Seeking Two Lovers, page 2
Just like I couldn’t submit to thoughts of the same sex thanks to that bitch’s husband.
My stomach pitched at the flashes in my head, images in vivid color captured by a traumatized child’s mind.
Swallowing hard, I fought against the heat flaring inside me, the sweat rising to the surface of my skin that roused nausea in my stomach.
“So petite, blonde, and brown-eyed,” Grey stated in his business tone that promised me he wouldn’t forget. Ever. “Got it.”
The bathroom door opened, and Grey hopped up to be the gentleman so I wouldn’t have to.
I released a heavy exhale and closed my eyes again, trying to not give headspace to my past and how it had created the antisocial, insecure-as-fuck guy I had to look at in the mirror every day.
The hours of penance, the beatings. Sitting in a pitch-black cell of forced solitude and silence in order to better meditate on one’s sins.
“Fucking hell.” I scrubbed a hand down over my face, my teeth clenching up tight. But I refused to let in the light of our living room’s overhead dimmers. I chose the darkness behind my eyelids because I could—it was my choice. I held the power over what I did or didn’t do.
The couch dipped.
“You can open your eyes now, dipshit. She’s gone.”
“Fuck you.” I kicked out with a leg, connecting with Grey’s thigh. I still enjoyed my freedom to bask in the dark rather than look at him.
“I suppose I could offer up my ass if you really want it.”
“Goddamnit, Grey.” I shot him a glare, hating that he knew how to rile me up and control me at the same time.
“There’s those hazel eyes I adore.” He flashed a grin, and I kicked him again. With lightning-fast reflexes, he grabbed hold of my ankle and grasped tight. “Talk to me.”
Strong fingers dug into my foot, rubbing until I sank back in total relaxation with a groan.
The fucker had hands to write poetry about.
“Have I ever told you how good of a buffer you are?” I asked.
“Yeah, but you can say it again. I’ll take an ego stroke any day of the week.”
“You get enough strokes of your own in as it is. Fucking keep it down from now on, would ya?”
“Sorry I get vocal when I jerk off.” His voice held no contrite tone to speak of.
“No you’re not.”
“I’m just hoping you’ll start to enjoy it someday.” He waggled his eyebrows, and I shook my head, unable to help my grin.
“I don’t do dick.”
As if he needed to be reminded. The last guy he’d brought home had all but begged for a threesome, and I’d nearly lost my dinner on the kitchen floor.
“I’ve got a nice one.” He grabbed his junk and flopped it back and forth beneath his mesh shorts.
“Mine’s bigger.”
“Yeah, I know.” His tone lowered a bit, and he tossed my foot off his lap.
“So you do check out the goods when there’s a woman between us.” My turn to joke, thankful for something to help push the darkness away.
“‘Course I do,” he muttered, climbing off the couch and heading into the kitchen. “What horny, bisexual man wouldn’t enjoy looking at a thick dick and heavy balls? Water?”
“Sure.”
Grey brought guys back to our place just as much as he did women, but I didn’t share in the fun on those nights.
And I also wasn’t about to cross any further into teasing territory that might make things weird between us, even if I did think he was sexy for a guy. No fucking way would I mess up what I’d found with him. He was my best friend. My anchor. A soul mate if allowed that term for a platonic relationship.
Grey tossed me a bottle of water and crashed in the other corner of the couch again. “So.”
“So,” I echoed when he didn’t continue.
“You okay?”
Goddamn him.
“I hate when shit gets riled up in my head,” I muttered, turning to peer out the living room wall of windows overlooking the Pacific.
“Want to talk about it?”
“You know I don’t,” I snipped.
“You always feel better after you do.” He pushed like always in his reasonable tone, the manipulative bastard.
“Did you like her?” I asked, ready to quit with the serious shit.
“Our hookup?”
I nodded, picking at the skin of my hands’ callouses. Work kept my body in prime shape but was hell on my palms.
“Willing hole,” Grey reminded me in his typical vulgar way.
“Someday, somebody is going to turn you inside out.”
He didn’t give me his usual spiel about never settling down.
I glanced over to find Grey studying my face. “What?”
He shook his head and guzzled water, breaking eye contact. Rarely was he the first to look away. The confident, cocky asshole took pleasure in making others squirm.
It was one of the characteristics that made him a good businessman. The fact he didn’t love anyone but himself was the icing on the cake.
Well, he had feelings for me to some platonic extent.
Enough that he’d dragged me across the country after we graduated from high school, saving me from hell.
His rich-as-fuck father had paid his way through college while I’d been gifted the second bedroom in the apartment Mr. Scott provided for his use. I’d labored in exchange for money for the first time in my life, soaking in the California sunshine and slowly learning how to deal with and somewhat move on from my childhood.
Shit still rose in my head like it did thanks to look-alikes and bits of religious rhetoric inadvertently caught on TV or radio, but at least I had my freedom.
Nine years and counting…no one from my life before had found me since I’d escaped.
