48. Darcy

‘Are you sure you're okay?' I ask Max. I can just about form words—my body and soul are wrung-out, bled dry by orgasm—but this is important.

He tightens his arm around me, and I snuggle a little closer to his chest. He was extremely clear that he expected me to spend the night at his after what went down, but it's not me I'm worried about.

It's him.

And Dex.

‘I'm good, sweetheart,' he tells me for the millionth time. ‘It was all just fun and games.'

Beneath the know-it-all drawl there's a forced bravado that tugs at my heart. While I'm confident Max couldn't list all the people he's slept with if you tied him to his desk for a year, I know he was invested in this evening on a level way beyond simply overseeing the execution of one of my fantasies.

I know he was invested in Dex.

Even so, he must have been surprised that Dex capitulated to him so quickly. I know I was, when I heard the low, male grunts above me and paused sucking Dex's gorgeous cock, only to look up and find him simulating the exact same thing on Max's thumb.

Holy fucking Christ, that was hot. Even hotter was feeling the force of Dex's climax in my mouth, of swallowing the proof that, between us, we'd aroused him that much. So to find them both kissing as I slipped out from below the vaulted chapel of their bodies blew my actual mind.

None of that changes, or helps, the fact that Dex pulled away as soon as Max had finished shooting his load.

Or that, after he stammered out some sort of choked apology and bolted into the bedroom to dress himself and flee what he probably considered the scene of a crime, Max was actually shaking when he pulled me into his arms under the spray.

He clung to me, and told me how proud he was of me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't me he wanted in his arms just then. Maybe that was a stupid reaction—I don't doubt that Max's desire for me is real—but given what transpired between him and Dex, I wouldn't blame him for wanting a little closure.

‘It was a lot of fun,' I agree now, ‘but I'm sure kissing you was way, way out of Dex's comfort zone. He probably just freaked out.'

He laughs mirthlessly. ‘You think?'

‘You know what I mean. Don't take it as a sign that he didn't like it.' I mentally scrape the recesses of my exhausted, orgasm-addled brain for everything I know about Belle and Dex's family. ‘If anything, it was a sign he liked it all far too much.'

‘It doesn't make it okay that he bailed on you,' he huffs. 'It's inexcusable. He came in your fucking mouth and then buggered right off. Fucking rude, that's what it is.'

I'm quiet for a moment as I lie cradled in his arms, my fingertips brushing over the light hairs on his chest. His heart is beating way too fast for a guy who came twice tonight, even if both times were in his own fist. Dex came in my pussy and my mouth and Max didn't get anything—except a fleeting blow job from me and the fevered, glorious kiss that Dex immediately threw in his face.

I'm not sure how conscious Max is that he's being disingenuous, but I have to say it. ‘I'm pretty confident it wasn't me he bailed on.' I snag my lips between my teeth and wait for his response.

‘Doesn't matter.' His voice is brusque. ‘He shouldn't have got in the shower with us if he wasn't comfortable. He's thirty, for fuck's sake. If he's labouring under some misapprehension that he's only into chicks, I have news for him. The way he sucked my thumb'—he sucks in a sharp inhale—‘was like he couldn't get enough. He fucking loved it. Pity he couldn't look me in the eye afterwards.'

That reminds me of something Belle said in France, the morning after my sister's wedding.

‘Belle had a freakout after her first time with Rafe. She told me he came all over her'—Max doesn't need to know the full, fabulous details of what she divulged around their hot priest and nun role play—‘and she'd been having the most amazing time, but when he went to clean her up she had this, like, meltdown, because she felt so dirty and perverted for enjoying it. He had to give her lots of aftercare and reassurance.'

Max snorts rudely. ‘That may be, but if you think I'm going to sit a thirty-year-old guy down and sing Kum Ba Yah with him while he agonises over the clear truth that he secretly likes dick, you can think again.'

This man. So impatient. Intolerant. Demanding. So black and white. No wonder Dex ran for the hills. If Max is right, and Dex got off on that kiss—which he absolutely seemed to—then I can only imagine the depths to which he's is spiralling right now.

And that hurts my heart, because I want Max to be okay, and I want Dex to be okay. I want everyone to have walked away from tonight with the same amount of joy and amazement that I have, because it was incredible. I'm sorry it if hurts Dex to accept this, but the three of us were fire together. Still, I feel the need to defend him, because I don't want Max thinking badly of him and I also don't want Max, somewhere deep down, blaming himself for coming on too strong and scaring Dex away.

‘That's a bit harsh,' I say now. ‘You presumably had a lot of navel-gazing to do when you came out. Dex hasn't worked through any of that.'

He shrugs his trademark impatient shrug beneath me. ‘Not really. I found girls attractive. I found guys attractive—I wanted to fuck anything with a pulse, basically. My parents were cool with it. It was a non-issue.'

‘Well, you're very lucky,' I tell him. ‘Most people don't have that experience, or that kind of support. This is probably all very new and confusing for Dex.'

He laughs at that, tightening his grip on me and kissing my forehead. ‘You're sweet,' he says. ‘But that's utter bullshit. I'm sorry, but again—he's thirty. Even I'm not arrogant enough to believe that five minutes in the shower with me can turn someone.

‘Nope, no matter how much denial he's been in his entire life, I'm telling you, he's thought about this before. He's just never had the guts to admit it, to himself or to anyone else.'

He huffs against my temple. ‘I get it, I suppose. It's fucking savage out there. I know it can be… hard. But that doesn't make it fun to watch a grown man run for the hills because he can't bear to admit to himself that he actually felt something.'

It's a fleeting concession, I suppose—a moment of grace from a man who's clearly frustrated and, I suspect, a teeny bit hurt. And I'll take it. I'll take it on Dex's behalf.