TWENTY Bonus
SADIE
I’m laying between Jerome and Dom the subsequent Monday morning with nothing but a sheet over me, stunned by how comfortable I am doing this. Was it mere weeks since I felt so much anxiety over these mens’ reaction to me, to my body, to my scars?
It feels like so much longer.
I delight in watching Zach padding back in with wet hair from his shower already having changed into a pair of sweatpants. I’ve grown accustomed to being naked while they’re not. To witnessing the bulges of their erections without actually having any of them inside me. Lately, it’s become this bizarre type of dynamic with us.
Likely because for this whole week, they’ve been making my pleasure a priority while ignoring theirs. It’s like they’re playing chicken with one another to see who can go without the longest. I can’t say it bothers me when I’m the lucky recipient of all that mind-numbing ecstasy.
Not that I want to think about the underlying reason why.
I’m luxuriating in the softness of these high thread count sheets and how they feel against my bare flesh when I hear all three guys’ phones chime. Only as they’re each retrieving them from various pockets and nightstands do I remember why.
“You gave me a bonus?” Zach asks, flashing his screen toward me.
“Gave them to all of us sounds like,” Jerome’s tone is a question that Dom answers with that uptilt of his chin.
I try to look gracious. It’s now New Year’s Eve, and I’d scheduled these a month ago, optimistically thinking it’d be able to deal with the Christmas holidays better this year.
Shame rolls through my system at my utter failure to do so. Clearly, I overestimated my ability to cope.
“I did.”
“Thank you.” Zach perches at the corner of the bed.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dom adds his with Jerome bringing up the rear.
“You didn’t have to do that, but we all appreciate it.”
They nod as one, and I’m fascinated by the change that’s occurred with my three contractors. They’ve united in their efforts to sustain me rather than on individually winning my approval.
It couldn’t have come at a better time.
This past week has been devastating for me, and losing control like I did was mortifying. At least my weakness seems to have made them band together as a group. Might’ve even encouraged them to somehow bond as friends.
I didn’t foresee that.
Although I’m not sure yet what this might mean for my experiment overall. I can’t tell if it’s an omen or a silver lining.
Any positivity I might’ve tried to instill in myself during the past several months has been fractured into teeny tiny pieces. Obliterated beyond recognition or repair.
Yeah, I’m a regular Humpty Dumpty.
I’ve never been overly gung-ho about Christmas, anyway, I suppose. Yes, as a child I relished it—especially receiving presents—as much as the next little girl. But as the lack of cohesion in my parents’ marriage became more and more apparent, eventually, what I wished for was what I saw portrayed in all those idyllic Christmas movies.
The Normal Rockwell image of living in a happy and loving home.
I never got it.
Since the crash, I’ve ignored those red-letter days altogether. Yet, this time...
I don’t know why I thought I had somehow conquered it, why I believed that I’d transformed into some magically healed superwoman unaffected by my past. Maybe because I finally made the decision to construct my own future. Maybe because I had enough intestinal fortitude to ask for what I wanted from these men to actually receive it.
But I was over-confident.
Now I’ve acted so out of character that I’m afraid of what the guys must’ve thought of me, what they still must think of me. During those painful hours, I became a lunatic. I’m too terrified to bring it up even now that I feel saner again.
Yet the question that continues to haunt me is will it happen again?
The irony of all this is if anyone were to base their opinion of me on nothing but paper, I’ll seem golden. An irrefutable success. Harvard graduate with a perfect grade point average. Independently growing my wealth not by living off my inheritance but due to my entrepreneurial pursuits. Shoving forward with my life and goals despite a debilitating accident.
All that prior to the age of twenty-five.
By those somewhat empty benchmarks, I’m exceptional.
Yet to me, those benchmarks hardly matter. I haven’t tweaked the code of Elegance or anything else for weeks now. Granted, doing so around the guys would be foolhardy. But it’s not hiding from them as much as not being up to it.
Besides, I’ve realized something about myself since that horrible day when I totally and completely lost my shit over the Christmas tree.
I’ve been telling people I’m all right when I’m not. I’m not even close to all right. I’ve been existing as if I am, but it’s a lie. A lie I’ve been telling myself and everyone else.
