Chapter Three
When he’d finished his unpacking, he left the bedroom to walk down the short hallway to the laundry room.
What had been the kitchen of the small house sat in the very center at the back of the first floor.
It made a poor kitchen by modern standards, closed off as it was from the rest of the house, but there was enough space to make half of it a butler’s pantry, and the other half a small laundry room with a stacked washer and dryer, a short counter for folding with storage underneath, and a small utility sink.
He started to pull his clothes from the dryer, but he could still hear a motor buzzing outside. Unable to resist, he crossed the few feet to the back door and, nudging the curtain aside, peered through the glass insert into the backyard.
Bailey was mowing the lawn in a pair of athletic shorts and a matching bra, both in hot pink, her hair swept up in a high tail that bounced with every step.
Her eyes were shielded by oversized sunglasses, sweat dampened the hair at her temples and nape and ran in little rivulets down her throat and into the valley of her breasts, which bounced along with the ponytail as she worked her way across the lawn.
“Don’t look at her tits,” he muttered and, pulling the other earbud out of his pocket, stuck it in his ear to tune out the mower and turned to deal with his laundry.
He pulled out the dry clothes, shifted the ones waiting in the washer up to the dryer and set it tumbling, then started folding.
He was singing along with Rhianna and folding a pair of jeans that was threatening to fall apart at the seams when Bailey tapped him on the shoulder and sent him leaping into the air.
“Jesus!” He dragged the earbuds out, heart pounding, and turned to stare at her. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” she said, toeing off her shoes. “I said your name twice.”
“Didn’t hear you.” He held up the ear buds.
“Sorry,” she said again, and swiped at her sweaty brow with her forearm.
“No problem,” he said, fighting for casual. The athletic bra she was wearing was either too small or not built for full coverage, and Bailey wasn’t exactly built delicately in the boob department. It was distracting. “Something you need?”
“Water.”
He frowned. “I don’t have any water.”
“No, but the kitchen does, and you’re in the way,” she informed him, pointing over his shoulder to the open doorway into the butler’s pantry.
“Right. Sorry.” He stepped to the side and, despite the fierce lecture he gave himself, watched her walk through the doorway.
The rear view was just as compelling as the front.
“Do you want one?” she called back to him.
“One what?” he answered, still thinking about her ass. He had fond memories of that ass. Very fond memories.
Her face appeared in the doorway, the sunglasses shoved up on her head and a smirk on her face. “Water.”
“Oh. Sure.”
She disappeared, and he used the opportunity to give himself another silent lecture about getting distracted by her body, because now was not the time, dammit, but then she was back in all her sweaty, scantily clad glory, and he just sighed.
She handed him the water. “You okay?”
“No,” he said and guzzled like a camel.
“Is it the ass or the boobs?”
He choked, spewing water. When he managed to stop coughing, he looked at her through streaming eyes. The smirk had deepened, and wicked amusement danced in her eyes. “Both,” he wheezed.
“Good to know,” she said with a nod and walked back through the door.
He debated for about ten seconds, then followed her through the butler’s pantry into the kitchen, where she was pulling a hunk of cheese out of the refrigerator.
“Is that why you picked that outfit?” he asked, striving for casual and half succeeding. “To twist me up?”
“No.” She bent to reach into a lower cupboard for a cutting board, putting her butt on display for a tantalizing few moments, then dug a knife out of a drawer. “I picked it because I had to mow the lawn, and I didn’t want to die of heatstroke.”
She sat at the table. “But twisting you up doesn’t break my heart.”
“I bet,” he muttered.
She hummed a throaty laugh and picked up the wedge of cheese. “Want some?”
He didn’t, but since what he wanted wasn’t on the menu, he took the chair opposite her. “Sure.”
She began to unwrap the plastic. “Can I ask you a question?”
He tried to read her. There was amusement, a kind of smug female satisfaction that added to the twist in his gut, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. “Sure.”
“A serious question,” she elaborated.
“You can ask me anything you want,” he told her, trying to tell her with his eyes that he meant it.
She watched him a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay. Do you remember the fantasies?”
It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about. When he did, his heart began to pound. “Yes.”
“Yours was two women.”
“I remember,” he said, and he did, in vivid Technicolor. It had been one of the hottest, most amazing nights of his life. Followed closely by the worst. Don’t think about that. “That was a good night.”
A glimmer of a smile touched her mouth as she sliced into the cheese. “It was.”
