Chapter 4 The First Course
THE FIRST COURSE
EMERY
A curious pattern I’ve noticed about the wealthy is the abundance of charity events they attend every calendar year. They’ll claim such events align with their philanthropic values, but I’m heavily convinced it’s because it gives them an excuse to get wasted on a Monday night.
I glare at Quin as he guides me through the crowds of elegant tables, Damon following closely behind.
When Quin said dinner, I expected something a bit more intimate, yet here we are, in the ballroom of The Plaza, surrounded by hundreds of champagne-chugging nepo babies and their snobby creators who look like they’ve got sticks up their asses.
I suppose we have that in common tonight.
As we approach our designated table, Damon circles behind me and pulls out my chair. His lips curve into a smile against my ear as he whispers, so devilishly taunting, “I love knowing that you’re all stretched out for us, mami.”
I blink, forcing my physiological reactions to remain neutral as we sit among New York’s most elite.
“Shut up,” I grunt under my breath, gently taking a seat so as not to stimulate the movements of the toy too much.
There’s nothing classy about moaning at the dinner table.
Damon and Quin take their rightful seats on either side of me as the first course is served. The three other chairs opposite us are empty, and I’m grateful that we’re alone.
“That dress looks lovely on you,” Quin grins, taking a small sip of his whiskey. “Very…accessible.” He glances over at Damon. “Don’t you agree, Cavanaugh?”
Damon smirks, charcoal eyes smoldering as his palm finds my thigh, his fingers twirling the hem of the fringed cocktail dress. “Almost too accessible.”
My cheeks burn up. “Don’t you dare.”
Damon feigns ignorance. “Don’t we dare what?”
My eyes narrow at him. “You know what.”
Quin chuckles and flicks his amused gaze to Damon. “Is she… Is she implying we have ulterior motives?” My eyes widen as Quin’s warm hand finds my thigh, both men caressing my skin with delicate circles. “I can’t imagine what would make her think such horrid things.”
“It’s almost as if,” Damon’s cruel long fingers dance up my leg, “she thinks we’re wild animals that fuck wherever they damn well please.”
Quin’s nails dig into the apex of my thigh, and I swallow a gasp as he gently parts my knees. “Is that it?” He cocks his head. “Do you think we’re wild animals, darling?”
Fucking hell.
I know I could say comet, and it would be all over.
They’d immediately stop their teasing, and we could eat our dinners in peace.
I know I could put an end to this in a second.
But God, peace is so boring. So fucking dull.
Their indecent ministrations creep closer to my sex, and I know their touch promises vibrant chaos.
“Oh…” Quin grins, licking his lips as I subtly sidle closer to the edge of the chair, my thighs parting for them. “Well, isn’t this interesting?”
Damon’s raspy voice floats in my ear. “It’s almost as if you’re the wild animal, Emery. Not us.”
“Maybe we should stop,” Quin coos, my core pulsing as he glides his fingers up and down my inner thigh. “After all, we are at dinner.”
Damon’s touch reaches my slit, and he adds, “It would be terribly inappropriate to keep going.”
“The press is here…” Quin’s fingers join Damon’s as they tease the outside of my pussy, not exploring any deeper than the outskirts. And I need them to go deeper. So much fucking deeper.
“And so is the President,” Damon whispers, and I fight to keep my goddamn eyes open, my heart racing with anticipation. He arches over, breath warm against my skin as he adds, “Do you want us to fuck you with our fingers, mami? Do you want to come in front of this nation's commander in chief?”
I nod, clutching onto a fork, hoping to siphon off some corrupt energy.
Quin clicks his tongue, shaking his head, his expression blazing with lust and debauchery. “You are a very bad girl, Emery Jones. So very naughty.”
“Please…” It doesn’t come out as a word but as a sound. A desperate pathetic plea for more. More touching. More teasing. More torment. “More.”
“More what?” Damon asks, and I expel a sharp gasp as he plunges a finger inside of me. “This? Is this what you want, baby girl?”
“Mhmm…” I whimper out a soft moan as Quin finds my clit, massaging it with expert pressure. “Fuck…”
As they continue to bring me to new levels of bliss, my eyes glaze over, and I sink into the pleasure, unable to focus on anything other than their touch.
They work in tandem, each man giving me exactly what I need.
I surrender to the rhythm, to the intoxicating cadence of their skilled hands.
Every touch, every flick sends ripples of ecstasy through me.
