Chapter 19 Julia

Itear my lips away from Jay's and am about to ask what the hell he's doing, when Gus pulls his arm back. The look of pure, undeniable fury on his face makes my blood run cold.

"Don't," I warn, almost plead, stepping between Gus and Jay and frantically holding up my hands because Gus could—and might—kill Jay.

Surprised, Gus immediately stops. With his fist still in the air, his blue eyes narrow. He looks between Jay and me. His hand relaxes and his brow tightens, and I wonder how he reads the situation.

"Wrong choice," he declares before he turns and stalks off the dance floor.

Mortified, I watch Gus's retreating figure. At the same time, Jay's hand drifts away from my stomach. No no no. Did he think I was picking Jay over him?

When I lose sight of Gus, I whirl around and tighten my expression. Jay's face is surprisingly placid for a guy who was just nearly eviscerated by a man half a foot taller than him.

"What was that for?" I demand.

Jay raises a shoulder, expression borderline amused. "I did you a favor, Jules," he claims, speaking into my ear over the thump of the music. "That guy is all wrong for you."

I shove Jay with both hands, sending him teetering backwards into the club goers behind him. "You don't know anything about it."

"He's a forty-three-year-old tech bro," Jay replies, shrugging and nearly laughing at the notion. "What do you two even talk about? Or are you not talking?"

Jay knowing Gus's exact age is a clear giveaway: He researched him. And like anyone who researches Gus, Jay failed to learn anything about him. To be honest, I still know so little. But what I do know is he's brilliant and ambitious and surprisingly tender when you get him alone. More importantly, he just made a commitment to share more of himself with me—and in a matter of seconds, Jay derailed all our progress.

"Are you kidding me?" I demand, keeping my voice even and my cadence slow. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He pulls his face back with surprise. "Jules, come on. Don't do this."

"Do what?"

Jay leans closer and says into my ear, "Don't let him turn you into someone you're not."

"What the hell am I, Jay?" I demand, pushing him away again.

"You're mine," he answers, raising a shoulder as if I already knew. "We dance around it, but at the end of the day…"

My stomach drops. "You're my best friend," I clarify hastily as soon as I can get a word in. "We haven't touched each other in over a year."

"Because you keep pushing me away," he stammers. "What is it? Why would you want him and not me?"

The hurt on his face tears at me, but I care about him too much to lie. There are a hundred reasons to pick Gus over any guy, but in this case? "He makes me feel desired," I admit. "He listens to what I want, Jay."

"And I don't?" he questions. "Look, if Gus Winter gives you attention and obviously fake praise about how cute it is when you read about the stock market or whatever, fine. But don't act like his feelings are special, Jules. Desired? He listens? Come on. He's trying to fuck you. Don't be na?ve. Men will say anything to fuck you. You know it's true."

I don't know how to respond. I've never felt so crushed. I want to explain how Gus promised he would try—prove to Jay he's wrong about him. But right now, a promise is just words. I can't throw away one of my oldest friendships based on the words of a man who doesn't even believe in love.

"I'm going," Jay announces when I don't respond right away. "Fuck this night. I'll see you back in the suite later."

He leaves before I can even react. I'm left standing with my mouth agape, watching Jay—who may as well have pissed on my leg—shove into the crowd and disappear.

"Is this a joke?" I demand to no one in particular.

I know Jay well enough to know he wants me to follow him. Apparently he doesn't know me well enough to realize I won't.

"Damn it," I blurt out before I turn and shove my way off the dancefloor.

"Julia," Peter calls. He tries and fails to grab my arm, but I ignore him. If I hurry, maybe I can still catch Gus before he disappears on a private plane or a helicopter or a jet ski or a cloud of smoke or some other dramatic billionaire bullshit.

I finally find him by the hotel pool, ranting into the phone against his ear. His thick, muscular arm gestures wildly like he's rattling off a list of demands to whoever is listening (Brent, if I had to guess). His posture screams fury—and I can't deny, it looks hot on him.

"August," I call out.

He looks over at me, surprised by my presence at first. In the dim light from the pool, I can only vaguely make out the shape of his features. Handsome—and pissed off as all hell.

"Why'd you run?"

Subtly, he ends his phone call with a shift of his thumb. "You do it all the time. Thought I'd see how it feels."

Ouch. I know I deserve that. "How does it feel?" I ask, trying to keep the mood light. I am, after all, here to make amends.

