Somehow, I’d gotten up the courage to ask him out a few months ago—he’d never indicated if he was single or not, so I figured it was worth asking—and I’d even survived being rejected. He didn’t look at me differently, didn’t keep his distance or stop gifting me with those smiles that gave me life every time he dropped Olivia off. Everything went back to normal, and I tried my best to move on, to date, to do all the normal things I should have been doing instead of becoming what he’d turned me into through no fault of his own.
And thenhe’daskedmeout, and I thought I’d dreamed it up. A live hallucination. Time to see a therapist—as if I shouldn’t have already been seeing one, actually—and really examine what the fuck was wrong with me. Except he’d been here when I arrived, he’d been warm, attentive. He was perfect. I thought,no matter what happens, there’s no way I could ever have said no to this man.
Now he’s being bent over a table by one man while kissing another. On our date.
I should have asked more questions.
Especially when the man he’s kissing points agunat me, and the other gives a low smirk and says, “Hello, Matthew. Nice of you to join us.”
And now here I am, terrified and really turned on all at the same time. How does this guy even know my name? I didn’t think they made anyone more attractive than the man I’m in love with. The two men crowding Hunter are certainly testing that theory. They’re all stunning, and together they’re completely screwing with my equilibrium. Hunter isn’t wearing his shirt anymore, and that chest is… one hell of a work of art. I wasn’t expecting to see it on our first date, or, y’know, ever, since one date itself was a miracle. There’s a dusting of hair and then a happy trail all the way down to where Hunter’s thick, hard cock is in the one guy’s hand.
I swallow hard, trying to process everything. There’s a lot to look at. Too much. I can’t focus on any one thing or think of a single thing to say. I should be angry about Hunter ditching me to go have sex—and there’s something there that isn’t all that pleasant, deep under the surface—but the familiarity between them is unmistakeable. This isn’t some random encounter, and something is going on that I have no part in.
Also, I don’t want to get shot? Which is not something I thought I’d be thinking about tonight. Or… ever. I’m too boring for this situation.
Hunter takes hold of the gun and points it down, which makes me feel marginally better.Marginally.The guy is still holding it, and it can’t take that long to shoot someone, right? Is his hair in a plait? I could live a hundred lives and never be that effortless. I can’t even see the irises of his eyes. If there was a picture under the word “dangerous” in the dictionary, it would be of him.
“Put it away, Miles, I know him. Matthew, I—” Hunter cuts off, and he looks more unsure than I’ve ever seen him. He’s always been so in control. I don’t think any of us are in control right now.
Well, maybe the guy that I’m pretty sure is balls deep inside him. I can’t believe I just thought that. None of this is real. It can’t be. I probably overate cheesy popcorn on the couch and fell into a cheese delirium. Wouldn’t be the first time, though they’re never been quite this vivid or imaginative before.
My face is so on fire I wouldn’t be surprised if it were actually alight and in danger of burning the whole building down. Even if my face wasn’t so pale that everything shows up on it, it would still be glaringly obvious that I am bright red.Please don’t look down.They don’t need to know just how confusing this situation is for me. The fact I’m hard, despite it all, says I really need some quality therapy. My savings was going to go towards an overseas trip, but giving it to someone to fix my head is probably an alright use of it, too, I guess.
I finally find my voice, but all that comes out is a squeaky, “I’m—sorry, I didn’t mean to—” To what? Walk in on him having sex with two guys? Look for him when he was gone so long that I was starting to worry? I should have stayed at the table. Would he have come back and pretended he hadn’t just been fucked in an empty bar in the same building? I don’t know which scenario is worse.
Ireallyshould have asked more questions.
“Who let you in here?” the one Hunter called Miles asks, his eyes narrowing sharply.
“There was a”—I gesture behind myself, my hands shaking a little—“they said Hunter had come in here—”
“He’s about to.” The words are almost a purr, and the shiver down my spine is entirely involuntarily and sort of unwelcome.Mostly unwelcome. A little bit. Why am I still standing here staring?
My lower lip trembles, and I can’t help raking my eyes down Hunter’s form again. Down to where—he’s still hard, and my mouth waters at the thought of getting on my knees and tasting it. Now IknowI’ve gone insane. It’ll take more than my savings for therapy.
“Close the door, Matthew.”
Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll do that, from the other side. And try to forget this ever happened. As if it’s not imprinted in my brain or something I’m not going to turn over and over again in my head for the rest of my life.
“I’ll—leave you to it,” I say weakly. If only I was more suave—or suave at all—and knew what to say in this kind of situation to not make it more awkward. No such luck.
“No, you won’t be leaving,” Miles says. “Close the door and sit down.”
Right. Okay. That’s also a perfectly reasonable thing to do. The guy holding the gun really gets to decide how these things go, I think. Doing as I’m told, I look for a seat. My legs are feeling pretty wobbly, so it’s not a terrible idea. There are plenty of tables to choose from, and I go for the one furthest from them.
“No,” the third man says smoothly—would it be impolite to ask for his name? This feels like a first name kind of thing, but what do I know? “Over here. Right where we can see you.”
For torture purposes or so I can’t run? I wasn’t about to run. I’m not that brave. Far from it.
“Xavier, stop it,” Hunter growls, twisting to stare up at the man who I assume is still inside him. Hasn’t even pulled out despite my intrusion. It definitely feels like I intruded. Hunter lifts a hand to the man’s chest and pushes, but he doesn’t budge. Not even a little. They aren’t dissimilar in size, so it has to be a strength thing? I have no idea, and I can’t stop my brain fromgoing a million miles an hour, trying to focus on anything but the way they’re still wrapped around each other. “Let me go.”
A name. Xavier. Yeah, that suits him. Hunter, Miles, and Xavier. And me. I’m Matthew. I shove my hands under my thighs after I sit down, and my eyes meet Hunter’s. There’s an apology in there and something else. Darker. He’s getting some kind of pleasure from this. So am I. I have no idea which is worse.
“Don’t be rude, Hunter, we have a guest,” Xavier says. That voice is like warm honey. At this point, I can’t even blame Hunter for any of this. I’d be putty too. More things to discuss with my therapist when I get one.
Hunter attempts to pull away from him, but Xavier clamps a hand around his throat, pulling him back against him and arching his chest.
My hands clench into fists at my side. “Hey, there’s no need to—”
