84. Darcy

There is no way I'm letting my boys love each other like that and not muscling in on the action.

No way in hell.

Max is getting unsteadily to his feet when I reach them. The group of guys next to them is applauding me, and I see one of them do a double take when he gets a look at Max's face. Probably finance bros. But I'm not interested in random dudes, because tonight I've broken the house rules for my guys. I may be soaking wet and sudsy from the waist down, but that doesn't stop me from launching myself at them in front of the whole club.

Dex is all orgasm-flushed and dopily shellshocked—he's the guy who just woke up married in Vegas and is still too drunk to care how the fuck it happened. I throw my arms around his neck and jump on him, and he laughs out an oof as my cold, wet body collides with his softening dick. Max helps me get my legs around Dex so I'm wrapped around him like a koala and presses up behind me.

A Darcy sandwich. My favourite thing.

‘Shit, you're soaking,' Max drawls, but he sounds amused.

‘No change there,' I tell him, turning my head to accept his kiss before I bury my face in Dex's neck. ‘So did you do it?'

He shifts, getting a better grip of my basically bare bottom. ‘I did.'

‘And?'

‘And it was as awful as we thought it would be.'

‘Ugh. Poor baby.' I squeeze him more tightly. Max gives my shoulder a little bite and gets to work behind me, stripping my hair of its pins. I had it up tonight in a chic starlet-style up-do, mainly to keep it out of the water, and once he gets it freed, he runs his fingers through it.

‘It's okay,' Dex says. ‘It's done. Now I get to be with you guys properly.'

I giggle. ‘And I see you've begun the coming out process.' I kiss along his jaw, his laughter vibrating against my lips.

‘You could say that.'

What a fucking relief. Waiting for Dex to get comfortable with the prospect of being official with me and Max has taken a greater toll on both of us than we'd ever have let him know. That's the weird, new, cool but also terrifying thing about this kind of relationship. A three-legged stool is pretty bloody useless if one of the legs gives out.

I nuzzle into him, playing with the ends of his hair. It's longer than Max's, and I love how it curls just a little at the nape of his neck. Just one of the zillion sexy things about him. ‘Was it terrible?' I whisper. I swear he could have sent me and Max in his place, his very own pair of kinky Dobermans to tear strips off his father.

‘It was shit,' he says, ‘and I'm sure I'll feel completely devastated at some point, but right now I'm mainly pissed off at what a hateful twat my dad is and relieved that I got it over with. Belle was amazing. She told Dad Rafe owns a sex club—you should have seen his face. I'm not sure if it was her way of directing some of his anger away from me or she just hit zero tolerance, but it was bloody brilliant.'

I raise my head and grin at him as Max closes in behind me, pressing his dick against my thong's (very uncomfortable) sequinned strip. He wraps his arms around both of us, and it feels like the three of us are exactly where we should be.

‘You're both bloody brilliant,' I tell him. ‘And you're with us now. That's what matters. We love you.'

His eyes are dreamy wells of emotion as he glances from me to Max, whose chin is resting on my shoulder. ‘I love you both so much I can't tell you.'

‘We know exactly what you sacrificed for us today,' Max tells him gruffly. ‘We know how hard it is, and we're so fucking relieved you chose us—and yourself, of course.'

‘Yeah.' Dex's smile couldn't be wider, more loving. ‘Me too.'

Max lets go of us and steps backwards. ‘Come on. Put your dick away and come with us. Let us show you.'