23. Shannon
CHAPTER 23
SHANNON
“What are you doing?” I whisper furiously.
But Max doesn’t even hear me. He’s still talking to Russ, his voice sharp and pointed. “I know you like looking at my wife.”
“He doesn’t,” I protest, more out of self-preservation than an earnest defence of the truth. Because I think he does like looking at me, in the same way I like looking at him, but that’s wrong. And my guilt for those exchanges is the only reason I’m sitting naked on my husband’s lap right now, trying one last time to reconnect with him—he cannot invite Russ into this moment.
But I can’t tell him that, so I have to lie.
And also remember that I’m topless and my bikini top is…somewhere. It’s pretty dark on this terrace but there is some moonlight. I can’t just stand up and go inside without flashing our host. And if anyone else is back from the party, them too.
Oh my God, this is a disaster. My heart is pounding.
“He does,” Max insists.
I cup my husband’s face in my hands, making him focus on me. His expression is wild, still adrenaline laced from our fights. His rejection of my podcast idea. His stupid, arrogant demand that I try to get a favour out of an ex. And me foolishly admitting I want a divorce. Fuck. “He has Emery.”
“He doesn’t look at Emery the way he looks at you.” Max’s words slice like a scalpel.
Russ doesn’t deny them, either. From behind me, he grunts. “You offering to share your wife?”
His words aren’t precise like my husband’s. He’s all brawn, all heavy fists. Bruising.
Once upon a time, I liked bruises a lot.
“He’s not.” Desperate now, twisting on Max’s lap, hating the way I’m getting turned on. “Please, Max, stop this.”
“Shhh. It’s okay if Russ sees how much I like your body. You’re my wife.”
It’s a possessive claim that rings so, so hollow.
“Is that how it is now? You want to prove that she’s yours?” Russ laughs, low and dangerous. “Go on then. Show me how you please your woman.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Again, that scalpel precision, revealing something previously unseen. “You want to watch her get off?” Max pushes his hand between us, tugging my bikini bottoms aside to touch me—and he tenses when he finds me wet.
Fuck .
My husband is stupid in many ways—like how to influence a billionaire, for example, or how to keep a wife happy—but he’s not stupid about this.
In the same way his sharp words have revealed something just under the surface between him and Russ and me, his rough touch finds evidence of something I’d rather keep hidden, too.
He shoves two fingers into me, making me gasp, then just as quickly he deprives me of more. His breath is ragged in my ear as he turns me around fully so my breasts are on display and my legs are spread, those bikini bottoms the only thing covering any part of my body now, and just barely. Then he lowers his voice, speaking to me now. “He didn’t fuck anyone all last season, you know that. He’s a monk.”
“Not anymore,” I breathe. And I mean Emery—Russ has a girlfriend, I keep reminding myself—but as his gaze finds and holds mine, I’m reminded of the other moments that didn’t feel monklike this weekend.
The kitchen.
The lake.
The couch.
“I’m as hot blooded as anyone else, given the right conditions,” Russ says. Slowly, he steps onto the terrace and comes closer.
Max cups my breasts, his thumbs rolling over my nipples in a way that makes me squirm despite myself. And he keeps talking to Russ like they’re having a regular conversation, just about…sex. Me. “You ever had a threesome?”
“A long time ago. Not usually my thing.” Russ’s gaze is scorching hot as he drags it across my face, taking his time before he makes eye contact with my husband. “You do this a lot?”
Do you whore out your wife? The unspoken question paints my bare skin, shame sliding into every nook and cranny.
“Never.” Max smirks. “Not with Shannon, anyway.”
My head whips around and I glare at him. As far as I know, the answer is no, never. When we started dating, he was Mr. Strait-Laced. He hated what he learned about my sexual past, so I stopped sharing. It didn’t matter. I chose him because he was different. I chose him for his stability and simplicity, because he thought I was pretty and wanted me all to himself.
I thought I would like that possessive vibe.
But Max didn’t want me . He only wanted to keep anyone else from having me. We don’t have a sex life that in any way would lead us to a threesome. He’s lying to Russ to show off.
And now he looks at me, his gaze glittering in the moon light. “Maybe it’s time to tick a few more things off that list of experiences you’ve had that I haven’t.”
That’s the worst reason in the world to do this. I shake my head. “Don’t do this.”
“Why not? You’ve done it before.”
“Not like this.” My voice cracks.
“But you like being watched, don’t you?” He pushes his hand down the front of my bikini this time, and Russ’s gaze follows.
Pinned down and helpless, I can’t deny my physical reaction to this situation I would never have chosen for myself. But on the other hand, I like a lot of things that aren’t good for me.
“Yes,” I gasp, arching against his touch.
Russ’s attention snaps to my face. I can’t read his expression, because his back is to the moon, but I force myself not to duck my head, not to hide.
I am who I am. All this time I thought I was someone different, thought I’d shed that skin, but my husband has apparently never forgotten that my value is the good time I can offer someone else.
Tomorrow, I’m going to leave Max, and my world is going to implode.
Tonight, I’m going to make him give me what he never wanted to before—passion. Honest fucking passion. Even if it’s confusing. Even if it hurts.
