I am brought back to the present when I hear Stewart speak, his voice calm and intelligent, the rough scrape of his voice only visible to me, who knows it so well. I can see the slight tighten of his jaw, can see the fire in his eyes when he casually glances my way. He is aroused, and allows my hand to confirm it when I reach over. Full-blown, hard as a diamond, aroused. It confuses the hell out of me and makes me wet at the same time. Then my phone buzzes, and I am out of time to think. I stand, gripping my purse, waving the men off as they start to rise. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to step outside for a bit.”

False concern crosses Stewart’s features as he rises, excusing himself and escorting me to the door. “You will be the death of me, you know that?” he says softly.

“I could say the same for you.”

He stops, outside the door. “Have him f**k you hard,” he bites out, pulling me into his body with sudden aggression. “And whatever he doesn’t take care of, I will. Just give me a few hours to finish up this business. Hurry.” He slaps me on the ass, hard enough to sting, my panties soaked at the forbidden nature of this entire experience. I grip my purse tightly and step out of the restaurant, into the hotel lobby, and head for the restroom.

I knock gently on the unisex door. “It’s me.” My voice croaks on the last word. This is the closest my two worlds have ever come to colliding. Stewart and Paul. In the same building. My dark and my light. One, now seated, surrounded by finery, listening attentively to talks of profit and loss, his c**k hard, hidden underneath fine linens and discussions of intellect. And my light, swinging the door open and pulling me inside, slamming it closed behind me and flipping the latch. No words spoken, his hands thrusting me back, his mouth greedy on mine as he tastes champagne on my tongue, our need thick in the air. I reach for him, my hand running down his worn tee and grip the top of his jeans. He has not changed clothes since I saw him last, has not dressed up for his entrance into this hotel, and I love the contrast. His messy hair to Stewart’s combed. Five o’clock shadow to clean-shaven. The smell of sweat to cologne. I normally get a cleansing period, the twenty-minute drive between my worlds clearing my head, my skin, my palette. Now, walking instantly from one to the other, the comparisons are overwhelming. He pulls back, releasing me. Wiping a hand over his mouth, his eyes take a slow tour of my body.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Dressed up like you are a good girl.” He hasn’t seen me like this. With my hair conservative and a cocktail dress on, pearls at my neck. He slides my dress up, the expensive fabric stiff, staying where it is put, the black peep of lace panties exposed. I stay still, my back against the wall, legs slightly forward and spread a few feet apart. My chest heaving, need gripping me, I watch him unzip his pants and pull out his cock.

“Suck it. On your knees, in this bathroom. Suck my c**k while your boyfriend sits at the table.”

There is an edge to his voice, an anger that is not normally present. An emotion that is turning my easy-going Paul into something darker. Sexier. I love it, love the bite in his voice, the possession in his hand as he grips the back of my head and pulls me fully onto his cock. He thrusts into my mouth, his eyes on mine, the connection between us unbroken as he f**ks my throat, growing with every pump, the fire in his eyes making the need between my legs almost painful in its intensity.

I pull off of him, gasping for breath, his arms pulling me to my feet before I even speak, his arm pining me to his body as his other hand wraps around, slides underneath the edge of dress and squeezes my ass. Hard. So hard I gasp, his eyes tight on mine and he releases it, running his fingers down the crack of my ass and fingering the channel of my sex, covered in lace, his fingers running back and forth over the spot, a grin stretching across his face at the dampness there.

“Is that for me or him?”

I don’t answer, reaching between our bodies and fist his cock, wrapping my hands tightly around it, every vein in the organ outlined in the rigidity of his arousal.

“Answer me Madd. Answer me while I f**k you right here. While I make you scream so loud that people walking by will hear.”

“Make me,” I whisper, a challenge in the tones.

His hand tightens around my waist at the words, his eyes holding mine with a fierce look as he listens to my words.

“Make me scream your name while he conducts his business. Make me your slut, right here and now and send me back to him with your cum dripping out of me.”

