With a very aggressive grunt, I drop my hand and stare at the door. “Just hurry up and get out here. Please. I need both of you.”
Muffled voices and the creak of a mattress sound before I feel satisfied enough to cross the room again.
I step into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine and digging the container of ice cream I keep hidden under bags of frozen vegetables out of the freezer.
Joey likes to eat his feelings also. If I don’t hide my snacks, they go missing.
I fill a glass and grab a spoon just as the bedroom door swings open.
Joey emerges first, his fingers snapping the waistband of his boxers. He looks half-asleep, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. “What the fuck is it? You interrupted cuddle time.”
I shove a spoonful of Neapolitan ice cream into my mouth to prevent myself from stating the obvious response, that every time Joey and Billy are within twenty miles of each other, I run the risk of interrupting cuddle time.
Assholes. Their perfect relationship is a little hard to swallow at the moment. I’m sure neither one of them keep their dicks to themselves.
Billy files out of the bedroom next with his T-shirt in his hand. He eyes me warily once he takes notice of the wine and the container I have a death-grip on.
“Uh oh. What happened?” he asks, slipping his shirt over his head and sliding his arms through. “Bad date?”
I watch him and Joey each grab a stool and sit at the kitchen island across from me. Boosting myself up onto the counter, I place the container on my lap and dip my spoon in, scraping out the rest of the chocolate.
“No. The actual date was fine,” I mumble around the spoon.
Joey drops his chin onto his fist. “Just fine?” He looks doubtful.
I roll my eyes before lowering them to the container. “More than fine,” I confess, jamming my spoon into the vanilla. “He took me to this really nice restaurant where he had to order in Italian, which he fucking did, so just go ahead and tack on a few more ‘how hot can this guy possibly get’ points.”
“Damn,” Billy comments appreciatively. “I bet that sounds amazing with his accent.”
“Mm hmm. Boyfriend is full of surprises,” Joey adds.
I don’t even bother looking up. “Yeah. Tons. So, we had dinner, and he mentioned wanting to stick his head between my legs and taste me in his throat.”
I glance up at the sound of the wine bottle being slid across the counter.
Billy brings it to his lips and tips it back, his eyes round as he swallows a mouthful.
It’s funny how squeamish he gets around any sort of graphic sex talk, when his husband is basically a walking advertisement for it.
I shift my eyes when Joey motions with a quick hand for me to continue on with my story. He suddenly appears wide awake and eager for conversation.
“You want details?”
“Yes,” Joey says at the same time as Billy’s, “Not really.”
I split the difference. “He did more than just taste me, okay? I took him to this photo booth I found a couple months ago, and that man worked me out like his life depended on it. His mouth is fucking ridiculous.”
A shiver runs down my spine as that familiar ache settles between my hips. I press the back of the spoon to my mouth, hoping to conceal the smile I can’t seem to control.
“It was hands-down the best sexual experience of my life,” I admit against the cold silver. “And that includes all the times I’ve actually had sex.”
Straightening on his stool, Billy scratches his jaw, his other hand still clutching the neck of the bottle. “Photo booth? Did you two actually . . .” he pauses, his eyes searching my face.
Joey slaps the counter with exuberance. He looks practically giddy. “You little slut. Did you get pictures of this?”
I glance across the room at my clutch, remembering how reckless and exciting it felt being in that moment with Mason, not knowing who, if anyone, was on the other side of that curtain and if they were listening and waiting for those photos.
If they would see me, and how I looked at him. With him.
I return my gaze to the two men staring intently at me. “I gave Mason his own set of solo’s to keep. That seemed to go over smashingly well. Then, while he was down there, going at it, he told me to put money in.” I shrug. “I did.”
“Where is this photo booth exactly?” Joey grabs the small pad of paper and the pen we keep by the phone, ready to jot down the address.
“Joey,” Billy starts, waiting for his husband to look over at him. He jerks his chin. “No.”
Joey shoots him a pleading look. “Oh, come on. You know you’d love it.” He leans in for a kiss, hovering a breath away from Billy’s mouth. “Just think of how cramped it probably is in there. How tight it would be. Mm. I bet there’s hardly any room for you to move, but you like that, right? You like tight things, don’t you, baby?”
Holy shit.