“Where is everyone else?” I ask Russ, my words strained because Max is playing with my clit, because his teammate is watching him as he does that, because… because…
“They’re at the party. I walked back.” He swipes his hand over his mouth. “We’re alone. You can… I’ll watch, if you want.”
His words make my skin hot and tight.
“Turn around, hun.” Max tugs at the strings on my bottoms.
I twist as it falls away.
I wonder how much Russ sees before my back is to him again, and heat licks up my spine.
Max arranges me, making me straddle him, and he has his dick out. A condom, too, which makes me wonder if his plan all along was to fuck me after making his grotesque request.
It’s so hard to reconcile the sneering asshole who secretly judges everyone around him and the loving, horny man who is throbbing against my sex right now, eager to get inside me. Eager for his teammate to watch.
I wish I always had this Max, and not the other one.
“You feel good,” I whisper, wanting to encourage him.
“Louder, Shan. Let Russ hear you.”
Heat slaps my cheeks. That wasn’t for his teammate, that was for him.
The asshole is always right there under the surface.
I widen my legs, sinking all the way onto him, and instead of repeating myself, I think of something Russ might like to hear instead. “We shouldn’t be doing this outside. We might get caught.”
Max growls and thrusts his hips up. “Russ will keep an eye out.”
“I’ll do my best,” our audience says.
He sounds so close.
“Hard to tear your eyes away, huh?” Max squeezes my ass. “Maybe I should just share her.”
My pussy clenches down in unanticipated alarm.
He takes that as an endorsement. “She likes the sound of that, man. I can feel it. Come here, touch her.”
“You sure?” Russ is right there, right behind me.
And then there’s a creak, his knee settling down on the lounger, and wild, reckless, foolish heat closes in behind me. He’s not touching me yet, but he’s close enough I can feel his big body. Every handspan that I ogled at the lake, every taut muscle that leaned over me in the kitchen. Right behind me, looming.
His breath washes over my bare shoulder, and then his hands ghost over my arms, my shoulders, barely touching me. I gasp when his fingertips are the first to make firm contact, pressing against my shoulder blades.
Tipping me forward, I realize. Leaning me into my husband, but also tilting my hips and popping my ass cheeks out.
Russ—Russell—is looking down my spine to my bare, spread ass.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so…”
His fingers trail down toward my , making me tremble. He stops midway down my back, pausing for a beat before he drags his touch back up again, reversing the fiery course, and then he lightly wraps his fingers around my neck, giving me a hand necklace and tipping my head back.
His voice is rough, raspy. “Are you sure you want this?”
I reach back, tangling my fingers in Russ’s surprisingly soft, curly hair. Connecting the three of us. One hand pulling Russ down towards me, the other bracing on Max’s shoulder as he slowly drives up and into me.
Somehow it's a complete surprise, but it's also completely right that it is Russ, who fills in the gap in this final goodbye of my marriage.
“We want this,” I say softly, holding Russ’s concerned but heated gaze.
Max doesn't argue. He's the one who invited him, after all.
Between my thighs, he keeps thrusting, moving in and out of me, but my awareness has shifted away from the steady pleasure there to the terrifyingly uncertain sensations skittering across my skin where Russ is touching me, making everything feel shimmery and surreal.
“You said you’ve done this before, man?” Max asks.
Russ grunts, his attention staying on my face as he answers. “Yeah. There were two guys on my first team who were always, uh… They shared girls. Sometimes we just took turns and watched. Sometimes they invited me in like this. It's all hot.”
I let out a weak, tremulous laugh.
It is all hot.
I had forgotten how good it feels to be sandwiched between bodies, to have my senses overwhelmed.
Russ brushes his lips over my bare shoulder to the nape of my neck. “Not so big on sharing now,” he murmurs, and it’s so low I don’t think Max hears it. “But I'll make an exception tonight.”
“You ever double penetrated a girl?” Russ and I both tense, and Max laughs. “Come on, hun. You can take us both.”
I moan despite myself at the mental image.
“You’re such a slut, I love it.”
Oh, how I wish that were true. He doesn’t love it, though. He’s going to regret this all in the morning.
Max shoves a condom at Russ, who drops it on the cushion beside me and resumes touching me. His hands cup my breasts the way Max did. His fingers are bigger, and my tits disappear into his fists.
I shudder at the new sensation, the ache of my nipples caught between his middle fingers and the way he bounces them. I’m new to him, too. Breasts he’s never held before, a bit of unexpected fun.
I like the sounds he makes behind me, revealing what he likes.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “You soft everywhere, Shan?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He ghosts one hand down my belly to my bare mound. He sucks in a surprised breath at the smooth flesh. I guess he really has been a monk recently if a Brazilian impresses him.
And then he groans as he slides his fingers between my lips and finds my clit.
He growls, his breathing going rough when I buck against his hand, caught between them now.
“Fuck, you feel good. And so fucking wet. You’re soaking my hand.”
“I’m telling you, man. She can take us both.”
Russ keeps touching me, mostly my clit, but down to where Max is spearing into me, too.
And then he tips me forward again, his hand gone, but then back again from behind, and it’s…not his cock, I realize. Just his fingers.
