Misha smirks, clearly enjoying the moment. “Not on a grapefruit, although that would probably work too. We’re gonna do a lesson on the real subject.”
Oliver’s expression hardens. “She isn’t asubject.”
“That’s what stuck with you?” I shake my head, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Glancing over at Misha, I ask with a challenge in my eyes, “You want us toshowhim?”
Misha shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Why the fuck not. Would it bother you?”
I take a moment to consider it, but the answer comes to me quickly. “No. I think it would… intrigue me, to be honest. When I had her in bed, we talked about you guys touching her at the same time, and it got her so hot, it was… I don’t know, electrifying. I want to see that.”
Misha’s eyes light up. “Fuck, I want to see that too.”
Oliver shakes his head. “It’s not about whatyouwant to see. It’s about me not being able to please her like she did me.”
Misha and I exchange a knowing smirk.
“Don’t worry, Ollie.” Misha smirks with confidence.
“Yeah,” I add, leaning back in my chair. “You’ll learn in no time, and I’d bet she’s very open to letting you practice on her as much as you need.”
“How hands-on do you want me to be with showing you stuff?” Misha asks, his tone teasing.
I frown at him, and Oliver’s expression mirrors mine as he looks up from his hands in his lap. “What do you mean?”
“He’s asking if you’re okay with him getting handsy with you to help make things better for Amelia,” I explain, giving Misha a pointed look, who grins at me. “Just for the record, I’m absolutelynot finewith you touchingme,dickhead. I didn’t know you were into that.”
Misha shrugs. “I’m not. I just don’t give two fucks about who my mouth is on if it helps her get off.”
Oliver looks thoughtful. “So, you’re not suggesting we all do stuff together, but you’re asking if you can touch me to make things better for her?”
“Yes,” Misha confirms.
“Okay, that’s honestly perfect because I’d appreciate the help,” Oliver nods eagerly, looking relieved.
“You understand what he’s saying, right, Ollie?” I ask, making sure he’s clear on what he’s consenting to. If he is, I’m fine with whatever happens.
As long as it excludes me.
“I think so. I give Misha permission to show me in a very hands-on way how to pleasure our girlfriend, which might include touching my dick.”
I laugh heartily. “Okay then.”
Misha grins. “I’m not saying it will definitely happen. I just like knowing the limits and boundaries before I start showing you stuff. And you can always change your mind.”
“Misha, the consent king,” I joke, and Oliver finally smiles, his nervousness about the topic easing.
“Man, all this talk about eating is making me hungry. You think we’ll get some food here anytime soon?” Misha asks, looking around the room for a waiter. Just then, the strains of the violinist cut off abruptly, and a hush falls over the room.
Amelia’s father steps up to a dais, elevated above the surrounding tables. He clinks his glass, and everyone falls silent. A bad feeling settles in my gut as I watch August, Amelia’s mother, and the mother of that dickhead, Daniel, step up beside him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, thank you all for gracing us with your presence this evening and for your unwavering support of our annual charity gala for the British Heart Foundation. We are profoundly grateful for your continued generosity and dedication to this cause. Your contributions enable us to make a significant impact, and we are honored to have you here with us tonight to raise funds for such an important organization.”
His voice carries the polished cadence of someone accustomed to commanding attention and respect, and the room is silent as if they are hanging on to his every word. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the progress we have made but also the future that lies ahead. It is with great pride and pleasure that I announce my son, August Stanley, will be taking over the reins ofStanley & Associates,” Mr. Stanley declares, a proud smile stretching across his face. “As a token of our gratitude and commitment to the community,Stanley & Associateswill be making a significant donation to the British Heart Foundation tonight.”
The room erupts in polite applause, and Misha’s tension seems to ease a bit, but I can’t shake my unease.
Where’s Amelia?
The bad feeling in my gut grows stronger, twisting like a knife. This setup, the forced smiles, the orchestrated applause—none of it feels right. It’s like watching a play where everyone’s following a script except for us.
