Chapter Text
Sloane
(present)
“That’s it!” I shout, scrambling off the bar stool to face my boyfriend. “It’s over!”
“Fine by me, drama queen!” he yells back.
Okay, first of all, it’s rich that he’s calling me a drama queen. I mean, I totally am, but he’s just as bad. Second? This was his idea!
I glance around surreptitiously. It’s crazy loud in here, the bass thumping through the soles of my shoes. (To call them shoes is kind of a travesty, so let me just state for the record they are fucking adorable sparkly silver ankle boots and they are hot as hell.) Anyway, I doubt anyone heard our exact words, but our body language should make the situation pretty clear.
There are two people for certain who are watching us, right now. The exact two people we were hoping to have as an audience.
I turn back to Ridoc, standing just inches away. In these boots, my glare hits him right at eye-level. Should I shove him? We didn’t discuss this part, typical half-assed behavior for us if I’m being honest. When we’re hatching one of our schemes, we rarely get deep into the planning stages.
Which is… part of our problem. We’ve been dating for two years, and it’s been mostly great. We laugh a lot, do tons of fun stuff and genuinely enjoy spending time together. The sex is outrageous – like, criminally good – but despite all that, there’s something slightly off about our relationship.
Maybe we’re too much alike. Too flighty, too chaotic, too willing to spend our rent on a weekend getaway to Calldyr City. (Look, it was the middle of February and the weather was awful, okay?) (I don’t have an excuse for the time we went in June.)
The other part is a bit more complicated. We met during our freshmen year of college and moved in together after a month of dating. (Impulsive? Yes. But also practical, because school housing was full and rent in Aretia is fucking insane.) The thing is, both of us had just come out of serious relationships in high school sooooo… we’ve both only slept with one other person.
And, yeah, the sex is fabulous – far more adventurous than it was with my ex, Aaric, although it turned out he was gay so that tracks – but there are things I want to do that Ridoc isn’t comfortable with, and there are things he wants to do that I don’t have the right body parts for.
So, here we are. “Breaking up” in a packed nightclub, in hopes of ensnaring the absolutely scorching couple that’s been making eyes at us all night.
The tall, ripped guy with black hair and slutty glasses had caught Ridoc’s attention immediately, a tattoo not unlike mine snaking up his arm before disappearing beneath a tight black t-shirt. He’s handsome, for sure, but the guy next to him? Whew.
Sandy-brown curls, a smoking hot body, a cute little scar that bisects his jaw. But it’s his eyes that keep drawing my gaze back to him. A warm brown, clear and intelligent. The way they’d shifted to follow my movement throughout the night, unapologetically roaming up and down my body while Ridoc and I danced. The intensity, the weight of it, was thrilling.
His eyes are on me even now, as he drains the rest of his beer and sets the empty bottle down on the high-top table beside him. He exchanges a few brief words with the guy beside him, who nods, and both men make their way towards us.
Ridoc and I share a nervous glance. Holy shit. This is actually happening.
Now what?
xxXxx
Dain
(One hour earlier)
I feel like a hunter, on nights like this. I think we both do. And I’m not going to lie, there’s a definite appeal.
It’s been four years since Bodhi and I went from friends, to friends with benefits, to an actual couple, and we’ve agreed to take a third lover into our bed roughly a dozen times since. (This is not counting the two times that third had been more than just a one-time fling. Aaric - to scratch a particular itch Bodhi had to guide someone less experienced – and Amber, who’d helped satisfy my need to dominate.)
But tonight? Well, things are shaping up a bit differently than expected.
Because there’s this woman here that I can’t seem to take my eyes off. She’s slim and blonde and radiant, in a silver tank top with straps that keep slipping off her shoulders and tight black pants that I want to peel off her.
I’m watching her, now, as she dances. The way her hips sway to the music, the way her eyes close for a few seconds sometimes, like she’s lost in sensation. The things I want to do to her are sinful, maybe even shameful, but the images won’t stop rolling through my mind. A current of filth, trying to sweep me into its wake.
My fingers tighten on my beer bottle, and I take a long swig as I try to center myself. I’m painfully hard, and beyond grateful that we’ve managed to find seats in this packed club.
I try to focus on something else, on someone else. Yet my eyes stray back to the beautiful blonde, this graceful and wild creature who belongs at some kind of faerie revel drinking enchanted wine and dancing barefoot in dewy grass.
Bodhi would roll his eyes at my fanciful thought, give me that indulgent smile of his and kiss my cheek and go back to working on his thesis. And then I’d go back to working on mine.
