Chapter Forty-One – Torin
You know what would be good right now? My fucking truck and not Dylan’s sensible car.
I’m packed into the back seat, this massive canvas plopped inconveniently on my thighs, the corner digging uncomfortably into my leg each time Dylan drives over a bump.
I can’t see a thing, only a slice of streetlight flashing through the side window.
I told him my truck would’ve been fine, but he insisted we couldn’t turn up in it.
From the front seat, I hear the softest giggle, then another. Fawn’s laugh is light and dangerous, the kind that makes my grip tighten on the canvas. Dylan says something low, probably smug, and she giggles once more.
That fucker better not be seeing lace undies before me.
I try to adjust the canvas to get comfy, but I fail miserably. Meanwhile, Dylan is up there living his best life, driving like a complete gentleman, no doubt sneaking glances, taking in the view. I make my presence known with a clearing of the throat. The giggling stops dead.
Dylan rounds a corner then stops and turns off the car. Thank God; I can get this canvas off me. I tilt my head to peek through the window. “Why the hell are we at the rink?” I ask, squinting at the familiar structure like it’s got it out for me.
“Some local commented on the rink’s socials that I left the office lights on,” Dylan says matter-of-factly. “I just need to turn them off, and then we can head to the restaurant. You gonna stay in the car or come in?”
Fuck yeah, I’m getting out of the car. Anything to stretch my legs and get this canvas off my lap before I lose circulation permanently.
Rolling my shoulders, I step out into the night alongside Fawn. Damn. Even under the parking lot lights, she looks fucking unreal. That red dress has got to be against the law. I take her hand as Dylan unlocks the doors to the ice rink.
Honestly, the rink doesn’t deserve to see her looking like a goddess.
The rink is quiet, with a bit of an echo, the lights toned down. Everything seems bigger and emptier than usual. The sound of our footsteps is unreasonably loud. Fawn inches closer to me. Her voice softens.
“The rink’s scary at night. Normally, it’s full of people and a buzz. It seems odd when it’s this quiet.”
Dylan laughs and waves a hand dismissively. “Try being alone in here. When I lock up, I hear random bangs all the time. I admit, it scares the crap out of me.”
I snort. “You’re dramatic. It could be a hundred things, like pipes, rats, your imagination.”
I’ve never been one for ghost stories. Give me busted engines and real problems any day.
We follow Dylan up the stairs to the office, keeping an eye on Fawn as she climbs. She’s holding up her dress, so she doesn’t snag her hem on her heels. The sight does things to me I don’t comment on out loud — because I’m a gentleman. Mostly.
As soon as we enter the office, she darts to the big glass window overlooking the rink. “Wow,” she gasps. “You can see the whole rink from up here . . .”
“I people-watch all the time,” Dylan says with pride.
“Of course you do,” I mutter. “Weirdo.”
She laughs then shifts her attention. Her eyes settle on the wooden desk in the room. She slowly makes her way over to it and hops up, crossing one leg enough to be a little dangerous.
“Think I’d be good at being the boss?” she asks, winking at us.
Dylan steps closer, voice dropping. “Truthfully? No, princess. You love taking commands from us too much to be in charge.”
She tilts her head, tracing her finger along the edge of the desk, a smile playing along her lips as if she has it all figured out. “Are there security cameras in here?”
“Nope,” he responds quietly. “They’re all downstairs.”
I fold my arms and shake my head, watching them with a smirk. This night just got a lot more interesting.
“Now, we’ve seen this beautiful dress, but let me see those panties,” Dylan commands.
She adjusts her position on the desk, her dress riding up as she spreads herself enough to make it obvious what she wants. Dylan slips between her legs, planting his palms on either side of the desk before capturing her lips in a kiss.
I watch her face turn a rosy pink as Dylan’s fingers slide between her legs and push her panties to the side. Her eyes flutter closed briefly, and Dylan’s smile widens when he withdraws his fingers, wet and glistening in the drab office lighting.
“See what being submissive does to you?” he growls, the sound of his voice vibrating in my chest. He moves his slick finger to her mouth, and she opens right up. “You love it when we tell you what to do.”
She nods, her motion quick and jerky.
“Now . . .” Dylan says before moving to the side, “bend over the desk and put your hands behind your back. And don’t you move an inch until we’re finished with you.”
