Page 55 of Unstitch

I was by no means oblivious next door to the fact that the rainmaker who famously helped Wolff build his empire had me on the receiving end of the mother of all sales pitches. But his smooth, serpentine, cajoling words had nothing on this part of the pitch: the part where they let me take lovely, lovely Darcy for a test run.

And I’m so fucking in. My rational mind has harrumphed and stepped aside, clearing the way for my chimp brain to take the wheel.

And all the latter wants is more.

37

DARCY

Kissing Dex is a balm, a walk in the rain, a sensory bubble of self-indulgence. Max is all agenda, all the time, and it’s the thing that gets me hottest: knowing he wants to use and abuse me; knowing he’s taking and taking. It makes me crazy in the best way.

But if Max is happiest when everyone is kneeling at his feet in worshipful submission, I suspect Dex is happiest when worshipping. That’s not to say he’s submissive. The way he’s kissing me isn’t an act of submission. He’s consuming me, devouring me.

It’s just my way of suggesting that his agenda in this moment is me. This isn’t a power play for him (unlike other people I know). It’s an act of veneration. He’s treasuring this kiss, this opportunity to learn me.

I sometimes wonder if part of the attraction for Max is knowing everyone out there wants me and he can have me. I don’t mind if it is, because the same part of me that gets off on being used also gets off on being his sparkly little trophy. The pretty doll in the music box who spins at his command and is his to defile. That dynamic does it for me every single time.

That distance I put between me and the audience is powerful and heady and addictive, and I’m a shameless little whore for all the praise Max lavishes on me after those performances, but the way Dex is touching me grounds me, because it makes me feel seen—seen as a flesh-and-blood woman and not some kind of toy.

And that sensation of being cherished is something I didn’t know I needed until now.

Also:

I can’t believe they’re both here!

When they showed up at the door in their twin work uniforms, they looked so staggeringly hot I nearly died. I’m genuinely gobsmacked that Max managed to get Dex in here. I’m even more amazed that Dex is going for it with me.

Judging by the heat in those amazing eyes of his when he walked into the room and saw me in just my costume, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Even if this is just a one-time thing for the three of us, I intend to take every single second of everything these guys are willing to give me. I’ve wanted a threesome for so long, but a threesome with Max and Dex is like insane.

And now Dex’s tongue is in my mouth, and his hands are everywhere on my body, and he’s actually trembling as his erection pushes against my pubic bone, and oh my God, he might actually be aroused enough, immersed enough, to give us what we want from him tonight.

Max is clattering around somewhere behind me. ‘In your own time,’ he says drily, and we pull apart like guilty teenagers. My nipples are so hard they might tear through my fifteen-denier body suit, and I’m already soaked between my legs.

Dex’s dark-lashed eyes flicker over my face, glassy with need. He looks slightly shell-shocked, and it almost makes me laugh. If that’s how he feels after a kiss, all I can say is, dude better brace himself.

‘You’re amazing,’ he murmurs, hesitantly releasing me, and I smile dreamily at him.

‘Well, that was fucking hot,’ Max announces breezily as he pops a champagne cork. ‘Let’s drink to playing very, very nicely together.’

I spin around. He’s holding a bottle of Taittinger, and on the lacquered cabinet stands a full-on silver champagne bucket loaded with ice and three glasses.

‘Where the hell did you get that?’ I ask with a laugh.

‘Stashed it earlier. Made it worth the server’s time.’

I gasp. ‘You’re lucky my sister isn’t here. She’d kill you.’

‘Your sister is far too busy fucking my best mate right now to care. And you’re the one entertaining not one, but two verboten gentleman callers in a private room.’

I snort. ‘Way to make me feel like a lady of the night.’

He pours a glass and hands it to me. ‘You are a lady of the night. You’re my absolute favourite whore. And you’ll be this one’s favourite whore by the time the night is through, too.’ He hands Dex a glass.

Dex frowns and opens his mouth to presumably defend my honour from such politically incorrect slurs, but Max beats him to it. ‘Relax. She loves it. It makes her come like a freight train when I talk to her like that. You’ll see. Doesn’t it, sweetheart?’

‘It does,’ I confirm with a mischievous grin at Dex, and he gives me a watery smile back, like he can’t believe I’m real. I don’t miss the way his eyes scan my body as I slink closer to the both of them until we’re standing in a cosy little triangle, flutes in hand.

Max raises his. ‘To Darcy,’ he murmurs, and Dex echoes his toast while I smile coyly. Jesus. I’ve always been an attention whore, but come on. Having these two gods direct all their focus on me is the best feeling in the world.

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