28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Teddy
I am no stranger to the club.
Barback, Promoter, Bouncer, and—for a few months in my 20s when rent was just out of my reach—a muscular dude in a gold speedo covered in baby oil shimmying in a hanging cage.
Whether I was chasing tail, working, net-working, or just trying to unwind on a Friday night—I’ve spent plenty of time in nightclubs during my fuckboy career.
Never once have I ever danced with a girl who looks like Ursula.
I haven’t said anything to the guys, because—well…none of them have said anything about it and it feels weird to bring attention to the fact that I never would have given a girl like Ursula a second chance outside of this experiment.
Just thinking the thought makes me feel shitty and shallow, but it’s the truth. My moms raised me with a healthy respect for women’s bodily autonomy…but as far as attraction went, I got most of my messaging from all sorts of media that seemed to reinforce the idea that ‘hot women’ are all frighteningly thin—most of them blond and white.
Of course I heard my Ma’s lectures about ‘euro-centric beauty standards’ while I was growing up, not just to heal her own emotional wounds—but in an attempt to help me deal with my own struggles as a multi-racial teen. Admittedly, they largely went in one ear and out the other…but right around now I’m wishing I listened a little more closely so that I wasn’t left so fucking clueless now.
The strangest thing of all? When I take a deeper look at what might seem to be ‘objectionable’ about Ursula’s appearance—her commitment to her oversized spectacles, her eccentric wardrobe, and most controversially—her weight; I realize that I actually don’t object to any of these things. I’ve been told what I should like my entire life, but only in this moment am I really understanding that what I’ve been told that I like and what I actually like—might be different things entirely.
As I stand, just shy of arm’s reach from her, watching Ursula begin to move with the slowed-syrupy movements of intoxication to the music; the fabric of her sheer dress clinging to the soft curves and rolls of her body, the ease with which she surrenders herself to the music—eyes closed, lips parted, the lights making the perspiration glitter along her hairline.
I’ve partner danced with plenty of women before. Always, and ever a performance—calculated steps—for class or competition.
Never have I wanted to touch my dancing partner’s body like this—to feel the heat where we press against one another and move to the music purely for the joy of it—the sensuality of body to body.
Watching Lysander’s hands start to creep over the soft, yielding bow of Ursula’s hips as he slips in behind her, his pelvis nearly aligned with hers as they begin to wind their hips together in lazy serpentine motions.
Now I have to swallow down another intimidating truth. I’ve had one off at the wrist more times than I can count on one hand in the last 48 hours…and while all of these little tug-time-outs have involved fantasizing about Ursula, at least half of those have also involved Lysander.
I can barely explain to myself how this started happening. Not like I’m worried about it—or particularly upset. It's a lot like my bullshit hangups on being attracted to Ursula because of her size. I’ve been taught to be accepting of everyone, of everything. I mean, I have two moms for fuck’s sake—I’d like to think that I’m almost as far as you can get from being a homophobe.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a problem with the idea that I might be queer, that I just never considered it to be a possibility. It seemed pretty obvious to me as a teen; girls made my dick hard. I liked…no, I loved being intimate with them. A done deal.
When I first met Lysander, it was like suddenly having that childhood best friend back—endless energy and imagination for talking shit, discussing fictional worlds and their characters, roughhousing, playing games—you know, just generally having a good time. Being bros .
Then, one night, while we were rough-housing—lil’ Sandy suddenly got spooked. Worried that I had pushed him too far in one of our wrestling matches, or said something boneheaded that hurt his feelings—I pressed him for why he was suddenly clamming up. I was about to strong-arm him into a body lock when I felt his cock against my stomach—hard through his pajama pants.
The sensation startled me at first, mostly because I hadn’t even considered it to be a possibility—but as soon as my brain caught hold of what was happening, I scrambled back to my side of the couch with a casual laugh, worried that I’d start sporting my own raging boner at the realization that I not only had enjoyed that sensation…but that I was keenly aware of how much I wanted to get on top of Lysander; exploring with lips and tongues and hands—furiously dry humping like teenagers trying something new for the first time—the rest of our spectating pack be damned.