It’s not that we’re boring. We are most certainly not boring, especially where our sex life is concerned. We’re just… creatures of habit. We like eggs and bacon on Sunday mornings and horror movie marathons on Friday nights and fighting over who gets to snuggle with our dogs, Cath and Cuir.
What we have is quiet and peaceful and happy. It’s predictable and routine, and I love it.
Yet, there’s this other side of me, this kind of restless demon within, that craves chaos and adventure and danger. That needs to bite so I can soothe, choke so I can grant air, spank so I can pacify. I want to both cause and ease wounds; bring forth tears so I can thumb them gently away.
Bodhi knows this. Well, most of it. And when the need grows too strong, he lets me indulge. Nothing too rough, nothing too hard. Just enough to placate the urge.
I’ll never admit how much it leaves me wanting.
What we have is amazing, it’s everything. I know exactly how lucky I am, to have this man in my life. And I won’t do anything to jeopardize it. Which, unfortunately, means this lovely blonde is not an option. Because she’s a temptation I know I can’t indulge.
I shift my attention to the man she’s dancing with. He’s pretty - curls damp with sweat, wide and expressive eyes, warm brown skin – and he knows how to move. He throws his head back when he laughs, and it’s like I can hear the sound in my mind, bubbling and joyful.
His eyes flicker towards us, looking from Bodhi to me and then back again, as though trying to figure out if we’re a couple. We’re sitting close, the outsides of our thighs pressed together, but it’s mostly because there’s no room on either side of us. I watch his gaze slide back to Bodhi’s, and – yeah, there it is. He licks his lower lip, a minute flash of darting tongue that tells me everything I need to know.
But then, to my surprise, his attention refocuses on the blonde. He spins her so she’s facing him and pulls her into a deep kiss, which she immediately returns, looping her arms around his neck in a decidedly familiar way.
Shit. They’re not just random dance partners, like I’d thought. They’re a fucking couple.
Just as I’m about to write the whole night off as a loss, Bodhi grabs my hand. I turn towards him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at them. With an almost predatory focus I’m not sure I’ve ever seen on him before.
I frown and turn my face back towards the dance floor, where the couple is still kissing. But the man’s eyes are open, and he’s looking directly at my boyfriend. And when their kiss ends? Her eyes slide to mine. They’re the dazzling blue of a summer sky, full of mischief and mirth, and I can’t wrest my gaze from hers. I’m ensnared.
Well, fuck. Now what?
xxXxx
(30 minutes earlier)
Sloane
Ridoc and I fight through the crowd of bodies to the co-ed bathrooms, just beyond a door that dampens the music enough to carry on an actual conversation. We press our bodies against the wall to let others pass by, so we can have a much-needed chat.
“That guy?” he begins. “The one with the grey henley so tight it looks like it’s about to start popping buttons? You know, with the facial hair and the thing?”
“Yeah,” I reply, because I speak Ridoc fluently. “I know who you mean.”
“Yeah, he wants you.”
I nod, because the man has not been subtle. “I know.”
“Like, the way he’s watching you is fucking intense. He literally can’t look away for more than ten seconds.” Ridoc leans forward, whispering, “Plus? He’s trying to hide it but I’m pretty sure he’s had a boner for the past, like, hour.”
“Does that bother you?”
“His boner? I mean, I’m sure it’s painful for him, but it hasn’t done anything to me personally. Aside from being pretty obviously larger than mine, so how fucking dare he?”
“Your penis is lovely,” I assure him. “I have no complaints.”
Ridoc makes a face. “Lovely?” he echoes. “My penis is a fucking delight.”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the snicker of a passing brunette. “Absolute delight,” I agree. “Ten out of ten, five stars, would recommend. Now can you please just answer my question?”
“Thank you. And yes!” He squints his eyes. “But, um, what was the question again?”
I sigh. “Does it bother you that this guy is, like, being so blatant about checking me out? With you right there?”
Ridoc shakes his head. “No. I don’t mind.” He turns to face me more fully, letting his temple rest against the cool plaster wall. “So, do you want him? Mr. Grey Henley Hugecock?”
My lips curve up at the nickname, but my smile falters when I consider his question. “Um,” I begin. “I…”
The answer is yes. Fuck yes. I want him to take me back to his place and do all those things Ridoc is too uncomfortable to do, to tie my hands and choke me and spank me and make me cry and fuck me hard, and then take care of me afterward and hold me tight in his arms.
Does this random guy want to do those things, too? I have no idea. But something in me screams yes.
