Page 59 of Duplicity

Oh Jesus.

He makes brisk work of the tiny fasteners at the top of each bra cup and lays the lace down with something approaching reverence, exposing my breasts.

‘Perfect,’ he says with an approving exhale, and it’s as if the sun has come out after a hailstorm.

‘Isn’t she?’ Brendan’s fingers flex on my waist before smoothing over my hips.

‘Yeah.’ Ethan sinks to his knees in front of me, but it couldn’t be less deferential. I know he just wants a closer look. I hold my breath as he takes one nipple and plucks at it before he reaches down and slides a couple of fingers over my clit and through my soaking flesh.

Oh God, that feels so good.

‘Jesus,’ he remarks, like my wetness has shocked him. He slides his fingers inside me and glances downwards. ‘Fuck, I’ve missed this,’ he groans.

Behind me, Brendan sniggers. ‘It’s been a week, mate.’

‘And your point is?’ He twists his fingers inside me and watches my expression. Our faces are so close, his eyes a silver ring around endless pupil. I’m not expecting him to kiss me, not at all, but he leans in and tugs my bottom lip briefly, sharply,between his teeth. Then he’s bending his head to my breast and sucking, hard.

The soft, hungry pull of his mouth against my nipple is a shock that sends its waves right to my core. I gasp and arch into the sensation as his fingers twist and crook inside me.

‘Brendan, take her other tit,’ he gasps against my skin before diving back in.

‘Fuck, yes,’ Brendan sighs. ‘Let’s make her come like this first.’

He finds my free breast and begins to tug at my nipple. The stimulation of these three points, not to mention the fact of being trapped between these two men, played with for their own edification, is so fucking hot I can’t breathe.

Ethan starts to finger-fuck me harder. His mouth is still glued to my nipple, and his hair smells of very nice, very expensive, very manly product. Or maybe it’s just him. He smells amazing. Behind me, Brendan’s bulk is reassuringly solid, his body heat radiating off him and warming me in this too-cold room.

‘If you want to please us, love, you won’t hold back,’ he urges me. ‘Just fucking let yourself fall apart.’

‘Okay,’ I manage. I’m honestly holding on for dear life here. I don’t know which way is up. But then Ethan applies his thumb to my slippery clit and I practically shoot off Brendan’s lap. His strokes are strong, rough, even, and the heat builds further within me.

There’s something so unashamedly primal about this, about hearing nothing but the ragged, desperate sounds of our breaths as they work my body. Pinned as I am between the two of them, with Brendan’s thick thighs acting as stirrups, my only outlet for the building tension is my voice, and I allow myself to make the noises I’m so dying to make.

‘That’s it,’ Brendan croons. ‘You love it, don’t you? Such a beautiful, golden little princess when we’re in the office, and yet you’ll let two men touch you like this. It’s fucking filthy. How are his fingers, hmm? Do they feel tight? Are they stretching you nicely for my cock?’

It’s his words, and the thought of what’s to come, that does it. I drink up every last drop of this feeling, of their fingers and Ethan’s mouth on me. I douse myself liberally in the shame of it all and I let Brendan’s dirty talk set me alight.

CHAPTER 28

Brendan

I’m so fucking jealous of Kingsley’s view right now.

Seriously, I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to put Marls on my lap while he got to do all the good stuff to her.

Except I do know.

I wanted to show off. To come over here and taunt him, show him how stunning my new fuck toy is, rub his nose in it and then waltz off with her afterwards. I don’t know why I’m like this, but I’ve been like this since I was a kid. When you’re used to being the disappointment, to being outdone by your siblings, you become overly fixated on finding gimmicks, external trophies, that will allow you to shine. To dazzle.

I’m a modern-day Bishop George Berkeley, except the Brendan Sullivan school of philosophy goes like this:

If I bag myself the hottest EA of all time and I get to fuck her, does it count unless at least one of my disgustingly competitive friends gets to see exactly what’s so great about her?

Other examples of this great philosophical question include everything from my cars and boats to my golf swing and my mogul skiing. It’s an endless, shameless quest for validation. Praise. Envy. It’s one-upmanship, and I’m not proud of it, but Istill fucking love it, and it’s that knowledge that stops me from going nuclear becausemybeautiful assistant is writhing on my lap, coming all over Ethan fucking Kingsley’s fingers.

Even if I feel like a little boy who agreed to share his toy and regrets it instantly.

I want to stomp my feet.

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