Sharing Samantha
Actually, something tells me there’s going to be a lot of that.
Because the truth of it is, I see a future with her. I know how fucking nuts that sounds, on so many levels, but it’s there. I know being with Samantha—both of us, that is, and openly—means a world of shit. It means weird looks from people who won’t be able to see what this is—people who won’t be able to wrap their head around both of us loving her, and both of us sharing.
Beyond that though, it means we can kiss Martin and his hedge fund goodbye. Us being with Samantha means that guy is going to lose his shit.
…But it’s worth it. It’s worth it without even having to think about it.
“Get in here,” Samantha whispers, her voice husky as she turns, grabbing me by the collar of my t-shirt, and yanking me close. I growl, kissing her as Reece moves to her neck, and when I feel her hand slide into my shorts and wrap around my half-hard cock, I groan. My fingers tug at the tie holding her robe shut, and I can feel Reece doing the same. And we’re just about to pull it off of her, drag her onto the kitchen counter and have a Thanksgiving feast of our own, when suddenly, the fucking lights turn on.
Oh shit.
“You. Fucking. Whore!”
Martin’s voice is savage and booming, and slurred. I swear, Reece and I whirling and moving between him and Samantha on instinct. She gasps behind us, yanking her robe closed as we level our eyes at a furious looking Martin.
“You little fucking who—”
“Watch it,” I growl, warning and fire in my voice as I bare my teeth at him.
His face goes crimson, his eyes bulging in rage as he whips his gaze to me.
“You!” he snarls. “You two fucking pricks!”
“You need to calm down, Martin,” Reece growls lowly.
“Calm down?! Calm down?!” he seethes, the beer bottle—and who the hell knows where he got that in this house—in his hand slushing beer across the floor.
“No, asshole, I don’t need to calm. I’m not gonna be chill. What I’m going to do though is fucking torpedo this fucking deal of yours. You got that?!” he screams. “No algorithm, you little shitheads!”
“Fine,” I growl, glancing at Reece, and nodding when he gives me the same look back.
Yeah, things officially just went sideways, and something tells me, we’re no longer invited to dinner tomorrow.
Boo-hoo.
“Yeah, fine,” he sneers. “Fine. Fine like I’m going to have your asses blacklisted across the whole industry. How’s that work for you?”
“You’re a real asshole, Martin,” Samantha spits. “You know that?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, you stupid little slu—”
“Watch. It.” Reece’s voice booms across the kitchen. “You open your mouth to her again and I swear I’ll shut it for you,” he snarls.
“Oh fuck off!” Martin roars. “You two little scavengers come in here to my mother’s house, you fuck up my buddy’s car, you put your hands on what’s mine—”
“I have never and would never in a million years be yours, Martin!” Samantha snaps, her eyes blazing fire.
“Step isn’t related!” he bellows.
Oh, this is going off the rails fast.
Samantha rolls her eyes. “Right, that’s why I’ve never slept with you, Martin.” She glares at him. “Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because you’re a slimy douchebag?”
A red mist clouds across Martin’s face, and I glance at Reece and nod. Yep, it’s time to get the fuck out of here. And we’re not leaving empty handed.
“Get the fuck out of—”
“Mr. McCue?” Reece smiles sarcastically at Martin. “I’m afraid my partner and I don’t feel that our companies are a good fit.”
“No shit, fuck head!” Martin sputters. He roars, lunging at us and swinging his half-empty beer bottle like a club. But, we’re both much bigger than him. And much faster. And not wasted. Martin squeals as we both catch him with our hands, Reece wrenching the bottle from him, me sinking a fist into his gut, and the both of us shoving him toppling over onto the floor.
I turn towards Samantha, a look of shock and humor on her face. “How fast can you pack?”
“I never really unpacked. Why?”
“Because you’re coming with us.”
She grins, her face going red as she nods.
“No! She stays!” Martin blubbers on the floor of the kitchen.
“The fuck she does,” Reece growls, before he turns to her. “I mean, unless you want?
Samantha snorts. “Oh, right, yeah. Please can I stay?”
Reece grins. “Your bag upstairs?”
She nods.
“Stay here.”
I turn, glaring at Martin in silence as I hear Reece thunder upstairs. There’s a commotion, and something that sounds like Lynn screeching. But soon enough, Reece is storming back through the kitchen with her things.
“Shall we?”
“Absolutely,” she grins.
It takes us thirty seconds to grab our stuff from downstairs and slip some pants on, and then we’re gone. Lynn is screaming, threatening to call the cops. Martin is threatening to sue us.