With a groan, I roll over and stare bleary-eyed at the clock. Eight A.M. I open my mouth to yawn, only to find my dry tongue stuck to the top of my even drier mouth.
Jesus. Last night is a blur of too much whiskey, padded handcuffs, and Kira’s sex-starved moans.
Come on, Dominic. Just f**k me. You know you want to.
She had pleaded, like always. But like always, my answer was the same. Although that didn’t stop us from doing several other things that were probably illegal in twenty states. My ass still stings from the belt Kira used, and I briefly wonder if it left marks before I decide that I don’t give a shit.
The sheets still smell like Kira’s perfume, even though she left hours ago, and I feel the sudden urge to wash it off of me. Something about the light of day and all that. What happens in the dark should stay in the dark.
If two consenting adults do deviant things to each other in the dark, did the deviant things actually happen? There’s a question for the ages.
Rolling out of bed, I take a quick shower and head down to Sin’s kitchen to scrounge up some caffeine. Not remembering the last time I took the time to eat, I grab a cup of coffee and a slice of cold pizza from the fridge and head out to a lounger by the pool.
I wolf the pizza down in four bites, lick my fingers, then close my eyes. The light is just too damned bright. And four hours of sleep just isn’t enough.
Before long though, giggling invades my solitude and I can feel eyes on my skin. Why the hell is someone always around this place? It’s impossible to ever be alone. Reluctantly, I open my eyes to see who’s watching me.
Across the pool, in one of the two large cabanas, two girls are doing a not very good job of pretending not to stare at me.
They’re scantily dressed in tiny shorts and halter tops, probably eighteen or nineteen, and they have the smeared makeup of women who have been awake all night. Awake and used all night. I can see the sex-glazed looks in their eyes from here.
Sin, the guy who put that look in their eyes, is nowhere to be found, so it’s hard to tell what they’re up to now. Either way, they’re not my guests and not my problem. I don’t close my eyes fast enough though, and accidentally make eye contact with one of them.
Fuck. They know I’m awake.
They make a beeline for my side, sitting on the lounger beside me, still giggling with their smeared makeup and last night’s clothes. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“You’re Dominic Kinkaide, right?” the tall brunette asks, purposely sitting in a way that pushes her tits together.
I nod. “Usually.”
They giggle again while the little blonde edges forward. “Sin told us that you were staying here for a while,” she says proudly, excited to be “in the know.”
I do roll my eyes now. I can’t help it. Jesus. These girls are always the f**king same. It’s mind-boggling. They’re perfectly willing to hang around and be used, simply so they can say that they were with Sin Kinkaide. Or me. Or even Duncan, and he’s just a f**king drummer.
“He told you that, did he?” I ask. “And where is my brother?”
Brunette gestures toward the house. “He’s still in bed. We’re supposed to be finding him coffee. He has practice this morning.”
I c*ck an eyebrow. “You mean ‘rehearsal’?”
She blushes prettily. “Yeah.”
I close my eyes again. “Well, the coffee isn’t usually by the pool. It’s in the kitchen. If you head that way, someone can help you.”
More giggles, then silence, although I can still feel their presence. I hear a whisper, then a hand sliding on my arm.
“Hey, if you haven’t had breakfast yet, why don’t you join us?”
I open my eyes at Blondie’s suggestive tone, to find her face sultry and expectant. It’s blatantly clear that she’s not talking about food.
Oddly enough, the face that I found to be tired and smeared a moment ago suddenly seems almost tempting, or at least doable. My sexual proclivities are rearing their ugly heads. Two girls willing to do anything to please me? The opportunities are endless.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, my interest piqued.
The brunette pipes up. “We could be your breakfast. If you want,” she adds, almost shyly.
Her friend nods in agreement. “I hope you have a big appetite.”
I smile wolfishly, definitely interested now.
“Well, have you ever heard the phrase ‘my eyes are bigger than my stomach’?”
One girl smiles and the other nods. I nod back and lean forward, speaking quietly as if sharing a secret.
“I like to watch,” I tell them.
Brunette immediately stands up, gently pushing my shoulders backward until I’m reclining again.
“Then watch this,” she tells me confidently. She grabs Blondie and pulls her onto the lounger next to me. “I’m Erika,” she announces, as she pushes Blondie onto her back. “And this is Meghan.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I mumble.
But they don’t hear me. Brunette is sliding Blondie’s shorts off, pulling them down over her h*ps and then licking each place that her fingers touched. As she moves to the girl’s tits, taking off her shirt and then pulling one of those lush little n**ples into her mouth, my dick gets hard and I pull it out of my pants.
There is something wrong with me.
I get off on watching other people’s pleasure. Or I get off when pain is involved. Or I get off when something is far, far over the line of normal. I don’t get off by my own participation. That’s f**ked up in a million different ways, but I’m not going to analyze it now.
For now, I’m going to watch the girls’ tight little bodies sliding together, because that does it for me.
Watching their tongues tangle, their tits press together… that does it for me, too.
And when Brunette’s mouth burrows between Blondie’s legs and then Blondie comes into Brunette’s mouth… I’m a goner. I stroke myself, not caring that any number of the staff inside the house could glance out and see me getting off on the lounge chair.
Before long, Brunette shoves my hand away, replacing it with her mouth. Blondie kneels over my balls, licking them like an ice cream cone.
My shoulders slump at the mere thought of what Gabe thinks about it, and Joe laughs.
“That bad, huh?”
I smile and he smiles back. Thank god. The ice has definitely been broken.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, his tone softening just a bit. “My bark is worse than my bite, as long as you stay on the straight and narrow and do your job. These kids here…”
He pauses, staring out the window of his door at the teenagers punching at bags out in the sweaty gym.