. Hearing me moan and cry out and beg and scream gets him off. If he gets to withhold one of my senses, I get to withhold one, too.
A low growl is all I have to go on that he’s displeased at my silence. A smug grin flirts with the corners of my mouth, but I do my best to keep it locked down. It might be fun to play around with his temperament, but I’m not ready to provoke the devil himself. Not yet, anyway.
Roman kneads my breasts roughly, alternating between punishing the full mounds and torturing the stiff buds. If I could see, no doubt my skin would be pink with my nipples bright red and protruding. I still haven’t made a sound, but only with the help of biting down on my lower lip. The pain is distracting me from the pleasure, or I probably would’ve already come.
His touches are growing more intense. Harder, rougher. And I’m helpless to
respond. My breathing quickens, and my body arches into him. Finally he steps in close, pinning the velvety steel of his cock to my hip, as he grabs the nape of my neck with one hand and cups my sex with other. There’s no preamble, no petting or stroking. Just lustful force as he drives two fingers deep into my wet pussy.
This time I can’t hold back the scream of pleasure that rips from my throat. He takes advantage of my open mouth and kisses me fiercely, his tongue claiming and fucking me every bit as mercilessly as his fingers. Tension is twisting in my belly, my climax barreling down on me with the promise of blessed release and unmatched bliss. But seconds before I reach nirvana, he severs our kiss and stops pumping inside me. I whimper and try to move my hips, but he holds me still with his fingers buried to the hilt and his palm clamped over my pubic bone.
Fuck being strong. I want to come. “Please,” I beg softly.
He groans, low and tortured. My brow furrows. It’s the kind of sound he makes when I grab his dick for the first time and squeeze. He’s never done that from a simple plea.
And that’s when details I previously missed all slam into me at once. There’s no apa piercing pressing into my hip. His hands are rougher, more callused, and his fingers feel thicker. Instead of expensive whisky and mint, he tasted like beer with a hint of cinnamon.
Anticipating I’m about to raise holy hell, the hand on my neck circles to the front and covers my mouth.
“She knows.” The bolt of fear at realizing the man practically fucking me isn’t Roman instantly transforms into one of excitement when I recognize the voice as being Austin’s. Amazingly, my body processes the situation faster than my brain. Before I fully understand what’s going on, a tremor of desire ripples through me, and my hips press forward as I mewl in the back of my throat.
“Shhhhhh…” Roman. He’s suddenly behind me, his naked form crowding my back, the base of his hard cock nestling into my ass with the top nudging my bound forearms. His hands come around to roll my nipples between his fingers, and lips brush over my forehead, his breath stirring the fine hairs surrounding my face. “Such a good girl, Addison.”
The hand slips away from my mouth at the same time as the other one starts a slow exploration inside my pussy, gradually rebuilding the stolen orgasm. But a stab of guilt slices through me. I turn my head away in shame.
“What’s wrong,” he asks.
“I didn’t realize it wasn’t you.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” he says. “You can’t see, we didn’t speak, and you were expecting me. Rowdy made sure you were focused on the pleasure before doing anything you’d normally pick up on with a clear head.” When I don’t breathe a sigh of relief, he uses his fingers on my jaw to turn my face back to him. “You didn’t fail me, Addison. You have no idea how fucking hot it was watching you react to Rowdy’s touch.”
“You were perfect,” Austin—no, this is Rowdy, the third in our sexual triad, not my friend—says as he curls his fingers to hit my G-spot, subsequently taking my breath away.
“Perfect,” Roman echoes. With that, he takes my mouth, sweeping his tongue in to meet mine in a fevered dance. He takes over my mind, my ability to reason, leaving me with nothing but my four remaining senses. Gone are the thoughts of another man touching me—fucking me—at the request of my boyfriend. Gone are thoughts of betrayal, or shame from a lack thereof. All I have is what I can hear, taste, smell, and feel.
I hear the sounds of my pussy sucking at Rowdy’s fingers. I taste Roman, his whisky-mint flavor a drug I crave. I smell the beginnings of sex in the air, a mixture of arousal and sweat. And I feel…everything. The soft slide of Roman’s tongue, the thrusting digits in my core, hands kneading my breasts and another at my throat. And best of all, the orgasm furling deep and tight in my womb, ready to crest at any—
Roman breaks the kiss and Rowdy removes his fingers.
“Nooooooo,” I whine when I feel them both step back.
“Not yet,” Roman says. My blindfold is removed and I blink a few times to bring the room—and the two hulking men in front of me—into focus. Rowdy has one hand stroking his cock and holds the other one—the one that’d been inside me—out to Roman. Roman swipes two of his fingers over Rowdy’s, gathering some of the wetness left behind by my sex. Their gazes never leave mine as they each suck my juices from their flesh. Jesus Christ, why is that so hot? I start to moan but cut it off with a bite to my lip.
“Don’t worry, baby, Rowdy’s going to let you come soon enough.”
He turns to walk away, and my stomach drops. “Where are you going?”
