I was born on October 15, 1981 to Rosa and Antonio Giordano and, for eight years, we had a nice, normal life living in the suburbs. Then my mother decided to fuck the principal of my elementary school and skip town, never to be seen again. My father used to get a cheap thrill out of telling me all about how she got remarried and had a new daughter. A better daughter. An obedient daughter. One who didn’t make her mother want to run away.
Good for her.
She was smart to run away. According to my father, I was nothing but a burden, deserving of every bad thing that happened to me and the root cause of all the bad shit that happened to him. The burns are a way for me to never forget that fact. I’m nothing if not consistent.
I slide the slim, royal blue dress up my body and run a hand through my thick, wavy red hair. The dress is a little on the tight side through the chest and hip area, but that’s exactly how I like it. My cleavage pushes up perfectly in the dress and I add a light dusting of shimmer powder to bring even more attention to that general area. After a spritz of my favorite spicy perfume, some nude lip-gloss and my four-inch blue stilettos with rhinestone straps around the ankles, I’m ready to go.
My scars are perfectly hidden for a night out in public and my dark thoughts are pushed far enough back in my mind that I do believe I’ll have a rather pleasant evening. No one sees the real me because that’s how I like it. What’s the point of masks if you can’t use them to your advantage?
I know immediately when she enters the room, even from twenty feet away, halfway through my second bottle of beer and with some chick whose name I forgot as soon as she said it prattling in my ear.
Christina? Melissa?
“It was nice talking to you, Melissa,” I tell her with a smile as I turn and walk away from her.
“It’s Clarissa!” she shouts angrily to my retreating back.
Oops.
I bump into people standing around staring at artwork and don’t even apologize. My eyes are glued on the woman who stands by the door, bringing a glass of champagne up to her lips. I pause when she pulls the glass away and runs her tongue over her bottom lip. Memories from the night I spent in her bed overwhelm me, and my dick instantly hardens in my charcoal dress pants.
Lying on my stomach between her legs, I slid the black lace that covered her to the side and ran the tips of my fingers through her, spreading the wetness around. It was hard to take my eyes off of the gorgeous fucking sight spread out before me, but I wanted to see her. I wanted to see the effect of what I was doing to her written all over her face. I glanced up and our eyes met. Her cheeks were flushed with desire and her tongue darted out, wetting her full bottom lip.
Then I think about the guy who had his back resting against the headboard, holding her between his own legs and my dick instantly softens. As hot as that entire night was, I’m pissed off that I had to share her with anyone. I’d wanted that damn woman for as long as I could remember, and the only way I could have her is if someone else was there with us.
Her rules: Both men in the room at all times. If the lights stay on, so do her clothes and if the lights are off, her panties stay on but everything else could go. No passing her back and forth like a game of hot potato, and no penetration aside from a few fingers and one tongue. I needed a damn flow chart just to keep everything straight.
So many fucking rules to be with that woman it blew my goddamn mind, but I jumped at the chance to finally have her. Even after I had a taste of her, I was dying for a second.
And a third.
And a motherfucking fourth.
My hand clutches onto the bottle of beer in my hand so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter as I close the distance between us. She drains the rest of her champagne and holds the empty glass in front of her, lifting her chin along with one of her eyebrows when she sees me approaching, clearly gearing up for a fight.
That’s fine with me; I’m in the mood for a little fight. I’m pissed that I can’t get her out of my system and I’m pissed that she probably knows it.
“DJ, it’s nice to see you again,” Phina tells me with a smile.
The smile is fake and it makes me angrier. I have a vague recollection of her giving me a few genuine smiles back in the day when we were in high school, young and most definitely dumb, and this is not one of those. There are no crinkles around the corners of her eyes and fuck if those green orbs don’t get darker as they stare me down instead of getting brighter. The smile is closer to a smirk, like she’s mocking me.
“Nice to see you again, too, Fireball,” I tell her with a tip of my bottle in her direction. “The dress is a nice touch, but you look much better half-naked, screaming my name.”
That stupid smirk falls as I bring the bottle to my lips and tip it back, letting the cold microbrew chill me the fuck out. This woman has gotten under my skin and I feel like it’s only right to repay her in kind. She hates it that I’ve given her a nickname, and told me repeatedly over the last few weeks to stop saying it. She should have realized that only makes me want to do it more, just to piss her off. I still remember that day in high school when she moved to town and told the entire fucking class off after they laughed at her name.
She was full of fire and piss and vinegar even back then. Now all of that fire is intermingled with something dark and twisted. It should make me want to run in the opposite direction, but I’m a fireman. We like to race right into the flames, not giving a shit if we got burned. Something tells me if I spend any more time with Phina, she’s going to leave me with more than a few scars.
She takes a step closer to me and I inhale the spicy perfume she wears as she lowers her voice to speak to me. “It’s so cute how you seem to be forgetting the fact that I brought you to your knees. Literally.”
Her hot mouth wrapped around the tip of my cock and she leaned forward, taking all of me at once. My legs gave out and I sunk to the floor of her bedroom, her body following mine and her lips and tongue never stopping as I dropped to my knees.
