This was bad. This was bad in one of those ways where bad was good, and I didn’t know if I wanted to be bad, or if I was even being bad if I followed temptation. Temptation was currently running his fingers slowly up my ribcage—my body still facedown. Temptation was now gently tracing the side of my breast, and I let out a moan despite myself.
The masseuse’s fingers stopped their tease over my back and moved, trailing down the edge of my side, growing more aggressive as they reached the bottom of the sheet, dipping slightly underneath the fabric before gripping it.
Then he spoke, his voice unexpected in the candlelight darkness. “Ms. Campbell, may I remove the sheet?”
I swallowed, trying to bring some moisture to my dry mouth, then spoke, all offhanded casualness gone. “Yes. Please.”
He tugged on the sheet drawing it slowly down the length of my lower half, every inch of exposure one more step down the staircase of desire. Then, it was off, my ass and body fully exposed to him, and I heard his breath quicken in the quiet bedroom.
With his question, with my response, I had given more than just permission to remove the sheet. I had opened the door, and I was slightly terrified about what would walk through it.
I lay on my stomach, my head on the pillow, grateful for the hide of my face, the layer of protection it, like my blindfold, gave. He started at my feet, behaving, normal kneading movements that shouldn’t have been sexual, shouldn’t have made my heart race and my pussy wet. Then he gently lifted and moved, one leg and then the other, spreading my legs slightly, the cold air of the room hitting my folds, alerting me to the fact that I was exposed, open to his eyes. His hands ran along my calves, oiling up my skin, his touch incredible on my tense muscles. I wondered how much he could see, if the moisture glistened between my legs. He worked silently, his touch slow enough to be sensual, practiced enough to be effective. I should have been relaxed, my muscles putty in his hands, but the fight to stay unaffected was only making me more aware. Aware of my open legs, aware of his strong hands, his masculine presence, the fact that I was naked before him. What would I do when it was time to turn over?
He moved closer, his hands sliding over the back of my knees and starting a slow, leisurely knead of my thighs, his large hands running and gripping their whole width, each movement insanely close to me, to the spot between my legs that was now soaked.
His hands stopped, releasing me, and he moved, coming around my body, my eyes opening and watching shadows pass until I felt his hands on my opposite side, taking the movement there. I closed my eyes, trying to relax, willing my muscles to loosen. I tried to concentrate on my breathing, tried to think about anything but the ten fingers that were inching their way up my thighs.
A hand touched my back, sliding up the curve of my spine until it reached the back of my neck. I frowned, my eyes opening, trying to understand the placement of the hand, and the location of the masseuse, my bombarded brain confused, then realizing the impossibility of the situation, the impossibility of three hands on one man, and I stiffened, starting to rise, but feeling the hand on my neck keep me down.
“Relax.” Brad’s voice was in my ear, his hand turning from strong to caressing in moments. “It’s me.” I obeyed, my body instantly releasing the tension, his presence reassuring to my nervous body. My limbs became loose, and the masseuse’s hands continued their perfect manipulation of my thighs. He nuzzled my ear, placing a quick kiss on my neck. “Do you want him to continue, or should I ask him to leave?”
I took a deep breath, knowing the answer before he even finished the question. “Continue.”
He chuckled in my ear, his mouth finding my neck again before he straightened. “I’ll be here, baby.”
Knowing he was there, in the room, in control of the situation, allowed me to fully enjoy Tyler’s touch. I inched my legs farther apart, and felt his touch change, the gain of confidence and control with the additional permission. He spread his fingers, the same strokes of my upper thigh now barely brushing my velvet folds, the soft sporadic contact driving me absolutely wild. I had never had so much buildup, so much teasing without fulfillment, and I had an ache that was running out of control. I arched my back, lifting my ass up, reaching, trying to get more, but he kept me at bay, kept his hands on my thighs, the only solace in the occasional brush that seemed almost accidental in its contact.
I heard Brad move, my ears attuned to every sound, the clunk of his watch as he unclipped it and dropped the heavy item on the dresser. His belt, the slide of leather through cloth as he removed it. Leather creaking as he settled into the chair in the corner of the room.
The hands on my body separated, now one on each thigh, and the man moved beyond the professional borders, running gentle hands down the skin of my inner thigh, then a soft hand over my sex, gently passing up and down my lips. I whimpered, holding back a beg, gripping the side of the table and fighting the urge to turn over and demand more.
“Flip over,” Brad’s voice spoke from the corner.
I complied, moving carefully on the narrow bed, lifting up, my vision suddenly open, my eyes taking in the room. Brad settled comfortably in the chair, one leg up on an ottoman, his dress shirt untucked, possession in his eyes. The masseuse, still fully dressed while I laid there naked, on display for the two men in the room.
“Proceed, Tyler.”
I relaxed my head, closing my eyes, and was surprised to feel the silk of the sheet, settling back over my body, my nakedness covered once again. The man spoke respectfully, his voice above me. “Should I continue what I was doing earlier?”