"Like shit." He grits out the words like they're sharp on his tongue, like he doesn't want to share them with me.

I decide to interpret his reluctance as a good thing—he recognizes that no matter how he fights it, he can't stay away from me.

Loosening my expression, going for sultry, I close the gap between us and I rest my hands flat on his chest. His skin is warm through his shirt and his muscles flex against my palms when he breathes. "I know something we can do that would feel much better," I murmur when my lips are by his ear.

He remains stiff and unresponsive. "Why am I here, Julia?"

"Because I wanted you here."

"But why?"

"I told you: because you fuck like a god and I don't settle for anything less than the best."

He hides his pride with a deep, stoic glare. He shakes his head before saying, "I'm not here to make your boyfriend jealous, am I?"

"Do you seriously think I'd need any help?" I continue, taking another gamble by putting my hands on his cheeks. "And he's not my boyfriend. He never has been, either."

Gus's silence pushes for an honest answer—and Peter's right. I just need to tell him what I want.

"You're here because I want you. Because I haven't stopped thinking about you since I left Montana, and I'm sick of thinking. I want to touch you. Taste you. I'll let you do the same to me."

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. A look of heat replaces his anger, and I caress his cheek with the pad of my thumb.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Julia," he murmurs.

"I know."

My response gets an amused exhale out of him.

Now that he's calm, I remove my hands from his cheeks and push aside the triangles of my bikini top, leaving my breasts exposed.

Gus's eyes immediately home in on my nipples. They're hard already—pink and swollen and lewd like they're dying for his touch. The longer he stares, the harder he stares, the more difficult it becomes for me to continue this protracted seduction.

But when I start something, I finish it. No matter how badly I want to climb Gus without another second passing between us, I continue to take my time and shed the coverup I'm wearing.

"We're outside," he reminds me, eyebrow raised as he watches me toss my coverup to the side.

"I know."

"This is not a private pool, Julia."

"I know."

"Neither of us is good at being quiet."

His last comment makes me smile. Nearly naked, I move forward again and rest my hands on his shoulders. "As if I care about anyone finding us," I murmur before I run my tongue along the shell of his ear. "Like anything could stop me from getting you—and keeping you—inside of me."

He gives me a look of total bewilderment, like he really can't comprehend how I say the things I do and act the way I do. More delightfully, his expression captures his deep admiration for my audacity: When I'm game, he is too.

"You'll have to do some pretty impressive work to make me forget what just happened, Ridgeway." There's a sexy undercurrent of warning behind his tone. Goosebumps arise on my skin.

"Do I ever do less than impress?"

"Kissing your fuck buddy in front of me isn't impressive." His face darkens again. "And then holding me back from him, like you wouldn't enjoy watching me pulverize a man in your name…"

"He kissed me, not the other way around."

Gus raises his hands and puts them on my waist, making me inhale sharply from the sensation of his touch on my bare skin. "I don't give a shit," he whispers—and holy hell, his anger shoots right to my core.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Always," he responds without hesitation, tightening his grip.

For once, when I put enough pressure on him, he gives. He lets me guide his body backwards so he lowers down onto the daybed behind us.

There's a cabana over it, white and gauzy, with drapes surrounding three sides. Slowly, deliberately, I undo the ties and position the drapes to give us some semblance of privacy—but not much. If anyone were to enter the pool area and pass by the foot of our cabana, they would find Gus and me.

His starving, approving gaze is worth the risk.

I'm working on the last of the drape ties when Gus clears his throat. Without a word, he raises his chin, directing me to look past him. Peter stands by the pool's entrance with one hand on the gate, hesitating like he's unsure if he should stay or go.

"He came to check on me," I explain. "Peter's sweet like that."

"Tell him to come here," Gus instructs, surprising me.

When I whirl around to face him, I realize he's not angry. His expression has taken on a familiar, conspiratorial look. Somehow, this night is turning into one of those superb machinations of his, the kind that have resulted in me coming spectacularly in a handful of daring scenarios.

My heart is racing. "Petey, come here," I call before canting my head in Gus's direction.

Wearing an expression of confusion and intrigue to match mine, Peter strolls over and lets his eyes travel between me—standing topless and covering my tits with my hands—and Gus, who is now reclining casually on the daybed like an emperor.

When he's next to us, Peter takes a sip of the drink he's still working on. It's something pink in a clear, plastic cup. Typical Peter, finding the most ridiculous cocktail on the menu and shamelessly nursing it. His shirt is open, showing his muscular, bare chest glistening with sweat from dancing in the humid Cartagena night.