Sitting in the high-backed wing chair in the corner, he says, “Best seat in the house.” Chair sex. Nice. I start to cross to him, but he shakes his head. “Stay.”
Between my confusion and being denied my orgasm twice, his canine-esque command has my hackles rising. I want to cross my arms and can’t, since they’re still bound behind me. This only adds to my ire. I glare at him. “Speak to me like my name is Fido again and see if I don’t turn rabid.”
A wicked smile curls one side of his mouth. “Rowdy. Teach her some manners.”
Fisting a handful of my hair, Rowdy yanks me into his side. “Punishment or torture?”
“Since when are the two mutually exclusive?” I ask my haughty-as-hell boyfriend wryly.
“Oh, they’re not,” he answers. “Neither is pleasure or pain. There’s one huge fucking gray area where they all mingle and twist together until you can’t tell them apart. Rowdy’s asking me what I want him to do, because this time I’m in control.” Flicking a glance at his friend, he says, “You want to hear her beg.”
It isn’t a question or a guess. These men know each other’s turn-ons more intimately than typical best friends. They’ve done this dozens, if not hundreds, of times with women before. It’s a thought that both thrills and worries me, but not one I get to ponder one way or the other for long. “Fuck, yeah,” Rowdy grinds out as he tugs at a nipple. “I wanna hear her beg.”
“Do it.”
Rowdy sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me onto his lap, my back to his front. Roman leans back in the chair and sprawls his legs, arms draped on the sides, looking like a damn king waiting to be entertained by his subjects. “Start with her tits. They’re sensitive.”
“I noticed,” Rowdy says, then covers my breasts in his huge hands. He lifts, squeezes, pulls, pushes, and then does it all over again with my nipples. I roll my lips between my teeth, refusing to make a peep.
Roman issues another command. “Use your mouth while you tease her clit. Nothing else.”
Like I’m a posable doll, Rowdy situates me sideways on his lap and follows orders. His mouth descends to suck and bite on my nipples and a finger slips between my legs to strum my clit. Already sensitive from earlier, I buck in his embrace, and I can no longer choke back the sounds of tortured ecstasy. Torture. How fitting.
“More,” Roman says.
Again, I’m moved. My legs are flung to the outside of Rowdy’s to hold me splayed open for Roman’s viewing pleasure. He starts stroking himself with one hand as Rowdy begins using both of his on my sex. My gaze stays firmly rooted on the man in front of me, even as my body sings for the man behind me.
Rowdy’s fingers massage and tug on my pussy lips. They spread my juices from my clit to my ass, rimming outside of the puckered area and then dipping into my sex to tease me. Over and over, he touches me, pets me, but never fully enters me. Strangled frustration ekes from my lips, and I try to rock my hips so he slips in farther, but it never works.
Roman’s thumb swipes over the crown of his cock, rubbing his pre-cum around the tip and making my mouth water. “You know what he wants, Addison. Give it to him, and I’ll let him give you what you want.”
I don’t hesitate. I’m needy and greedy and I want to come. “Please,” I say to Rowdy, but never look away from Roman. From the satisfied growls I hear from Rowdy, he doesn’t give a shit who I’m looking at as long as I say the words. “Ple
ase fuck me. I need to come so badly. Please, please make me come.”
A slow grin, smug and proud, spreads over Roman’s face. “Do it.”
Like a dog snapping from his leash, Rowdy sets to doing just that. He fucks me with two fingers, hard and fast. Then without warning me or breaking stride, he slips a third finger into my ass and continues to fuck me in both holes simultaneously.
I cry out, I curse, I repeat God’s name, and I string a bunch of “yeses” together so that it sounds like one word with a dozen identical syllables as my orgasm builds for the third time. It’s triple the intensity, as if it knows that it could lose its chance at any moment so it has to make this count. I’m balanced on the knife’s edge, but for some reason, I can’t fall over. So close…almost…come onnnnnnnn…
Roman leans forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, and flays me open with his eyes as he gives me what I need. “Come for me, Addison.”
Finally, I do.
Chapter Twenty
Roman
As Addison breaks apart in Austin’s arms, I have to force myself to stay where I am and let this part finish playing out. I’ve never felt so conflicted over fucking a woman with Austin—or any man—before.
Part of me wants to stalk over there, haul her into my arms, and kick my friend out of the room so I can fuck my woman alone. The other part of me is reveling in watching her come alive for me under my direction and Austin’s touch. What’s concerning, and worming into my brain wholly unwelcomed, is that the part of me that’s usually present for my ménages—the part that remains detached emotionally and simply enjoys the fucking for what it is—is inconveniently MIA.
There’s no part of me that’s emotionally detached. I’m either a possessive caveman or I’m moved and humbled by the gift of Addison allowing herself to be shared. Either way, I’m acutely aware that this is different from any ménage I’ve ever had. Or more accurately, she is different.
I mentally shake off the need to analyze every micro-detail. There’ll be plenty of time for that later, when Addison isn’t in my best friend’s lap, naked and sated with her first orgasm of the night.