Encouraged by the smile, he decided to tease her, just a little. “Sometimes I wasn’t sure who was having more fun, me or you.”
She gave a low, throaty hum. “Well, Sage was pretty hot.”
“She was,” he agreed, remembering the tall, athletic blonde who’d joined them in bed for that memorable evening. “And limber.”
“She was a gymnast,” Bailey reminded him, passing him a slice of cheese. “That was one of the reasons I picked her.”
He took the cheese, his gaze on hers. “What were the other reasons? You never told me.”
“Didn’t I?” She popped a bit of cheese into her mouth, looking thoughtful as she chewed. “Well, she was fun, and sexy. And she’d hit on me a couple of times.”
The cheese was sharp on his tongue. “I didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t tell you,” she admitted. “I didn’t want you to think she was there just for me.”
“But she was.” He could see that clearly now. “Wasn’t she?”
Bailey shrugged. “She liked you, too.”
“But if I hadn’t been there, she’d have come just for you.”
“Probably.” Her mouth, curved in laughter only a moment before, was sober now. “Would that have bothered you?”
“Then?” Though there was a twinge of discomfort, he forced himself to be honest. “Yeah, it might have.”
Surprise lit her expression, whether at his honesty or the answer, he wasn’t sure. “And now?”
“Would it bother me now?” he clarified, and shook his head at her nod. “No.”
She was quiet for a moment, carving off another slice of cheese for him, then one for her before speaking again. “Do you remember my fantasy?”
The air felt heavy, and so thick he could barely draw it into his lungs. “Yes. You wanted a gang bang.”
“Not just a gang bang,” she corrected.
“No, not just,” he agreed. “You wanted to be…” He searched for the words, the ones she’d given him when she’d told him her secret wish.
“To be taken, and used. Your comfort or pleasure wouldn’t factor in, your wants or needs beyond staying safe not important.
You’d be fucked the way they wanted to fuck you, taken the way they wanted to take you, and you wouldn’t be able to control it.
“That’s what you wanted.”
Her breath slid out in a rush, eyes wide with what looked like wonder and to his surprise, gratitude. “You remember all that?”
He had to smile. He wanted to tell her he remembered everything, but he doubted she’d believe him. So he just said, “Yeah, I remember. Mostly because I didn’t get to give it to you.”
“Yeah.” There was disappointment in her voice now, as sharp as the cheese. “That pissed me off.”
He winced. “I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve always regretted that.”
“It makes me feel a little better. But you still owe me.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“You owe me,” she repeated. “Tit for tat was the deal, right? You get yours, then I get mine, fair and square.”
He shook his head, hoping to clear out some of the confusion. “It was, but…we broke up.”
“You broke up with me,” she reminded him, and though he instinctively flinched at the reminder, it wasn’t an accusation. She was just stating a fact. “And you didn’t keep up your end of the deal.”
“Because we broke up,” he reminded her, still not getting it.
“I don’t care,” she said with a shrug. “You owe me, and I’m collecting.”
Maybe the sight of her all sweaty in athletic gear had sucked too much blood away from his brain, because he was having trouble following. “You’re collecting what?”
“My fantasy.”
“Your fantasy,” he repeated blankly, then the penny dropped, and his jaw followed. “The gang bang?”
“Yep.” She smiled with blithe satisfaction at his goggling shock. “And you’re going to give it to me.”
Bailey didn’t think there were actual words to describe how she felt at that moment, watching Nash’s eyes bug out and his jaw all but scrape the table.
He was making strangled noises like he’d forgotten how to breathe, his face had gone a ruddy, splotchy red—almost like it did when he orgasmed, now that she thought about it—and she didn’t think she’d ever been this happy in her life.
The time she’d gotten a puppy for Christmas when she was seven might have beaten it for pure joy, but this was definitely a close second.
Since his water bottle was sitting right there, and he looked like he needed it, she picked it up and handed it to him. “Here. Slow sips.”
He snatched it out of her hand and chugged until it was empty, then lowered it to stare at her.
“Better?” she asked politely.
“No,” he rasped and, scraping back his chair, got up and walked to the refrigerator.
He pulled out another bottle of water, opened it, and poured it straight over his head.
Correction, Bailey thought giddily. This is as happy as I’ve ever been.
“Are you fucking with me?” he demanded, still standing in front of the open fridge.
“No,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Close the fridge, would you? My electric bill is high enough.”