After that, every time I made a deposit at the spank bank while thinking of Ursula—there were increasingly more players involved in my fantasies. Yes, even more baffling—I have slowly but surely been adding other members of the pack to those fantasies—whether I mean to or not.
Hell, Just a few hours ago, I’d had the weirdest experience when Mavren caught sight of Ursula’s ass in the tasty outfit she’s wearing tonight. When he made that expression—somewhere between a moan and a look as if he might actually be in pain—his hands moving slightly in the still air, his desire to reach out and grab that perfect ass nearly palpable; I instantly had an overpowering urge to watch him fucking Ursula, cumming, knot-deep inside her.
Like, what the fuck was that? Who the hell even AM I anymore?
A little voice inside me asks: ‘What does it matter? Who cares what anyone else thinks? Do what you want to do, fuck who you want to fuck—love who you want to love.’
Whether that voice is the sangria talking, or the rare indulgence in weed speaking through the magical speech of the crossfade—I decide to listen, my hands reaching for Ursula—my body fitting against hers as the music swells.
My face drifts down toward hers—my lips find Ursulas and my heart pounds furiously against my ribs as her little velvet tongue curls around mine.
I want her—right there on the hard floor, just like in her dream. I can tell she feels my rock hard want against her as we grind to the music; her lips parting against mine in the tiniest hitch of breath. I’m about to suck on her full bottom lip, not caring about how much of her supposedly-non-smudge-lipstick is inevitably all over my face right now—but her face turns away.
Reluctantly, I open my eyes—Lysander, his delicate chess player’s hands at the white curve of Ursula’s jaw as he turns her mouth to his.
I watch greedily as the two of them kiss—feeling her body respond to him as she’s pressed against me.
One of Ursula’s hands raises to Lysander’s knife sharp cheekbones—caressing his face gently as she turns back to me, her other hand cupping the nape of my neck—urging me back toward her.
Again our lips and tongues meld together—Ursula’s clever canines nipping at my lower lip before she pulls back—kissing Lysander once more.
We go on like this—I’m not sure how long, until—through her casual, gentle witchcraft—Lysander and I are the ones kissing over the round of Ursula’s shoulder; one of my hands fisted in his beautiful chocolate curls—the other cupping a cheek of Ursula’s ass—holding her tight against me.
Lysander lets out a soft moan into my mouth, and I have to break the kiss—or else I really will be tempted to get obscene with the two of them right in the middle of the crowded dance floor.
My throbbing erection doesn’t seem to see the problem with that, but thankfully my thinky-brain remembers that we’d get in trouble for indecent exposure—so I rock back onto my heel and, continuing the dance, desperate to catch my breath.
As soon as the song ended, Lysander and I—both too petrified to talk directly about what had just happened—opted to hit the bar and get absolutely shit faced.
Seriously, I don’t think I’ve been as drunk as I was last night since I was under twenty-one and much more practiced with regular binge drinking.
We were both so wasted that we ended up passing out on the outer reaches of the nest bed—too intoxicated to participate in the evening’s sleeping spot straw pull.
I woke up, mouth dry as a desert, and dragged myself up to the kitchen. I was contemplating calling in some breakfast—but Ronan had apparently beaten me to it, a small form already filled out for a breakfast order beside him—a newspaper in his hands and a glass of iced coffee dripping with condensation.
“Someone’s an early bird.” I yawn, stretching a bit before dropping onto the stool beside him at the oversized kitchen island.
“Besides you?” He raises a fiery brow, glancing at me over the top of his newspaper. “You drank enough to fell an ox last night, and yet you’re up bright and early—and you don’t even look that hungover,” he laughs.
I wince a little, my headache taking issue with his assessment.
“I think it’s just my charm and good looks that have you fooled—it’s taking all my willpower not to steal your coffee and chug it down right now.”
Ronan shrugs and slides the glass toward me, watching me carefully.
“Bless you.” I don’t second guess the offer, I just grab the glass and slug down some of the blessedly cold and wet caffeine—hoping it, along with some much needed breakfast, might soak the vestiges of last night’s drinking from my system, so I’m in tip top shape for my date with Ursula today.
