Double Blind (40 page)

Randy stopped watching Ethan and watched Sam instead, seeing his nervous frustration and sorrow bleed away into submission and desire. “Yes,” he said, his voice soft and quiet, going straight to Randy’s dick. “Yes. I liked it a lot.”

“Hmm.” Ethan kneaded a little more, keeping his eyes on the top of Sam’s head. He was beautifully disinterested and alert at the same time. Randy felt sharp and focused, detached, and fantastically engaged. Fucking hell, Randy was already halfway under Ethan, and he hadn’t even touched him.

Ethan spoke again.

“It seems to me,” he said, “that there’s a lot of emotion built up over this parting. Which is understandable. But I’m thinking—speculating, of course—that it might be a little too much. More, say, than two people could handle alone.”

Ho, shit,
Randy thought, his heart pounding. His dick too.

Ethan looked up at Mitch, who Randy thought was probably in much the same condition, only in a Mitch way. He didn’t know, because he couldn’t look away from Ethan to check. He could see that Sam was putty already from the way he was slouching into Ethan’s massage.

“I thought, though, that perhaps four could deal with it.” Ethan smiled. “What do you think, Mitch? Have I read this situation right? Or am I butting in where I’m not wanted?”

Now Randy had to look at Mitch, and he was glad he did, because the lust there told him everything he needed to know. And what it told him was that they were all getting laid. Together.

So Slick’s idea is to distract them with an orgy.
Randy looked up at Ethan, who was looking at him too. Randy smiled.
Good idea, Slick.

Ethan smiled back, then bent down to kiss the side of Sam’s head. “Sam, sweetheart?” he said quietly. “Take off your shirt.”

And away we go
.

So Slick
was into swinging. Or, at least, he was willing to give it serious study.

Randy hadn’t known quite what to think when Ethan had decided to direct Sam’s blow job in the limo; he’d written it off as “fun for the night,” or that Ethan was just trying it out. Randy had the feeling that if he hadn’t gotten himself all overwhelmed they’d have been playing at what they were doing right now that night. He admitted, just to himself, that he’d been the one putting on the brakes, that it had been he who hadn’t been ready for a foursome that had Ethan in it.

He was aware that even though he hadn’t admitted that to Ethan, Ethan had probably figured it out and was watching him closely now to make sure it was okay.

It was okay. Randy wasn’t sure exactly why the other night had been too much and now was okay, but that’s the way it was going down, and fine, whatever. This was for Sam, and for Mitch. And hell, for him. It was hot, watching Ethan peel Sam’s T-shirt off his body, watching Sam go from nervous and riding the edge of despair to being quiet and submissive and exceedingly turned on. It was what he loved most about Sam, how he managed to be so sweet and innocent and absolutely depraved all at once. Not just in sex, but in life. He hated that Sam was so upset. And yes, he would keep going to therapy with him, goddamn it.

But right now….

Well, if this was therapy, it was Randy’s kind of therapy.

Except it was really different this time, already, and they were just getting started. It was different to have Slick a part of it, and it wasn’t just that it was four instead of three. It was, Randy realized as Ethan drew Sam’s hands up and looped them around the back of Ethan’s own head, making Sam gasp and moan softly as he made love to his ear, that all the other times it had been Randy the outsider coming into Sam and Mitch’s relationship. It was a role he’d gotten very good at, and he liked it fine. But now—well, now he didn’t know what this was. He and Slick coming in, but as what? Another couple?

Yes, damn it. Slick is mine.

But was he? What the hell were they doing, anyway? Randy had gone and told him he loved him because he was an idiot, but Ethan hadn’t said it back. Which Randy didn’t expect, since he wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl or the heroine of a teen vampire novel. Still. What were they? What was this?

He watched Ethan’s hand snake forward down Sam’s naked, quivering chest, and all of a sudden it changed. The low-grade hum in his blood shut off, turning into something sharper and more aggressive—and, goddamn it, vulnerable—took its place. Seriously, though—what the fuck
was
this?

As if he had a sixth sense, Ethan looked up, and he saw Randy. He paused. He didn’t lift his head, but he slowed, and he held Randy’s gaze boldly, calmly.

Maybe it was commanding. Okay. It
was
commanding. It was a little better, Randy conceded, but he didn’t quite relax.

Ethan smiled a wicked smile, not taking his eyes off Randy as his lips parted and his tongue stole out to tease the rim of Sam’s ear. Sam shuddered. And then the heat came back in a rush. But his confusion remained, and he stayed rigid, watching, irritated that he was being so stupid about this. Goddamn, it was an orgy with Slick and Sam in it, and he was objecting?

But Ethan seemed to understand him better than he did himself. Still making an after-dinner mint of Sam’s ear and grazing his fingers across the young man’s chest, Ethan nodded at Randy.

“Take your shirt off, too, Ace.” His fingers circled Sam’s nipple but didn’t touch it. He glanced at Mitch. “Maybe we should take this somewhere with a little more room? A bedroom?”

“Living room.” Mitch pushed off the counter. “I’ll move the coffee table and get a blanket.”

They usually did this in the living room. That was Mitch’s way of being able to take Sam off if it got too heated or if he got the clue that Sam was done having group sex. Because that was the way it ran. Sam drove. Sam was the submissive, and so it was always centered on Sam, because that was the way it worked.

