18
"I kind of need to talk to you two about something." Brandon wasn't entirely sure how they'd react to Monica's blackmail, but he didn't want to keep secrets from Isabella and Amanda.
They were by the tennis courts. Brandon stood beside Amanda, who sat in the front row of a small three-tiered bleacher.
Together, they watched Isabella practice with an older instructor—somewhere in her forties or fifties—who barked sharp, no-nonsense drills at her.
It was strange seeing Isabella taking orders for once instead of dishing them out.
"Speak." Amanda kept her eyes fixed on her friend.
"Someone saw us the other night." The blonde peered at him over the rims of her sunglasses, as if weighing whether he was bluffing. "The girl who works at the spa."
Brandon waited a beat, trying to read Amanda's expression, but that was a fool's errand. Her face remained carved in stone, pure ice.
"And how do you plan on handling that, darling?"
"I kind of thought you'd be a little more... I don't know."
"Distressed? Anxious? Scared?"
"I don't know, honestly. I guess I was just expecting a stronger reaction."
"A jealous fit, maybe?" Amanda let out a soft scoff. "Sorry to disappoint, sweetie, but I'm not some high school girl obsessed with her first boyfriend. If I were the jealous type, do you really think I’d let you play with Isabella like this?"
"Fair point. I hadn't thought about it like that."
She had him there. Brandon chewed on her words for a second, turning his attention back to the court.
Isabella was actually good at tennis. She held a fast rally, keeping pace with her coach before the older woman managed to score on her.
Watching her sprint back and forth, the sun gleaming off her long, bare legs, the breathy grunts slipping past her lips every time she drove the ball across the net...
it was definitely firing up Brandon's imagination.
"So? Why did this girl confront you? Was it just to rattle you, or did she threaten to rat you out to Laura? I told you Laura and I went to school together, right? I'd love to see the look on her face when Laura comes running to tell me, laughing the whole time."
"Well, there was definitely a threat involved."
He was going to have to spit it out anyway.
Knowing jealousy wasn't on the table made things significantly easier. Brandon had been dragging his feet out of habit; his past relationships had always been minefields of petty jealousy and drama. He understood the emotion—it was natural enough, to a point—but he’d already dealt with enough of that crap to last a lifetime.
"Oh, really? Come on, are you drawing out the suspense because you're terrified, or are you just trying to pique my curiosity?"
Isabella scored a point against her coach, jumping in place with a grin and waving over at them on the bleachers.
"Both, I guess," Brandon said. He avoided Amanda's gaze for a second, steeling himself before finally getting it out. "She wants me to fuck her in exchange for keeping quiet. Actually, she's still waiting on an answer. Gave me until Friday to decide."
Another beat of silence hung between them. Brandon tried to gauge whether it felt heavy or tense, but he figured the mere fact that he had to overthink it meant it wasn't. If she were genuinely pissed, he’d already feel the chill in his bones.
Then, Amanda laughed.
The whole thing seemed to genuinely amuse her. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her bare knees as her laughter took on a wicked, teasing edge.
"Look at you! Just when I think you've already surprised me with Isabella, you bring another girl into the mix, and it hasn't even been a week!"
Brandon didn't answer as heat crept into his cheeks. What was he supposed to say to that? Lie and pretend he wouldn’t like to sleep with Monica? No, lying wasn't the play. If he was going to play this game for real, he was going to play it right.
He let out a breath and turned to face her. Maybe he should try another angle—leaning into the new dynamic he was finding himself craving more and more each day.
"What are your orders, Mistress?"
Amanda smirked. Perhaps she hadn't anticipated such blunt submission.
"Not even going to say you don't want to do it? That you're loyal to your Mistress, that you'll be a good boy and won't play with other girls? I think I might've liked hearing that, you know."
Brandon simply held her gaze. He had surrendered to her, but if Amanda wanted him groveling, she’d have to work a little harder to drag it out of him. A part of him wanted to see just how far she’d take it, but the urge not to fold too easily won out.
"No... that wouldn't quite fit that sharp tongue of yours, would it? Come on. I want to hear you say it. Do you have the guts to admit you want to fuck her? You think she's hotter than me?"
A phantom alarm of anxiety flared in his chest at the question.
It's a trap! the sirens blared in his head. Brandon's heart hammered against his ribs, but he forced himself to draw a slow breath and hold his composure.
No, Amanda was completely secure in her own skin. This was just part of the game, not bait for an insecure argument.
"Well, Mistress... I haven't seen her with her clothes off yet. How could I know?"
"Oh, really? That's the route you're taking?"
"Maybe having my orgasms held hostage has left me a little..."
"Is that your excuse? 'I just can't control myself anymore'? Pfft... Maybe you're not as dedicated as I thought."
Brandon paused for a second, about to fire back. Amanda wore a challenging smirk. She had slid off her sunglasses, and those piercing blue eyes cut right through him.
"Damn it," he admitted. "I should've gone with something else."
They both chuckled. He had lost that round. Still, ratcheting up the tension between them was never a real defeat. In the end, it was all just fuel for whatever she felt like doing to him later.
"I'll remember that, darling." Amanda waved to Isabella, who had just scored another point. "As soon as Isa wraps up out there, you're going into that locker room and putting that smart mouth of yours to proper use. Understood?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good. And as for this girl—"
"Monica."
"As for Monica, I want you to accept. But you're still forbidden from coming.
You won't put your dick inside her. You'll only use your hands.
" Amanda took Brandon's fingers in hers, stroking them back and forth in a slow, provocative rhythm.
"Play her little game, but make sure she knows exactly who owns you.
Show her how good you are at serving. Whisper in her ear when you make her come: ‘thank Amanda for that orgasm; you wouldn't have had it if she hadn't allowed it.’ And then, you come right back like an obedient puppy, wagging your tail for your Mistresses. Got it?"
Heat flared across Brandon's neck and face at being called a puppy. He still wasn't used to hearing it out loud. Did it feel good? Even as the thrill hit him, he was still trying to reconcile the conflicting desires in his head.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Make that little slut come for me."
Once Isabella wrapped up her session and said goodbye to her coach, Brandon led them toward the locker rooms near the courts, tucked away from the club's main thoroughfare.
Isabella stripped off her sweaty workout gear, her face flushed red from the exertion. She was just reaching to turn on the shower when Amanda stopped her.
"One second, Isa." A wicked smirk betrayed the devious little scheme turning in Amanda's head.
"Yeah?"
Amanda grabbed Isabella by the shoulders and pushed her back against the wall. The brunette threw her a curious look, thoroughly confused. Brandon stayed back, watching closely and wondering where this was going.
"You know, while you were practicing, our boy was being awfully disrespectful; talking back and teasing me," Amanda said, nudging Isabella's legs apart like an officer prepping someone for a pat-down.
"Did you now, darling?" Isabella gave Brandon an amused, almost maternal look.
Brandon didn't even get a chance to answer.
"Shh!" Amanda pointed a finger straight at him, shutting him down.
"On top of that, this little bastard wants to fuck another girl. Can you believe that?"
"Brandon!" Isabella's eyes shot daggers at him.