Sasha
Havingsexinthebathtub is undeniably incredible. Something about feeling buoyant and surrounded by all that warmth, it’s just special. Not that I’m an expert on locations or positions, but it was the other parts of the bath that were equally captivating, like having someone drag a washcloth over my entire body, fingers rubbing through my hair, massaging the shampoo, and then the conditioner, and of course, the gentle rinsing.
Who knew that these men that are so intimidating in real life with all of their tattoos, their broody features and attitudes, and their stoic-ness as they roll into town on their motorcycles en masse—I mean, they are kind of terrifying. They’re big and thick, and did I mention tattooed? Oh, it makes me swoon-ey just thinking about it, and yet they’re gentle.
Winger lifts me out of the bathtub and hands me to Tank and Purge who cooperate in wrapping me with a bathrobe that swallows me. It’s one of those super thick, white, fluffy robes that you’d expect from a hotel. Then I catch an emblem on it. Not a Holiday Inn or Motel 6. Too rich for my blood.
It serves as a reminder that they have lives. They’ve served in the military. They fearlessly run into burning buildings as volunteer firefighters. I truly can’t wrap my brain around what mentality it takes to do that, but what’s most intriguing to me is this flip side to them.
My boyfriend was never like this. He never shampooed my hair. I think I knew he wasn’t the one. He was comfortable. He was convenient. He was safe, but he wasn’t right.
Winger, Purge, and Tank? They’re so right. But what girl wouldn’t think that?
I wish I understood what makes us click. Or if we have anything special from their perspective. I’m not about to mess this up by asking and appearing clingy. The money I spent on them was the best purchase I ever made.
My mind flits back to them being in a biker gang. Maybe this is normal. I shudder at the thought. After Winger dries himself off, which is just a series of quick pats on various parts of his body, he grabs a brush from his drawer.
“Ready for some downtime?”
“Sure.”
“Or we could make sure we can do anal and blow jobs and anything else Moneybags wants to accomplish in these four hours. But if you want to brush her hair, man, that’s okay,” Purge says.
I cringe at his nickname for me. A reminder that I purchased their time.
Winger shakes his head.
“Look,” Tank says, “She might be more vanilla than you’re thinking. I mean, seriously, the chase thing, that was pretty wild, but just give her a minute to get used to everything else.”
Purge plants a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Vanilla, cherry, hot fudge sundae. Whatever you got, I’m ready for it.”
Vanilla. John’s text runs through my mind. Why is that word so triggering? Did he have to use that? I’m not vanilla, and yet the damage has been done. I can’t get it out of my mind.
Rather than let it bug me, I attempt to own it. “Vanilla’s a very popular flavor. How about you eat that vanilla right out of me and we’ll see what I have left?”
“Fuck yeah,” Purge says.
“How do you want to do it?” Winger takes my hand and motions to his bedroom with the hairbrush.
A chuckle rolls through me.
On the bed? Missionary? This is getting more vanilla by the minute.
Winger surprises me by flopping onto a cushioned window seat, leaning his back against the glass, and saying, “Take your robe off. I want you to sit on my cock and I’m going to fuck you while one of those twoeats that vanilla right out of you. How does that sound?”
“Are we talking anal?” Purge asks.
“Enough with that already,” Tank says.
“I just want to know what I’d be agreeing to. Hear me out…” He widens his stance. “If I’m going to be licking pussy and Winger’s cock at the same time, that’s something I need to know going in. As opposed to if he’s getting some back door action, it might not be stroke for stroke that he’s getting to embrace the wonders of my tongue.”
Winger looks at me and I shrug. “Can we just keep it…regular for right now?” I don’t want to say pussy in front of them, which is pretty silly.
Winger helps me position myself on his lap, facing away from him, and I swear, I don’t think I can ever get used to how it feels to have an erection inside of me. Sex is so primal. I sense that everything I’m doing is right.
Purge drops to his knees. “Works for me. Time to get to know both of you really well.”
If there’s supposed to be awkwardness, I simply don’t feel it. I want to keep going. I want to do everything with them.