a rental,” he explains as he opens the front passenger door for me. “Unlike Hunter, I don’t obsess over cars.”
“Are we going there?” Hunter raises an eyebrow. “If we’re going to talk about insane hobbies—”
“Let’s not.”
Their banter is easy. Hunter and Eric have known each other for a very long time, and it shows. Maybe that’s why they’re so comfortable with the idea of a threesome.
It’s not a big car. “I’ll get into the back,” I demur. “There’s not enough legroom for you here.”
Hunter opens the door for me. I slide in, and he shuts it and gets into the car. Eric starts the engine, and we head down the road toward the highway. “Where are we going?”
Hunter and Eric glance at each other. “That's a little complicated,” Hunter responds. “We have some options. Eric is staying at Summit, so we could head there.”
I don’t like that idea, not even a little bit. That’s Xavier’s castle. He lives there. I know my boss knows what I’m doing—Eric has told him—but I still don’t want to run into him. I’m having a threesome, sure, but I’m not ready to shout it from the rooftops.
“Or?”
“Or we could head to my mother's house.”
That sounds worse. It’s one thing to have sex in the backseat of a car—that’s a hot, forbidden fantasy. But going to Hunter’s mother’s house, sleeping in his bed—that feels too real. Too intimate.
I swallow hard. “Is there a third option?”
“Yes,” Eric responds. “Our friend Damien's house is thirty minutes away. He’s on vacation.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “That was his driveway we borrowed last Saturday.”
“Oh. That's how you knew it would be private?”
Hunter flashes me an amused look. “While your fantasy was to be watched by a stranger, I assumed that you didn't really want it to be a stranger.”
That's why he was so calm last week. He knew we were on private property and the odds of us being disturbed were extremely small.
A friend’s house. That should be nice, neutral ground. “Can we pick that option?”
They exchange another glance. Then Eric speaks up. “Damien’s house it is.”
We drive in silence for about ten minutes, and then my gaze falls on a black duffel bag on the seat next to me. “What’s in the bag?”
“That’s your present.”
“A present?”
Hunter chuckles. “Don’t get too excited. It’s an assortment of sex toys. You never did pick out what you wanted, so Eric grabbed some things.”
My throat goes dry with anticipation. Heat swirls through me. The duffel bag is not small. How many toys did they pack in there? What are they going to do with me?
I can’t wait to find out.
We arrive at our destination, pulling up in front of a two-story brick house. Eric gets out and holds the door open for me. Hunter grabs the duffel bag from the backseat and a bag of groceries from the trunk.
Two large planters flank the door. Eric bends down and grabs a key from under one of them. “So predictable, Damien,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Umm, are we breaking and entering?”
Hunter’s eyes rest on me. “Another fantasy of yours, Dix?”
As a teenager, I’d fooled around with William, half my attention on the door to my bedroom. I’d been afraid that my parents would burst in at any moment. It wasn’t until after I went away to college that we finally did it. Eighteen months after the park incident.
“Not really.”
A smile touches his lips. “Don’t worry, nobody is going to burst in. Damien’s in Peru, and we warned him we might borrow his place.”
“And he didn’t want to know why?”
He chuckles. “He didn’t ask, but I’m assuming the reason was obvious.”
Inside the house, a floor to ceiling window overlooking the lake dominates the living room. The furniture looks solid and comfortable, chosen for function, not form. That’s all I have time to take in. Hunter sets the duffel bag down on the coffee table, and beckons to me. “Come here, Dixie. You’re not getting out of choosing.”
I make my way to him, anticipation setting my pulse racing. Eric moves into the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and puts the groceries away. “In case we get hungry,” he explains. “After all, we have to keep our energy up. Dixie, do you want some wine?”
Sex toys and wine. “Yes please.”
He holds two bottles up to me. “Red or white?”
The white looks like Chardonnay, and every time I drink it, I get itchy. Not a good idea. “Red, please.”
While Eric opens cabinets