I nodded. “Please.” Inside, I was screaming the word, my sub-conscious dragging herself up his thighs, shaking with excitement as she clapped with greedy hands.
It was the same as before, but different, my body so ready, no needy, that every touch was electrified. The knowledge of where Brad was, the possession in his eyes, the knowledge that he was watching, compounded my arousal. The masseuse continued, resuming his movement, his hands caressing as they moved, up and over the swell of my breasts, then back down the side of my stomach. The heat of a hand against a cool sheet, my skin both hating and loving the material, all at the same time. The push and pull of the fabric as his hand moved, brushing against my nipples when he was pressing down along my stomach, tugged at the place where I was wet on his journey upward. Up and down, each swipe seeming to move down, but so teasingly slow I was wondering if it was all in my imagination. The sheet shifted, one hand definitely lower, taking the sheet with it, and I felt cool air slip along one breast, the nipple close to exposure. Up. Down. Closer, but not there. My nipples tender, alive with stimulation. My pussy crying, begging for attention and touch.
Then, his movements were finally long enough, and I felt his hand slide slowly downward until it completely covered my sex.
Brad was watching, but not participating. Is this cheating? Is this allowed? Alarm bells rang in my head, but I was unable to listen, a need so great pulsing between my legs, his hand moving slightly as he pulled it away, north along my body, and then back downward. The sheet between us was now soaked, one hand passing aggressively, then softly, then aggressively, down between my legs, the other hand moving back and forth along my breasts, strumming my nipples, my body beginning to arch from his touch. Fuck rules and commitments, anything sane or rational. Brad wasn’t going to open my sexual boundaries, send this madness in, and not expect me to fucking enjoy it. I moaned, the sound loud and begged, my lips parting, my eyes opening, and I propped myself up, the sheet falling from my breasts, and stared into the masseuse’s eyes.
“I need you to fuck me. Now.” I gasped the words, my mouth hanging open, the cold air against erect nipples, his hand cupping me, and one finger moved, swiping under the sheet; he slid it inside of me, and my world went dark.
My arms gave out, and I fell back, arching, a second finger joining the first, and he moved them together, his other hand sliding the sheet farther down, baring my upper half, my bo
dy offered to him as I pushed against his hand. He curved his fingers, stroking my g-spot, his other hand worshipping my breasts, now lifting, squeezing and then the additional stimulation of his mouth, hot and wet, sucking and pulling me against his tongue. I reached out, gripping his shirt, my eyes squeezed shut and bucked, my orgasm flooding uncontrolled, an explosion of De Luca proportions. He kept up the movement, my other hand reaching out and finding his shoulder, holding on for dear life as my body let out a final shudder, and then I collapsed on the bed, aftershocks twitching like erratic tics through my body.
My eyes closed, and I heard footsteps travel, latches click, the door open, and then shut. I opened my eyes, turning my head until I could see Brad, at my side, his eyes on my body. I watched him, watched as he placed a hand lightly on my ribcage, running it down my body as he circled the table, his eyes traveling along my skin, an intent, brooding look mixed in with his possessive standard. I murmured, a soft tone of satisfaction that had his eyes looking to mine, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he rounded the end of the table and stopped beside me. Bending over, he slid his arms under my body and stood, cradling me to his chest, my body curving, and I instinctively leaned into him, inhaling his scent, one that was 100% Brad, a smile crossing my face when I smelled only him on his shirt and neck. He carried me to the bed, lying me down on the pillow top, my face turning to him as he stood next to the bed, looking down at me.
“Did you enjoy that?”
I nodded, my eyes closing softly, a small smile on my lips. “Why’d he leave?”
He chuckled. “I can bring him back if you’d like. Call and get a later flight.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced at the bedside table. “Almost 4:45.”
My eyes opened fully, and I pushed off the bed. “Shit! We’ve got to go.”
He pressed me back down, black need in his eyes. “Not yet,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. “Not yet.”
***
Sex with Brad was always different after a threesome. Sometimes it was tender, such as when we were with the Russian girl. Other times it was possessive, as if he was claiming me back, reasserting his dominance with his cock, hands, and mouth. And sometimes it was fire, two souls battling each other, passion and fury in between our bodies, the giant need for each other frenzied in its intensity.
That day, with precious minutes ticking by, I expected it to be fast. But he took his time, laying me back on the bed, his eyes moving slowly over my skin, drinking me in. His hands dropping his pants, then his underwear, until there was nothing but raw, hard cock. Ready for me. Wanting me. He leaned over my body, tasted with teasing kisses, my neck, breasts, the side of my stomach, the curve of my hip. His hands pulled my legs open, and I squirmed as he drug soft lips closer, along the cut where my panties would lie, his eyes catching mine as he lowered his mouth to my sex.
God. I bucked under his mouth. His tongue was a velvet soft flutter over my sensitive clit. I was so aroused. On the edge of everything. He took me to the peak, keeping the rhythm up until I cried his name and clenched my legs. Until I came, my back arching, my hands finding and gripping his thick hair.