Yet… Ridoc and I are monogamous. We don’t have an open relationship – have never even discussed it, really – and I don’t want to lose what we do have. I can’t.
He pushes a strand of hair out of my face. “It’s okay if you do, Sloane,” he tells me, no trace of amusement on his face now. When I still don’t answer, he sighs heavily and says, “Truth token.”
I roll my eyes. Truth tokens are this dumb thing he came up with where we have to answer any question truthfully. We each get one a day, and typically use it on the most ridiculous “would you rather” questions we can think of.
Yet there’s a deeper reason behind the idea, and we both know it. I lost my family in high school. My parents and my brother died in a house fire, while I’d been at a sleepover party at my friend Imogen’s house. So… sometimes I’m not great at communicating my feelings, and Ridoc knows it.
“Yes,” I admit. “I want him.” I take his hand in mine. “But it’s not worth it. I won’t risk losing you.”
Ridoc looks at me for a long moment, his typically mischievous eyes thoughtful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him go this long without speaking, and it’s kind of alarming. So I squeak out a panicked, “Wait, do you want to break up with me?”
“No!” he replies, placing a quick kiss on my lips. “No. But…”
I think about the tall guy with the tattoo, the way he’d watched Ridoc from beneath his glasses while his friend – boyfriend? - had watched me. How I hadn’t been the only one performing while we’d danced, tonight.
“You want him, don’t you?” I ask. “Slutty glasses guy?”
Ridoc blinks a couple times, and then he grins. “They are so slutty, aren’t they?”
“The sluttiest.”
His grin fades and he cards a hand through his curls, unsticking them from his face and the back of his neck. And then he does that quiet thing again, and it’s worrying and frustrating and endearing all at once.
I sigh heavily, placing one hand on my hip. “Are you going to make me use my token? Fine. I’m using it.”
Ridoc eyes me fondly. “Well, I can’t besmirch the sanctity of the truth token,” he says. “So… yeah. I want him.”
There’s a lot going unsaid here, because this is something we have talked about. Ridoc is bisexual, but only got the chance to kiss one guy before he met his ex, Violet. Then it was her and me in quick succession, so he’s never been able to properly explore that part of himself.
I huff out a breath, not sure where this leaves us. “Do you want to try being… open? Like, as a couple?”
Ridoc frowns, and I get it. I don’t like the idea either. Or, at least, I’d need to think long and hard about it. But I don’t want us to start resenting each other, if our needs aren’t being met.
“Well, if you don’t want that and we’re not breaking up-“
“Wait,” he interrupts. I know that look in his eye. I don’t trust that look in his eye, but I know it well. It often leads to poor life choices, on both our parts. “What if we do break up? But just like, temporarily? Just for tonight?”
I roll my eyes, because it’s an absurd idea. What would be the point of… Oh.
“So… if we’re broken up, we’re not cheating on each other,” I say slowly. “And then, tomorrow, things go back to normal?”
“Exactly.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “You sure you’re okay with me being with another guy?”
He flushes pink, and I raise my brow. Not much makes him blush. “I… kind of like the idea.”
“What, like you’d want to watch?”
Ridoc shrugs, not elaborating further - which is so suspect, for him – and I make a mental note to discover more about this little kink of his.
“Same question for you,” he replies. “Are you okay with me hooking up with another guy?”
For once, I actually think before I answer, because this is important. I try to picture Ridoc and Mr. Slutty McGlasses – fuck, now I’m doing it – naked and kissing and touching, and I’m shocked to find the image merely turns me on.
“No,” I reply, although there is a caveat. “As long as I know you’re coming back to me tomorrow.”
(Yes, fine, it’s possible I have some mild abandonment issues.)
“Of course,” he replies, kissing me sweetly on the forehead. Then he grins at me, that mad grin I adore, and a kind of wild elation bubbles beneath my skin. “So,” he says, both hands on his hips. “You ready to break up?”
xxXxx
(15 minutes ago)
Dain
The couple is momentarily out of sight, last seen snaking their way through the crowd towards the bathrooms, and I feel like I can breathe again. I turn to face Bodhi, who nods, and we pay a couple to watch our seats for a few minutes so we can talk.
I follow Bodhi through the crowd to the floating staircase that leads to the VIP section, and we both nod to the bouncer, Septon. He nods at us and unhooks the rope, allowing us entrance back upstairs to our private little nook.
There are definite benefits to Bodhi being related to Xaden Riorson, his filthy-rich cousin who just happens to own this club.
We wait to speak until we’re both seated on the couch, bodies turned fully to face one another.
“Well?” Bodhi asks. “How do you want to handle this?”
