Emma Holly (19 page)

B.G. had seen these symptoms before. Wonder was, they hadn't developed sooner. In any case, he knew well enough what they meant.

Eric needed a white-picket, knight-in-shining-armor fence. He might deny the need in order to protect his bond with B.G., but without it, he could not be happy. As Eric's oldest friend, and a very poor candidate for white pickets—as previous partners had learned—B.G. had an obligation to do what he could to facilitate his friend's desires.

Desire was, after all, a formula he knew how to manipulate.

With this in mind, he slid his palm along Eric's back. Their guest could see Eric in all his glory. The fanning muscles of his shoulders, glowing now with sweat, were those of a keen athlete. He had a rower's arms and a cyclist's legs, both crying to be caressed. Disinclined to resist, B.G. smiled at the pleasure stretching Eric's toes. He'd never understood why Eric's strength called up his tenderness. Certainly, it shouldn't have today—not with his threat to tie down B.G. still ringing in his nerves.

That had been an unanticipated erotic shock.

Pushing away the memory, B.G. gathered his supplies and swung one leg to either side of the long gray chaise. He was behind Eric, a heat and a threat that made his friend tense up. Maybe he would be difficult to take without generous lubrication. Tense or not, he noticed Eric's gaze never wavered from Charity—not even when B.G. tipped a stream of oil over his tailbone.

Whatever the emotional underpinning of Eric's fascination, B.G. knew he shouldn't waste this opportunity. He had, after all, planned it from all angles.

"Here's the agreement," he said. "Every minute you last past fifteen without coming is a minute you can spend, un-supervised, with Charity. No rules. No limits. No watchers. You can screw yourselves senseless if that's what you wish."

The offer was not what Eric expected. He bit his lip, either because the idea was so appealing or because B.G. had begun to rub in the oil. B.G. didn't have to remind him to spread his legs. Eric knew very well what B.G. required. He was, however, still using his brain.

"Ten minutes," he countered on a burst of air. "And every minute with you past that is worth two with her."

"Flattering." B.G. slid his hand around to cup Eric's balls. His scrotum was full and warm, already pulled up with excitement. A noise broke in Eric's throat. Gratified, B.G. ran a gentle thumb over his perineum.

At this, Eric gasped and squirmed.

"While I respect your determination to improve the terms," B.G. went on, "I'm afraid I really must insist on a minimum of fifteen. On the other hand, I am willing to concede that every successive minute is worth five with her."

Eric took a trembling moment to think.

"Agreed," he said, "but no hands or kissing below the waist. You're only allowed to use your cock."

B.G. smiled to himself. It was a hard bargain, but one he could live with.

"Done," he agreed and reached past Eric's shoulder to start the chess player's clock.

Charity
held her breath in wonder. B.G. was stroking himself, working the oil into his erection with long, tight pulls that drew his shaft up and out. In front of him, Eric knelt on the couch, quivering with repeated shivers like a rain-soaked dog. His cock was even harder than his boss's, fighting gravity as it curved red and thick beneath his abdomen. The ache of wanting slid through Charity in rolling waves. To be there…

To be touching them for herself…

Her bonds held her too securely to do more than twitch. She couldn't even curl her hands into fists.

"Aren't they beautiful?" Sylvia murmured, her fingers feathering coolly down her captive's hip. "You can

see how much they want each other, how much they love to tease. It's hard to imagine anyone ever coming between that."

Charity didn't waste her breath answering. She suspected she wanted to come between them in a different way than Sylvia meant.

For
Eric, the moment B.G. first pressed inward was always powerful. He didn't know how to guard against the sensation of surrender, the way it made him feel lost. His nerves buzzed with pleasure as his muscles tightened and then succumbed. Sweat rolled down arms that were bound too well to do more than tense.

B.G. had lubed the hell out of them both. Though the fit was tight, he made it in.

Relax
, Eric told himself.
You can do this for Charity
.

B.G. grunted as he hit halfway, a pleasured sound that was as arousing as it was familiar. Slowly, letting Eric feel every inch, he dragged out again. They both shuddered as B.G.'s crown tugged Eric's tightened rim. When B.G. spoke, the words grated.

"I'll give you a handicap," he said. "I won't go for full penetration until we hit the five-minute mark."

Eric swallowed at whatever B.G. had said. Charity saw his Adam's apple bob. He had closed his eyes, screwing them shut even as his face remained stubbornly toward her. At every thrust, the muscles in his legs went taut. The sound was off, but she knew he had to be moaning. The thought made her own throat sore.

It was hard to believe he could stand that much stimulation.