"What's up, you two?" Peter asks like we're all just casually running into each other, even though there's nothing casual about the situation.

"Have you fucked him too?" Gus inquires, raising his chin in Peter's direction.

Peter's eyes widen, but he doesn't say a word. For the first time ever, someone has stunned Peter Davenport into silence.

I shrug. "A couple times," I admit, playing along to match Gus's casual energy. "We're just friends."

Gus's expression darkens. "Like you and Jay?"

"Like me and Jay."

"Do you fuck all your friends?" he presses, still not entirely at ease.

"Yes," I lie to humor him, hoping I can keep us moving in the right direction. "And I'd really like to be your friend, August."

If my words titillate him, he doesn't show it. Gus lets out a sigh—a billionaire's sigh—like this bizarre situation is starting to grow tedious. "So he's already seen you naked? He's been inside of you?"

I nod, not bothering to tell him that years have passed since Peter and I were together—and the last time was when we were both rolling on ecstasy at Coachella.

Kingly and bored, Gus motions for Peter to take a step closer. Peter does, but not without shooting a glance in my direction that screams, What are you two psychopaths doing right now?

"You're Gregory's son," Gus says, assessing Peter like he's trying to vet him.

"Unfortunately," Peter confirms before he takes a drink of his cocktail.

Gus releases a scoff, making me wonder if he finds Peter amusing. "I saw you working on two women at once back at the club. Debauchery is your thing, isn't it?"

"Very much so," Peter agrees with a nod and a wink.

"And what do you think of her?" Gus continues, tilting his head at me.

"She's sex on legs," Peter answers without taking his eyes off Gus. "And she's my best friend."

"Do you want her?" Gus inquires.

Peter assesses me now. His expression is right at the intersection of intrigue and chaos—as usual. "I'd be flattered if Julia wanted anything more. Honored, even. But we've always been friends. Plus, she's so hung up on you that I would never stop questioning it."

"Peter!" I chastise.

Annoyingly nonchalant, he raises a shoulder. "What? You haven't told Gus you're obsessed with him?"

Gus has never looked so pleased in the entire time I've known him. He's practically beaming.

"I like him," he decides. "Peter, will you stick around? Julia likes to keep it interesting and I like to give her what she wants. Anything she wants. And frankly, I think she'd like two cocks."

Peter and I freeze immediately. In fact, we both stay so still that the surrounding crickets begin to chirp again, ringing through the night. Peter and I slowly face each other and then look back at Gus.

"Right, honey? You were bragging about how much fun it was the last time you took two men. You said it was incredible." Gus smirks and settles back in his seat. "You seemed to think the idea would make me jealous, but it got me imagining how hot you probably looked. Did you take one in your pussy and one in your mouth? Or was it your pussy and your ass? You'd look amazing either way."

Flustered, I hold up both hands. "Stop. Just hold on. You really want Peter to…" I trail off and take in Gus's devious expression. "Wait, what exactly do you want?"

"Oh, was I not clear?" he inquires sweetly—which isn't particularly sweet. "I think you'd like two cocks and, sadly, I've only got one. Now, granted, in pure mass it's about what you'd get from two men, but I still figure you'd appreciate some attention in more than one of your holes at once."

Peter snorts, so I shoot him a glare over my shoulder.

"What?" he protests. "He's funny, Julia."

I turn back to Gus. "This feels like a trap. A second ago, you were angry with me for stopping a homicide, and now you're…"

Gus raises his hand to silence me, which is annoying, but I let it slide because—well, I'm still topless and I would be lying if I said I didn't want to get this show on the road.

"What happened tonight was a clear sign I haven't done my job well. I want everyone to know you're so fuck-drunk on my cock that making a pass at you is an exercise in futility. Jay's attempt showed me you're not fanatical enough yet. So, I'm going to spoil you until you are, Julia."

"By inviting Peter to join us?" I question, still trying to rationalize the situation. "You don't have to."

"Would you like it?" he presses. "Would it thrill you to have my cock and another one at the same time? I know you're up for anything, so don't hold back. If you want something, I'd burn the world down to give it to you. Do you want this, Julia?"

"Yes," I admit, breathing evenly to suppress the rosiness covering my skin at the prospect of taking two men at once.

