His: MMF Bisexual Holiday Romance Read online

  “Uh, yeah, you too,” I manage to say in my coolest, most non-freaked-out voice. “What’re you, uh.” I run my hand through my hair—it’s a nervous tic, but I can’t fight it this time. “Did you need more help with your shopping?” Never mind the fact that I just got off for the day, and going back into the store is the last thing I want; if he says yes, I’m going to help him out. I’ve been Mr. Customer Service for much less. Right now, I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t trade for a night with this man.

  “No, no,” Luke says, smiling. “My office is nearby, and I’m on my way to get something to eat. Besides, you look beat; I’m not going to make you go back to work.” He winks, and my heart catches fire. He looks at me for a moment, like he’s thinking something over.

  “What is it?” I find myself asking expectantly.

  “I overheard what you said, about a cure for loneliness.”

  “Oh, that,” I reply, and feel my face go hot all over again.

  “It’s okay,” Luke says, seeing right through me and confronting it directly. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve been there before.”

  Hard to imagine, coming from that voice, attached to that body. Though I do feel myself start to sink into an easier posture, and my chest begins to loosen up a bit. “I just tend to have some trouble during Christmas. That’s all. Family stuff.”

  Luke smiles and nods. “Easy solution. You’re going to have dinner with me tonight.”

  “I, er, what?” The words roll out of my mouth before I can catch up to my own feelings. Is he inviting me out?

  “Dinner, with me, tonight,” Luke says firmly. “I don’t know anyone here other than my coworkers, and I’ve been eating alone too often.” He pauses for a moment and firmly matches my eyes. “I’m going to Verve. Come with me.”

  I blink at him. Where’s the punch line? This can’t be happening. But no, there he is, waiting for my answer. And looking… expectant? I don’t know if I’ve seen anyone look at me quite that way. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Luke raises an eyebrow and laughs a little. Clearly, this is a dude who’s never had someone question his invitation to anything. There’s a first time for everything, I guess, and suddenly feel just a bit more empowered than I did earlier.

  “Yes,” he says. “Seriously. You do eat, don’t you?” His tone is teasing, but not pushy, like we’re already old friends. “It’d be my treat, if that’s the issue.”

  I think about saying no—I don’t want to make anything weird, and I’m not exactly the best company around the holidays. But then, something happens that I would never have expected: Luke, who I’m starting to think of as Mr. Confident, looks a little… hopeful. His intense blue eyes look softer, somehow, and his smile is, well, normal, not like something out of a movie. “Nobody should be lonely this time of year,” he says, and for the first time, I realize that he might not be talking about just me.

  I have to admit that he’s right. Lonely at Christmas is practically a country song.

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, and my voice sounds raw. Awesome. I clear my throat. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  Luke’s face lights up with that grin again, in an odd mixture of satisfaction and surety, as though he was hoping that I would say yes but somehow knew for certain that I would. I feel that same hot spark of attraction, coupled with a sense of yearning that I haven’t felt in a while. Something about his eyes, the timbre of his voice… they grab me deep inside, and pull me like a willing slave.

  “Fantastic,” he says, sounding like he really means it. He pulls out a wallet that, for all its understated simplicity, I know for sure is made from the kind of leather that doesn’t come cheap, and takes a twenty out. He tucks it into Santa’s bucket with a sincere-sounding “Merry Christmas,” then gives me a warm look that I swear I can feel, and immediately starts walking down Washington Street, toward the theatre district and the Opera House. He’s faster than I would have expected, and even with my longer legs, I’ll have to book it to keep up. Luke glances over one broad shoulder at me and grins again. “Come on,” he says. “Verve isn’t far.”

  I manage a half smile and follow him dumbly. I’m so out of my depth with this guy. When he smiles at me, I can feel something inside myself stir, something that goes beyond attraction. Something that, frankly, scares the shit out of me.

  Isn’t this wrong? Isn’t this how I lost everything to begin with? By letting myself follow an attraction to someone I’d been raised to believe I shouldn’t be attracted to, inviting even more heartache when the hammer inevitably came down?

  And yet, with Luke, I feel drawn in anyway. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s managed to wrap me around his little finger in an extremely short amount of time. I’m scared, I’m hesitant, but there’s something alluring here.

  I take a quick glance back. Santa is smiling at me, warmly, knowingly, and I give him a little half-wave that will hopefully suffice as both thanks and goodbye. But then Santa is forgotten, and I’m stretching my legs to catch up with Luke, pulled along in his wake as if by a magnet.

  I just can’t help but complicate things, can I?

  Chapter 3

  Luke

  I love women.

  I don’t just mean that I love to fuck them. I do, of course, but it goes far deeper than that. This will sound pretentious, but it is completely true: women are like wine, each one different, with her own flavors, her own special traits and quirks of character. Every one of them is intoxicating. I’ve always laughed at men who claim they don’t understand the fairer sex; if you would just pay attention for ten seconds, if you truly listen for even a moment, a woman will tell you everything you need to know to make her happy. I love nothing more than to make women happy.