I shrug, taking a step back from her. “I’ll give you that one. Best almost-blow job I’ve ever had.”
Phina stops a waiter passing by, setting her empty glass on top of his tray and grabbing another full one.
“It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle my mouth and had to push me away,” she replies cockily.
Dammit! I hate that she’s right. A few minutes of having her mouth wrapped around my dick and that damn fantasy of hers was almost over before it started.
“So, how come I don’t remember you being such a kinky little shit in high school?” I ask once the waiter has walked away. This earns me another glare and I ignore it as I polish off the last of my beer.
“It seems there’s quite a lot you don’t remember about me from high school,” she replies vaguely. “How about we just pretend like the other night never happened? It was fun while it lasted, we got it out of our systems and now we can just move on.”
Funny, but her words don’t mirror the look on her face. Her lips are pursed and I can see the whites of her knuckles as she clutches tightly to her glass of champagne. She’s definitely pissed about something and I’m going to guess it’s the fact that she’s feeling the same as me. She hasn’t had her fill, and it’s annoying the fuck out of her.
“You expect me to just move on now that I know you’re into threesomes and there’s a lot of kinkiness buried underneath that hard exterior you wear so well? Maybe if you’d have been a little sluttier in high school, I would have fucked you back then and you wouldn’t have needed to wait so long to get a piece of me.”
The smack across my face is quick and pretty fucking painful. Phina’s got some power in those small hands of hers. I flex my jaw and calmly set my empty bottle down on a side table next to me even though my blood is boiling.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she seethes before stepping around me and walking away.
“Right back at you, fiery one!” I shout to her, ignoring the questioning look from all
the art enthusiasts scattered about the room.
Shit. I AM a fucking asshole. This night is for Finnley and I just made a scene.
Glancing around the room, I see my best friend, Collin, standing next to one of Finnley’s pieces hanging on the wall and I head over in his direction.
“Everything okay over there?” he asks when I walk up next to him and he hands me a fresh beer.
I clap him on the back, grab the beer from his hand and nod. “Don’t worry about me and my bullshit. How’s Finnley?”
Collin glances over to where she stands, currently surrounded by a group of art critics as she explains one of her pieces on the wall next to them. His face lights up as he stares at her, and all I can do is shake my head at him. What a fucking schmuck. I love the guy, but I still can’t believe he got back together with his high school girlfriend and is so damn blissfully happy. His hands nervously fiddle with something in the pocket of his pants and I know it’s the engagement ring box that’s been burning a hole in there the whole fucking night.
“Finnley is amazing. Jesus, I’m so proud of her. Can you believe she’s about ready to sell almost every damn print in this place? Blows my fucking mind,” he tells me.
Now, that I can believe. I may not be on board with the whole happily-ever-after, tied down to one woman for the rest of your life bullshit, but it’s apparent how talented Finnley is. Collin and I are in agreement on that part, at least.
“She’s doing good, man. You’re looking good, too. When do you come back to work?”
Collin gets a huge smile on his face. “Next week, thank fucking God. I can’t stand sitting around with nothing to do. I need to be back at the station getting shit done.”
Collin and I both work for the Franklin Fire Department, and I’ve been filling in for him as captain since the fire that almost cost both his and Finnley’s lives a few months ago. Bureaucratic bullshit and babysitting grown ass men have worn me down and I’ve had enough. I’m anxious for him to come back to work and take his job back.
“You still set on taking some time off after I come back?” he asks.
“Yeah, going to take on some extra hours with the paramedic squad. Need a change of scenery,” I tell him with a laugh.
It’s bullshit and I’m pretty sure Collin knows that, but he doesn’t say anything. Ever since that damn fire where I had to race up a ladder and yank Collin out of a window with flames shooting out of it, I’ve had a hard fucking time going on calls. Every time I get on a ladder, all I can think about is the fact that I had to toss my friend out of a second story window and let him drop. I can still see his body bounce off of the bushes and smack against the ground, his leg pinned beneath him at a weird angle. I didn’t know if he was alive, I didn’t know if he’d ever walk again and instead of racing down there to make sure he was okay, I had to ride the fucking ladder down with the house when it collapsed and try not to get myself killed.
I can’t get those images out of my head. He’s fine outside of a few broken bones and he’ll be back to work soon, but I relive the memory of him flying through the air and plummeting to the earth hundreds of times everyday. Before I drive myself crazy or fuck something up at work, I decided I would take some time away from the station and go full-time at my side paramedic job as soon as Collin returned to duty. As a fill-in captain for the station, those men need me to be a leader. They need to have faith in my ability to step in and take charge without being paralyzed by nightmares when I’m supposed to be shouting orders and saving lives. I am not a weak fucking man, but I know when I’ve reached my limit and need to call it quits for a while.
“So, you’re really going to propose to Finnley, huh?”
Collin smiles, his sights still zeroed in on his woman.
“As soon as she’s finished talking to those critics.”
