She slowly nods, her eyes darting to me and back to Sean.
“Coffee?” Sean asks in another effort to lure her down.
She nods again and slowly makes her way to us as if we’re a problem she’s trying to solve. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, I place it on the island between our steaming mugs and pour.
The second she’s within reach, Sean pulls her into him, his whisper easy to catch. “It’s cool, baby. We’re not going to bite.” He kisses her cheek. “You smell so fucking good.” She whispers something back as I scan her, her hair twisted and secured on the top of her head, her slender, delicate neck flushed red with embarrassment, shame, or both.
“I’m going to go grab a quick one,” Sean croons in a soothing tone as Brandy trots into the kitchen, nails ticking on the tiles. “Want to go get some breakfast after?”
“Sure,” she says, eyeing me briefly as I pour Brandy’s breakfast into her bowl.
“Be right back,” Sean gives her a slow wink before heading upstairs. Cecelia eyes me pensively where she stands at the fridge, grabbing the milk and heading toward the island.
“Hi,” I whisper, discarding the bag, unable to hold my smile as she cuts her eyes at me, the ‘asshole’ clear in them. Moving to join her, I trail my gaze down the length of her.
“When are you going to make peace with it?” I ask as I approach, my breath hitting her nape as she uncaps the milk.
“I’m,” her lips lift in a tight smile. “I have no clue. It’s just different.”
“Yeah?” I run my thumb down the slope of her delicate neck. “Did he fuck you last night?”
“Dom,” she exhales a harsh breath of surprise.
“Did he make you come?”
“I’m not answering that,” she expels with a shake.
Rapid breaths leave her as I pull out her hair tie, and it falls limp along her shoulders. The scent of shampoo hits me as I flex my fingers through the bottom, loving the silky, cold feel between my fingers. “Can he make your pussy sing like I do?”
The need to mark her builds as I envision her stretch around me. “Did he press your beautiful face to the mattress and bite your neck . . .” It’s not a scenario, but a memory of the last time I took her “。 . . suck your nipple purple, and thrust in so deep that you went into subspace, flooding his cock and sheets?”
“Jesus Christ, Dom,” she scolds in alarm, her neck and profile flushing red, stopping her milk pour just in time to keep her mug from overflowing. Running my fingers through the damp hair at her neck, I catch the brief close of her eyes and the glimmer of blue fire when they reopen and focus on me.
Her choppy exhales increase as the sight of our last day together replays so vividly, and my blood starts to heat. Because of my attraction to Cecelia, my sexual imagination has gone into overdrive. She’s been more than a willing volunteer for every experiment, not one of them going awry. I’ve tormented her with hours of foreplay, edging her, watching her beg, only to come back asking for more—nothing vanilla about it. I don’t consider myself a man of kink, but a man with a sexual appetite who flirts on the edge of it. She flirts right back with me, and it pays off for us every fucking time.
Grazing my hard length across her back, I sweep her hair out of the way of my focal point, her nape, before pressing my lips below her hairline.
“Dom,” she whispers on alert, “I’m, uh, I’m—”
“Shh,” I whisper, “Sean can speak for himself about the biting,” I taunt before sinking my teeth into the back of her neck. A moan escapes her as I graze the skin I made raw while snaking my arms around her.
“You’re breaking the rules,” she mewls in weak protest.
“Can’t really hold that against me since it’s my fucking profession,” I remind her, fanning the pads of my splayed fingers as I palm her chest, running them over her taut nipples.
“Dom, we can’t—”
“We aren’t,” I say, trailing my nose along her exposed shoulder, “I am because I’ve got home-field advantage. He should know better by now than to leave you alone in a room with me. Ever.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she exhales shakily. I bite my lips to hold my chuckle in. She’s still easing into polyamory, and being the motherfucker I am, I’m not making it any easier on her. She chose this, we all chose this, and not one of us is complaining, especially her.
“So terrified that if I pulled down your little boy shorts,” I cup her pussy through them, “your boyfriend will find me hammering into you,” I squeeze it again for emphasis. “But do you really know what he would do?”
“No,” she says breathlessly as I bite along her shoulder, marking her for him to see.
“Maybe he’d punish you,” I whisper, “but you know you would like it. Because you like mine, don’t you, Pup?” I hiss, feeling no guilt for this stolen time because Sean hasn’t exactly been all hands off, either. I’ve caught him once or twice stealing moments alone with her when he can, but neither of us has fully crossed the line or the boundaries she created. It’s nothing I begrudge him for and vice versa. Because of those boundaries, the situation has been easier to navigate. The hookups in the past were always planned, taking place outside our homes, and never had any impact on our club. This dynamic is entirely different from the others.
Those were clearly temporary, and though this one remains in the same category, it’s the three of us who are collectively and purposely drawing the expiration date out. Me included because I can’t get enough of her.
But even as I see an eventual end to this, I don’t deny that it runs deeper because Sean is already attached, and I’m drawn to her in a way I can’t ignore.
Running a palm along the material of her stomach, I dip my fingers into her shorts, and she grips my hand to stop it. “I’m on my period.”
“Your clit doesn’t give a fuck, so why should I?” Slipping my fingers in just enough to massage her through her panties, I demonstrate how much of a fuck I don’t have to give. Starting with the slow rotation of my pointer, her head falls back to rest on my chest.
“God, you’re such a bastard,” she rasps out, as she starts to shake in my hold, where I have her pinned between me, my fingers, and the island.
“Not denying that, ask me to make you come,” I order as she begins to move her hips, bucking into my touch. “Ask me, Cecelia.”
“Make me come,” she concedes, turning her head in invitation for a kiss I don’t take—a kiss I refuse to give her because that will only trigger me in wanting more. Our kisses have a way of igniting us past the point of return. A state of arousal I have no desire to be in if I can’t act on it.
“That sounded more like an order,” I nip the shell of her ear, “not a request.”
“Dom, please,” she whispers, and I know it’s because she wants that connection. Ignoring her plea, I add a finger, massaging her in slow circles, her body jerking slightly as she chases the high. Breathless, she turns her head again, tilting her chin up, her lips so close she’s able to brush them against mine.