He groans, pushing me back against the wall, spreading my legs with his knees. He reaches down with both hands, gripping my panties and pulling, ripping the sheer fabric with one strong jerk. Then his body is back against me, his chest hard to mine, his bare c**k rough and bobbing at my entrance, pushing for and then finding the wetness of my sex and pushing inside. “Jesus Christ Madd,” he groans, shoving upward, his hard thighs pinning me to the wall, his hands yanking at my straps, pulling my cashmere cardigan off my shoulders and jerking the top of my dress down. He thrusts again, his thighs relaxing and then flexing, every f**k bouncing me back against the wall, his hands clasping my breasts, squeezing them into his palms.

“Make me scream,” I grit out, my eyes on his. They are tortured blue, cloudy with arousal, latent with need. “You know that he f**ked me? Before we came here. I straddled his c**k and rode him. His hands rough on my skin, his c**k taking my body. He was inside me Paul, right where you are now.” He roars, his voice raw and primal, pushing me against the wall, losing control as he slams against me, faster and faster, until my body becomes a shaking sea of desire, my core rattled, breath gasping, his thrusts urgent and dominant, his breath ragged, his hands finding my face and bringing my mouth to his.

“You are mine,” he guts out, pumping into me, the length and level of his arousal brutal. “Mine,” he swears, as he releases my mouth and turns me around, pushing me forward as he yanks my legs back, one hand hard on my back, the other gripping my ass. He doesn’t slow the movement, giving me full, hard thrusts, my br**sts bouncing from the top of my dress, the mirror above the sink giving me a full view of my slutdom.

Paul, in worn jeans, a white t-shirt, light hair mussed, mouth open, intensity over his face. His reflection pulls at my hair, tilting my head back, and I find his eyes on mine in the mirror.

“You like what you see?” His words are terse, thick. He is conflicted, but – from the level of his erection – fully aroused at the same time, his speed increasing, his breath loud in the small space. “You like being f**ked while he’s in the next room?”

I don’t answer, my cl**ax too close, every muscle in my body tightening in anticipation of the act, throbbing and contracting around him, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation.

“God, Madd. You are so f**king good...” He pulls out abruptly, leaving me gasping, my chest aching as I turn to him, feeling his hands before I fully move; they shove me back, wrapping around my waist and lifting me, setting me on the low counter of the sink and pulling me to the edge. He jacks himself, looking at my pussy, at the swollen pink lips of sex, then glances up to meet my eyes. He steps forward, pressing himself at my base, pushing my chin up when he sees me glance down. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me what he did to you. Tell me what he did and make me come all f**king up inside of you.”

I close my eyes at his first thrust, the angle different, better in its brush of my g-spot. “He sat me on his lap, in this same dress. Those panties? The ones you ripped to shreds? I wasn’t wearing those when I first saw him. Because I knew he’d take me as soon as he could.” He pulls out of me, my eyes catching sight and gluing to the image of my wet lips sliding around his cock. His hands tighten on my ass and he pushes deeper, dragging his c**k in and out of me in long, deep strokes. My voice catches at the look in his eyes, the intensity of his arousal. All playfulness is gone. This man before me – he is Stewart but with different features, their similarities never more present then right now, and I gasp when he fully buries himself inside.

“More,” he groans. “Tell me more.”

“I came from his fingers, my juices all over his hand, I came and I screamed his name when I did it. I told him how f**king perfect he was and how much he turned me on.” His strokes roughened with my words, increasing in speed, his competitiveness lighting a fire in my belly and I was suddenly there again. One the brink of orgasm, need running through my limbs and pumping loud in my heart. “God Paul, you have no idea how good his c**k feels in me. How deep he goes when I straddle his c**k and f**k him hard. How he whispers my name when I take every inch of him.”

He roars, pulling me to the far edge of the sink, thrusting deeper and harder than he ever has, his mouth roughly taking my own, his tongue marking, branding, and drinking from my mouth. I push against his chest, my own body breaking in his arms, the orgasm whirling through my body, my words tumbling out as I shudder with pleasure in his arms, his pace never slowly, his cries joining my own, the hot spread of liquid pumped deep with his cock, his name repeated over and over as he finally, with one final shuddering thrust, buries himself inside of me.

