Anal isn’t off the table, but I always imagined it with someone I trusted. Not a stranger asking about it like it’s listed as dessert on the menu.
Jon David jumps in before I can answer. “We’re just figuring things out. Laying the ground rules.”
Callum lifts his glass and takes a slow sip, his eyes anchored to mine. “Would you suck one of us while the other fucks you?”
A slow, icy panic unfolds in my chest, curling tight around my ribs.
This isn’t how Jon David sold it to me.
Callum’s grin turns wolfish. “JD, I’m starting to think she’s not into this.”
JD?
The nickname rolls off his tongue like second nature—casual, familiar, too damn comfortable. It hits wrong. And suddenly I’m not sure about their connection and where I fit in.
Jon David laces his fingers through mine and gives my hand a soft squeeze. “No worries. Laurette will be fine. She just needs a minute to warm up and relax.”
My heart stutters, and my chest tightens. A thought slams into me, loud and clear: I don’t want to be here.
I can’t catch my breath. My chest tightens, ribs pressing in as if they’ve forgotten how to expand. A thin sheen of sweat gathers at the back of my neck, and the room tilts, edges blurring. I taste acid at the back of my throat—sharp, metallic, rising.
This is too much. Too fast. And I can’t seem to slow it down.
Jon David lifts our joined hands and kisses the top of mine before letting go. “Hang on, baby,” he says.
He stands and walks to the wet bar across the room. I watch his back as he pours a drink, the soft clink of ice and quiet rush of whiskey barely audible over the pounding of my pulse.
He returns and kneels in front of me, pressing the glass into myhands. “Here, baby. Drink a little, okay? You’re too tense. It’ll help you relax.”
I stare down at the whiskey. “I don’t want this.”
Jon David places two fingers under my chin, lifting until our eyes meet. His smile is tender. “Take a few sips, sweetheart. Please. Do it for me.”
Across the room, all of Callum’s attention is fixed on me. “There's no harm in a little liquid courage, darlin’. We’re all friends here. No judgment.”
Maybe he’s right. I need something to take the edge off. This is too much. Too fast. Too far from what I thought it would be. Hell, I’m not even sure what I agreed to.
But I know I need to breathe. To stop thinking. To stop shaking from the inside out.
Sip. Burn. Breathe. In that order.
“That’s it,” Callum says, voice smooth as whiskey. “A little more, sweetheart.”
Sip. Burn. Breathe.
“One more. You’re doing great.”
Sip. Gulp. Breathe.
Jon David kisses my forehead, voice low against my skin. “That’s my girl.”
I drain the glass and time blurs after that.
Jon David and Callum talk—low voices, easy laughter—but I’m no longer part of the conversation. Which is fine. I don’t care. I don’t even try to follow what they’re saying.
The empty glass stays in my hand, heavier than it should be. My vision shimmers at the edges.
Relax, I tell myself. Just relax.