I set the empty glass down on the stone counter with a quiet pinging noise—Ronan’s intense quartz eyes fix on me with a questioning look.
“Uh…do I have something on my face?” I run a hand over my mouth—just in case I’ve dribbled ice coffee all over myself, but I feel nothing.
“No,” Ronan answers casually, that gaze still locked on me.
“So…why are you giving me the scanner-beam-stare then, dude?” I laugh, trying to shrug off my growing discomfort.
“Have you talked to Lysander about last night yet?” he asks without pretense.
I cough to clear my throat, more than slightly surprised by his sudden directness. I could play dumb, act like I don’t know what he’s talking about, but considering I ended up tongue wrestling with Lysander in public last night…I don’t think that tactic is going to pan out. Instead, I opt for honesty. What’s the worst that could happen?
“Uh, no…we haven’t talked about it yet.” I squirm in my seat, not sure where this is going.
Ronan pauses, sucking in a deep breath as if to fortify himself, before continuing on.
“That was your first time kissing another guy, right?” He asks gently, and I’m taken off guard by the heat that rushes to my cheeks.
“Y-yeah,” I admit, casting my eyes to the glass sliding doors and the ocean beyond.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him nod slowly.
“How was it?” He grins, leaning his elbow on the island—propping his chin in his hand.
I turn to face him.
“Pretty good.” I shrug.
Ronan lets out a laugh, and I turn to face him—unsure of what he wants from me.
“Ursula’s something, huh? Bringing a bunch of bumbling idiots like us together so…completely,” he muses. I nod silently in agreement.
“You’ve got more practice with…‘this’ I take it?” I wiggle my fingers in the air in a non-committal way, but Ronan is quick to grasp my point.
“Are you asking if I have more experience with dudes and dick because I’m part—” Ronan laughs, punctuating his confirmation with a theatrical limp-wrist gesture. “’Cause yeah, I’ve seen it all—I’ve done most of it.” He shrugs.
The shitty jock-bro part of me wants to make some kind of joke at Ronan’s and my expense, to diffuse some of the tension here…but I push past the knee-jerk urge and do my best to be decent about it.
“Well, I have almost no experience in that arena, dude,” I admit haltingly. “Wanting to be knot deep inside a hot babe—no matter her designation? I’m used to that. Hell, I’ve even been in heats with a bunch of other dudes before; taking turns fucking the same woman—hyping each other up, talking her through her orgasms on another guy’s cock…but nothing even close to what’s been going on lately,” I admit reluctantly.
Ronan, who has been listening intently—his pointed chin resting in his hands as he leans on the counter, raises both brows as he asks, “And what’s been ‘going on lately’?” he prompts like an old friend playing therapist.
“Jerking off to the idea of fucking dudes right alongside the idea of knotting my omega,” I say flatly, keenly aware that the conversation is tipping from the casual and comfortable confession to a confidante to what might be pre-game-dirty-talk…and I’m not even upset about it.
Ronan blinks and swallows hard, nodding slowly—clearly unprepared for me to lay my cards on the table like I have.
“Oh, yeah that.” He clears his throat lightly before pressing onward with passable nonchalance. “Probably a pretty good indicator that you are also a little…” He makes a similar finger-wiggling gesture to my earlier movement. “Not like labels matter really, as long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual amongst concerned adult parties.” He shrugs easily, steering the conversation into somewhat safer territory, folding his newspaper and placing it off to the side, as if to make sure I know I have his full, serious attention.
“Yeah, right now—here? I haven’t really given much of a shit what anyone thinks about any of this. I’ve just kind of been taking things one step at a time, but that’s not going to be an option once we get back to ‘real life’.” I sigh, somewhat incredulous, at the ease with which I am giving so many of my most closely guarded feelings up to Ronan.
I’m not sure if it’s his soft southern lilt, the easy slouch of his shoulders, or the warm shine of his gray eyes—but something about him just feels approachable, safe.
Opening up and getting things off my chest has felt so good, so freeing—I’m about to tell him more, ask for advice, but before I can say anything else—Mavren has slid open the massive plate glass sliding door, his perfect physique slicked with sweat after his morning run around the grounds.