"Damn," Maurice cursed admiringly beside her. "Those two give new meaning to slow torture."

The chauffeur's hand was between her legs, softly, almost idly, stroking her labia. His erection, trapped by the stretch of his yellow shorts, pressed the skin above her hip. Despite the harshness of his voice, the roaring of her blood nearly drowned it out. When Sylvia pinched her buttock, it just felt good.

B.G.
knew the moment he hit Eric's prostate, even without the rub of the little swelling beneath his tip.

Eric's moan went up half an octave and his back arched hard. B.G. doubted Eric meant to do it, but the shift in position slid him in so deep he was completely held. His own excitement spiking, B.G. mouthed the solid muscle by Eric's neck. Eric's skin was fevered.

"Easy," B.G. murmured, pulling out and sinking in again. "If you try to fight the pleasure, you'll feel it even more. Let it run through you. Let it fill you and then flow out."

"Can't," Eric gasped. "Can't be like you."

No
one could be like B.G. No one could rub just the spot that needed rubbing the minute it needed it.

No one could make the slightest pressure divine torment. Eric didn't know what the clock said, nor could he say when he'd started breathing in time with B.G.

"That's it," his torturer soothed. "That's it. Just relax."

But Eric didn't feel relaxed. Eric felt as if he were going out of his mind.

"I want her," he said, gritting his teeth against a perfect stroke. "Don't make me come too soon."

Apparently, both of them were drunk on lust. B.G.'s answer made as little sense as Eric's demand.

"You'll have her," he said, one hand sliding down Eric's chest with the fingers spread like a starfish.

"You'll have everything you want."

True to their agreement, B.G. didn't touch him below the waist. He left his hand on his sternum and held him up. Untouched though it was, Eric's cock felt like lead, each pulse a punch from inside. All at once, the weeks of waiting added up. He couldn't concentrate on anything but holding back, and his mouth ran away with him as a result.

"I want you, too," he said. "I want to take you with her. I want to tie us all together and fuck you from behind while she fucks you from the front. I want you helpless between us. I want you to come and come until you cry."

His body clenched in reaction to his own words. The looming pressure of climax increased.

"Damn it," B.G. snapped, suddenly moving faster.

The change took Eric by surprise, enough that he didn't guess why it had happened for another three jolting strokes. Then he knew: B.G. had lost control. Undoubtedly trying to regain it, he reached around Eric's shoulders, his hands sliding bruisingly to Eric's wrists. The ploy would have worked if Eric hadn't recognized what was going on and taken heart.

"I'll give
her
control," he said, grabbing his chance. "I'll give her a dildo and suck you off. I'll let her spank you like Sylvia. As soon as you come, we'll bring you up again."

"Fuck," B.G. snarled, pounding harder, each stroke deliciously rough. His cock was like heated stone.

"Don't—"

"Tied," Eric insisted, cutting off whatever B.G. had meant to say. Hanging by a thread, he dug his nails into his own palms. "Trapped. Nothing to do but take what we give. Fucked over, Benjamin. Fucked over from head to toe."

Eric didn't know if it was the threats or hearing his given name, but B.G. smashed through the edge. His breath rushed out as his hips jammed forward, his body quaking with the long climax.

The only thing that saved Eric was B.G. completely losing his finesse.

"God," he gasped against Eric's neck. He held there a limp, sweet minute before pulling free. Even with the pause to catch his breath, his first attempt at standing failed. Eric grinned as his decimated boss was forced to sit on the chaise's end.

He looked at the ticking clock, then at Eric, obviously stumped by how this had turned out.

Eric tried not to look too smug about the fact that he was still hard as hell. His attempt at modesty must have failed, because B.G. laughed.

"All right," he said. "For that performance, I have to invent a whole new reward."

No
man had ever looked at Charity the way Eric was, as if he'd walk through hell itself to have her.

Maybe he had walked through hell. She wouldn't have guessed he could resist someone he had as much chemistry with as B.G.

He hadn't climaxed. The flush on his face and chest was evidence of that—even without the ram-hard state of his cock. Here was a man who looked ready to blast off at a breath. Though she didn't know the reason, she knew he'd held back for her.

Despite this, he remained at the threshold.

She thought the condom he'd rolled on before stepping in was a nice touch.

"Out," he rasped to Sylvia and Maurice. "And turn off the camera on your way."

Sylvia looked like she wanted to argue, but Maurice took the matter out of her hands. "Don't blame you," he said cheerfully, opening and closing a camouflaged panel that held controls. "Have some extra fun for me."