The last—and only—time I did before was in college during a spring break trip to Bali. I lied to Gus; it was not incredible. The guys, a pair of roommates from another college, were thrilled to have a threesome but were uncomfortable together. They treated me like a privacy screen, avoiding looking at each other over me. In fact, they were so out of touch with each other, one guy came and the other didn't realize it for a full three minutes and kept asking me, Does it feel good, baby? To which my answer would have been a resounding, No, it doesn't feel good because your trigger-happy roommate hasn't been inside me for a while—but I did have his cock in my mouth, so I just ended up saying, Mhmm.

The prospect of a do-over—an upgrade—makes my heart race with excitement.

"Do you want this, August? Because you shouldn't do anything for my sake if it would upset you."

"Julia, it's rude to decline a gift," Peter chimes in.

Gus chuckles at Peter's joke. He finally rises from the daybed and puts his hand on my chin, drawing me closer. "Julia," he says, speaking close to my lips.

"Yes?"

"You wore a skimpy bikini in front of two men who have enough money to buy anything they want, and you took your pretty tits out. If you think you're going to end the night without a cock in at least two of your holes, you're as crazy as they all say you are," he whispers.

I gasp. When it comes to sex, I've seen and heard it all, but nothing quite like the filth that comes out of Gus's confident, dominating mouth.

"I'm generous," he goes on, still holding my chin. "I'll let you pick which holes."

I look back at Peter, whose mouth is agape with surprise and admiration. I can practically read his mind: I fucking love this guy, Julia.

And holy shit, we're really doing this.

"You get my pussy," I say to Gus. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Gus confirms, his gaze hot as he stares at me with outright admiration. He plants a kiss on my cheek. "And Peter?" He glances over my shoulder. "Where do you want him?"

I take a deep breath before I admit, "I don't want anyone else in my ass again until you've had it."

Beaming with pride, Gus cups his palms over my butt. His big hands caress my skin, skimming along the edges of my bikini bottoms. "Next time I see you, I'm going to take your ass so well, you'll be begging for forgiveness for all the games you've played, all the stunts you've pulled," he murmurs into my ear, soft so Peter can't hear him.

The words are only for us.

Pulling back, I look into Gus's eyes and scan them for doubt, trepidation, or disgust. I would recognize them all. I've seen those feelings hidden on men's faces before—the ones who couldn't or wouldn't give me what I needed. But Gus's clear blue eyes are free of all those feelings. All I see is hunger. Admiration. Desire.

"Then I want Peter in my mouth." I nod my head before I ask—for the first time in my life—for permission. "Can Peter fuck my throat?"

Gus doesn't flinch. He averts his attention to Peter and raises his chin. "Well, Davenport? Do you want my girl to suck your dick?"

His girl.

"Yes. God yes." Peter takes yet another step closer, an expression of wild anticipation on his face. He's already hard beneath his swim trunks, and I've been with Peter enough times to know he's thrilled with this turn of events.

Satisfied, Gus swivels his gaze back to me and assesses me. I'm still not sure how to read the situation. We went from having a mature, adult conversation about opening up to each other emotionally…to now engineering a threesome with my best friend.

My misgivings begin to fade when I notice Gus is suppressing a smile. He wants this so much, all because of one throwaway comment I made when I was trying to mess with his head. Is this what it's like to be Gus Winter's girl? He fulfills your every whim, no matter how taboo or risky, and simply delights in making you happy?

"Safe word?" Gus asks while he rubs my shoulders affectionately.

"Paris."

Gus looks at Peter. "And you?"

"Edelweiss," Peter replies, his expression still bewildered like he can't believe this is happening. "What about you?"

"Graceland," Gus responds before he turns his attention back to me. "Take off my shirt."

With the order dangling in the air, I realize what Gus gets out of this. It's full control. He's in charge of me—and Peter—and it doesn't matter if there's another man here. We're both here to entertain Gus Winter.

The thought makes my stomach flutter.

I do as I'm told and reveal his flawless body. His tan skin and sculpted muscles somehow look even better than they did in Montana. I inhale and exhale audibly, taking in his physique, wishing I could run my tongue along each ridge in his abdomen.

It's like he can read my mind.

He sits before he pulls me towards him, moving me like a prop. He places me in his lap so I'm seated atop his erection with my shins resting on the cushion beneath him. His hardness teases me through the sparse, thin layers between us.

Gus tilts me forward, guiding my lips to his chest. I kiss him, taste him. I trace the contours of one defined muscle and glance up. Gus's gaze is an inferno.