He’s got that look on his face again—that narrowing of eyes and hanging of brow that practically accuses, you’re up to something . Suddenly, I don’t feel like sharing those secret feelings anymore.
Breakfast passed without incident, or even much awkwardness on the part of Lysander and myself. Ash shot us a few curious glances as we jostled past one another to heap our plates full of scrambled eggs, fruit and grilled corn muffins—but things were still natural and easy between us, even if we hadn’t properly discussed our lip lock the night before.
The boys saw us off for our date, all of them lining up for their kiss from our omega before the stairs as Ursula and I made our way to Kimmy and Timmy and the waiting sprinter van.
Our intrepid production assistants along with their co-ordinating clipboards had told us to wear comfortable footwear and clothes that were easy to move in for today’s date. Taking our instruction to heart, I opted for a pair of mahogany linen harem pants and a close fitting tank top—my lucky, nearly busted onitsuka tigers tied in a double bowknot.
Ursula looked tasty, but buzzing with a bit more than minor trepidation in her leopard print butter soft soft bike shorts and black longline sports bra with its strappy open back and deep scoop neckline.
“Oh god, I thought it might be dancing,” she groans, folding in on herself slightly—her bottom lip already trembling.
My heart aches softly as I watch her cover the softness of her exposed midriff with her forearms as we approach the same dance floor we shared the night before—this time empty of other dancers. The horrible things people must have said, people like me, that made her so fearful of just existing in her own body. It cuts deep, my heart bleeding for her.
“Why ‘oh god’? I didn’t step on your toes last night, did I?” I play dumb, closing the distance between us and weaving my fingers casually through hers—gently pulling her arms away from her body, guiding her into place. Clasping her hands together behind my neck, allowing my fingers to dawdle over the hollow of her throat—drifting out over her clavicles to her shoulders before I eventually rest my palms on her hips, slowly swaying to unheard music.
“No, you didn’t…last night with you and Lysander was absolutely delicious.” Ursula’s pinched expression of concern softens into a sultry smile, a worthy prize for my efforts.
“Hey you two!” an unfamiliar woman’s voice calls from the far end of the dance floor—ripping Ursula and I from our intimate exchange. We turn to face her as one—her high brunette ponytail swinging with each step as she bounces across the dance floor in her hot pants and bra top—a pair of split sole jazz shoes on her feet.
“Hey guys! I’m Diego, and this is Maya—and we’re going to be your dance instructors for the day!” The woman’s partner, a man in matching black spandex bike shorts and tank top and sneakers dazzles us with his blinding white grin.
I want to roll my eyes, but I keep a smile on my face and give Ursula’s hand a squeeze.
We’ve got this. Easy.
“Have you ever danced before?” Maya asks sunnily.
“Yes,” I answer, prepared for Ursula’s declination.
“Yes,” Ursula chirps back, and I am more than a bit surprised.
I raise a brow at her, as if to ask ‘Since when?,’ but Ursula handily ignores me.
“Oh what do you dance?” Diego rubs his hands together, looking us over.
I wait half a beat in a silent gesture of ‘ladies first’ toward Ursula, but she isn’t taking the bait, so I jump in.
“I haven’t been to classes for anything since I was back home for the holidays last year—but ballet, jazz, hip hop, modern, tap, lyrical,” I list off as casually as I can manage.
“And what about you, miss?” Diego rounds back to Ursula.
“I still belong to a women’s only Lindy Hop group that meets every few months, but I used to Fox Trot and Paso Doble too—though it’s been ages since I’ve done any kind of ballroom.” She bats her long black eyelashes at him while he flashes his brilliant smile back at her, and I can’t help but feel the ugly beast of jealousy sink its green claws into my heart.
“Why didn’t you tell me!?” I wrap my arm around her waist protectively, pulling her against me.
She looks at me with a devilishly challenging smile and says, “You never asked, Teddy-bear.”
Well, fuck me. She’s right, of course. I never did ask—and she just dragged me face down through the mud about it while using a new pet name for me…is it wrong that both things have me practically aroused?
I really am learning things about myself on this show. Goddamn.
