I pull back, confused, his hand cupping the back of my head, keeping me close to him, my eyes studying the tumulus depths of his blue. “What? Who?”
“Him. Call him. Have him take care of you. I can’t leave.”
There is only one Him in our life, our world comprised of only three people. I try to process his words, spoken without anger or light, in a serious, I’m-not-fucking-around tone. I shake my head, his eyes sharpening at my reaction, his hand pushing my own down on his cock. His voice rasps in my ear, thick with arousal and authority. “I want it, Madison. I want him to f**k you in the powder room while I sit here with these stuffed shirts. I want you to come back to this table with your cheeks flushed and his cum inside of you.”
I feel the twitch of him beneath my hand, see the flicker of excitement in his eyes, and realize the truth of his words. “Seriously?” I whisper, almost afraid to voice the question.
He slides my hand up, letting me feel the hard ridge of his arousal. It is pushing at his pants, his excitement unquestionably hard. “Call him. Now.”
I sit there for a moment, the hum of conversation muting as my mind processes this new avenue. My need moans between my legs, its intensity doubled by Stewart’s words, by the twitch of him that proved his sincerity. Can I go there? Can I bring these two worlds so close and still escape with our twin relationships intact? I excuse myself and step away, pulling out my phone, watching the dark gleam in Stewart’s eyes, a sexy smile crossing his lips. He is serious. He wants me to be f**ked while he sits a few rooms away, surrounding by wealth and business. I dial Paul’s number, biting my lower lip and step farther away from the table, holding Stewart’s gaze.
“Hey babe.” Paul’s voice is lazy, as if he’d dozed off on the couch.
“Come into town. The W Hotel in Hollywood. I need your cock.”
A minute later, I return to the table, smiling demurely at Stewart, who rises at my entrance and pulls out my chair, his napkin hiding any erection he may have. Leaning down as he pushes my chair in, he softly speaks. “Is he coming?”
“There are so many places I could go with that question.” I murmur. “But yes.”
He sits back down, reaching for his wine glass and smiling at me. “Good.”
I try to pay attention to the conversation. Try to eat my salad and smile politely, nod appropriately, laugh when the overweight man to my right makes a joke. But I am waiting, my leg jiggling nervously. Waiting for the buzz of my phone against my leg, for the moment when I will know that he is here. My call had surprised him, his soft voice hardening when he heard my directive. I could imagine him sitting up, trying to put the pieces together, hearing the raw need in my voice. He knows me, as well as Stewart does. Knows that when my blood rushes and need hits me, that there is only one thing that can satisfy it. Cock. Thrusting roughly, taking my body as its own. He knows that I can’t contain it, that the need grows and expands until my fingers or someone else’s body f**ks it to sleep. He knows that I won’t want to make love. He knows that I will need my brains f**ked out, and he knows exactly how I like that done. As Stewart does. They have memorized my body, learned my tells, f**ked me enough that every movement is delivered before I have to ask.
I am brought back to the present when I hear Stewart speak, his voice calm and intelligent, the rough scrape of his voice only visible to me, who knows it so well. I can see the slight tighten of his jaw, can see the fire in his eyes when he casually glances my way. He is aroused, and allows my hand to confirm it when I reach over. Full-blown, hard as a diamond, aroused. It confuses the hell out of me and makes me wet at the same time. Then my phone buzzes, and I am out of time to think. I stand, gripping my purse, waving the men off as they start to rise. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to step outside for a bit.”
False concern crosses Stewart’s features as he rises, excusing himself and escorting me to the door. “You will be the death of me, you know that?” he says softly.
“I could say the same for you.”
He stops, outside the door. “Have him f**k you hard,” he bites out, pulling me into his body with sudden aggression. “And whatever he doesn’t take care of, I will. Just give me a few hours to finish up this business. Hurry.” He slaps me on the ass, hard enough to sting, my panties soaked at the forbidden nature of this entire experience. I grip my purse tightly and step out of the restaurant, into the hotel lobby, and head for the restroom.
I knock gently on the unisex door. “It’s me.” My voice croaks on the last word. This is the closest my two worlds have ever come to colliding. Stewart and Paul. In the same building. My dark and my light. One, now seated, surrounded by finery, listening attentively to talks of profit and loss, his c**k hard, hidden underneath fine linens and discussions of intellect. And my light, swinging the door open and pulling me inside, slamming it closed behind me and flipping the latch. No words spoken, his hands thrusting me back, his mouth greedy on mine as he tastes champagne on my tongue, our need thick in the air. I reach for him, my hand running down his worn tee and grip the top of his jeans. He has not changed clothes since I saw him last, has not dressed up for his entrance into this hotel, and I love the contrast. His messy hair to Stewart’s combed. Five o’clock shadow to clean-shaven. The smell of sweat to cologne. I normally get a cleansing period, the twenty-minute drive between my worlds clearing my head, my skin, my palette. Now, walking instantly from one to the other, the comparisons are overwhelming. He pulls back, releasing me. Wiping a hand over his mouth, his eyes take a slow tour of my body.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “Dressed up like you are a good girl.” He hasn’t seen me like this. With my hair conservative and a cocktail dress on, pearls at my neck. He slides my dress up, the expensive fabric stiff, staying where it is put, the black peep of lace panties exposed. I stay still, my back against the wall, legs slightly forward and spread a few feet apart. My chest heaving, need gripping me, I watch him unzip his pants and pull out his cock.
“Suck it. On your knees, in this bathroom. Suck my c**k while your boyfriend sits at the table.”
There is an edge to his voice, an anger that is not normally present. An emotion that is turning my easy-going Paul into something darker. Sexier. I love it, love the bite in his voice, the possession in his hand as he grips the back of my head and pulls me fully onto his cock. He thrusts into my mouth, his eyes on mine, the connection between us unbroken as he f**ks my throat, growing with every pump, the fire in his eyes making the need between my legs almost painful in its intensity.