Page 64 of Double or Nothing

His nonchalance is so at odds with the way me and Bryce are going for it. I’m a squirming, panting wreck as the man I’ve pined after for years plugs my pussy with his cock. Bryce’s grunts are primal, the slam of his hips getting faster and faster, and I’m all set for it. I clench my pussy as tight as I can, my clit alight as he grinds. And he gets the spot. Oh my God, he gets the spot. The place inside that drives me crazy.

“You’re going to make a lovely mess on my sofa, Soul Girl,” Jack says, and his hand is working faster on his cock, his own crescendo building.

Part of me wants his Adonis cock in my mouth, two loads of cum at once, but my soul is still singing for the kisses of the man above me. Our lips meet again as the climax starts, his mouth hot and wet as he groans and starts to shoot his load inside me. It’s a chain reaction. The thrusts of his climax spur mine on, and I lose myself to the momentum. My toes curl, hands roving up and down his back as I come with his cock inside me.

It’s like a round of fireworks going off in my strained pussy. Lightning behind my eyes.

I don’t want Bryce to pull out, so I hold him close as our breaths calm in unison. I want to stay here for ever in the aftermath of the divine, watched by the fuck master, Jack, who is still playing with his dick with a smirk on his face. But the fuck master isn’t a wreck like we are. He doesn’t so much as bat an eyelid when he ceases with the hand motions and pulls his bathrobe casually over his crotch.

“Hope that broke the ice a little,” he says. “It was getting a touch too frosty for my liking.”

There’s nothing frosty about Bryce whatsoever when he gathers some form of composure. He’s smiling bright as he looks at me, stroking my hair from my sweaty forehead before planting a sweet kiss on my lips.

“This is crazy,” he says, but there is no more cardboard cutout in the way he’s lying on top of me, limbs loose and easy.

“This is fun,” Jack says. “I don’t think you give the word nearly enough credit. It’s the meaning of life, after all.”

My body is aching after Bryce from the very second he pulls away. I gather myself back up in Jack’s robe before Jack gives me a tsk with one of his trademark smirks on his face.

“Fun!” he says, and gestures to my tits, now obscured from view.

I poke my tongue out at him before I set them back free.

“Sure thing, Mr Fun Guy. So, what’s next on the Good Time menu? Do I get your hard-on for dessert?”

“Nah, not yet, you don’t,” he says, and gets up from the table. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m getting a little tired of the same four walls.” He walks to the window. “I say we venture out, see some more of the big wide world.”

Bryce groans, looking down at his still unbuckled chinos.

“I’m not exactly dressed for a night on the town, Jack.”

“A night on the town isn’t quite what I have in mind,” the Adonis replies, and digs his perfect blue eyes into mine. “Time to see your pad, Soul Girl. I believe you owe me a painting, and I don’t offer payment plans.”

My stomach lurches. My place is a mess, with paints and palettes littering every surface.

“I don’t know about that,” I bluster. “I’ve been pretty hectic lately. Things are a little bit cluttered.”

“Blah, blah, I don’t give a toss,” Jack says. “Now get with it please, hostess. Time to go grab my canvas.”

Another standoff. Another smirk from the blond-haired inciter that has my reservations in tatters.

“Fine. Winner takes it all.” I hold up my hands. “Just at least let me find my knickers before you call a cab.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JACK

Ihave no idea why I’m still caught up in this. I’ve played with plenty of horny duos, but I’ve never been a third wheel in a love fest, especially not one with enough emotional baggage to fill a freight train, but here the fuck I am.

There’s another fluttery glance between Alice and Bryce as she gathers her clothes together. This kind of thing would normally make me want to heave. They need a Celine Dion backing track, not a guy like me.

I retreat to the bedroom to grab a fresh suit for the outing to hers. Nothing too extravagant, as I don’t want to make poor BT feel like an underdressed muppet in his boring chinos. I go for deep grey. Suave, but not overbearing.

BT’s busying himself in the living room when I walk back through, scouting for Alice’s belongings as she searches the room for her stilettos. Even as he hands over her handbag from under the table, it’s blatant his nerves are spiking, edging him back into the role of conformity. Jesus Christ. The guy’s just ravaged her pussy, but you wouldn’t know it as an onlooker. He’s retreating straight back into his imaginary shell. This is going to be a hard pattern to break.

Maybe they do need me and my fuckery. Otherwise they’ll both retreat into the same bullshit cycle of appropriate and responsible. Such a waste.

“We could go somewhere more… upmarket,” Alice says, slipping her feet back into her stilettos. “Honestly, my place isn’t suitable for visitors. It could do with a good tidy.”