“Well, it sounds like you two should pick up the choreography pretty easily, then.” Maya claps her hands together, pulling Diego back to her—another staff member from the resort taking a seat behind the turntable to handle our music.
“Shall we begin?”
More and more of my assumptions and biases seem to fall away with each passing minute in this place.
Before today, I would have thought that a woman who looked like Ursula wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me on the dance floor when it came to even the most basic of salsa dancing.
Considering today’s tutors served us up exactly that slice of tourist-digestible-choreography, and Ursula and I cut up the floor with grace and ease—her passionate escobilla stealing the breath out of my lungs as her feet met the floor with their loud, percussive strikes.
If Maya and Diego had given us any time alone, Ursula’s heels wouldn’t have been the only thing getting percussive, let me tell you.
After the dance lesson, we’re taxied back to the villa by Kimmy and Timmy and the trusty big white van to enjoy a private lunch served on huge wicker trays that float lazily in the gently rippling water of the infinity pool—the two of us seated on the wide stone steps—half submerged in the water to beat the heat.
“So, how have things been going between you and the boys?” Ursula asks innocently out of nowhere as she pops a wedge of bright pink dragon fruit between her lips—the brilliant magenta juice staining her full lips a distracting shade of pink.
I give her a smirk—my dirty girl. She knows full well but she wants to hear me say it anyway. Fine, I’ll bite.
“Slow…but a little quicker after you gave Lysander and I a little shove in the right direction last night.” I lift a slice of kiwi and lean across the floating tray to offer it to her.
“Mmmhmm,” she prompts, sticking out her tongue—stained with fruit, for the coin of green kiwi. I’d like to put something else on that tongue…three or so hours until the guys come home and she heads off on her date with Mavren, that’s plenty.
“I gotta actually, y’know, talk to the kid when he gets home—I’m not going to lie, I was a little spooked after last night.” I crane my neck, placing the round of kiwi in her mouth—watching as she closes her eyes and savors the juicy morsel.
“Spooked?” she echoes after she swallows, her eyes fluttering open.
“Horny as fuck, too, but yeah—a little freaked out. Unlike Ronan, neither Lysander nor I, have any experience with this kind of thing—with dudes that is,” I stammer, doing my best to explain myself as my pulse quickens.
“I see,” she purrs, eyeing me with an entirely different sort of appetite over the top of her reflective sunglasses. “But you’re plenty experienced with women—like me?” she challenges coyly, gracefully pushing off from the stairs and into the shallow water, gently circulating her limbs to tread the water easily.
“Women, yes, but I’ve never been with a woman like you,” I rumble, letting her see me take in the shimmering reflection of her chrome string bikini sparkling beneath the water’s surface, my eyes hungry for the sight of her.
Ursula leans back into a float—her huge breasts surfacing from the water as she lets out a mirthless laugh.
“Teddy, I’m sure that you’ve never given a fat girl like me a second glance before this whole thing. If we hadn’t connected like we did in the pods before you’d ever seen me—I highly doubt you’d have given me the time of day.”
The truth in her words makes me furious, not at her—but at myself. Of course, it only adds to my real shame; regardless of my feelings for her and the other guys now, I started this whole courtship under false pretenses.
False pretenses for my own personal gain.
Fuck, I really am a fuckboy piece of shit…aren't I?
Then I catch a whiff of her scent—the rose and saffron peaking high in the afternoon sun, and my alpha biology pushes to the forefront—carrying me through my crushing shame.
“Let’s say for a second that you’re right.” I splash down off the steps and stomp through the water toward her. “Because I’m a fucking piece of shit—and you’ are right on the money.”
Though the admission doesn’t have the full disclosure of all my transgressions against her, I can't help but feel a little relieved—a tiny weight lifted.
Ursula falls quiet—her face turning away from me as she continues to float on her back.
“But believe me when I say—” I plead, sinking to my knees, reaching for her and drawing her body—buoyant and cool from the water, toward me; Ursula sitting up in the water to face me as I guide her arms once more around my neck, her legs wrapping instinctively around my hips. “You have changed everything, Ursula Goldblum-Laskaris.” I whisper—my lips brushing hers.
