Page 121 of Caught Between Two Billionaires
The living room smells like warmth and roasted pumpkin seeds and sex. Sutton’s shirt is slung over the armchair. The cushions on the sofa are smooshed and rumpled from our bodies. It could possibly feel like a scene of guilt, of shame, and maybe when there was first a knock on the door it did.
Now it feels like Sutton and I are doing something together, like we’ve created this on purpose—the purpose being to seduce Christopher Bardot. It’s working, if the clench of his jaw is anything to go by. And the bulge against his jeans.
“Upstairs.” I mean to say it hard, like a command, but it comes out breathy. Both men follow me anyway, silent and large and looming on the sweeping staircase. It feels like I’m Little Red Riding Hood with two wolves prowling behind me, wondering which one will eat me first.
There’s always the chance they’ll eat each other.
My room has the flowered bedspread and antique dresser that was here when we moved in. There are no pictures on the side table, no modern art hanging on the wall. That’s a good thing. It makes this more like a hotel room, which is where we first consummated our threesome.
“Where do you want me?” Christopher asks, and I have to acknowledge how truly weird this is. There are two men in this room with me. This may not be the first time we’ve been together, but it feels so strongly like the last.
“On the bed,” Sutton says, his voice soft and supple like worn leather.
“I asked Harper,” Christopher says, diamond eyes flashing.
“And I’m telling you what she wants. Or can’t you tell? Can’t you see how wet she gets when you look at her that way, all cold and mean? It turns her on.”
Except how could Christopher have seen that. Even I couldn’t see that, and it’s my body. Now that Sutton has said the words, I can’t unsee it. I can’t unfeel it. The only thing I can focus on is the way my nipples feel against my shirt, like a thousand nerve endings against sandpaper. The only thing I can see is the cruel twist to Christopher’s lips. My body feels molten inside; he did that to me.
Christopher doesn’t break eye contact as he sits on the edge of the bed. Such an innocuous thing to do, sit on the edge of a bed with all your clothes on. There’s nothing inherently explicit about the act, but there’s a livewire in my brain. A livewire that jolts me so hard and painful, because we’re going to have sex. One thing is very different from the time at the poker game—this time I know how Sutton feels.
He looks the same as he always does, smug and laconic and a little too casual to be true. He takes a step toward Christopher, careful, careful, and I’m reminded of the way he approached Gold Rush. Affecting a calm that he didn’t quite feel, pretending that he wasn’t one hard kick away from having his skull bashed in. Sutton is good at pretending.
Except that Christopher does not appear fooled.
He stares hard at Sutton in that calculating way, as if adding up the cards and realizing there’s one he missed. A notch forms between dark eyebrows.
“What about you?” he asks quietly. “Does it turn you on, too?”
Sutton flinches. “This isn’t about me.”
Black eyes flash. “I’ve played cards with you enough times to know your tells. And that one was a goddamn red flashing light. You want to say something to me?”
A dark laugh. “There’s nothing to say.”
Sexual violence rolls through the room, as heavy and electric as stormclouds. This could break out into a fight. Or it could break out into sex. I know which one I’d rather have.
“You,” I murmur to Sutton. “I want you on the bed.”
He looks at me like an animal backed into a corner, the whites of his eyes almost showing. “I’m supposed to do what you say. I’m supposed to trust you.”
That makes me smile. “I’ve trusted you plenty. Was I supposed to do that?”
A low growl. If there were fur on him, it would rise at the back of his neck. There’s practically a snarl on his handsome face. It’s hard to imagine that he’s the softer of the two men right now. He looks feral. But he walks toward the bed. He sits down.
“All the way.” My voice comes out hard. I think maybe he likes me hard.
He scoots back, his gaze promising retribution. “What next?”
I pretend to think about that, even though the vision is in my head clear as day. Clear as the feel of Sutton against my back and Christopher at my front. I have been between those two men in multiple ways, but never the one we’re going to do tonight.