  Take, for instance, Virginia; a beautiful woman and my favorite waitress at Verve. The restaurant is perfectly serviceable—and their wine selection is fantastic—but she’s far and away the most compelling reason to visit as frequently as I do. She’s plush and luxurious in a way that drives me up the wall. I don’t struggle with self-control as a rule, but she absolutely tests my limits with every interaction. I should get an award for every time I manage to talk to her like a civilized man, instead of scooping her up and taking that tiny, voluptuous frame right there against the nearest wall. She makes me want to sink my hands into those thick, shining locks of hair and bend her head back until that pale, creamy throat is bared to my mouth. I’d like to make her moan—no, what I’d like is to make her scream, to beg, to wrench noises out of her that no man has ever heard before. Noises that are completely and utterly mine, noises that prove she’s all mine, with nobody else on her mind, in her heart, or in her bed.

  I vow to myself that if I get the chance, I’ll work harder to make sure that’s the case; I won’t stand for infidelity, not ever again, and the easiest way to do that is to ensure that her attention is entirely focused on me.

  Of course, Virginia isn’t mine. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps she never will be, despite her flirting, and, if that’s the case, I’ll obviously respect that. That said, it remains difficult to remember that we’re only casual acquaintances whenever I see her manager leer at her. He’s a pathetic little man, the classic entitled bro. Tucker, I believe his name is. I haven’t seen him put his hands on her yet. I hope, for her sake, that he never does; she doesn’t deserve to suffer that kind of harassment, as much as I would deeply enjoy having an excuse to utterly remove Tucker from her life. As it is, I already feel a strong sense of territorial anger at the thought of another man touching someone I consider mine, even if that level of anger is premature.

  The hostess at Verve, Daphne, tells me that Ginny isn’t working tonight, and for once, that suits me just fine. Ginny and I have a charming flirtation going; I’m especially curious about the way her eyes looked when I called her by her full name. That was intriguing, and I’m looking forward to exploring exactly what that means, if I ever get the chance. I’d hate to hurt her feelings by ignoring her.
But tonight, my attention is all on the man across the table from me.

  “This place is nice,” Aiden says, glancing around Verve. I take a moment and try to see it like he does, to appreciate the warm, luxurious interior of the wine bar with fresh eyes. It’s important not to take things for granted, to be present in the moment. This is… new, for me, this attraction to another person when I’m already pursuing a woman I want to make my own.

  Normally, when I find a woman I want, I’m laser-focused; I require my partners to give me their complete attention, and I give them the same respect. I don’t allow myself to be distracted by split attentions once someone has caught my eye, but even though that someone is currently Ginny, there’s something outside my regular pattern happening now, something I can’t pin down in my head yet, but that has been simmering under the surface ever since Aiden served me so well earlier in the day. Something new.

  And, of course, the fact that the other person I’m attracted to is a man… well, that’s also very new.

  Aiden’s cheeks take on the faintest hint of pink, and I realize that I haven’t answered him. He appeals to me on so many levels, and if I’m honest, the ability to make him react like this is definitely one of them.

  “It is nice,” I agree, belatedly responding to his comment about Verve. I smile as I say it—both my expression and my words conveying approval—and he subtly preens at the hint of praise.

  Even more appealing.

  Being with a man is nothing I’ve ever wanted before. I’ve never considered anything wrong with it, obviously; it simply never occurred to me as something I might want. But Aiden…

  He fidgets with his napkin, dropping his eyes with the hint of a smile hovering around his lips. He’s so responsive to my actions. I noticed it immediately earlier, while shopping. It was more than providing me with good customer service; he was attentive, attuned to my needs and my moods in a way that made the whole experience of working with him much more enjoyable than the simple satisfaction of achieving my shopping goal.

  He looks up, catching my eye, and I smile, immediately gratified to see the return of that light flush on his skin.

  I hand him a menu, wondering if he was waiting for my permission, or if he had simply been distracted by the same awareness of this magnetism that exists between us as I have been.

  “Thank you,” he says, opening it dutifully.

  I considered ordering for him, but… not yet. I know the menu well, though, and don’t need to look at my own. Instead, I take the time to watch him peruse it.

  I learned early in my sexual development that I have very specific tastes. I like to take control; more accurately, I like to have control relinquished into my care. I love nothing more than to have a beautiful woman blindfolded and gasping, or tied down and bared to the unrelenting pleasure I relish visiting upon her. It takes a very special kind of person to meet my needs, and it’s difficult to find that kind of person, a person I can make utterly mine. Because for me, it is of paramount importance that they revel in being mine, in turning over control to me.

  It is never something I would take; it has to be given.

  That—more than shape and form and, I’m finding now, even gender—is always the quality that I find most attractive.

  It’s not the kind of quality that is easy to find, and, as a result, it’s been a long while since I had sex that was truly satisfying in anything more than a perfunctory way. It’s why Aiden is so intriguing to me, despite the fact that I’ve never entertained thoughts of being with a man before in my life. There’s something about him, something in his eyes that I noticed immediately; a need to serve, to belong.

  “Do you know what’s good here?” Aiden asks, looking up uncertainly. “I’ve never, uh—” he laughs self-consciously, “—I don’t usually eat meals in this price range.”

