Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Stefan carelessly gestures to a chair we set up in the bedroom with us. “Take a seat.”
“Hell, yes.” Hayes tugs on his tie and sinks down, staring as Stefan takes pictures of me in all sorts of lingerie and lace, satin and silk, undressing me layer by layer throughout the shoot. Sometimes I look at the camera. Sometimes at the spectator. Sometimes at neither.
Soon, I’m down to only my panties and heels. Then, I shimmy off the panties too, and turn to my side, the angles and the lights keeping the pictures on the artistic side of nude.
Stefan comes around the bed, getting close, snapping a few more shots of me that don’t show too much but enough to make my man very satisfied.
He sets the camera on the nightstand and turns to his friend in the chair. Hayes looks like a lion who’s been watching its prey, waiting to make its move.
“Did you save room for dessert?” Stefan asks.
“I fucking did,” Hayes rumbles.
“I’ll take two,” I say.
“Then spread those thighs,” Stefan orders.
I comply, but he tugs me down the bed, then widens my legs. He undoes the ribbons on my ankles and ties them to the bedposts.
I’m at their mercy, my legs in a V. Like that, I welcome Stefan between my thighs.
He groans savagely as his mouth comes down on me, then he laps me up noisily, curling his arms around my ass, yanking me impossibly closer to his sinful mouth. He kisses my pussy with a filthy sort of reverence. I claw at the sheets, writhing against the restraints on my ankles as Hayes joins us on the bed. With hungry lips, he sucks and bites my nipples as he plays with my tits.
I gasp and groan, arching my hips, begging for more. I can’t move my legs, but I take everything they give me with their mouths and hands and boundless appetites. I cry out in bliss as Stefan sends me over the edge, but they don’t give me a chance to come down from that first high before Hayes prowls between my thighs, rubbing his beard against my flesh, nipping at my skin, and then flicking his tongue against my pussy.
I’m overstimulated, but that seems to be my life these days.
And maybe, just maybe, it will become my life for longer.
In the morning, while they’re gone at the gym, I return from walking the dog and find an email icon blinking for my attention. It’s a ticket to the Secondhand Fashion Show in Los Angeles next weekend.
Well, it’s three tickets and a night at a luxury hotel.
And I know. It’s time to break out my planner.
52
MAKE HER AN OFFER
Ivy
We make the most of our one-day holiday between hockey games, visiting Santa Monica, taking pictures along the pier, posting them on social.
We do Los Angeles Hayes, Stefan, and Ivy style. Together.
A little shopping, a little eating, a little private time.
On Friday afternoon in our Venice Beach hotel, I get ready for the fashion show I’ve always wanted to attend. I pick out my favorite vintage dress, a Charlotte Everly that I found at Champagne Taste, then a pair of cute ankle boots. My guys dress up in tailored slacks and button-down shirts, and they take me to the event at a nearby boutique hotel.
The venue is trendy and cool, teeming with fashion writers, influencers, and designers. The best part? Neither Simone nor Xander are here. Jackson told me he saw on social that their wedding was a bust. Hardly anyone covered it or posted pics or shared stories. That’s even worse than bad publicity. But I don’t feel bad for them. Because I don’t care about them anymore. I care about the people here, who love fashion for the reasons I do—a chance to express yourself in new ways, and, sometimes, to do so without producing more stuff. I weave through the crowds, pointing out rising star designers to my boyfriends, then hotshot fashion trendsetters too.
I’m giddy over the clothes, and the shoes, and the fabrics, and the colors, and the desire to do right by our planet. I drink it in, my mind popping with ideas for posts and articles, for outfits of the day, for fashion rules, for…well, everything.
When it’s time for the fashion show itself, I head into the roaring twenties-themed ballroom with its emerald lamps and speakeasy vibe. It oozes vintage charm.
My guys take me to the seat in the front row, and I feel glittery everywhere. “I’ve always wanted to see this,” I say.
Then I kiss Hayes’s bearded cheek, and Stefan’s lightly stubbled one as Stefan says, “We know.”
Those words reverberate in my mind. We know. For the last month they’ve shown me how deeply they know me, how well they listen, how much they want this. I’ve taken my time, tried to be patient, and worked through some of my past hurts.