The Sextet Presents... Bound by Voodoo [Legends] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (6 page)

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t fit under my desk very well to plug in all the power cords. At least I finally got all my equipment set up.”

“Need an icepack?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” Giving a shrug, he grinned. “I have a hard head.”

A laugh escaped before she could stop it.

Don’t I wish, Barrett. A hard head would be the answer to my prayers.

He gestured to a black leather chair on wheels. “Want to sit? Or am I keeping you from something?”

Taking him up on his offer, she sat. “Nothing important. I wasn’t tired, so I decided to work for a little while.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, either.” He leaned against the edge of the L-shaped desk, his broad shoulders and narrow hips drawing her attention. “Figured I’d unpack.”

Not surprisingly, the surface behind him was covered with computers and assorted gadgets, all linked together with cords. “You said you own a software business. Do you design games?”

With a smile, he shifted around to reach for a stack of CD cases. He held up the top disk. “Some people might think of them as games, but this one detects specific properties of computer viruses to keep them from infecting entire networked systems. Another program uses logarithms and probability to help law enforcement identify serial offenders. Sort of like profiling.”

“Do you think you can tell whether a man is straight or gay by looking at him?” Her cheeks warmed at the blunt question that must’ve been triggered by her subconscious. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I sometimes forget to switch from research mode to normal. Not that I’m normal. I’ll just shut up now.”

Color crept up his neck, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again. He picked up a mechanical pencil, rolling it between his palms several times. His behavior suggested he wasn’t overly comfortable with the topic. Was he a closeted gay or a homophobe? “Hm. I guess I’d have to say no. You do research on that kind of…stuff?”

Her stomach dove to her knees. “You mean Winston and Miles didn’t tell you what I do?”

“You’re a psychologist, right?” He seemed to relax with the slight change of subject. “And you talk to patients about how to deal with stress, family problems, abuse?”

How could her building mates have been so vague about her practice? “Yes, I have a few patients like that, but the majority…My area of expertise is sex therapy—like helping people who aren’t sure about their sexuality, couples wanting to spice up their sex lives.”

His face turned bright red, and he coughed.

She waited for the inevitable inappropriate comment. Women thought she slept around—including with her clients—and men expected her to have sex with them for their first date instead of dinner, a movie, or even a walk in the park. Miles and Winston had simply nodded when she’d explained her occupation to them, giving her a whack-on-the-head hint that they might not be heterosexual.

Barrett’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips. “You have patients who think they…could be…bisexual?”

Her heart skipped a beat.
Another
nice guy she’d consider dating was more interested in exploring same-sex relationships than getting her naked. Could her love life suck any worse? “Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender. Usually male-female couples. Sometimes not.”

His serious expression didn’t fit the typical reaction of a straight guy—no laughing, joking, raunchy comments. He was thinking way too hard about what she’d told him.

Twirling the chair toward the door, she stood. “I should let you get back to unpacking, and I have work to do.”

He was quiet until she stepped into the hall. “I bet you’re really good at getting people to talk about their problems. See you tomorrow, Rory.”

Oh, yeah.

Barrett was either in denial about his sexuality or he’d recently come to terms with it. She’d counseled a guy just like him a few months ago. “See ya.”

The walk to her office could’ve been a death march to her frustrated hormones. What did she have to do to find a man worth having—who liked women?

The darkness outside didn’t fool Barrett for a second. His stomach had informed him of the time at least a half an hour ago, but he had too much on his mind to think about breakfast.

Do you think you can tell whether a man is straight or gay by looking at him?

Rory’s question had caught him completely off guard. She was trained to recognize people troubled by sexual and emotional issues. She’d seen the signs of someone hiding from the truth—not that he hadn’t accepted his attraction to men. He’d just never acted on it, and he had no reason to now that he’d crossed paths with Rory again.

She was everything he could want. Exceptional intelligence, a terrific personality, and a knockout body summed up his wish list. He could easily imagine himself spending the rest of his life with her and not needing to experiment. With her professional experience, she shouldn’t have any qualms about supplementing their sexual relationship with strap-ons, butt plugs, and other anal toys. Maybe he wouldn’t get to suck a real cock, but he’d enjoy eating her pussy and showing her the ways he could please her.

He didn’t need both male and female if he had her. He’d gladly fuck her perfect ass if she allowed him the honor.

Pushing back the covers, he climbed out of bed and aimed for the bathroom. Steam clouded the mirror by the time he stepped into the shower, and the warm spray was a welcome improvement from his last apartment. He wouldn’t have to get up at five anymore to beat the rush for hot water.

Saturday gave him all the excuse he required to skip shaving his face, but he suffered through it in case he got the opportunity to kiss his sexy neighbor after movie night at her apartment later. Winston and Miles would probably give him hell for overstepping the boundaries they’d set, so he’d have to wait until they left to test the waters.

He closed his eyes, the silkiness of Rory’s cheek still fresh in his memory. Every inch of her skin would be as soft, and her nipples would stiffen to delicious firm berries beneath his tongue and lips. The musky scent of her arousal would draw him down a trail over her stomach and to the wetness between her thighs for a taste of heaven.

A surge of desire made his balls contract and his cock harden. Wrapping his fist around his length, he stroked up and down, imagining her hands on him. She’d cup his sac, gently squeezing as she rubbed her thumb along the ridge to his slit. Then her fingers would tease his anus while she pumped him.

He fumbled for the toy he’d set on the shelf with his shampoo yesterday. Lifting his foot to the edge of the bathtub, he squirted a glob of lube onto the dildo and slicked it over his hole. The lifelike dick slid inside with little effort, years of practice having stretched his muscles to accommodate it with no problem.

