Amiyah tilted her head up at me, eyes wide but glinting with mischief. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
I barked a laugh, humorless. “Cute? That’s what you think? Cute?”
Calla circled me, slow, her perfume brushing against me like smoke. “What do you want us to say, James? That you’re dangerous? That you’re ours? That if I told you to get on your knees right now, you would?” She came to stand at my side, hand trailing across my chest. “You already know these things to be true.”
I grabbed her wrist before she could pull away, holding her there. “Don’t play with me, Calla.”
Her eyes narrowed, but her smirk didn’t falter. “Who said I was playing?”
She stepped closer, leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of my jaw as she whispered, “You should always remember that I’m the one who decides how you get us. I decide when you get us, where you get us, and how hard you get us.”
Amiyah cleared her throat, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Should I… step out? Let y’all hash this out before somebody ends up on this conference table?”
“Don’t you move,” I growled, turning my eyes on her. She froze, lips parting,a faint flush rising on her cheeks.
The tension was so thick that it was almost choking. My chest rose and fell too fast, theirs matching mine, the air in that room charged like a storm waiting to break.
Then Calla broke it, in her own way. She smoothed her dress, straightened her ponytail, and said, casual as anything, “The BlackSphere annual masquerade gala is this weekend. The theme is Midnight in Bloom. Masks, champagne, donors. You’ll both be there.”
It took me a second to catch up. “You’re… inviting us?”
“No.” Her eyes gleamed. “I’m telling you. You’ll be there with me.” Calla’s voice was final, cutting, but not unkind. “Not as coworkers. Not as secrets. With me as my date.”
I let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking my head. “So let me get this straight. You send me filth in the middle of my meeting, you have me half-hard in front of my entire team, and then you decide now’s the time to schedule us for a black-tie event?”
Calla’s lips curved. “You’ll survive, maybe.”
Amiyah looked between us, then burst out laughing, her dimples flashing. “God, I don’t know if I’m turned on or terrified.”
“Both,” Calla said smoothly, not missing a beat. “That’s the point,” She spoke matter-of-factly, walking over to Amiyah and grabbing her throat with one hand, using the other to unbutton and unzip her slacks before sliding her hand inside Amiyah’s panties, finding the sweet spot as Amiyah’s body arched forward.
“M—Mistress, please,” Amiyah moaned out.
I dragged a hand over my face, laughing despite myself. “Y’all are gonna kill me.”
Calla removed her drenched fingers and slid them right into her mouth, suckingthem clean before she walked over to me and tongue kissed me, allowing me to have a faint taste of her and Amiyah.
Amiyah’s smile softened, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll keep you alive just to torture you a little longer.”
And somehow, standing there between the two of them, one smirking like she owned the room, the other glowing like she’d just set it on fire, I knew I’d walk straight into whatever trap they laid.
Gala, bed, or battlefield, doesn’t matter; I’m already theirs.
The whiskey at Noire burned clean through me, but it couldn’t quiet the weight in my chest. Not tonight. Not after everything.
Maybe that’s why I almost told Caleb, Calil, Knox, Ahmir, and Maverick about Calla and Amiyah and the way they had me tied up in knots, mentally, physically, and emotionally. I wanted to get it out. To hear my own voice admit it.
But Caleb was right there, steady and watchful. And Maverick… Maverick was sipping bourbon like nothing could shake him, even though I still hadn’t caught my breath from the therapy session we’d sat in earlier.
Earlier, Family Therapy
The fountain in the therapist’s office trickled softly and steadily, but my chest felt tight, my lungs working like they were full of smoke. I sat forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the carpet because I couldn’t look at them, not at Mama, sitting across from me with herhands locked so tight in her lap they’d gone pale, not at Daddy, stiff in his chair, his jaw a hard, angry line even now.
And not at Maverick. My brother was stretched back in his seat, arms folded, but I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and unflinching. He looked the same way he always had in this house, like he was ready for a fight no one else wanted to join.
The therapist’s voice broke the silence. Calm, patient. “James, last week you said you often felt like the peacekeeper growing up. Can you tell your family more about what that meant for you?”
My throat went dry. I could’ve stayed quiet, let the session slip by like all the others. But something cracked open inside me, the same way it had when Calla told me she laid herself bare the other day in her therapy session. I realized if I wanted to breathe again, really breathe, I had to stop swallowing this. And if I wanted to be a man not only one but two women could trust to lead and submit to them, I needed to heal. I believed wholeheartedly that a rotten apple in the bunch could spoil the rest, and I was committed to watching Calla and Amiyah grow, especially with me behind them.