I couldn’t imagine what I would do if my past ever caught up with me beyond in my mind. As a child, I’d learned the hard way that runaways, even those heard speaking of leaving, would be found and properly punished.
And having grown into a man, those promises, the results of rebellion I’d seen and experienced, made me want to shrink in on myself.
Weariness settled into my bones from the hell my mind had dealt with all night while trying to get off to show Grey my appreciation. He always put in the hard work to bring the woman home for us. I should have wanted to sink into the couch and not move, but my feet grew as restless as my mind.
I got up without a word and gave my muscles reason to flex so I wouldn’t feel the desire to escape even further than I’d done with my best friend. Fuck knew I wouldn’t find a safer haven than living with Grey.
Only a few dozen steps upstairs to the second floor I all but had taken over and I shut myself in my bathroom. A hot shower would help to calm me, be the final push to allow sleep once I laid down.
But true rest wouldn’t come.
It never did.
3
Greyson
Turn you inside out.
Blaine’s words echoed in my head long after he abruptly left me as he oftentimes did when the racket in his head grew too noisy.
If only he knew he’d done that to me years ago when I’d first met him in New Hampshire a few months after my mom had passed. I’d spent most of my time with him in the field separating my family’s vacation house in the mountains from the compound he’d grown up on, desperate for an escape from my grief.
He’d been a quiet kid, like he too had seen heartache, so telling him about how Mom died had helped me deal. Blaine had told me he was sorry for my loss with a genuine look on his face, not the feigned condolences from my family’s rich, fake friends.
He’d been a breath of fresh air from the stifling society where I’d been raised, honest with his feelings and thoughts in a way the upper class and powerful weren’t. There were no polite but forced smiles and best behavior shit in order to better his station because of my family’s money.
I’d needed something that summer to focus on rather than the emptiness in my heart, a reason to breathe without my mom.
Blaine had given me that. He was real and had become the friend I couldn’t do without.
I’d never been allowed beyond the fencing to explore his home, but Blaine had somehow snuck out enough to keep me and my curiosity sated about the strange goings-on beyond.
His mess of dark hair and hazel eyes that made him seem like an old soul had drawn in my little bi ass once I learned about all things sex and hormones. Eventually recognizing his insecurities, his fears of never being good enough, had roused my protective nature to life and fused him to my heart.
After turning me inside out.
“Fuck.” I stood and made my way to the wall of glass looking out over the dark night and gentle waves sweeping over the beach beneath the half-moon’s light. No outdoor sounds reached through the windows, but I’d have been too fixated on listening to Blaine shower to settle in for the night anyway.
Hyperaware of his every move since first meeting him, I didn’t miss much when it came to him. I’d known the appearance of the woman I’d brought home with me had bothered him, but he hadn’t voiced a word.
“Shit.” Lips pressing tight, I chided myself for being a selfish prick and not paying better attention to his body language.
It had been two months since our last hookup together, and my balls had been too damn ready to burst while having Blaine nearby.
My pipe dream.
My obsession.
My beautiful impeder.
All I had ever wanted, Blaine kept me from seeking more with anyone else. I’d become his rock, his safe place, and nothing would make me sneak over the friendship line and leave him floundering like I’d been after losing Mom.
His need for me far outweighed my desire for him.
Unrequited love fucking hurt, and yet I found a sense of fulfillment in being at his side. But I would never be able to stop the deep craving inside my heart for more.
His shower shut off, and I strained my ears for sounds of him moving around in his bedroom overhead.
Drawers opening and shutting.
Silence.
Did he stare into the pitch black like he’d done all those hours of being shut up alone as a kid? Did he fight the demons or bask in his liberation to choose an existence in darkness behind closed eyelids? Chances were, he had on a night-light as usual.
Turning toward my own bedroom on the first floor, I shut down my brain against my failure that might send him on a tailspin of upheaval and mental torture.
He’d dealt with enough of that before I’d offered him an escape from that hellhole.
Physically, he’d changed from the sickly-looking seventeen-year-old kid who’d snuck out of the compound and accompanied me when I left for the West Coast and college. Blaine had grown a few inches taller than my five-ten, and working a physical landscaping job had also covered his once-slight form with muscle, the California sun bronzing his skin.
But his eyes hadn’t changed.
Gorgeous, more gold than green, his hazel orbs continued to reveal the damage inflicted all those years ago. At least to me, the one person who knew what he’d survived.
Barely.
While I’d finished up college on my dad’s dime and moved on with my life, Blaine had simply gone stagnant. He’d made a few friends at work, but his introverted ass never went out with them. I doubted he lowered his walls to let anyone delve too deeply into his inner workings.
I often wondered how much he didn’t tell me too.
He might not love me in the same way I did him, but he’d entrusted me with his heart and mind.
And I’d been a blind fool with our hookup, the worst sort of friend.
A hot shower soothed the tension riding my shoulders, and I decided no more women, no more threesomes until he suggested it.
Because of his insecurities, Blaine didn’t go looking for women on his own. Nor did he want to be alone with them behind closed doors. I sensed when he needed to empty his balls into something other than his fist and initiated for him, secretly getting off on the fact that I chose his physical interactions with the opposite sex.
