The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes Read Free Page B

leaned forwards, eyebrows raised in interest.
    “Do you like women, Brent?”
    The waiter’s smile faltered a little. Suspicion replaced the delight that had lit his eyes just moments earlier. “Yes, sir.”
    “I’ll get right to the point, then. How much do you make working here? Eight bucks an hour?”
    “Nine fifty, sir.”
    “Nine fifty … That’s not bad, Brent, not bad.”
    Richard paused and looked over at me. My stomach tightened. Without tearing his gaze from mine, he said, in that same bland voice I was beginning to hate, “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to sleep with my wife.”
    Looking back, I can’t help but think it should have taken more convincing. More theatrics, maybe. I’d expected Brent to be shocked, and he was, but the surprise wore off quickly, the lure of cash dislodging any misgivings he might have had.
    We didn’t even have to wait until Brent’s shift ended. He faked some sort of fast-acting illness and followed us out to the car, while the restaurant manager scowled and shouted orders to the other waiters to pick up the slack.
    The drive home is a blur, fragmented by flashes of memory: Richard’s big hands cradling the smooth leather of the steering wheel; the minty scent of Brent’s breath from the back seat; New York’s city lights bouncing off the tinted windows of our BMW as we zoomed through Manhattan towards our loft. And my silk covered legs, crossing of their own accord, pressing down on the throbbing pressure building at the apex of my thighs.
    The security guard in the lobby, a big black man whose uniform jacket was at least two sizes too small for his substantial muscles, nodded at Richard as the three of us whirled through the revolving doors. His gaze flicked over Brent, but he was too well trained to let his curiosity show.
    While we stood in front of the bank of elevators waiting for the one that would take us to the penthouse, I leaned into Richard and whispered, “All right, you’ve made your point. Send the boy home.”
    The only answer he gave me was a narrow, cryptic tilt of the lips and, as the elevator doors split open with a ding, a chill crept through my veins. He’d given me no reason to think he was bluffing, but I knew him. Richard coloured within the lines. He followed a set of rules that would make the morality police proud. Even when he cheated on me, I’m sure he did it missionary style and used a condom. Good Catholic boys everywhere would have been proud.
    But this … this was different. For both of us.
    Brent stepped into the elevator after Richard. When I hesitated, Richard grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me inside just before the doors closed in my face. His rough handling knocked me off balance, and I stumbled on my high heels, pitching forwards. I fell against Brent, who steadied me with a gentle hand.
    “Whoa, careful, ma’am.”
    I cringed and backed away until there was nowhere else to go. “Call me Dana, please.”
    My spine pressed against the mirrored surface of one wall. Twin images of Richard and Brent stared back from the two mirrors in front and to the right of me.
    “Be a good girl, Dana, and hike up your skirt,” Richard said. “Show us that pretty pussy you hide so well.”
    My mouth went dry. If I wanted out of this game, now was the time to do it. I could refuse. If Richard insisted, I could hurl myself at the row of elevator buttons and slam my hand against the big red alarm. The burly security guard would come running to my rescue.
    Truth be told, I considered it … for about two seconds. But the growing thrill of this indecent act filled me with a sense of anticipation. I caught the sides of my floor-length silk skirt and fisted my palms into the fabric before tugging it up … and up … and up.
    The men’s gazes followed the line of flesh I revealed. A jolt of awareness flashed through me. I was in charge here. This night, this game, would go nowhere if I chose to end it. I set the pace. I had full