Kyle was so pissed. I’d been embarrassed. Humiliated that Seth wouldn’t take us—wouldn’t take our love—seriously.
Seth must not see me as a child now. Because his wolfish, hazel eyes rove over my body in an unmistakably lustful way.
I’m strangely excited. Am I going to fuck him tonight? Why is he being so cold to me, and why does that turn me on?
Too many questions.
Which reminds me, I’m supposed to be answering Seth’s question—what do I think about letting him watch me fuck his friend?
“Y-yes, Sir.” I fumble the words. Calling Seth Sir feels so odd, yet strangely natural at the same time. “I can do that.”
I look over at the friend. Damiano, Seth called him. He’s tall and muscular like Seth, and carries himself with broad-shouldered confidence. His suit fits him extremely well. This must be some kind of fever dream, because there’s no way two men who look like them are staring at me like this, like they’ll die if they don’t have me.
And strangely, I don’t feel guilty. I should. I’m about to fuck someone in front of Kyle’s brother.
This room has black walls. Black floors. Black furniture. The color of mourning. What the hell am I doing here?
I used to know—I came here to get freaky, have fun, and earn a little extra cash while doing it. I like sex. I like being on display, and I love the admiration of strangers. And I’ve been…touch-starved, since Kyle died. My two hook-ups this year were complete duds. I don’t know what I was expecting from a couple of randos. I hoped they’d know how to find my clit, but I was too optimistic.
Kyle always tried to make me come. Maybe he missed the mark sometimes, but at least he made an attempt.
Five years he’s been gone. I need to stop using him as a measuring stick for all other men. That’s part of the reason I’m here. Kyle wasn’t kinky. I didn’t even know I was kinky. But I’ve been doing some reading. I’ve discovered some things about myself.
And that’s why I’m here. This place is full of other kinky people, and it’s free of Kyle’s memory.
At least, it should be free of Kyle’s memory. But apparently his (very hot, domineering) brother comes here, too.
I fan my face. He bid on me.
“Are you ready, Miss M?” Damiano’s voice is warmer than Seth’s, and there’s a tiny curve to his lips, almost a smile. He removes his suit jacket and sets it on a chair.
“Before you start,” Seth says, “take off your robe. Show us your tits.”
I’m surprised by his crudeness. He and Kyle were close and affectionate, their jokes sometimes bordering on inappropriate, but Seth always seemed to keep a barrier of propriety between him and me.
“We’re waiting, Miss M.” Damiano’s smile gets bigger, like he appreciates my unease.
“Yes, Sir. Sirs. Sorry, Sirs.” I slip the black robe off my shoulders. It falls to the floor in a silky heap.
“Your bra, too.” Damiano’s gaze flicks up to my face, but he—and Seth—look me up and down.
Seth strides forward and holds out a slender chain that matches the one looped around my waist. He slides my hair out of the way and fastens the chain around my neck. It’s the closest I’ve been to him, ever, in my whole entire life. His face takes up my field of vision, and he’s so freaking handsome. Like Kyle, but not.
Those eyes, though. Just like Kyle’s.
His voice is gruff. “You belong to us for the next two hours. Everything we say, you do. Your safe word is red, but no or stop will work just as well. Do you understand?”
I nod.
Damiano removes his dress shirt, revealing sculpted muscles and a dusting of dark hair over his chest. He sits on a low bench and unbuttons his pants. He pulls his erect cock from the fabric of his boxers. My mouth waters. He’s hard—for me. The power I feel in this moment seems at odds with the situation, but I feel it all the same.
A wrapped condom goes flying past my head, tossed by Seth. Damiano catches it with a grin.
Damiano rolls the condom over his length. “I want you to touch yourself.”
“I can do that, Sir.” I cup my tits in my hands, fondling them, squeezing gently. I stroke over my pebbled nipples and suck in a sharp breath of pleasure.
“Nice.” Damiano nods.