I sigh, trying to relieve some of the tension coursing through me. None of this is going according to plan, and I’m having a hard time changing course. So I flip it back to him, a rare occasion of not wanting to be the one who decides. “What do you want to do?”
He frowns, and I can tell he’s surprised by my indecision. “They seem to be a package deal. So… I guess we can try that?”
I try to hide my dismay, because I don’t want that, tonight. It’s not what we planned, and we’d have to use our bed because it’s the only one big enough, and then there’s that whole awkward do-we-kick-them-out-now moment when everything is said and done and I just want to sleep. The whole thing feels exhausting. Managing four personalities, four different sets of expectations.
I feel Bodhi’s hand on my thigh, warm and heavy and comforting. “Hey,” he says softly. “We can scrap this whole thing right now.”
“But you like him,” I argue.
He scoffs. “And you clearly like her.”
I start to deny it, to say she’s just a pretty girl who caught my eye, but the memory of those sky-blue eyes blazing into me stops me cold. “Yeah,” I manage. “I think she’d be… kind of perfect for me, tonight.”
Bodhi nods, seemingly unconcerned with my admission. We’ve always been able to keep emotions out of this in the past, there’s no reason to think this time will be any different. He clears his throat. “So, what if… we separate, instead of combine?”
My gaze snaps to his, because this isn’t something we’ve ever even talked about doing before. But I don’t dismiss him outright. The idea is intriguing, I have to admit. He can get what he needs from the guy, and I can hope like hell the girl is game for what I have in mind. And if she’s not, well, that’s okay too. I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me and be glad of it.
“You think they’d be up for that?” I ask.
Bodhi smiles, and suddenly everything shifts back into its proper place. The plan has changed, sure, but he’s in this with me, just like always. He shrugs one shoulder and says, “Won’t know until we ask.”
He’s right, as usual. I’ve moved onto step five in my mind, when we haven’t even made it to step one. Chances are, they won’t go for it. And we’ll have a couple more drinks and call it a night and go home and have fantastic sex anyway. We’ll just try this again another time.
We head back down the stairs, where I instantly spot my blonde at the bar beside Bodhi’s guy. I nearly miss a step when I consider my own thoughts, “my blonde” and “Bodhi’s guy”, the possessiveness of it kind of astounding considering none of us has even spoken yet. I take a breath, trying to tamp down expectations that are apparently orbiting the moon.
This will probably be a bust.
Bodhi and I have just retaken our seats at the high-top, taking one last unspoken minute to finish our drinks before we approach, when the blonde leaps from her bar stool with hands waving. Her boyfriend stands up, shouting back just as animatedly.
The only word I can hear is “over”. And then, they’re both looking at us.
I swallow the last of my beer and set it down, turning to Bodhi with a wry smile. “Well, that certainly makes things less complicated.”
“How convenient,” he replies. “That we had first-row seats for the show.”
I suppress a grin, because of course it hasn’t escaped Bodhi’s notice that this breakup was staged. Nothing gets by him.
It doesn’t really matter to either of us what their deal is, whether this is something they do a lot or this is a first – although I’m leaning towards the latter. And it doesn’t really matter if their relationship is casual or serious. All that matters is their willingness to play.
“Head back to his place,” I say. “I’ll take her to ours. But if anything seems sketchy, call me.”
He nods and finds my fingers beneath the table, squeezing them once. I’d like to kiss him, but it would only confuse things for everyone involved, so I merely squeeze his fingers back. We both stand up and walk towards them, me at several steps remove.
Bodhi approaches the brown-haired man, the picture of poise with his straight posture and steady gaze. The man fidgets, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt while his weight shifts from side to side. He has to tilt his head back to see Bodhi’s face, when he reaches him, a full six inches shorter.
I watch Bodhi’s lips form the word, “Drink?” and the man give an enthusiastic nod, the two of them proceeding to the bar. He glances back at the blonde once, flashing her a smile that seems equal parts nervous and excited, and she smiles back at him encouragingly.
Yup. First time, for sure.
I allow myself another small moment to observe – Bodhi’s hip pressing against the bar top while he flags the bartender down, gesturing for the man to slip into the small space beside him. He says something that makes Bodhi smile wide, and I relax. They both seem at ease, almost instantly intimate, and I’m not sure what to make of it but I know he’s safe.
I glance down at the blonde, whose eyes are lingering on them too, wondering if she feels as comfortable with all this as her man seems to be. Yet her expression is surprisingly difficult to read. I turn my body more fully towards her, drawing her gaze to me.