I think Win suspects this. She knows not to mail any kind of holiday paraphernalia my way, yet she texted me on Christmas Day, nevertheless.
Win: Just checking in.
Win: You know, to make sure you’re hunky dory.
Win: I’m here if you need me.
Win: Text me back, Caroline.
I didn’t discover any of these until a couple of days after I fell apart, and while I almost texted her back with something reassuring, I didn’t. Couldn’t. I don’t like lying to my bestie. And I didn’t feel like descending into the briar patch that is the truth.
So, I’ve sent her nothing. Maybe later today I’ll get myself together enough to sit down and send a proper response. A long explanatory email might be how to go. Or as much of a unicorn as calling her direct is, I might do that instead. Even if it’s our least favorite form of communication.
I have to provide her with something, or she’ll contact Max.
Fuck, for all I know, she already has. When my house manager comes back tomorrow, I’ll need to find out about that.
It’s alarming to note the vast shift that has occurred. Typically, Winter and Maxine have been my lifelines, the people who buoy me and keep my ass afloat. And while I still depend on them, the only reason I feel in my right mind at the moment is because of Dom, Jerome, and Zach.
Maybe it’s down to all these chemical reactions.
The endorphins their version of cheering me up provides are enough to keep me from tipping over the ledge of that final cliff. The point of no return. It’s as if they’re emergency personnel who’ve trussed me to one of those helicopter baskets and Life Flighted me to safety.
They’ve been shoring me up minute by minute, keeping me from being swallowed into that endless abyss.
Yet I still feel like I could fall at any time, that the edge of that cliff remains mere inches away.
I’m glad they appreciate their bonuses, but they deserve so much more. No matter what the outcome of this competition is, I plan to double their pay.
They’re worth it.
I hazard a glance at each of them. Zach is still on the corner playing with his phone. Dom is sitting up and stretching those toned and muscular arms of his over his head. While Jerome is grabbing a sip of water from the bottle he keeps next to the bed. He offers it to me, even as I decline.
With the additional mattress in here scrunched up so solidly to mine—Dom even secured the adjoining posts with zip-ties—there’s more than enough room for all of us to sleep side by side. It’s nice to have them here within arm’s reach, and it’s convenient as a location for all the ecstasy they’ve been gifting to me.
I’ve come to not only look forward to these escapades, I rely on them. Which is... not great. Deep down, I know I shouldn’t be using my search for romance as a crutch, but that’s what I might be doing. And I’m too frightened of what may happen if I discontinue any aspect of this scenario to alter it.
That’s not exactly a sign of a rational thought process now, is it?
I’m fretting over this, about what I should or shouldn’t do, when I notice the guys silently communicating, maybe even conspiring, a matching gleam in their eyes. There’s mischief there, as well as a sensuality that heats my blood and sends my fretfulness packing.
“So,” Jerome speaks in his sumptuous baritone. “How would you feel about another repeat?”
“Another repeat?” I feign innocence, all too willing to lose myself in this banter. This is their way of requesting permission and consent from me, and I like how we’ve twisted this into a flirty reenactment.
“You gave us bonuses,” Dom says, brushing the side of his finger along my bottom lip.
“Generous ones,” Jerome concurs, his palm reaching beneath the covers to cup my left breast, the one with the damaged nipple. It’s also the one they’ve caressed and licked despite the scars as well as the one I prefer for them to spend attention on more than the other.
Not sure what that says about me as a sexual creature.
“So, the least we can do is give you something back, lovely.” Zach has focused his molten gaze on mine as he calls me by that specific nickname, a nickname I haven’t told him that I revel in, but I do.
“To keep things even,” Jerome concludes their light and playful sentiment.
They’ve all been closing any distance between me and them during this banter, crawling over to me like predators approaching prey. Good thing I’m so eager to be caught and devoured. The releases they bestow on me allow this escape from my fears, let me flee from the confines of my brain and be mindless with lust-addled elation.
A mindlessness I’m again in critical need of.
So, as I kick my sheets and blankets off, I observe how three erections grow behind the soft fabric of their sleeping bottoms. I notice how their pupils are becoming blown, and the edges of their mouths curving upward.
And again, I embrace my men in turn, losing myself in each.