Page 67 of Double or Nothing

“Deadlines,” he says. “Performance.” He takes a sip from his mug. “Bursts of panic while trying to keep things in order.”

“Purple?” she asks me, and I scan the image. The purple is deep. Almost regal.

“Status. You?”

“Sensuality and truth,” she says.

My palms feel itchy. Bizarre.

“Right,” I say. “Bryce?”

“I don’t know,” he lies, and I don’t know why my eyes are digging into him with fervour, desperate for the answer.

“Come on, you in or out? Don’t wimp out on purple, pussy boy.”

He walks right up to the picture, takes a deep breath as though it’s a soul confession.

“Understated needs.” He gestures around the blocks of red. “Dreams boxed in by the overbearing contenders.”

I curse myself. Should have gone along with the Stormy Night bollocks. This is too Freudian for my liking.

I knock back my mug of prosecco. If we play this game with every painting in her dining room, we’ll never make it to any of her bedrooms.

Alice nods at Bryce, giving his purple a sense of validation, but I don’t like the way it’s poking me in the guts. Tetris blocks can piss off now, I want gold foiling and spread pussy.

“Clock’s ticking, Alice,” I say. “There’s only one artist who has me by the heart and soul tonight.”

“Cock and balls, more like it.” Her giggle is throwaway, but it does something to me.

Maybe it’s the tone, the flirty filthiness hidden under the childish jest, but it sets something off like a rocket. I ditch my empty mug on the dining table as I close the distance and slam Soul Girl up against the wall by Tetris. Her head is between two paintings, so she stays bolt upright, despite the whimpers as my mouth gets to work. She smells of my shower gel as I kiss her neck. Her tits are easy to tug free of her dress, and my tongue is a fiend as I trail a path down to her nipple.

“Bryce,” she says, and he’s over in seconds, at my side as he sucks on her other tit like his life depends on it.

Our fingers battle with the hem of her skirt, both vying for position at her delicious slit. He is the one who pulls her panties to the side, and I’m the one who gets the first sweet swipe of the wet treasure.

I don’t play easy.

She’s still slick from Bryce’s cock earlier as I plunge three fingers in and work her like a whore.

“Take her ass,” I tell him, and he does as instructed, using the slippery mess between her thighs to lube up his fingers.

He goes in with two. I can feel it when she tenses.

She curses, but doesn’t protest.

It’s so natural when me and Bryce hoist her up, a leg each, both of us still working her tight holes in tandem. She’s ours. Needy, horny little Soul Slut.

She’s my red, and his purple. My sex drive going berserk while his understated dreams come to life. As for her, she’s all the colours of the fucking rainbow and then some. A creative minx, capable of all flavours. Desperate to set them all free.

She just needs the encouragement…

Her pussy sucks on my three fingers as her ass eats up Bryce’s two, and it’s only a matter of time before Princess Parker is going to be capable of taking two thick, hot dicks at once as she strains to let us in.

My usual route from here would be the regular bedroom. Fuck gold foiling and blank canvas. But there’s an ache I can’t push aside.

I want to stretch every part of Alice and take a look at the hidden, filthy beauty inside. And that includes a lot more than her slut worthy fuck holes…

“Art studio,” I say, and it’s an order, not a request.