Page 88 of Dirty Like Dylan

In reality, that was probably all negotiable. Logically, I knew that.

My jaded heart just had a bit of trouble letting it go.

But I did manage to let it go. For now.

The DJ cranked up some old-school Guns N’ Roses, though the sex-fueled grind of “Anything Goes” wasn’t quite as loud as the live band’s music. I was just about to ask Dylan what he thought of the band—you know, to distract from the fact that I was dying of nerves and excitement and the anticipation of whatever was about to go down between the three of us. But just as I turned to him, Ashley reached behind me and tapped him on the shoulder. The two of them leaned in behind me and started talking. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and it was definitely fucking killing me.

Were they talking about me??

I’d already told myself I was just gonna sit here and drink my beer, try not to sweat right through Laura’s pink sweater, and wait for them to take the lead. I’d be careful not to get plastered in the meantime, but I’d wait. No matter how long it took.

But I was curious as hell about how this was gonna work. Like did they need to negotiate who was going to have me in what position?

Or who was going to fuck me first?

The more I thought about it, the hotter I got, until my pussy was pretty much screaming at me over Axl Rose’s vocals, begging for attention. Shit, were we still on the same song? Felt like a half-hour had passed since the band had finished playing. And the heat of Dylan’s long, steely drummer’s thigh pressed against mine wasn’t helping my growing arousal. Neither was the warm, strong hand that Ashley placed on my other thigh.

They were still talking.

Maybe they were just talking about the band. Or the weather.

They didn’t necessarily have to be talking about me, right? Just because they had a woman between them whom they were probably planning to fuck before the night was through, they could have other things to talk about, right?

Shit. I was starting to lose it.

My clit was pulsing and my nipples were diamond-hard and I could feel my whole body getting flushed. Why did I wear this stupid sweater? It was so fucking hot in here.

I took a swig of my cool beer and struggled to pace myself in every way. If I got too worked up here, I was probably gonna come the second I saw them both naked.

Oh. My. God.

My brain fucking melted at that thought.

Dylan. Ashley. Naked. Right in front of me. So close, I could touch them both…

Okay. Deep breath.

I really needed to calm the fuck down. This was no big deal. No. Big. Deal.

I’d already had sex with Ashley, right?

Hot, hawt sex.

Fuck.

It’s just sex, I kept telling myself. You’ve had sex with a man, plenty of times. You can have sex with two.

What’s the difference?

But there was a difference.

There was a big, huge, giant difference.

Starting with the fact that both of them had now put a hand on my leg under the table. Ashley’s on my left thigh, and now Dylan’s on my right.

I was going to die. Of a heart attack.

Right now.