He lowers his hand to the spot where my apex rests against his erection. With a simple hook of his finger, he pulls my bottoms to the side.

"I haven't touched your pussy since December," he muses. He drags his finger along the edge of my lips. "That's entirely too long. So pink. Wet. Tight." When he says the last word, he plunges a finger into me.

I gasp at the sudden intrusion, but catch my bearings quickly. It only takes a single stroke to make me realize I actually missed being filled by him.

He adds another finger to join the first and pumps harder, pushing deep enough for the heel of his palm to press against my clit. The sensation makes me squirm against his hand.

…And then that motherfucker pulls his hand away.

"August—"

His other hand clasps over my mouth, and I hate how much my stomach flutters when he silences me.

"Nope. Not going any further until you pull your weight," he warns and raises his chin in Peter's direction.

Peter, who is openly working his cock while he watches Gus finger me, takes a step closer when he sees Gus beckon him over.

A tense moment passes between Peter and me. I stare at his thick, ruddy length, gathering my nerve. I shift as Gus returns his fingers and presses them deep in me again, curling them to massage the sensitive spot by my entrance. My body is light and tingly, and adrenaline courses through me. Two sets of eyes watch while I'm thoroughly finger fucked—and I love it.

"Do it," Gus murmurs before he plants a chaste kiss against my temple. His free hand brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, doting and affectionate and a stark contrast to the words that come out of his mouth next:

"Suck his cock, Julia."

The assurance in his voice helps push aside my lingering fear of upsetting the delicate balance between Gus and me. Deep breath. Gently, I wrap my hand around Peter's length. He's warm in my hand and reassuringly familiar, like a homecoming of sorts. I lock eyes with him while my hand rests on the base of his cock. I nod—and so does he. It's all I need to know he's still on board. Deftly, I begin to work him, dragging my hand from base to tip.

Groaning appreciatively, Peter scoots closer and rests his knees on the cushion. In this position, his cock is dangerously close to my face.

I continue to jack him with my hand, taking in the moment. Everything is elevated: my need, my sensitive skin, my breathing. Pleasure courses through me when Gus drags his fingertip over my clit, making me shudder.

I glance at Gus one more time, double checking that this is really what he wants…

I've never seen him so enthralled before.

"Give me your hand," he instructs.

Confused but eager, I remove my hand from Peter and hold it out to Gus. Eyes fixed on mine, desirous and ready, Gus flattens my palm and spits right into it.

Oh my god.

Before I can question it, he places my hand back on Peter, urging me to work him again. I do, wetting Peter's cock with Gus's saliva and watching my best friend tug his lower lip back with his teeth. He nods with approval.

It's so filthy and beyond what I ever imagined I would do. Working a man's cock with another man's spit? The idea never occurred to me, but now that I'm jacking Peter under Gus's approving gaze, my heart is pounding with excitement. I wanted this; I needed this.

"Do it," Gus murmurs, lips dragging against my neck. "Suck him off."

The order sends a wave of thrill through me. Adrenaline coursing, I press my tongue against the head of Peter's cock, allowing brief contact. Next to me, Gus inhales languidly and breathes out even slower when he watches the entire bulbed head slip between my lips.

"Shit," Peter hisses when I begin to suck. "Julia, that's amazing."

I'm tasting both of them: Gus's saliva on Peter's dick. I savor the taste on my tongue, allowing myself to be messy. I want Peter wet; I want Gus to see him go all the way into my throat.

"Good girl," Gus murmurs, smoothing back my hair—only to then grab it ferociously and tilt my head back. "Make room. Take all of him. Show me how much you love swallowing a fat cock."

His obscene words pull a deep groan from me, and I relax my throat to take more of Peter. His thick length makes my lips stretch. I choke and I sputter, but it adds to the moment: I'll do anything, endure anything, for risky pleasure.

"You look gorgeous," Gus murmurs against my ear, his deep voice promising a reward in my near future.

Sure enough, he removes his fingers from my pussy and quickly places the tip of his cock into my entrance. Before he pushes inside, he slips his fingers into his mouth—tasting me on his digits.

"Have you tasted her before?" Gus takes up a small thrust, barely entering my pussy, teasing me to oblivion.

Distracted, Peter breathes out before he says, "Once or twice."

Gus gives another thrust and pushes his cock halfway inside me. Yes. "She's delicious," he continues casually, like he and Peter are chatting while in line for coffee rather than filling two of my holes. "A pussy that pretty, and it tastes sweet."

