Sharing Samantha
…None of us are listening to them as we march out to the Jeep I drove up here in and get inside.
The engine rumbles on, the heat blasts out of the vents, and Samantha shivers, grinning as she sits between us on the bench seat, still in her robe.
“So, where are we going?”
“Back to the city.”
I shove the Jeep into drive, snorting as Martin comes shuffling out the backdoor and starts trying to throw snowballs at us.
“We’ve got a loft,” Reece says, rubbing his bare arms as the heat kicks on.
“You two live together?”
I nod. “And you’re in the city too, right?”
Samantha makes a face. “Actually, my place is condemned?”
We all laugh, Reece leaning in to kiss her as I slide my arm around her.
“We weren’t planning on letting you go back to your place anyways, you know,” Reece says quietly
“Oh really?” She grins, biting her lip.
“Nah,” I shake my head. “We’ve got two big beds.”
She blushes, her eyes blazing with heat. “And I supposed I can take my pick every night?”
“Yeah, you can.”
“Or, we can all share one,” Reece growls.
“That sounds good,” she breathes.
I take the jeep up the on-ramp to the highway, the heat turns up, the radio plays maybe the first Christmas song of the year. Reece and I both seem to realize she’s still just wearing a robe at the same time, and when we each slide a hand onto one of her bare thighs and bring a gasp of pleasure to her lips, we both grin.
You know what? Maybe Thanksgiving ain’t all bad. Or maybe, we just had to find the right person to share it with. Either way, as I drive into the night down the mostly empty highway, and as I listen to the sound of Samantha moaning so sweetly as Reece pushes her legs apart and moves his mouth up her thighs to her pussy, and as her fingers tug down my zipper and reach inside to curl around my cock, I know one thing.
I know damn well what I’m thankful for.
Epilogue
Reece
Gavin was right. It wasn’t that the holiday itself sucked, it’s just that we never got a good one. We’d always been bitter about the families we’d never had. And a holiday like that always drove that in harder.
But that was before Samantha. That was before we both found the woman of our dreams. The girl we loved. The soulmate to tie us all together.
Samantha moved in. That night. And we never went back. We ordered in that next day—got a turkey and all the sides and everything delivered right to our loft door. And then it got a little cold, because the three of us decided to work up an appetite first over every single surface of our place.
…For about ten hours.
Martin did try and sue us. He failed, of course, because in the end, cretinous douchebags like that are all bravado and no real balls. It didn’t take much convincing from us or our law team to convince Martin that suing us was not in his best interests. He still tried to “blacklist” us, but then, money talks. And money talks a whole fucking lot louder than a little shit like him.
It turns out, there were many other hedge funds out there who were eying our algorithm. And when we cut ties with Prism, they all wanted a piece of us. We ended up selling for three times what we’d discussed with Martin, and word spread fast. Pretty soon, we were building more software for more funds, and a year later, well, things are fantastic.
Oh, and we’re a three-person team now. Because it turns out, Samantha is one hell of a developer. We expanded our loft into four others in the building, taking over a whole floor twenty stories above SoHo, and it’s where we live and where we all work, together. And wouldn’t you know it, we do actually get work done from time to time. Well, sometimes. There might be some wisdom to moving our offices somewhere else and hiring some actual employees to keep around, if anything to discourage us from screwing all over each other’s desks all the damn time.