My hands slip up over her neck, along her jaw—twining in her hair as I pull her face toward me.
“Do you know how badly I want to be inside you, like, all the time ?” I growl against her mouth before I crush it with mine.
I feel her hips roll against me and my strengthening erection—a tiny moan passing from Ursula’s mouth to mine, before I break the kiss and rasp a whisper in her ear, “I think about eating your pussy three fucking meals a day—” my hands slip between us gently moving the flimsy triangles of her swimsuit top out of the way, freeing Ursula’s barely contained breasts.
“Since last night, all I can think about is tutoring Lysander on how to make a woman cum; both of us lavishing our full attention on you,” I sigh, gently toying with her hard nipples. “Having Ronan tutor me in how to make Lysander and the other guy’s cum, too.” My breath hitches at this admission, my knot beginning to swell at the base of my throbbing cock.
“I know a few tricks I could teach you,” Ursula breathes heavily, her hands roaming over the hard cut of my adonis-v—her fingers already tugging at the waistband of my swim trunks.
“I’m looking forward to the learning experience,” I growl, pinning her against the nearby pool wall as we kiss.
We paw at each other desperately in the water, my hands on her breasts and her unrelenting grip on my rock hard cock; tongues thrashing and teeth nipping at lips, ears —I move down, laying kisses on my way from her mouth to her breasts—the silky ballet pink of her nipples between my lips as she finally wraps one of those clever hands around my pounding knot.
To avoid knotting her right then and there, I abruptly begin to relocate us to the steps.
“Did I hurt you?” She pants,—worried my sudden movement is somehow the fault of her delicious touches.
“Not at all—It’s just awfully hard to do this where we were a moment ago.” I assure her before unexpectedly lifting her from the water and setting her down on the top step of the swimming pool.
Her eyes widen with understanding as I pull at the strings of her bikini bottom, the scraps of fabric sliding away from her skin easily in the shallow water.
I kneel on the bottom step, one ass cheek gripped in each hand as I float her off her underwater seat, surfacing her pussy out of the water and toward my eager mouth.
Ursula steadies herself, elbows propped on the upper stair to keep her from slipping—soft breathy moans cascade from her as I suck at the hard pearl of her clit, my fingers running along the slick petals of her pussy as she bucks her hips reflexively into my face.
“How many fingers you want, princess?” I take a break from my sucking and tonguing, my index finger parting her slick petals to slip inside—her cunt pumping out sweet-scented slick, perfectly slippery despite the pool water.
Omegas—there really isn’t anything else quite like them.
“How’s that?” I dip my head, my tongue darting out over Ursula’s clit—flicking like a snake.
“More,” she whines—rolling her hips against my hand, my mouth.
“Two,” I sigh, my middle finger joining my index—both fingers curling toward her g-spot as I close my lips around her clit with gentle suction.
“Teddy,” she whines—and I can feel her glutes begin to twitch beneath my grip.
“You feel so tight, so hot—I can tell my princess needs three,” I growl, my lips grazing her clit as I add my ring finger.
Ursula lets out a wail of pleasure, her thighs pressing together on either side of my head as she writhes in my grip—my other hand still firmly gripping her ass, holding her afloat.
I continue my unrelenting strokes—my tongue flicking across her hard clit through the suction of my pursed lips. I can feel my knot—hot and pounding at the base of my cock, but I keep my thoughts on the task at hand. If I allow my mind to wander, to lean into the sensations in my body—each and every impulse telling me to bury myself inside her, I'll simply fall into the chasm.
For fuck's sake, I practically feel like I'm tumbling headlong into rut territory, but for now—I hold the line between besting my body chemistry and the insatiable bestial hunger that lurks just beneath.
Just as I'm beginning to worry that my hard-won resolve is in danger of crumbling—Ursula’s hands clutch in my hair, her long nails brushing against my scalp send a tiny electric buzz all the way down my spine as she calls out my name—her legs spasming in little jerky movements as she cums in my mouth.
God help me…now that I've started down this road, as long as I keep getting green lights…I'm not sure that I can stop. That I want to. I want to see just how far it goes—what turns it takes. And yes, I want to ride—All. Night. Long.