Page 48 of Cuffed to my Roomies
I let him slide out of me and hold me. Brett curled up behind me, spooning against my back. We slept the rest of the night the three of us together on the bed.
I woke to one of them kissing me. I felt my body respond, stretching lazily, half asleep, lips parted to receive his tongue. I opened my eyes, was met with darkness. I felt for the blindfold, a soft length of silk—someone’s necktie probably, and grinned. They were making my last fantasy come to life.
“Mmmmm, Derek,” I murmured against his mouth.
“How do you know which one it is?” he whispered, trying to disguise his voice.
“I know how you move, how you kiss me. You always touch my neck, and you’re more aggressive about pressing into my hips. And your tongue is divine. You do this thing where you stroke in three times and then go deep the fourth time. Curls my toes right up,” I said, with a satisfied smile.
“Don’t say anymore. He already looks too pleased with himself,” Brett’s voice came grumpily, and I giggled.
“Now you kiss me, and I’ll tell you how I know it’s you,” I prompted.
The lips on my face, the hand on my neck moved away, replaced by a softer kiss, a hand gentle on my face.
“Nope, still Derek. Nice try,” I teased.
“We can’t fool her,” Derek said, “My skills are too magnificent to mistake for yours, Brett.”
“Move over,” Brett said.
This time, it was unmistakably Brett who kissed me. His stubble brushed my chin, his firm lips on mine. His palm cupped my breast, his fingers finding the pink nipple and plucking until it was a hard nub. He grazed my lower lip with his teeth.
“How can you tell it’s me?” he said huskily.
“Easy,” I said, “You go straight for the boobs, and despite your history, you do everything harder, with more of an edge than Derek. Do you remember the night we went out to the club? We were in the truck, and you kissed me at a stoplight and you pinched my nipple. I thought I’d come right then. No one had ever handled me that roughly, and it turned out I liked it. You’re the quiet one, the sweet one, but you’re more of an envelope pusher in bed.”
“So I’m vanilla now?” Derek protested teasingly.
“Never,” I said, “you’re both decadent as hell. But I have to work today.”
“No you don’t,” Derek said, “We called you in sick. I said you’d been sick all night. You’d be in after noon if you felt better. So you can sleep it off.”
“I can’t believe you called in sick for me!” I laughed.
“So thank me properly. Do you want the blindfold off or on?” Derek said.
“On, I think,” I said, turning back to kiss Brett.
20
I slept late, went over my notes and wrote out the article. The guys were already at work, but Derek had left me a sandwich in the refrigerator.
I was very proud of what I wrote. It was honest and brave, a little bit funny, and a lot romantic and sexy. I called it “The Devil’s Three Way”—slang for a MMF threesome. I told it as an interview with a girl who called herself Katie, veiled the details about the guys and how we met, but really infused it with the sense of friendship and love, the ongoing relationship and how we were supportive of one another, that it was a meaningful choice. Then I detailed the sometimes hilarious and sometimes hot positions we tried out. When I was finished spell checking it, I emailed it to Liz.
That night at the bar, I checked my phone on my break. I’d hoped for a message from Liz, but I knew she was busy, so it didn’t surprise me when she hadn’t responded with an exultant plea that I sign a contract and start writing for her immediately. Instead of a message from her, I had one from my dad.
My dad who never came to the city but who had suddenly decided to come visit me. Tomorrow. I squinted my eyes shut. Of course, it would be great to see him. I missed him. He was my only family. But I was thoroughly panicked.
“Hi, honey. It’s Dad. I can’t wait to take my best girl out to lunch and hear all about how your life’s going. See you tomorrow,” was what the message said.
His voice sounded cheerful in a forced way, like he was worried. Of course, he was worried. His sweet, wholesome only daughter had moved to the big dangerous city and done all kinds of things that would give him an actual heart attack if he knew about them.
I messaged the guys, Dad coming tomorrow! with a panic emoji after it.
Instantly, Brett called me, “What’s up?” he said.
“My dad. Who never leaves the town where I grew up. My conservative, old-fashioned dad who raised me on his own. My church going, blue collar dad is coming to the city to take me to lunch tomorrow.”