Before she can obey him completely, I move in and grasp the intricate lace at her hips.
Slowly, I slip off her panties; they catch on her heels for a moment until they’re gone.
The damp, warm lace is soaked. A possessive rumble begins in my chest, and I instinctively lift the shredded material to my nose, taking a deep breath.
Fuck, she smells like heaven. I jam the lace into the pocket of my pants.
“Like he said,” I say, my voice raspy against her ear, “be a good girl and turn around.”
She does, facing the desk, her bare ass totally exposed to us. It is absolutely perfect, round and already flushed. Her forearms rest on the desk as she arches backward in a perfect curve.
Right next to us, Dylan pulls out some skates from a duffel bag in the corner. The snapping of the laces as they unfasten echoes through our silence. Fawn’s eyes are wide as she watches him.
“Remember when I said I wanted to tie you up with skate laces . . .” Dylan reminisces, his voice turning dark.
We look at each other, and something knowing passes between us, puling our mouths into matching curves. Fawn takes a huge gulp, her throat bobbing with the action.
“This will be good,” I say under my breath.
Dylan moves in, close against her back. His large hands capture her wrists and pull them back. He crosses them there, winding the lace around. He pulls it taut, his knuckles white from effort. Fawn whimpers, a small, hungry sound.
“Too much?” Dylan asks, pausing.
“No,” she gasps. “It’s never too much.”
Her wrists are bound tightly together, the white lace stark against her skin. We’ve got her right where we want her. It makes my cock strain against my pants.
“Now, let’s get these legs spread,” I say, positioning myself. I reach for her thighs, sliding my hands upwards, spreading her legs wide. She’s fully exposed, completely vulnerable, her pussy shiny, pink, and already wet for us.
Dylan meets my eyes, and we don’t need words. We both sink to our knees on the hard floor between her legs.
For a moment, we just stare. She’s shaking, her hands bound behind her back. Then, Dylan raises a finger and slides it through her wet folds, from the hole to her clit. She cries out, her head falling forward onto the desk.
“As expected, fucking soaked,” he murmurs, and then he leans in and licks a broad, wet stripe right where his finger had been.
We don’t wait. We finger her together. Dylan initiates by sliding two thick fingers inside and curling them as I insert one finger alongside his and stretch her open, focusing on her clit with my thumb. Her back arches in response as she rides our touch.
“Yes . . . Oh God, yes,” she moans.
Then, we remove our dripping fingers and taste her.
Dylan’s tongue slips in her pussy while I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking it ruthlessly with my tongue.
Our heads are close, our breaths mixing with her scent.
We are a team, a unit, focused solely on wrecking her.
Then, I feel it — the wet, warm glide of Dylan’s tongue against mine.
We don’t flinch. We don’t pull away.
It’s a fucking dirty scene. There we are, two men down on our knees, our tongues all over her pussy, and frankly, we couldn’t care less. All that matters are the sounds she’s making, the way she’s arching above us, lost in it all.
Pornographic whimpers escape her. “Fuck, fuck! Yes! Uhhh!”
Now and then, we turn to each other, and our mouths crash together in a kiss that is quick and brutal, her taste mingling on our lips before we return to her pussy.
“Does she taste good on my tongue?” Dylan groans into my mouth during one of those wild moments.
“Yeah,” I grunt, biting his lower lip. “Fucking perfect. Every drop.”
We double our efforts on her pussy, and Fawn’s legs begin to tremble until her cries escalate into shattered, pleading noises. “Don’t you dare fucking stop. I’m . . . I’m gonna . . . Don’t stop, don’t stop!”
Her moans become screams. She’s bucking against our mouths, her bound hands straining at the lace. I can feel her orgasm building, the way her clit hardens to a pebble under my tongue.
That’s when the sound cuts through — a cheerful ringtone. It’s her phone ringing in her purse on the floor.
Dylan stops, pulling his face away from her pussy, his lower face glistening.
He looks at her, then at me. A mischievous glint appears in his green eyes.
He gets up, dries his mouth with the back of his hand, and picks up her phone.
The screen flickers on. “It’s the restaurant,” he says, out of breath. He answers it, putting it on speaker.