But he’s doing it.
He’s pushing into me from behind, adding to the sensation of fucking me.
Below me, Max is lost in his own fantasy. He thinks Russ has put on the condom and they’re both fucking me now. “That’s it. Take his cock, too.”
I couldn’t though. Because even just Russ’s fingers are too much. “Noooo…”
It’s been a long time since I’ve been stretched like this, used like this, and it’s a mind fuck how much I like it. But liking the idea of something and actually tolerating it are two different things.
Russ eases back and presses his face into my hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I’m shaking.
“Take her ass, then.”
I clench up.
“You got lube?” Russ’s wet fingers trace over my tight rim.
Wouldn’t it be something if my husband’s magical pockets that had served up two condoms also had lube?
But we’re out of luck.
Max groans. “You might not need it.”
I gasp. “No.”
Russ’s other hand rubs up my spine. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t. This is hot just like this. I could look at your arse bouncing all night.”
“You want in her cunt alone? I’m almost done.”
I close my eyes, hating how my pussy clenches down around my husband’s cock at the casual way he’ll offer me up.
“Nah, that’s yours tonight.” Russ catches my other arm, the one that’s still touching Max, and he slides that hand off my husband’s shoulder and brings it around behind my back. Moving as much of my touch as possible to his body instead. “I’ll use her hand.”
I shudder as he wraps my fingers around his cock like it’s the most casual thing in the world, just forcing me to give him a handjob.
He’s long and thick, overflowing my fingers, and when he thrusts through my grip, precum wets my hand.
I can’t see him, I can only feel him, but my brain goes fuzzy, then refocuses, like an old-fashioned TV changing channels. I can visualize the length of him spearing into my body, demanding space.
Leaving streaks of precum everywhere he thrusts.
No condom. Nothing between us. Messy and raw.
“That’s it,” he breathes against my ear. “Squeeze me tighter.”
Once I have the hang of what he’s demanding, he wraps his arms around me, holding me up. His fingers find my clit again, and his lips brush my ear. “I want to feel you come.”
I shake my head. That’s not going to happen. It rarely does, but it’s okay, because I just like sex. Being fucked is usually enough for me, and if I want a release, I can take care of that myself later.
Beneath me, Max is grunting, thrusting faster. His hands grab my hips and slam me down, pulling me tight against his balls. I feel the start of his release into the condom, and then he’s shoving me off and his hand is on his cock, peeling off the protection and stroking himself up onto his belly.
Russ catches me, his arms looping around my middle, and he presses his face in my neck as he moves me to the other side of the sun bed. I lose my grip on his cock, and I scrabble for it, trying to get him again, needing to finish him, make him feel good.
“It’s your turn, my queen,” he whispers against my spine, and in the shocked stillness that follows, he drags his mouth down the length of my back before he turns me over and lifts my legs over his shoulders.
I should stop him.
He shouldn’t?—
But then he’s kneeling between my legs and his mouth is on my pussy, his tongue thick and sure, and I’m not going to stop him. I can’t. I feel raw, nothing but nerve ends and swollen, aching flesh, and how does he know exactly where to lick to make it all feel better and hotter and so very, very right ?
I murmur his name, sounding panicked, sounding desperate.
He reaches up my left side, the side of my body away from Max, and he grabs my hand, interlocking our fingers.
I squeeze down on his grip as he pushes my thighs further apart, as he licks deeper into me, filling me with his tongue and his breath and all the secret desire Max so casually revealed with his sharp words and dangerous offer.
His big arm shifts against the back of my thigh where he’s holding me wide open, until his elbow is braced there instead and then his fingers join the overwhelming sensations at my pussy.
Oh, my Lord .
He plays with my clit like…
Like…
I whimper, crying out.
“That good? Like that?” His breath puffs against the wetness that tells him it’s good, yes, very good.
I squeeze his other hand.
He squeezes back.
This is so wrong.
Maybe that’s why it’s hot.
Maybe I’m a terrible person, but I’m a terrible person who’s about to come, and that makes it hard to remember to be Good.
He brings our tangled fingers to my belly, stroking me there for a minute before leaving my hand there.
When his body starts rocking, I realize with a jolt that he let go of me to stroke himself, resuming where I left off when he moved me onto my back.
He’s groaning into my pussy now, lapping up my flowing arousal, and jerking off.
I can’t hold off.
My knees pull up, my mouth falling open as I stare up at the stars and feel my orgasm race through me, like a wave rushing up the sand. Pure pleasure the likes I’ve never had before. And maybe that’s true, because I have never come like this before, from someone else’s mouth and hands and breath and tongue. Never, ever because of someone groaning into my cunt as they jerked themselves off.
It’s not the kind of secret I should have with Russell Armstrong.
It’s too dangerous to know how perfect this man is on his knees, between my thighs. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve this.
But as he chuckles with dark satisfaction, swallowing the last pulses of my release, I can’t regret knowing how good I can feel under the night sky.
He pushes up, climbing on top of me, and I don’t know if his plan is to jerk off on my belly or kiss me—oh, how I want his kiss—but I don’t get to find out, because at the same moment, we hear tires on the gravel.