Except Sam was really, really submissive tonight. And it wasn’t just centered on Sam somehow. Ethan was leading, but deferring to Mitch. Probably because Sam was his husband. But where did Randy land in all this? It kept coming back to that. And it was making him feel odd. Why did he care? Why wasn’t he all over this?

Because I don’t want to be on the outside this time,
he admitted to himself. Which was trouble. Real fucking trouble. This was worse than just loving Ethan. This was—he didn’t know, but he could feel the trap closing around him. This was really shitty odds. Really, really shitty odds. There was no best of it, here.

Ethan was still watching him, and Randy’s poker face must have taken the night off, because Ethan whispered something into Sam’s ear, and Sam nodded and went after Mitch, and then Ethan was coming around the table to Randy. He looked down at him, still in that sexy, quiet, commander mode. But then he bent down, and it was Randy’s ear he was kissing: soft, sweet, and tender.

“Did I misread you? Do you not want to do this?”

Randy shut his eyes. He might have leaned a little into Ethan’s lips, nudging them back on his ear. He hoped he didn’t, though. “I don’t know.”

Another kiss, just as sweet. “Do you want this to stop?”

No.
“I don’t know.” He drew a breath, then forced the answer out. “No.”

Ethan’s hand had fallen onto Randy’s shoulder, and now it slid down his arm. “Is it me? Do you want me to step out and let—”

“
No
.” There was no forcing that one. There wasn’t even any holding it in. Jesus fuck, what the fucking hell was wrong with him? When the
hell
did he turn into the vulnerable one? What the shit was this?

This time Ethan’s kiss against his ear was slower, and had a bit of tongue to it. “Tell me what you want, Ace,” Ethan whispered. “Let me give it to you.”

And there, then, was when it hit him. Because how many times had they said this to Sam? How many times had Randy bent over Sam, acutely aware of Mitch watching, and asked what he wanted? That was when he realized for Ethan, it wasn’t for Sam.

For Ethan, it was about Randy.

He’s mine after all, then.
Randy sat there a minute, reeling in the discovery. Then Ethan kissed his ear again.

“You can’t kiss Sam,” Randy said at last.

“Okay,” Ethan said calmly. But Randy knew he’d misunderstood.

“No,” Randy said. “That’s not my rule. I kind of want to kiss him myself, probably because it’s forbidden. That’s Mitch’s rule. Always has been. He’s happy to watch anybody do anything to Sam, or hear that it happened when he wasn’t there, but kissing is a no-no. Also, Sam’s safe word is Violet.”

“That’s a lot about Sam.” Ethan’s hand was kneading gently against Randy’s biceps. “I was hoping to hear about you.”

Me too.
Randy had no idea. Okay, he knew what he wanted, but—with Mitch and Sam? Okay. Yes, he wanted that. But—

It would be okay with Slick
, a voice whispered inside him. And with all of them. He knew that. It was just… well, he hadn’t ever quite let go with anybody like that. Not outside of Crabtree.

Which he realized he should not admit out loud just now.

Where else are you going to let go like that, if not here? With Ethan? With all of them?

“I think I know what you want,” Ethan said, “but I’d rather you told me. It’s not something I’d like to be wrong about.”

Randy nodded. No, that was the first rule of these games. You had to be honest about what it was you wanted. “You ever heard the term ‘switch’, Slick?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ethan admitted. “So probably not.”

“How about ‘dominant’ and ‘submissive’?”

Ethan pulled back a little and looked at Randy with raised eyebrows. “Are we talking about BDSM?”

Randy waved an impatient hand. “We’re talking about roles. Dominant versus submissive. You don’t have to be talking about spanking or whips or anything to get into roles—though, actually, we’ve been into that in the past too. But later for that. Do you know dominant and submissive? The idea of it?”

“That one partner is ‘in charge’?” Ethan said.

Randy winced. Oh, fuck, this was never going to work. “Never mind. Let’s just go play.”

But Ethan held him in place. “I said something wrong. Correct me.”

“It’s too complicated,” Randy said, but Ethan was clearly not giving this up. He thought for a minute, trying to find an angle. “Okay. You get dominant and submissive—like the definition of the words? It’s like that.”

“I know you’ve been liking it when I took control of sex. But you’re telling me the dominant is not in charge?”

Randy looked up at him, irritated. “I don’t know, Slick. You feel very in charge right now?”

He should have known. Really, he should have known, because when had Ethan ever missed more than one beat in a row?

Ethan smiled, a wry, naughty little smile, and stroked Randy’s cheek. “Okay, so I understand that part. The submissive is in charge. So tell me about switch.”

“Sam is only submissive. It’s what he likes. He’s the fucking best I’ve ever seen. Mitch is dominant only. He always takes that role, and even when it’s the three of us, he’s the top Dom.” Randy paused, then pushed forward. “A switch is someone who is both, or can be both.”

Ethan considered this. “Hmm. That might be me. And you’re like that, with me.” He tilted his head to the side and looked down with Randy. “What about with them, Ace?”

“That’s the thing. With Mitch and Sam, I always end up as dominant. But only with Sam, and there’s a sort of hierarchy where I submit to Mitch, just not in sex. Mitch and I were together a long time ago, and I tried to sub for him, but I’d get freaked out. Which is how we got into threesomes. I get freaked out with most people, to be honest.”

He realized where this was heading and tried to stop, but Ethan drove the train on anyway. “But you can go there with Crabtree,” he finished tightly.