A woman’s polite voice comes from the other end. “Hello, is this Miss Higgins? Just a reminder, you have a table reserved with us tonight.”
Color floods Fawn’s cheeks, her breath coming in unsteady pulls. Dylan places the phone on the desk near her ear. She has no choice but to talk.
“Ye . . . yes . . . Hel . . . hello,” she stammers, trying to sound normal.
I don’t give her time to recover. I return between her legs, my tongue thrusting inside.
A sharp sound tears from her throat, her whole body seizes with a tremor.
“So . . . sor . . . sorry I’m late. I’m a little . . . tied up at the moment.”
Literally.
Redoubling my efforts, I suck her clit hard. She lets out a choked, strangled moan she tries to cover with a cough.
“. . . Ma’am, are you okay?” asks the hostess, sounding concerned.
“Yes! Perfect!” Fawn blurts, a little too loudly. “I’ll . . . I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Dylan hangs up the phone and throws it in her purse.
His knees hit the floor beside me, his face back between her legs as if nothing had happened.
Oh, this just got even more interesting.
Yes, my cock is aching painfully in my pants.
What I really want to do after I’ve made her orgasm is fuck her, but we have a deadline . . . a goal.
We work her with a frantic, shared purpose. My tongue circles her clit while Dylan fucks her with his fingers back inside her, scissoring, stretching.
“I’m gonna come! Ahhh!” Her words make us work harder. I slide a hand up her thigh, pressing my thumb hard against her asshole. She screams, and her pussy clenches around Dylan’s fingers.
Her back arches away from the desk with a scream before it erupts from her lips. “YES!”
Her orgasm wreaks havoc on her whole body, a wave of her cum splashing over our mouths, coating us. We lick at her, kiss her through it until she settles back on the desk, gasping and crying with ragged breaths.
For a moment, there is only the sound of her panting and our wet, satisfied breaths.
Dylan looks at me, his eyes wild, his lips slick and shining. He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to.
His breathing is still a little rough. I reach out without thinking, tracing his lips with my thumb as I lean in to kiss him.
I can taste her on his tongue, and I lick up every drop I can.
We slowly pull apart, and the moment is drawn out.
Dylan gets up and reaches for the box of tissues on the desk.
Fawn is still bent over, panting for breath.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Y-yes.” Her voice is weak.
He moves behind her, attentive, and starts wiping her, making sure she’s comfortable before anything else. I stand too, grabbing a tissue and wiping my face. My fingers work the laces loose and my eyes slide sideways to Dylan, a smirk finding its way onto my face.
“Nothing like a starter before the main meal,” I tease, letting the tension break just enough for laughter to creep back in.
Dylan shakes his head. When he’s finished assisting her, he carefully slides the dress back in place. She straightens, but she loses her balance as she does.
“Whoa,” I mouth, stepping into position just in time to grab her by the waist. I hold her steady. “You sure you’re good?”
“I’m fine,” she says, a little breathless, rolling her wrists. “We should probably go to the restaurant, but—” She pauses. “What about you two?”
“What about us?” I ask, tapping the desk once with my index finger, playful.
“Well,” she says, cheeks flushed, “you both worked pretty hard on me, and it’s meant to be your date night. I’d feel bad if you two haven’t—”
“Princess,” Dylan cuts in smoothly, brushing a thumb over her shoulder. “We don’t give to receive. Anyway, we can always have dessert at home.”
She lets out a weak giggle.
We all take a moment to look at ourselves. Dylan fixes his shirt, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. I cuff up my sleeves a little. She runs her fingers through her hair before slipping her hands down the front of her dress, as if she’s reminded herself she’s still put together.
“Wait.” Her eyes scan the room, sudden and sharp. “Where the fuck are my panties . . .” Her gaze snaps to me. She doesn’t even say my name; she holds out her palm expectantly. “Gimme them. Now.”
I roll my eyes, not even pretending anymore, and dig into my pocket to hand them over.
Dylan shakes his head, but I catch the movement as he slips the laces he tied her with into his pocket. My eyes narrow immediately. I clocked that fucker.
She turns away to put her panties on, and I lean closer to Dylan, just enough to murmur, “You’re not slick, jackass.”
He grins.
“Come on,” Dylan says, clapping his hands once, all business again. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a meal to get to.”