Page 124 of Unstitch

He shifts, getting a better grip of my basically bare bottom. ‘I did.’

‘And?’

‘And it was as awful as we thought it would be.’

‘Ugh. Poor baby.’ I squeeze him more tightly. Max gives my shoulder a little bite and gets to work behind me, stripping my hair of its pins. I had it up tonight in a chic starlet-style up-do, mainly to keep it out of the water, and once he gets it freed, he runs his fingers through it.

‘It’s okay,’ Dex says. ‘It’s done. Now I get to be with you guys properly.’

I giggle. ‘And I see you’ve begun the coming out process.’ I kiss along his jaw, his laughter vibrating against my lips.

‘You could say that.’

What a fucking relief. Waiting for Dex to get comfortable with the prospect of being official with me and Max has taken a greater toll on both of us than we’d ever have let him know. That’s the weird, new, cool but also terrifying thing about this kind of relationship. A three-legged stool is pretty bloody useless if one of the legs gives out.

I nuzzle into him, playing with the ends of his hair. It’s longer than Max’s, and I love how it curls just a little at the nape of his neck. Just one of the zillion sexy things about him. ‘Was it terrible?’ I whisper. I swear he could have sent me and Max in his place, his very own pair of kinky Dobermans to tear strips off his father.

‘It was shit,’ he says, ‘and I’m sure I’ll feel completely devastated at some point, but right now I’m mainly pissed off at what a hateful twat my dad is and relieved that I got it over with. Belle was amazing. She told Dad Rafe owns a sex club—you should have seen his face. I’m not sure if it was her way of directing some of his anger away from me or she just hit zero tolerance, but it was bloody brilliant.’

I raise my head and grin at him as Max closes in behind me, pressing his dick against my thong’s (very uncomfortable) sequinned strip. He wraps his arms around both of us, and it feels like the three of us are exactly where we should be.

‘You’re both bloody brilliant,’ I tell him. ‘And you’re with us now. That’s what matters. We love you.’

His eyes are dreamy wells of emotion as he glances from me to Max, whose chin is resting on my shoulder. ‘I love you both so much I can’t tell you.’

‘We know exactly what you sacrificed for us today,’ Max tells him gruffly. ‘We know how hard it is, and we’re so fucking relieved you chose us—and yourself, of course.’

‘Yeah.’ Dex’s smile couldn’t be wider, more loving. ‘Me too.’

Max lets go of us and steps backwards. ‘Come on. Put your dick away and come with us. Let us show you.’

85

DEX

Perhaps the sight of Darcy, naked and stretched out on this very same bed at Alchemy, should provoke some sort of déjà vu, but it doesn’t, of course. Because, the room and the participants aside, nothing about tonight bears much resemblance to that fateful first evening here.

Max may be staring at me like he wants to fuck me all the way to Hell and back, but he’s doing a far worse job of hiding it than he did last time. This time, I’ll take anything he chooses to put in my mouth—tongue or fingers or thumb or dick—and I’ll suck with the uncomplicated delight of a man who knows the pleasure it’ll bring both of us.

Tonight, I’m not the interloper, the suspicious, judgemental guy who’ll only admit to wanting one of them. I’m the conquering soldier returning from a front line rife with hatred and prejudice, and I’m damn well going to enjoy the spoils of the war I waged this evening.

Tonight, Darcy’s not the only one getting fucked, and she’s not the only one getting champagne sucked off her nipples, either. Nor will Max be left to get himself off with his fist. Because if I’m victorious, he’s positively triumphant, and he isn’t too shy to crow about it.

‘Every single thing I’ve done since you walked in here that first time has been leading up to this moment,’ he tells me, unearthing a bottle of Krug from the same cabinet he hid that initial stash in and making quick work of its foil and the little wire cage around the cork. ‘So tonight I’m fucking celebrating.’

‘Krug?’ Darcy says, stretching luxuriously on the bed. ‘Who smuggled that in for you?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ I say, catching a glimpse of the label. Krug Clos D’Ambonnay—1995, no less. ‘That stuff must be three or four grand a bottle.’

‘Your sister,’ he tells Darcy, ‘and the guys. This one is courtesy of your Alchemy family.’

He aims that last part at me, watching to see if it lands, and does it ever. That they’ve all been waiting in the wings for me to take this flying leap does something to my heart. The boys held space and compassion for me on the golf course the other day. I thought of their words all day, actually, while I was gearing up to talk to my parents.

Their incredibly generous gesture is a solid reminder that when your blood relations don’t have it in them to love you in the way you need, there are friends standing in the wings, ready to accept you for who you are.

Max bestows a fleeting kiss to my lips before turning to Darcy and dribbling champagne all over her torso. She squeals and then lets out a volley of giggles, and this time I don’t need him to spell out the invitation. I’m on that bed, catching the liquid with upward licks of her torso before taking as much of her breast in my mouth as I can.

‘Mmm,’ I mutter against her skin. ‘So fucking delicious.’

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