"Agreed."

These men speaking about me like I'm not even here when they both have their dicks in me is hot in a twisted way. I let out an approving hum around Peter, which encourages him to press all the way in. I grunt, eyes watering, adjusting to the intrusion. I'm full—so unbelievably full.

"Taste her anytime you want," Gus goes on, pretending to ignore me—but he does stroke my back in a reassuring caress.

"Yeah?" Peter murmurs.

He nods. "I don't mind sharing with you."

As he finishes offering up my body to Peter, Gus bottoms out inside of me with a sudden, hard thrust. I cry out around Peter's cock, but the cry melts immediately into a groan.

"Is he all the way inside you?" Peter asks, dragging his thumbnail along the line of my lower lip.

I nod, unable to speak.

"That's so hot," Peter mutters before he starts thrusting into my throat.

Then I'm nearly boneless atop Gus, taking a cock below me and another in my mouth. I bounce between them, my bare breasts shaking freely until Gus catches one and fixes his mouth around my nipple. He sucks hard, his hands roaming my body generously, capturing and gripping and massaging my skin wherever he can.

Right when the stimulation might finally undo me, he pops off my nipple and gives my breast a swift slap, stinging me in the best way possible.

"Need more," he grunts.

He must exchange a look with Peter that I can't see. In impressive synchronization, Peter takes his cock from my mouth and pulls back, right as Gus pulls out of my pussy. Going from deliciously full to abruptly and miserably empty incites a frustrated sob. Luckily, Gus doesn't make me wait. He rolls me to the side so I'm flat on my back. With rough, commanding hands, he shoves my knees apart and down, spreading me wide open.

"Enough of these," he murmurs. He digs at my knotted bikini strings until he can pull them off and throw them aside.

"She looks so fuckable," Peter mutters before he kneels next to my head and puts his cock against my lips.

Gus is right there too. His huge length enters me again, parting my wetness to fill me gloriously.

My body has never felt so sensitive, so revered, in my life. I'm laying naked, on display, while two clothed men use my body. They shove their lengths down into me, neither bothering to be gentle.

"Enough cock for you yet?" Gus demands.

I take them, determined to make this good for all three of us, determined to show Gus that we've only uncovered the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things I'd be game to try.

I suck harder on Peter, watching him throw his head back—close.

"You look so beautiful with a cock in your mouth," Gus whispers into my ear, his words hot and strained. "So unbelievably beautiful. Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you like this?"

I shake my head, silently begging him to tell me more.

"It makes me want to keep you forever, Julia. To catch you and take you around the world, satisfying you dirty wherever we go."

Gus thrusts harder, at the cusp of brutal. I'm getting so close. So, so close.

"You make me furious. You taunt me. Toy with me. Run away. I can't even punish you for it because you want it filthy. You'd love being punished by me. You want your body used over and over again."

I groan, frantically chasing release. It's so much all at once, overstimulation practically.

"You're going to let me spoil you though. Because no matter what shit you pull with me, I want you so bad, Julia Ridgeway."

And then I fall apart.

When I climax, I forget how to breathe. My body shakes, completely out of control. Waves of pleasure roll to the furthest reaches of my body, tingling and lighting up like a fireworks show. I would be crying out if not for Peter in my mouth. I would be bucking and undulating, but I'm pinned by two cocks.

Peter follows right when my orgasm peaks so hard that my ears ring. Quickly, he pulls out of my mouth and doubles over, releasing onto the pavement adjacent to the daybed. "Jesus," he mutters as he comes, gripping the corner of the cabana for support.

Still going, Gus continues to pound inside me, his body now rubbing against mine. His chest hair teases my skin, making me tingle. I'm still fluttering, still so consumed with pleasure—

—I come again, tightening around the cock inside of me, wishing it would stay there forever. I grasp desperately at Gus's skin, trying to ground myself in something, but I'm lost to pleasure. He draws back and groans, spurting a rush of cum right on my chest. He strokes himself again, leaving it on my breasts and nodding when I shove my hand into his spend, rubbing it onto my nipple.

Gus's message is clear: I let you suck him, but it's my cum on your body.

And just when I think we're done, Gus rolls back on his heels and puts himself inside of me once more. He leaves his length in me—no plans to go again, just wanting to be inside of me.

Looming over me, Gus moves up my body to inspect my face. He holds my chin and turns my face left then right, like he's assessing a valuable work of art for flaws. Gently, he scrapes the tip of his thumb along the corner of my mouth.