“Damon… Quinton… It’s nice to see you both again. Miss Jones?”
My mind becomes a haze of euphoria, the world around me fading into the background. Time slows down, and I revel in their attentiveness, their desire to make me feel so good, so damn happy.
“Mmm…”
“Miss Jones…? Earth to Emery?”
Wait…
Is that…?
My blissful haze shatters like glass as Amir Hadid's voice slices through the air, snapping me back to reality. To the table. The public fucking table.
Oh my God...
My eyes widen with shocked surprise as I finally notice him hovering at the foot of the table, a knowing grin playing on his lips.
This is not happening right now. This must be a damn dream. I draw in a sharp, tense breath, the atmosphere in the room shifting as Amir continues to grin down at me.
Not a dream. A nightmare.
Damon and Quin both stiffen beside me, their hands retreating as I swat at their wrists, frazzled, trying to gather my wits as I stumble over my words. "H-Hello, Mr. Hadid. What... What are you doing here?"
Amir's gaze flickers between Damon, Quin, and me, his expression unreadable. His smile holds a glint of amusement which makes my heart beat even faster. Does he know? Did he…see something? Can he sense it? My pulse flares as I attempt to rein the budding anxiety.
“Why, I’m here to support the President’s re-election campaign, of course," he drawls in a smooth, controlled tone. "I saw you…entertaining yourselves from my table and couldn’t resist coming over to say hello.”
Oh, he saw. He knows. How embarrassing.
My cheeks flush, and I know I must look like a damn tomato right now.
I glance nervously at Damon and Quin. We need to be way more careful.
It's one thing to push boundaries, but I’d rather not have my new fucking boss privy to our relationship.
Despite the fact Amir owns all the Club Hades, I’d prefer to keep some things private.
We work together for God’s sake. This can’t be good. Not at all.
Damon's jaw tightens, and Quin shoots Amir a cold glare, a mix of wariness and defiance. Definitely not good. We need to rein ourselves in. All the way in.
“Maybe you should keep your lingering eyes on your own date, Hadid,” Damon grunts.
"Oh, Damon,” Amir chuckles, his grin widening. "Always so feisty. I’m glad some things never change. " He glances at me. “You should be more careful, Miss Jones. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
I swallow hard, Amir’s advice acting like a damn knife in my belly. Damn it. Quin shoots me an apologetic glance while Damon remains stoic, his gaze never leaving Amir.
I make a mental note to discuss the importance of discretion with my two animals. I’ll need to have a conversation with myself as well. I am equally as guilty. But God…it’s so hard to say no to them. Nor do I really want to. At this point, my pride is a puddle.
Amir expels a low laugh when none of us say a word. “Tough crowd tonight.”
“You’ve said your hello, so why don’t you go back to your table now?” Damon snarls. “Your date looks lonely. Wouldn’t want to waste precious minutes with us. She’s on the clock, isn’t she?”
Amir glowers at Damon. “That’s my sister, and if you say one word about her, I’ll burn your entire empire to the ground.”
Damon’s gaze hardens. “Yes, my empire. Let’s not forget whose name is on the front door.”
“For now,” Amir hums, a gleam of dark humor in his eyes. He looks over at Quin. “I hear you’re the keynote speaker for the Leadership Summit this year. My team and I look forward to your presentation.” His gaze snaps to me. “Isn’t that right, Miss Jones?”
I visibly sink into my seat, the discomfort of this situation palpable as Damon and Quin both shoot me wary looks. “Yes, we’re looking forward to it,” I say in a quiet mutter.
With a casual wave of his hand, Amir decides he’s caused enough trouble for one night. "Well, enjoy the rest of your evening, my friends. I won't be an impediment to your...activities any longer."
As Amir Hadid turns to leave, my temples pulse and I know an argument is about to start. Damon's anger radiates off his skin, tangible and hot, as he turns his attention back to me.
"When were you going to tell us about the summit?” he growls. “There's no way I'm letting you spend an entire weekend away with that man."
Quin’s jaw clenches, but his frustration stays at bay. Always the voice of reason.
"She won't be alone, Damon. I'll be there too."
Damon's fists clench at his sides, his gaze unyielding. "At all times? You'll be with her at all times?"
Quin sighs. “Well, of course not, Damon. We’ll probably have different speaker itineraries and—”
“She’s not going then,” Damon states. “Over my dead body.”