We look at each other for a long while – what would typically be too long, between strangers, yet doesn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable. Her eyes are stunning, thin rings of periwinkle in the current lighting, her pupils huge. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her full lips parted, and every obscene thought I’ve had about her tonight returns in a rush.
On a whim I reach out and take her chin, tilting it up, allowing my thumb to brush against her lower lip. She closes her eyes, the same way she did on the dance floor, arching her back slightly as she presses into my touch. My eyes dip down to her breasts, nipples peaked beneath her shirt, and I swallow hard against the urge to get my mouth on her skin now.
I release her and she opens her eyes, the desire in their depths unmistakable. I step closer without breaking eye contact, leaning in so she can hear me.
“I’m Dain.”
“Sloane,” she replies.
I nod, fighting the urge to repeat the name, to learn its form on my lips. A dozen replies range through my mind. Small talk, innuendos, probing questions about her intent. Yet, in the end, I keep it simple.
“You want to get out of here?” I ask.
She stares at me, her irises reflecting the rainbows of shifting club lighting back to me. And then she nods. “Yes.”
I smile and offer my hand. “Follow me.”
Sloane takes my hand without comment, allowing me to lead her through the crowd with decisive efficiency. With every step my confidence grows, grounded in the warm press of her fingers against mine. Suddenly, I have a purpose: get her safely to the door. It’s straightforward, but satisfying. An easy task to accomplish.
And within moments we’re outside, sucking in lungfuls of cool midnight air. It soothes my heated skin, settles my mind. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial my car service, giving them my location while Sloane eavesdrops with a raised brow. Yet she doesn’t comment when my call ends, merely wrapping her arms around herself and leaning her back against the exterior wall of the club.
She must be freezing in her thin tank top. I step closer, shielding her body from the November chill with my warmth. When she doesn’t protest, I brace my hands on either side of her, leaving mere inches between us.
“Sloane?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“I want to take care of you, tonight. Will you let me?”
It’s not quite a code, and it’s not explicit. But it’s enough to gauge her interest. There will be time, later, to get into details.
She stares at me for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip while her gaze flickers from my left eye to my right. And then, to my shock, she snakes her slim arms around my waist and draws me closer. Her face dips to my neck, inhaling deeply, before the fingers of one hand slide through my hair.
Her nails on my scalp draw shivers; I suck in a breath, crowding her against the wall. We haven’t even kissed and I’m already aching for this woman. I chase her lips, but she holds me at bay with a firm palm against my chest, looking straight into my eyes.
“Yes,” she replies. “Take care of me.” And then, finally, her lips are on mine. Sweet like honeysuckle, soft and pliant, the barest press.
But I’m in no mood to be teased. I cup her face between both hands and crush my mouth against hers, tongue demanding, teeth nipping at her flesh. Sloane moans and goes slack in my arms, kissing me back with equal fervor.
My palm sinks into the small of her back, taking nearly all her weight while my fingers close around the back of her neck. I’m making no effort to be gentle, and she’s not complaining, so I slide my fingers into her hair and grasp, tugging her head back to expose her neck. I pepper soft kisses down the column of her throat, the nape of her neck, and then bite.
Not hard; not enough to break the skin or even leave a lasting mark. It’s more of a test, a way to measure what she likes, and fuck does she pass with flying colors. She grips the curls at the base of my neck and breathes, “Harder.”
I close my eyes tight at that word, that beautiful word, its permissiveness and freedom and the possibilities unfurling in my mind. It’s almost magical, its effect on me. Bodhi has never once uttered it, and I’ve never allowed myself to mourn its loss. But hearing it, now, upon Sloane’s perfect lips… it leaves me trembling with anticipation.
Sloane notices and assumes I’m cold, rubbing her palms up and down my back for warmth. I don’t correct her. Instead I open my eyes and look at her, because I need to know right now if this will be that.
“Do you really mean that?” I ask. My fingers have unconsciously gone tight, biting into her skin, and I can’t seem to relax them.
I know I’m being too intense. I know Bodhi would laugh at me. I know I might scare her away.
But Sloane does not laugh, and she does not pull free. “I’m not in the habit of lying,” she replies. “So if I say harder, I mean harder.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, my stomach twisting in anticipation. I can’t stop shaking.
Sloane takes both my hands in hers, anchoring me the way only Bodhi can. “You promised to take care of me,” she says softly. “And if you take care of me well…”
“Yes?” I urge.
She smiles now, a return to the carefree girl I’d watched on the dance floor. Then she leans closer, lips grazing my earlobe, and whispers. “I’ll do anything you want.”