I fucking loved the control since I wouldn’t ever have it over his body in the way I dreamed of.
He’d gladly handed over management of his sex life to me years earlier at my insistence, and I’d watched him lose his virginity. I had drunk in the sight of his slack jaw and hazed eyes while ejaculating into a wet pussy as her mouth sucked on my cock.
I’d rather it had been my ass he’d pounded or vice versa, but beggars and all that shit.
“Thank you,” he had whispered the second he’d caught his breath after releasing, but I knew he’d meant the words for me rather than the woman between us.
For listening, for understanding, and for offering to all but hold his hand and see him through in becoming a man.
The Missing Link app made my job a shit ton easier since getting Blaine to head out to bars and pick up kinky women with me was like pulling teeth. It was tough to go on the prowl alone and ask a woman if she’d be interested in going back to your place for a three-way with your roommate who had social anxiety.
The app dinged a few seconds after I finally settled into my bed for the night as though a sentient being offered a “You’re welcome for that willing hole—how about another?”
Fucking cyberspace…a mind-reading alien intent on shifting through your brain and seeking out your every whim and secret longing.
I considered ignoring the notification since I’d put our shared sex life on hold, but it couldn’t hurt to peek for the future when Blaine decided he was ready again.
I’d made our settings private, only allowing for exact matches to see our profile. Two men looking for a woman. No strings. No promises. Hookups only. Whoever the app allowed past our walls hadn’t clicked the “Interested in relationships” box.
They weren’t searching for love.
Necessary since Blaine had none to give, and my heart already belonged to him.
I clicked on the poke from @S2L to check out who Missing Link thought might be a good fit for a bi boy and his best friend roommate.
The red bikini snagged my attention first, showcasing every gorgeous curve of her tight, little body. Her hip popped out in a sensual pose, highlighting her slim waist, the halter top swelling perfect apple-sized breasts.
Blonde hair highlighted by the sun, long enough for a man to fist when taking control, draped over one shoulder, halfway down her torso.
“Yes,” I muttered, mentally checking off one of Blaine’s requirements about hair color.
I focused in on the pic, needing to better see her face for the rest.
“Oh, fuck.” I groaned and shifted my junk. Gorgeous dark eyes—no blue—black as coffee orbs with hints of Jameson hugging the pupils.
My two favorite drinks.
Full lips coated in gloss, perfect for sucking down a cock, smirked at the camera.
I considered rubbing one out but clicked back to read her write-up.
Twenty-four—young enough to just be on the prowl.
Enjoying life—always a plus when your thoughts aligned.
No BDSM—no problem since my dominant nature never leaned toward the pain with pleasure or tying someone up.
Last check mark…
“Five-foot-three,” I read, my lips turning upward. A tiny sprite compared to the two of us. “Perfection.”
Blaine might not want pussy in the near future, but there was no fucking way on earth I would give up the opportunity to poke the hell out of her right back. Hopefully, I could string her along until my heart’s other half climbed aboard the ready-to-fuck train.
I hit the poke button in return which offered the option of communicating via direct messaging.
Having no clue what I’d brought onto myself by opening that door, I turned off my light and rolled to my stomach, ready for sleep since Monday mornings came too damn early.
The smile lingered on my lips, and hope welled in my heart even though over seventeen years of dreaming hadn’t brought jack shit to fruition between me and the man I loved.
4
Lily
And I’d thought Monday mornings greeting a class full of second graders was rough.
Within three hours of learning the ropes and getting tossed behind the cafe’s front counter, I was ready to prop my feet up and let some tears roll down my cheeks.
I wasn’t a coffee drinker myself, but those who needed it and had to wait in line before finally having that first sip in the morning? Didn’t they not know they could keep their grumpiness and bitchiness at bay by making a cup at home before dragging their asses out to start the day?
I hoped the fact it was a Monday morning accounted for most of the shortness and frowns I’d dealt with while smiling at every customer walking up to the counter.
Otherwise, I wasn’t going to make it through barista training over the next couple of weeks.
Finally, my break time rolled around, and I went to the back room to get my cell.
“Is every morning like this?” I asked Cheryl, the shift manager rifling through the employee fridge.
“Busy as hell with everyone bitching about their lack of foam or too much ice?” Cheryl closed the fridge door with her hip, her hands wrapped around a few boxes that looked like last night’s leftovers. “Mostly just Mondays.”
“Thank God.” I pulled my cell from my purse. “I honestly don’t know if I could handle dealing with coffee-fiend-needing-a-hit customers like this for six hours straight.”
Cheryl snickered and popped a box into the microwave. “That’s why you have a break halfway through.”
I groaned. “Tell me it gets better.”
“It gets better.”
“Are you lying to me?”
She outright laughed. “When you have a bubbly outlook and a smile like you do, it gets better.”
My face hurt from forcing grins all morning long, but my lips curved upward naturally at her praise.
“You must be a church person,” she mused.