The picture in his mind morphed into Rory sucking his cock while Miles fucked his ass. Winston stood to the left of her, flicking his tongue across Barrett’s nipple. Sensation flooded his body, the visual so real and the feeling of rightness so profound, completion washed over him. Winston nipped at the hard nub, sending a stinging shot of pleasure southward. Spasms rocked his ass around Miles’s dick as his nuts contracted and his cock exploded, shooting cum into Rory’s mouth. Barrett’s throat vibrated with a long, low groan.

His legs turned to rubber, and he grabbed for the wall to keep from falling. Easing downward, he collapsed into the tub, his pulse thumping in his ears and his heart trying to escape from his chest. Water droplets splashed into his face, but he didn’t move. He
couldn’t
move. The vision had sparked an unbelievable orgasm, the scene more erotic than anything he’d ever dreamed of before. His fantasies had always consisted of a single woman or man making love with him. What had triggered that thought? That image?

Finally able to take a breath, Barrett removed the dildo and let the spray bring him back to reality. If he’d any doubts about his desire to be fucked by a guy, they were gone now. That he’d been part of a foursome confounded him, though. Switch hitter or not, having sex with more than one person had
never
entered his mind until today.

Hell, he needed a therapy session with Rory to figure out what was going on in his brain. Even with her background, she’d probably call him a pervert. Since when was he interested in orgy sex? His mental movie resembled bachelor-party porn more than relationship sex—except he would’ve been surrounded by naked women instead of his high school crush and their two male neighbors. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he didn’t do one-night stands or casual hookups.

Sitting up, he turned off the water and rested his head in his hands. How was he supposed to spend the evening with Rory, Miles, and Winston without remembering every detail of their imaginary encounter? Could he even look any of them in the eye?

He levered up, standing once again to dry and step out of the shower. A swipe of the towel across the mirror cleared a streaky swath of steam, but he kept his gaze averted. He couldn’t even look
himself
in the eye.

Leaving his robe hanging on the wall hook, he strode naked to the bedroom to dig a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the dresser. After a Pop-Tart and a cup of coffee, he’d write a note to Rory, saying something had come up and he couldn’t make it to movie night. He had no other choice.

That’ll be a great start to convincing her to go out with me. You’ve got balls, Barrett. Prove it.

Fine, he’d face her, Winston, and Miles tonight. Kissing her as he left was out off the agenda for now.

He dressed, trying to erase the wild fantasy from his mind. The strong smell of coffee drew him to the kitchen, and he poured a mug, doctoring it with powdered creamer since he hadn’t taken time to make a grocery run to stock his refrigerator yet. The first sip nearly scalded the tip of his tongue, but the pungent flavor and aroma gave him the jolt he needed to tackle searching the pantry for his breakfast of champions.

Finding a jar of peanut butter and a mostly empty bag of pretzels in front, he opted for easy. He stood at the sink, scooping out gooey globs with stale mini-twists. His mom was probably rolling over in her grave. Breakfast had been the most important meal of the day when he was growing up. A plate of eggs, toast, and bacon or sausage awaited him every morning before school until he’d moved into campus housing at eighteen.

I should’ve—

No, second-guessing his decision to go away to college wouldn’t change anything. She still would’ve gotten cancer, and she still would’ve died. Radical treatments might’ve been able to extend her life a few months, but terminal meant death in the end, no matter the expense or effort. He couldn’t blame her for being brave enough to face her fate head-on. His dad hadn’t handled it half as well.

If she could muster the courage to die, Barrett could handle spending an evening with his new neighbors. He’d act like nothing had happened.

Gulping down his coffee, he tossed the last few pretzels in the trash and put the lid on the peanut butter. After he finished organizing his office, he’d buy enough groceries to eat like an adult instead of pathetic college student.

A morning of setting up his current project in solitude and silence calmed his hyped-up nerves. He could’ve been the only resident in the building from the lack of voices and normal sounds, and it didn’t bother him in the least. Deep into writing a program, he often holed up late at night to avoid interruptions.

His notebooks lay scattered on the desk, ready for random scribblings related to his work. The whiteboard hung on the adjacent wall, and manuals lined the built-in bookshelves. The space was his new home away from home.

A knock at the door sent his pulse jumping. Taking a slow breath, he walked to the door to let in his visitor.

Winston stood in the hall, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. “Want to get lunch with me? I think we need to clear up a few things after last night.”

Giving a half shrug, Barrett patted his pants pocket for his keys. He locked his eyes on a point over the other man’s shoulder to keep from studying the body of the guy who’d sucked his nipples earlier. “Look, I like Rory. I was there when the jerks in high school made jokes about her behind her back. The guys couldn’t see past her…endowments, and the girls called her a slut because she had the body of a centerfold at fifteen. Add the blonde hair, and well…She was smart and nice, but they treated her like shit, just like they did to me—except I was the nerd. You have no reason to protect her from me.”

His hand extended, Winston sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for being an ass.”

Almost afraid to shake his hand, Barrett hesitated. “Do you mind if I ask if you like her too? Is that the problem?”

Winston glanced down the hall and back again. “I’d rather not get into a discussion here.”

“Okay. Where do you want to go for lunch?” Stepping into the corridor, Barrett pulled the door closed and checked the lock.

I can do this. It’s not like I actually had sex with him. And Miles. And Rory.

“How about the pub on the next block? Decent sandwiches and cold beer. It’s not usually very busy this time of day on a Saturday.”

“Sounds fine.” Barrett fell into step beside Winston, his pulse thumping in his ears and his muscles tensing at the occasional brush of their arms. When they exited the building, he put a little more space between them. “Nobody can overhear now. What’s the issue? You like her? Miles likes her?”