He turns to face me. “I know you don’t agree with this, but I’m happy. She makes me happy. I can’t spend another minute without her and I want her to be my wife.”
I clink my bottle with his glass of whiskey and return his smile. “You’re a better man than me, McDaniels.”
He shakes his head at me and laughs before taking a drink. “One of these days, man, you’re going to find a woman who brings you to your knees.”
I choke on my sip of beer and Collin has to pound me on the back before I can breathe again.
Looking across the room, I see Phina talking to Dax Trevino. Aside from Collin, he’s the best man I know. I used to like the guy. He works as a detective for the Franklin Police Department and I’ve known him most of my life. We share the same manwhore status, one woman never being able to keep hold our interest for more than a few hours, and we’ve both been known to like our sex a little darker than vanilla. A few nights ago, we even shared the same woman. Sort of. He mostly sat there and watched while I did all the work, but both of us got equal joy out of watching Phina come apart in front of us.
Phina’s head tips back and she laughs, the smile she never gives me lighting up her face over something Dax just said to her. I suddenly have the urge to kick Dax’s fucking ass.
I’ll be damned if I let that woman bring me to my knees ever again.
I arched my back, the feel of his lips and tongue between my thighs almost too much for me to take. I wanted more; I couldn’t take anymore. Unfortunately, the brick wall of Dax’s chest against my back made it impossible for me to go anywhere. His arms tightened around me, holding me in place so D.J. could continue the sweet torture of his mouth.
I wanted this.
I asked for this.
I had no idea it would be like this.
My body was on fire and my skin flushed and glistened with sweat from so many orgasms. Three? Four? I have no idea how many times he brought me to release in the hour that the three of us had been on this bed, I only knew that I was dangerously close to another one and my body was shaking with a mixture of need and fear. I hated that he knew exactly how to touch me to give me what I craved. No one has ever known my body so well and for a moment, I thought about pushing him away and kicking him out of my bedroom. After one too many drinks when my defenses were down, he coerced me into telling him one of my fantasies. What woman hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be touched and pleasured by two men? I thought for sure my revelation would throw his ego into overdrive and he’d smirk at me, explaining that he was man enough to take on the job of five men. Much to my surprise, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a boyish smile and I found myself focusing on the dimple in his cheek, barely paying attention to his words when he told me he had a friend he trusted who would be more than happy to make my fantasy a reality. I watched his tongue trace over his bottom lip and imagined it gliding over my skin while I thoughtlessly nodded my head in agreement to whatever he was saying.
The plans were set in motion right there at the bar while I was still under the spell of vodka and his fucking sweet smile. Even after I sobered up the next morning and read the text he’d sent me in the middle of the night confirming that he would make my fantasy come true, I couldn’t change my mind. I couldn’t show him any weakness or he’d take it and run with it. Months went by and the chaos of what happened to Collin and Finnley consumed all of our lives, but DJ had never forgotten. He set up the time and the place and I had to follow through with this for the sheer purpose of shattering any ‘good girl’ illusions he might have about me. Phina the good girl died right around the same time my father first pressed a cigarette into my skin. As it continued through the years, and after a particularly brutal evening with my father and his cigarettes, I foolishly ran to DJ one night for comfort and he took everything I had to give without another look back.
He pumped two of his fingers inside me over and over, and it obliterated all of those painful memories from so many years go. I couldn’t help but clutch tightly to Dax’s arm banded around my chest, trying to anchor myself in place as I felt the past forced further back into the recesses of my mind with each push of his ha
nd. I felt like I was in a dream where I was falling, the butterflies and anxiety building in my stomach as I held my breath and waited for the crash.
The slapping sounds his hand and fingers made, combined with how wet I was should embarrass me, but I didn’t even care. I wanted to know what it was like to be pleasured by one man while another watched and this was the result. I’ve turned into a mindless puddle of need on this bed and the only thing I cared about was the next release that had me teetering on the edge. The moans, screams and curses he’d pulled from my body sounded inhuman when they passed my lips and disappeared into the candlelit room. Every time I made a sound of pleasure, Dax hummed his approval in my ear and DJ did the same between my legs, the vibrations of his voice while his lips were around my clit like the shock from a live wire.
I felt like a whore with my back pressed against Dax’s naked, muscled chest as I stared down between my legs at the top of DJ’s head. Two men have watched me come nonstop for the last hour, but only one was actively participating, so I refused to let the label I’d given myself have any meaning. Dax’s presence certainly increased my desire and the knowledge that his eyes never left my body while I writhed and screamed and begged made my orgasms that much sweeter, but it’s DJ’s lips and DJ’s tongue and DJ’s fingers that brought me those releases, one right after another.
As I stared down at the top of his head, he glanced up and his eyes met mine, his tongue swirling faster around my clit. My thighs opened wider and I rocked myself against his mouth, refusing to look away from what he was doing.
“Come on, sweetheart, I want to watch you come again,” Dax whispered in my ear, his hot breath skating over my skin like a cup of warm water.