He looks up. “Are you sure? There’s a lot of chemistry between you and Damien.”
Okay, that’s quite enough of that. He’s being remarkably dense for some reason, and if I have to hit him on the head with it, I will. I don’t want one or the other. Call me greedy, but I want both. “Julian, I don’t enjoy ripping up tile, and yet, I spent all day doing it. Also, in case it wasn’t obvious, we had lunch, and I couldn’t stop staring when you took off your shirt.”
His lips quirk. “It was a little obvious.”
“Let’s call it what it was. I was drooling. I want to have dinner with Damien and you.” I want a lot more than that. I want them. My cheeks are on fire. I’m going to need a glass of water to cool off. A bucket.
Damien comes downstairs at that moment. He’s showered too. He’s wearing a pair of gray linen shorts and a black T-shirt. His eyes travel from Julian to me. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Julian replies calmly. “Shall we eat? There are French fries in the air fryer, burgers on the barbecue, and I just have to dress the salad.”
“How long was I gone for?” Damien asks ruefully. “Never mind, don’t tell me. Sophia, can I get you a drink?”
I hold up my half-empty glass of wine. “Already have one.”
Damien smiles slowly. “Well then. I’ll have to hurry if I’m going to catch up.”
We eat dinner outside.The light is waning, a gentle breeze blows in off the lake, and the view of the sunset is spectacular. Not that I really look. My attention—my focus—is on Julian and Damien.
There are a lot of long, lingering looks exchanged during the meal. Our fingers brush. Under the table, our knees collide. We make conversation, but if you ask me what we talked about, I couldn't tell you.
The night grows darker. One glass of wine becomes two. Like I said before, I'm not a lightweight. It's not the alcohol that's making me feel fluttery and breathless. It’s them.
My body trembles in painful anticipation.
After dinner, I offer to help Damien with the dishes, but he declines. Julian and I end up in the living room while Damien clears up. He pours the last of the wine into my glass and then sprawls on the sectional. He looks relaxed, but there’s a predatory gleam in his eyes that sets my heart racing. “Come here, Sophia,” he says, patting his lap.
“Oh God, yes,” I blurt out. “I thought you'd never ask.”
He chuckles softly. “You know what I like about you? You're not coy. You're never coy. It's refreshing.”
I could tell him that women are coy because when they express their desires, society calls them sluts. Then again, I actually want to get laid tonight, so instead of saying something indignant about the patriarchy, I move closer to Julian.
He tugs me onto his lap.
Damien looks up. “Should I leave?”
Not this again. “What is the matter with the two of you?” I demand. “First, Julian asks if he should go, and now it’s you. Do I have to spell it out?”
It was a rhetorical question, and I didn't expect Damien to answer, but he does. “The last time we had a threesome, you stopped talking to us. You wouldn't pick up your phone. Sure, I could have found you, and Julian could have as well. But there’s a fine line between persistence and stalking, and I would never want to make you uncomfortable. For ten years, I thought the reason you disappeared was that you regretted what we did.” His eyes are on mine. “This time, I don't want to make any mistakes.”
Julian strokes my neck as Damien talks. Heat coils through my core as his fingers tangle in my hair. His touch is maddeningly light, and I want more. So much more. There’s no point pretending I don’t want them because I do. My nipples are hard, my pussy is wet, and I ache for them.
I force my brain to cooperate. “But now you know it wasn’t the threesome. That’s not why I avoided you.”
“I do,” Damien agrees.
Julian undoes one of my shirt buttons. His fingers brush my nipples through the fabric. I bite back my moan and lean into his touch. “More,” I whisper. “Please. . .”
Damien’s still in the kitchen. What the hell is he waiting for, a handwritten invitation? “Are you going to join us, or are you just going to watch?”
He finally moves. “Fuck the dishes,” he replies, stalking over to the couch. His smile turns hungry, feral. “I want to watch,” he growls. “I want to participate. I want everything.”
I tilt my head back and look up at Damien. The air between us is charged with tension. For a long moment, he stares at me as if he can’t quite believe I’m here, and then his lips crash into mine.
Oh fuck yes.
He kisses me as if he can’t get enough of me. As if he’s been wandering the desert, and I’m his oasis. I’ve seen Damien’s dominant side. This is something else. This is predatory in the best possible way. This is a claiming.