"Good of you to keep her face clean, Peter," he says, glancing up at my friend.

"Anytime," Peter replies. He tucks himself back into his swim trunks. "Gus, thanks."

"You don't stick around?" Gus asks, raising his chin in Peter's direction.

Cheery and nonchalant as usual, Peter shakes his head. "You two look incredible together. Enjoy your night." He winks. "Julia, thank you for your mouth and your throat. I had a wonderful time."

Classic Peter: so damn sweet all the time. He departs with a bit of a skip in his step, and knowing Peter, his night is only getting started.

Alone now, Gus continues to hold me. He absentmindedly runs his fingertips through the mess on my tits, pleased I haven't tried to wipe it off yet.

"Did you enjoy that?" he whispers. He finally slides out of me.

I turn on my side, still basking naked. "So much."

He beams at my response and kisses my shoulder. "Me too."

"Was that your first time sharing a woman?"

Gus shakes his head, but he doesn't elaborate. I won't push him. I have no right to his sexual history beyond his assurance that he's clean. I will, however, push him on the other parts of his life. After all, he promised me he would try.

And I hope he meant it. Because after tonight, I'm not sure there's any way I could move on from him unscathed.

When we get back to Gus's room, we make a beeline for the shower. We don't fuck again though. We instead take turns washing each other under the hot water, meticulous and banal. It's slow, for the first time ever.

Clean and refreshed, I get into his bed and check my phone. I upload a new picture of myself before Gus climbs in next to me, weaves his arm around me, and tucks me against his abdomen. I had almost forgotten how much he enjoys touching me, like he always needs at least one hand on me. I certainly don't mind it.

He lets out a big yawn. "I'm so jetlagged," he murmurs. "It's late in London."

"Oh no, big guy," I warn. "Don't you dare act like we're going to roll over and go to sleep. We have to talk."

Both of Gus's eyebrows rise. "About what?"

I toss my phone to the side and sit facing him. "Tell me something about yourself. I want to know something nobody else knows."

He blinks quickly, amusement playing across his face. "I once poured a fifteen-thousand-dollar bottle of wine on a pussy belonging to the daughter of the sixth richest man in the world, and then fucked her in a puddle of it."

"Nice try, but I told Peter so it doesn't count," I retort. My words are soft, but I know he recognizes the seriousness in my expression.

Gus lets out a sigh and rakes his fingers through his thick hair. "You can't give me some guidance? I don't know if I can come up with something—"

"Why did you sell FundRight?" I interject.

He quirks a brow. "Interesting pillow talk."

"It's not pillow talk. This is a conversation coincidentally taking place in a bed."

"Fine. Why do you want to know about FundRight?"

"I want to understand your reasoning. The company was thriving, you were up four percent in the last quarter, and your stock rating is still a clear buy. Why sell now?"

"Honestly?" He tilts his head to the side. "Over the summer, Davis and his intern came to London. He and I went back and forth trying to hardball a deal, and the intern—Olivia—finally asked me what kind of legacy I was going to leave."

"And?"

"And I didn't know," he admits with a languid sigh. "Money, power, influence…they're all good. Great, even. But truthfully, I hadn't given much thought to what I would leave behind. I still don't know. I've considered starting a foundation or investing in startups, but the idea doesn't excite me. I donated a building to MIT, funded a wolf conservation org, and paid off the loans for a bunch of kids at Montana State University." He shrugs. "All of it still feels shallow."

"So that's why you're writing a book," I fill in.

He nods, but his expression still looks stoic, if not ambivalent.

I reach out and put a hand on his. "August, are you sure a run of the mill business book is going to create the legacy people want from you?"

"Meaning…"

"Well, your entire mythos is being a scary, mysterious genius. To me, it seems like a stretch that you could credibly offer any business advice."

The look on his face is stone cold, and I suddenly get why his reputation precedes him. Gus is fucking scary when he's mad.

He doesn't rattle me though; nobody does.

"People don't want advice from someone they know nothing about," I continue. "Do you ever go to a doctor without reading up on their specialties?" I shake my head. "People don't want guidance from someone they don't know."

"And you think you know what people want?" he inquires with obvious skepticism.

A challenge? Game on. I open an app on my phone and pass it to him.

His eyes run over the screen. "Holy shit," he blurts out. "You have fourteen thousand notifications. When was the last time you checked?"

"Nine minutes ago."

