Page 11 of Doubling Down

I step back out and follow the twins. Just before the final door is a small corridor with a closed door at the end. “What’s that?” I ask.

“Stairs down to the shop,” Jude says, “so we don’t have to unlock the main door to go to work.”

The last door leads to the bedroom, which is the only room that still looks like a pair of teenage boys live in it.

“Oh my god. You guys still sleep in bunkbeds? That’s… so precious.”

Simon’s cheeks flush. “Well, we don’t exactly entertain much.”

“Ever. He means to say we don’t entertain ever. You’re the first woman who’s ever been up here.” Jude crosses his arms and leans on the bedpost. It’s a pretty large set of bunkbeds with full-size mattresses—and it makes sense, since there’s more room to move around—but they’re grown men. How have they never dated?

I blink, my mouth falling open. “Seriously? But… the club. And you guys know Max and Rick are like—kinky, right?”

They both laugh, and Simon gives me an indulgent nod. “Yes, Sarah, we’re aware of that. We’re not monks. We just don’t bring it home. Our, ah… apprenticeship has extended beyond woodworking, but one of the rules our teachers set was to maintain a safe distance between the fun we have at the club and what we do in our private space.”

“Oh.” I nod, not sure how I feel about that. It confirms my impression that they do fool around with other patrons of Whitewood. To what extent isn’t clear.

“We’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Simon says. “Come back out and let me get you a drink. We can sit and talk for a bit, if it helps.”

“God, yes. That would be great. Can I just use your restroom first?”

“Make yourself at home,” Jude says while Simon disappears back to the main room. “If you need anything, just ask. I mean that.”

“Um…” I hesitate in the bathroom doorway, glancing down at my stilettos and slinky dress. “Would it be weird if I asked to borrow some sweats? I’d kind of rather not lounge around in this.”

“I’m on it,” he says, slipping into the bedroom.

I step inside and close the door, then do my business and clean up a bit from our epic fuck earlier. My entire body tingles when I wipe, because my pussy is still tender and slightly engorged. Just being near them does this to me.

Despite my lingering questions, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of rightness about being here tonight. The second I walked into their space, I felt like I was home in a way I didn’t feel walking into my own house. It isn’t the place, either—it’s them.

I decide to let go of the worry for tonight, because I just don’t want to know. If this is going to be my only chance to enjoy them, I’m going to milk it for everything it’s worth.

So I make myself at home, just like Jude said. I strip out of my dress and turn on the shower. The tub is tempting, but I really just need a few minutes of heat and solitude to absorb the events of this evening and gather my thoughts.

They have the same soap they’ve always used, of course, and I’m pleased to see they keep a bottle of the same conditioner, even though they cut off their beautiful locks.

I’m rinsing my hair when I hear a soft knock on the door, and then Jude pokes his head in.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” I laugh and swipe at the steamy glass. “I couldn’t resist. This bathroom is amazing.”

“This was six months’ worth of rent, so we made it worthwhile. I’m glad you like it.”

His gaze coasts down my body and he steps into the bathroom, grinning.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he begins to unbutton his shirt and kick off his shoes.

His grin widens. “I have fantasized about having you in here ever since we finished it. Remember the first time we showered together?” He drops his pants and briefs, then steps in with me.

“We had a lot of firsts together, didn’t we?” I trail off, because breathing becomes difficult the way he fills the space. Somehow he’s even bigger naked.

“I think that was my favorite first.” He grabs the body wash and squirts some into his hand, then starts soaping up his chest. I’m mesmerized by the sight of his big hands sliding over his muscles, and indulge in taking in every single beautiful inch of him.

“You filled out,” I say, eyeing his thick pecs and broad shoulders. The tattoo that skates up his arm is a kaleidoscope of color and abstract patterns that enhance the shape of his bicep, and I impulsively reach out and graze my wet hand up to his shoulder.

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes on,” he says, stepping closer until his erection grazes my belly.

---