Five minutes later, I slip back into my seat, Stewart barely pausing in a lengthy explanation of market trends and their expected impact. But I feel his eyes on me, see the casual glance at his watch. “Impressive.” He murmurs, tugging my hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on my knuckle. “I take it you are taken care of?”

I feel drugged, heady with the release and the knowledge of what I have just done. “Till tonight,” I whisper.

“Oh have no doubt,” he says, staring into my eyes. “You will need every bit of energy for it.”

I hide a grin behind a long sip of champagne, turning when I feel a soft hand on my arm.

“My wife tells me you sell books,” the man says, a polite smile on his face. “Tell me, what authors do you enjoy?”

I smile politely, responding to the man, and feel the rough heat of Stewart’s hand, sliding up my dress, and hear his intake of breath when he finds my lack of panties.

We leave the event early, Stewart declining invitations for cigars, blaming my lightheadedness for our early departure. He pulls me by the hand, his steps clipped, my heels skittering to keep up. We push through the lobby doors and into the cool night air, the valet ready with his car, the intense look on his face as he shuts my door sending shivers through my body.

The engine roars as he accelerates, out of the garage, his hand fumbling for and unbuckling my seatbelt as he turns onto the road, the traffic light. “I need your f**king mouth on me. Now.” He loosely grips my hair and pulls as I climb my torso over the center console, my hands quickly undoing his belt, his erection strong against the expensive fabric.

He grunts when I have it out, my hand gripping it, my mouth on it before he can speak, p**cum salty and sweet on my tongue, proof of his arousal. His hand pushes my head, pushing me down on it, and exhales as I take him. “Jesus, Madison.” His voice breaks, almost as if on a cry, the need so strong, his hand shaking as he cups the back of my head. “I couldn’t f**king think in there. Knowing what you were doing, knowing what you had done. My sweet f**king girl, full of another man.” He thrusts upward on the final word, his sentence ending harshly, thick with competition.

I suck, hard and fast, my hand aiding me, the push and pull of his hand setting the tone, my mouth doing the rest. And it doesn’t take long. He is so ready, so primed for me, three hours of buildup turning my steel man into a mess of want and desire. It is gorgeous when he comes.

gasping my name

thrusting into my mouth

twitching, spurting, more and more

draining down my throat, spilling out around my hand

I gag, I gulp and he says my name

over and over

his thighs flexing beneath me

his grip tight on my hair

His car flies into the portico of his building and he slams on brakes, shoving the car into park, groaning for air as both hands come down on my head, pushing himself up into my mouth for one last thrust, one last drop. Then he pulls me back, lifting under my arms and dragging me across the center, until my dress rides up and my ass is on his cock, his arms encasing me, as I curl into a ball against his hard chest. A chest that is heaving, his heart pounding beneath his skin, his arms wrapping tightly, strongly, around my body. “God...” he whispers. “You are my f**king kryptonite.” He leans down, pressing soft kisses on my hair and forehead, his hand releasing me and cradling my face, turning it up to his, and kissing me fully and deeply on the lips. “I love you Madison. For everything.”

And that is how it is. I f**k Stewart, I f**k Paul, and they both know about it. And the more I f**k one, the more turned on the other gets. The more competitive, aggressive, loving, they become. It is a constant, whirling sea of sex. I love it, and they love it. They don’t need to know who the other is. That would take it a step too close, a step too real. It is better that it is a nameless, faceless individual. And I appreciate keeping the worlds separate. I have fantasies, sure. Of having them both at the same time. Their hands on my body, their competing cocks battling over my skin. But that just seems too messy. And I don’t want to do anything to disrupt the perfection that is us. The three of us. Living two separate relationships.

I get that you don’t understand. That you wonder how someone could possibly be aroused, turned on by the thought of something so forbidden. But often, it is the forbidden that is the hottest, and the depraved that is the most arousing.

TORRENCE, CA

DANA

It is unhealthy, this obsession I have with Stewart’s love life. Why should it matter who he dates? Why do I care if the blushing blonde on his arm is a flavor of the week or a future wife? I should return to my life, return to my empty condo and my stacks of work. I should not care whether he is happy or lonely, a workaholic or a loving boyfriend. But of course I care. I will always care, I will always love him, and I will always watch out for him. He is my Stewart.