Page 74 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

I think hard about what he’s asking. I try to imagine how I’d feel coming home to Lance and Aug in the shower together, or opening our office to find Lance bent over the desk. “I trustus,” I tell them, truthfully, because not even a single molecule of jealousy rises up in me at the idea of any of those things. I just want the three of us to be as happy and fulfilled as we can be. “And I have no problem if you two hook up when I’m not around or hell, when Iamaround.” I smile at Aug and turn to give Lance the same expression. “I trust you both because… I love you both.”

Lance grips my knee. “What’s the deal with your apartment? Hmm? Your dad pay for it or was he just on one saying that?”

My shoulders sag as the rest of reality slithers back in, popping the blissful bubble of throuples and love. “He pays for it,” I admit, feeling sheepish and silly. “He’s always paid for everything.”

“Now I pay for everything,” Aug says, giving me the most pointed gaze I’ve ever seen. “You’re free to do whatever you want after the mentorship, even if that means you don’t want to work at Crave. But your salary, the money you earn, that's for whatever you want. But living here, with me, being ours, I pay for the house, I pay for the food and all the bills. That’s my job.”

“Living here?” His house is so gorgeous, and the idea of sleeping anywhere but with the two of them sours my stomach.

“My pups live with me,” he says darkly, smiling, and holy crap. He wags a finger at my flushed cheeks. “Before there’s any playtime, we need to talk about your father.”

“I think we invite him for dinner this week,” Lance says aloud, a piece of bacon halfway to his lips. “I know you’re angry he tried to get you out of the program, and I get it. But he’s not twenty-six like you–”

“You’re both old men and you’re not porn shamers!” I argue with a smirk.

Lance’s eyes turn to their familiar shade of angry blue. “I’m going to leave that comment alone because we claimed that tight ass of yours last night and all that residual pain may be messing with your head,“ he says, his tone dripping with sex and snark, both of which turn me on. “I think it will serve us all to remember that love is the most important thing. Your dad loves you. He doesn’t understand what we do and what you’re doing. But I think we can fix things. Okay?”

“See?” Aug says, raising his eyebrow playfully. “He’s mushy, too.”

I hear him, though. And instead of flying off the handle and ignoring them both forever, I hear what Lance is saying to me about my dad and Winnie.

Lance smiles. “He’s your dad. Family is important.” He motions to Aug. “We consider Claire family, and she’s an ex.” Aug strokes his knuckles down my cheek. “He’s right. Family is important. Let’s try and fix it.”

“Fine,” I say. “Dinner here next week.”

I still can’t believe Winnie told my dad everything. What a backstabber.

twenty-nine

The night is young

augustus

She slidesthe paper across his desk and I watch him shift uncomfortably in his seat before dropping his pen to it and signing. “There,” he says, waving her off. The set hand leaves and as she does, Brielle enters the office.

Her long, blonde hair is disheveled, like she just took a helmet off or something, and her cheeks are full of color, a glow of sweat on her forehead. “Alright,” she breathes, tugging at her blouse.

I smirk. “Hot?”

She rolls her eyes, then glances over at Lance, who looks as heated and flustered as she does. “How long is this shoot again?” she wrinkles her nose, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

My smirk grows. “Forty-five minutes, that’s all we have Uma for,” I reply. I’ve shot scenes and films where I knew I was shooting an award winning piece. The performances were stellar, the set was beyond incredible, and the flow of it all was so natural and erotic.

But I’m more excited for the next forty-five minutes than I have ever been before. I’ve written the scene specifically with us in mind, though the actors don’t know that. And this scene—hell, this film—is the first of its kind for Crave. And the first title that Brielle will have her name on as an official director.

Lance rises, adjusting the dark belt looped through his navy slacks. Fitted navy slacks. The ones that show the thickness growing down his thigh. I nod to his crotch. “You have a situation.”

Brielle snickers and I shoot her a pointed look, wagging my finger at her. “Don’t make fun. If I took a swipe right now, I’m sure you’d have a situation, too. Only, yours isn’t visible.”

In order to honor today’s shoot, I plugged my pups. They put them in this morning, and now I hold their remotes in my pocket. Every few minutes I give them each a buzz or jolt, and watch them squirm. I want them so horny that by the time we get back to our place after work, they’re nothing but salivating, eager, obedient pups.

Lance looks down, as if he didn’t know he was getting hard, and lets out a string of expletives. “Goddamn it, I can’t go out there like this!” He rubs his palm over it, attempting to readjust, but gets fatter and harder from the movement. “Fuck! I’m making it worse.”

“Technically better, but,” Brielle comments, biting into her knuckle to stifle the rest of that sentence. Lance’s eyes are murderous as he reaches down his slacks. A moment later he pats his groin. “There. Belt trick.”

I salute him. “Nice work. Now I’ll see you two out there, I have a call to make.”

Lance circles his desk and as he and Brielle walk out the door together, I hear her ask, “What’s a belt trick?”

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