Page 5 of Triple Pucked
Eden’s lips twitch. “But fair.”
D’Angelo’s icy gaze locks with mine. “You look beautiful, cara mia, sitting there with the sun lighting your curves like a beautiful painting by Rubens. But why are you nervous?” He leans closer. His cruel, sensual lips curl up at one side, dangerously flashing his teeth. I feel caught. “Are you worried about the cards that you’re holding, hmm? Or what I’m going to do to you after you strip off that last tiny, lacy piece of clothing?”
I knew that these cards were only part of a larger wicked game.
Typical D’Angelo.
He stands up, leaning over me and tipping up my chin with a single finger.
I am suddenly more aware than I was before that he is fully dressed, while I am only wearing panties.
I shiver.
He plays dirty.
I shouldn’t have expected anything different.
After all, he is Jude fucking D’Angelo.
But then, I play dirty as well.
“Overcompensating, Sir?” I know the power of sayingSir. I save it for special occasions to make sure that it has the most impact. D’Angelo’s eyelashes flutter. I pull back just enough to lick over his finger; his breath hitches. “I think that you’re the one who is nervous. I’m winning those cufflinks. And how is it fair? You started with an entire suit. I only had my dress.”
“Some of us plan.”
“Scheme.”
“Organize.”
“Draw smutty drawings of their dastardly plans all over the margins of my Guide.” I point at a book that lies open as evidence to the side of our pile of clothes.
The book looks like a hockey strategy book in arctic blue and white with lines, arrows, and arcs on the front.
There is also a crude puck and hockey stick.
It was once my Guide to avoid dating hockey players after I divorced my cheating pro player husband, Wilder.
Yep, that resolution lasted as long as my New Year’s one not to eat chocolate.
Now, it’s a guide tolovingmy three men.
Over the last five months, we’ve turned it together into a journal of our explorations, kinks, and fantasies.
D’Angelo, who is a trained dom, has negotiated our contracts, boundaries, and limits. We have spent lazy weekends at his beach house chatting (in between skinny dipping and surfing), about what we have enjoyed or found more challenging. We take time after scenes to check in with each other.
D’Angelo is the King of Aftercare, including praise, warm baths, and snacks.
For a man who looks too dangerous to cuddle, he does a good job of it in the secrecy of our bed.
I squint at the stick drawings, which D’Angelo has drawn around the edges of Shay’s brief description of this date. “You’ve added inappropriate drawings of stick people playing poker, then stripping naked, before being chased primal play style through trees. In glitter pen.”
Shay eagerly peers over my shoulder at the book. “Are they trees? I thought that they were dildos.”
D’Angelo shoots Shay a look that promisesretribution with dildos.
Shay only meets his glare with a cheeky grin.
D’Angelo arches a brow. “I stand by the accuracy of the diagram next to it.”