  I answer him, confidently rattling off information about the dishes that might appeal to him. That hint of apprehension in his voice stirs something in me, but even more interesting is how quickly he settles down once I step in and give him what he needs. We’re only discussing food, but it’s telling.

  As soon as I overheard him make the comment about loneliness out on the street, I could almost hear the longing in his voice for home, a place where he’d be completely accepted, taken care of. That deep-seated need to dominate stirred inside me like some great beast woken from a long sleep, and I felt myself compelled to spend more time with him.

  I want to be the one to take care of him, to give him what we both crave.

  And, yes, it’s something of a shock to find myself thinking of a man this way, but that longing I can hear in him, that obvious attraction he has for me combined with his almost tangible need to belong somewhere, to someone…

  I want it to be me.

  It’s an irresistible lure, surpassing what I thought of as my sexual preference.

  “So, do you come here a lot?” he asks as I wind down my recommendations. He winces slightly as soon as the words leave his mouth, apparently keenly aware of how much like a come-on that question sounded.

  I choose to let it slide. Maybe another time, if we knew each other better and I knew how I could push him without making him bolt, I would use a remark like that to draw us into innuendo and double entendre. But for now, I just say, “I do, yes. Usually alone, but it’s definitely more enjoyable with company.”

  Aiden relaxes a little, that appealing hint of a smile hovering over his lips again. It’s a good look on him: his broad shoulders stretch back slightly from their hunched defensive posture, and it highlights the clean, stark lines of his collarbone, making his Henley tighten over an impressively toned torso. He’s leaner than me, but by no means scrawny. He makes me think of a panther, liquid power rather than my own more concentrated force. He has a very graceful neck for a man, even with the ghost of dark stubble.

  I wonder what that feels like, the line where stubble and smooth, naked skin meet on his throat.

  Our waitress, a lovely young woman named Kendra, comes to take our order; I order a Porterhouse, blue, and a bottle of Argentinian Malbec for the table.

  Aiden hesitates over the menu.

  “Get anything you like,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about the price; I want you to enjoy yourself. Let me treat you to something you don’t get often.”

  His cheeks color slightly again, but he follows my lead, getting a steak for himself and a draft beer, and I find that I’m more pleased with each minute that passes that I impulsively asked him to join me.

  I have to admit, I wasn’t looking for Aiden when I decided to walk through Downtown Crossing instead of catching a cab at State Street, but finding him turned out to be a nice little surprise. My heart went out to him when I heard his comment about loneliness, and I meant what I said to him: no one should have to endure the holiday season alone.

  “So, uh, why do you eat alone so often?” Aiden asks, as if he picked up on the direction of my thoughts. He’s trying for a casual tone, but I can feel it again: that nameless something tugging us together like invisible strings.

  I open my mouth to answer, but then close it again without saying anything, taking a sip of water to buy a moment. My inclination is to be open with him, but it’s been a while since I’ve allowed someone other than family in.

  The last time I did, it ended badly, and I remind myself not to let a past betrayal impede the possibilities for my future. The truth is, it isn’t only Aiden’s loneliness that called to me. I’m struggling with the isolation myself, as well as I hide it. Family has always meant everything to me, and it’s hard to be away from them, especially this time of year.

  He’s waiting for my answer, and I set down my water glass and push aside the past.

  “I’ve only been in the Boston area for a month, give or take,” I tell him. “I haven’t really had time to do more than get settled in my new place.”

  And by “settled,” I mean that I’ve furnished it, but—empty of anyone to share it with�
��it has yet to feel like home. I look away for a moment, thinking of my extended family. Family has always been the thing that’s most important to me; it makes working as hard as I do worthwhile. And, while I was able to fly back and spend Thanksgiving with them, there’s just no way I can get vacation time again that quickly, not this close to the end of the year.

  I hate the idea of missing one of my family’s loud, boisterous Christmas gatherings. And, here in Boston, I have yet to create any relationships that might provide some kind of substitute. I tell Aiden so.

  “My social circle is woefully lacking,” I say, smiling as I meet his eyes. “Maybe you can help me rectify that.”

  Aiden is looking at me like he’s not sure if this is a dinner between new friends, or a date. I’m not terribly worried about the distinction. What I don’t love is labels. They’re like contracts that you don’t get to go over before you sign, and, as a lawyer, I know all about bad contracts.

  And good ones.

  Ones where the expectations are clear, and both parties get their needs met.

  “You don’t have work friends?” Aiden asks, but that’s not the real question he wants to ask. He’s dancing around finding out if I’m single, and I’m curious how long he plans to keep dancing.

  Hopefully not too long. He’s already made me adapt the way I think about my own sexuality; made me seriously consider adding “flexible” after my usual “hetero.”

  Even with that strong undercurrent of energy between us, I’m hyperaware, even now, of how unusual it is for me, how outside my normal tastes. Am I just acting out of lust, out of a need for human companionship?

  But surely not; if I wanted casual sex, I could pick up an eager woman at any bar or club. I don’t need to turn to men to find someone willing to sleep with me.

  I shake my head very slightly in answer to his question. The one he had the guts to ask, I mean.