I glower at him. Damon is a jealous and possessive man. I knew this from the beginning. And I don’t mind it…usually. But sometimes, I honestly feel like screaming at him.
"It's a work event, Damon. I don’t have a choice but to go. It’s mandatory for all executives.”
“That’s right, you are an executive,” he huffs. “Which means you can say no.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I only found out earlier this morning, Damon. And I can’t say no. It is mandatory. I have to go if I want to keep my job.”
His lip twitches. “You could always—”
I raise my hand, cutting him off. "For the last fucking time, I am not quitting my job!"
Damon runs a hand through his hair, visibly struggling to rein in his temper. "Emery, you can't expect me to be okay with this. Didn’t you see him just now? The way he was looking at you?"
Quin remains silent, looking between me and Damon. I know he shares similar reservations with Damon, but Quin isn’t the type of man to put restraints on me. He’s loyal to my wants and needs, but I can tell that he’s torn between wanting to say something and keeping the peace.
"Can't you talk to Javier, to anyone, and get out of this?" Damon implores.
I shake my head, feeling exhaustion settle in.
Round and round we go. What a miserable ride.
"No, Damon, I can’t. This is my job. If Amir wants me to attend some stupid summit, I’ll do it.
He probably already thinks I only got this position because of you, which I technically did.
So, I need him to take me seriously.” I swallow. “As seriously as he can after…”
Damon's jaw tightens, contempt flashing across his face at the realization that Amir is now privy to our private lives. Great. Another thing for Damon to sulk over.
Quin finally speaks, tone measured. "I understand your concern, D, but ultimately it's Emery’s decision whether or not she wishes to attend the summit.”
“Easy for you to say,” Damon growls, “you’ll be there with her.”
The tension between us deepens, and I push my chair back, my pulse hammering with frustration. "I need a moment," I say, excusing myself abruptly and heading toward the restroom.
The heavy door swings shut behind me, and I’m grateful for the quiet. I lean against the sink, hands trembling as I attempt to steady myself. Fuck. Relationships are hard enough between two people but with three? It’s damn near impossible to keep everyone happy.
Damon is in such a fragile state right now and I don’t want to upset him, I don’t want to create unnecessary stress, but he’s being unreasonable. He needs to trust me, and I think he does. No, I know he does. This isn’t insecurity, it’s fear. Of losing something, someone, he loves.
How many times do I need to tell him that I love him in order for him to believe me? How many times do I need to tell him that I won’t ever leave? Sometimes, it feels like he listens to me, but he doesn’t every truly hear me. And I need him to hear me.
The bathroom door swings open abruptly, and before I can register what's happening, Damon and Quinton step inside. Both men look apologetic and earnest. Damon swiftly locks the door behind them, shutting out the outside world. I swallow, glancing between them. I knew they’d both chase after me.
I can’t run from them. Just like one cannot run from fate.
Damon steps closer, his eyes softening as he reaches for me.
"Emery," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "I’m sorry for my reaction. We… We should be able to discuss these things without tempers rising. I…I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you, because I do. You know that."
Quin nods in agreement. "And we shouldn't have argued in public. It was inappropriate, and we’re better than that. You deserve better than that."
I take a deep breath, the unease between my shoulder blades fizzling away. My mouth dries as they circle me like vultures, Damon on one side and Quinton on the other. As they pepper gentle kisses along my neck and shoulders, their apologies continue.
"Forgive me," Damon whispers against my skin, his breath warm and melting.
Quinton's lips trail down the side of my neck, and my spine shivers. "We love you, Emery," he murmurs. "More than anything. We want what's best for you."
Desperate desire burns inside me, their raw sincerity and roaring reassurance making my skin hot and flush.
I turn toward Damon, and I claim him. His apology transforms into something more primal as our lips collide, frenzied yet soft.
I nip at his bottom lip and he groans, gripping my waist, pinning me in this fleeting moment of bliss.
Quinton's touch becomes bolder, stronger, more urgent. His hands roam over my body with restrained hunger, and then, with a deliberate and sensual motion, Quinton removes the small, concealed toy from inside of me, and my body aches to be filled once again.
I close my eyes and release the reins, letting both of my men take control. They love being in control. They love me. Their lips and fingers and tongues ravage me, savor me, fucking worship me.
Damon's hands find their way to my hips, and he lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as they both line themselves up. And then, in a glorious act of impeccable synchronization, they thrust forward. At the same time. And I guarantee the President can hear my screams.