Gus stares dumfounded at the picture I just posted—pure algorithmic candy. "Incredible. You posted one photo?"

"Like I said, I know what people want."

"Like a marketer," he replies, glancing up briefly.

"More like Sherlock Holmes. I can figure out what makes people tick."

"So, more like Hannibal Lecter, you mean."

"I'll take it," I reply with a smile. No man has ever likened me to a fictional serial killer before, but from Gus it's oddly flattering.

Gus chuckles outright this time, not bothering to hide his admiration for once. "God, Julia, I like being around you."

I can sense the shift in the conversation. An opening. Carefully, I place my hand on his arm once more. "So, we covered why you sold FundRight. But why did you start the company in the first place? You were twenty-two. You had just graduated from MIT. How did you get to London?"

"A whim."

"A whim? You don't seem like the type."

"I'm not," he admits, shaking his head. "Whims typically go hand-in-hand with surrendering control—and I don't do that."

"Explain how you ended up immigrating on a whim then."

He inhales and exhales slowly, and even those small motions tell me I'm toeing a line. He's so delicate when it comes to sharing parts of himself. I can't let this go though. He promised me. He promised.

"I can't…" he trails off.

Steadily, a lump forms in my throat. "You can't what?"

He won't even look at me; his eyes remain on his own hands. "I can't tell you. It's one of the worst…" Gus presses his hand to his forehead and draws it down his face. "Julia, it's a mess."

"I don't understand. Did you, like, murder someone and assume their identity? What happened?"

"Nothing," he replies, shaking his head unconvincingly. "And it's not even a well-guarded secret. Ask around enough, and people can tell you why I moved to London and why I founded the company."

"Well why can't you tell me?" I question, frustration taking over. "I don't want to hear it from someone else. I want to hear it from you."

"I can't talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because it kills me," he snaps, finally looking at me. When his eyes meet mine, I can see the pain behind them. His pain tears at me and I wish I didn't have to see him hurting, but a gnawing sense of betrayal also strikes me.

"You promised me," I murmur.

Guiltily, he lets out a sigh and allows his big shoulders to slump. "Look, I need time. I know—"

"Youpromised me," I repeat. "Why would you do that? Is it because you wanted to fuck me again?"

"Julia, I would never—"

"Because it's beneath you to do whatever it takes to fuck someone you want," I challenge mordantly.

He blinks through the silence, swallowing hard because he knows he has no legs to stand on. Then he mutters, "I know it isn't fair to you, but I'm asking you to cut me a break."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I know it's a word you're not used to hearing, but it's one I've gotten exceptionally good at saying over the years. No. I don't owe you anything, Gus Winter," I tell him slowly. "You harassed me. You extorted my family. You demanded my body. I forgave all of it. I don't owe you anything."

He lets out a measured breath. "You don't. I know. But we can't deny that whatever exists between us is electric, Julia. It's the most exciting thing I've felt…maybe ever." He leans closer and puts his hands on my cheeks. "Please," he murmurs before he kisses my forehead. "Please, give me a chance."

He kisses me repeatedly, on my forehead, my cheeks, until his lips find mine. I want him. I want to melt into him and be his in every way possible because it feels so good. But it's not enough.

"Stop," I demand. I wrench my face from his hands. "Fuck, Paris."

Immediately, Gus pulls back from me and I take the opportunity to rise from the bed.

His expression is contrite. "Julia—"

"You can't do that," I protest, clutching my arms in front of me. "You can't kiss me and make this go away. It can't just be about sex. There needs to be more. Every time you try to distract me with how well we match physically, we're making it harder to learn anything about each other."

He shakes his head, visibly frustrated. "You've locked on one thing. Ask me anything else. Anything else and I'll tell you."

"Do you want me?" I demand.

"Yes." His tone is heavy with exasperation. "Yes, Julia. I want you. I want you so much. It's all consuming and crazy and I know better than to act like this, but I can't get you out of my head. So please, give this a chance. Give me time."

I want to say yes, but I already have given this a chance.

And he broke his promise.

When he holds out his hand, I take it. I move back onto the bed and allow him to draw me into his arms, spooning me. His lips trace my ear and my neck, but I don't stir. I don't move a muscle.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs into my ear.

I don't answer him.

Fuck the last word. This time, he gets silence.

We stay locked together. Eventually, his breathing deepens.

When I'm sure he's asleep, I slide out of his arms and take one last lingering look at him, thinking about what we could have been.

As quietly as I can, I pack.