He moved up my body, joining me on the bed, his knees pushing my legs apart, his cock settling and thrusting into my hot and ready core.
“Are you mad?” I whispered, staring into his face.
He cocked his head at me, confused.
“At what he was doing … when you came in.”
He chuckled, shoved fully in, a place he didn’t typically go, the extreme depth of him usually painful. I winced, slapped his chest, warning him with my eyes. “I’m only mad if he was doing something you didn’t want. or, if he was making you uncomfortable. From the looks of it, you were very comfortable.”
“But you didn’t mind just watching?”
“Watching you being pleased?” He shook his head, dragged his hips backward, then gripped my legs and pushed back in. “Seeing your face when you come, your muscles when they clench. The arch of your back at a time when I can focus on it, enjoy it. I lose so many sensations when I fuck you. Your sounds, the flush of your cheeks. Sitting there, watching you come … it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It’s not about ‘minding.’ It’s about enjoying.” He quickened his thrusts, the movements of his hips, and dropped my legs, returned to my mouth. Then he wrapped his arms underneath me, pulled me to his chest, and rolled us over, our bodies joined as one, until I was astride, and he was below. And then he gave me a brief moment of control, and let me ride him to completion.
“Show her,” he said. “Show her how you suck my cock.”
Brad smiled. It had been a good birthday. No mess, no fuss, no drama. A great dinner at Centaur with the woman who had stolen his heart. And now, home. Before, it had been simply a house, a place where he bedded women, ate Martha’s cooking, and slept. Now, with Julia’s light and warmth and messy adorableness, it had become more. He had begged, bribed, and seduced—all in an attempt to get her to move in. But she had stubbornly resisted, returning most nights to the hovel she called a home. And every night she slept away from him, he worried. He unlocked the door, disengaging the alarm, and felt the presence of her pass behind him, her hands flicking on lights as her heels clicked through the kitchen.
She moved perfectly, his eyes following her steps, the curves of her body underneath her dress, her shapely legs on perfect display atop sexy heels. He locked the door and caught up to her as she rounded the corner, heading for the stairs.
“Whoa,” he whispered into her neck, inhaling the scent of her as his hands wrapped around her waist and traveled up the front of her dress. His mouth nuzzled her neck and planted soft kisses on her fragrant skin.
“Brad,” she whispered, spinning from him and walking backward toward the stairs. “You can finish that upstairs.”
“I can’t wait that long,” he said gruffly, catching her hand and pulling her tightly to him. He lowered his mouth to hers, silencing her response, his hands tugging on the straps of her dress quickly, the material following the path of the straps, her lace-covered breasts quickly exposed to his hands. She groaned, her chest heaving once underneath his mouth, her hands pushing on his chest.
“Stop,” she said breathlessly, pulling up her dress until her perfect breasts were once again hidden. “Just wait a sec. I need something from upstairs.”
Before he could formulate a response, she was gone, the flash of red soles moving quicker than humanly possible up the staircase. He followed closely, his eyes on the curve of her ass. He grinned, reaching a hand up to grab her when he reached the landing and everything stopped at the sight of two men.
***
I heard Brad behind me, getting closer, and I could tell you without looking that he would be reaching for me, intent on getting his hands on some part of my body. I felt triumphant when I reached the top landing untouched, and moved toward the guest room, my smile acknowledging the men that sat outside the door. Brad’s voice stopped me instantly, his tone one I had never heard from him. “Julia. Go into the safe room.” I froze mid-step and turned to him.
His eyes were not on me, but on the two suits, the large bodyguards who flanked either side of the guest room door, seated in the two casual chairs that typically occupied the sitting area of the guest room. I instantly understood his concern and cursed my own lack of foresight. The two men rose at Brad’s tone, their stance one of combative preparation.
I moved three steps, until I stood in front of Brad and blocked his line of sight. His eyes flickered to me briefly, clouds of worry. “Brad, it’s okay. I called them here. They are fine.” My words took a moment to register, his eyes watching them instead of me, but then confusion crossed his handsome face, and his eyes met mine again.
I smiled, placing my hands gently on his chest and kissed his cheek. “Relax,” I whispered. Then I turned, stepping through the men and to the guest room, where I swung the door open wide for Brad’s eyes.
 
; The room was dim but not dark, a big enough room that the bed was set back against a far wall, the lit candles revealing enough: glowing skin, blonde hair, porcelain features – the package lounged atop a cream duvet. Brad’s frame relaxed a fraction, and he glanced at the men with new understanding, then his gaze settled on my face, a look of confusion affecting his features in an adorable way I had never seen.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered and walked ahead of him, into the dark room, unzipping my dress as I walked.
***
There was a click, and I turned to see Brad shut the door, his eyes slowly sweeping over me, surveying the bed, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then they returned to me, and he moved only one step forward, his hands pulling off his jacket, tossing it aside, then moving to his belt, the slow, deliberate unbuckling of leather causing my breath to hitch.