BlowingitOff by Lexxie Couper Page B

another. When she should be beside herself because sweet, friendly,
puppy-dog desperate Harvey had set her studio alight in some messed-up,
deranged attempt to impress her—and his father, if his wild rantings about
getting respect were anything to go on—she was fixated on the two men
responsible for uncovering Harvey’s lunacy.
    Fixated on them and the question left unanswered
between them.
    Another sigh slipped past her lips. Long and shaky. They
wanted her to live with them. All three together. They wanted a
happy-ménage-ever-after.
    It wasn’t her belly that reacted this time, it was her sex.
Her breath caught at the notion of a life spent living with Will and Damon, of
waking up between them every morning. Of coming home from her studio to their
grins and boyish fun every day. Of grocery shopping with them, watching movies,
visiting the beach and eating out and riding bikes and planning holidays with
them.
    All three of them together. One big, happy, society-bucking
family.
    She thought of making love to them, both of them.
Whenever she wanted. Whenever they wanted. Of being impaled on one of them as
the other worshipped her body. Of being impaled on both of them at the same
time as she had been only a few hours ago.
    She closed her eyes and gripped the glass shard in her hands
tighter, her pussy not just tingling but damn near convulsing. “Damn it,
Masters. This was just meant to be sex. Goodbye sex. Ending-it sex. Not look-what-you-could-have-forever
sex.”
    Have forever.
    The two words made her throat thick. Her and Will and Damon.
Forever. She let out a shaky sigh. She’d never really given a toss about what
society expected or demanded of her. She’d often joked with Sami it was one of
the perks of being a professional artist—the rest of the population expected
her to be unconventional. She could walk a busy street wearing nothing but
oversized dungarees and a singlet, her hair brilliant purple dreadlocks, her
nose pierced and her toenails painted ten different colors and no one would
think anything of it except “weirdo artist”. In fact she had done that very
thing back in her art school days.
    How she existed in the “real world” bared little impact on
her. As long as she could create, she was happy. And then Will and Damon had
come along, and how she existed with them in the real world became a
pressing question.
    Their weekend of wild, uninhibited sex six months ago had
planted a longing in her she’d tried to ignore. When the topic of what happened
next came up, she hadn’t balked at the idea of continuing their threesome
outside the bedroom.
    Will and Damon had. Damon had laughed the whole weekend off
as “one of the things I can mark off my Bucket List”, and Will had, well… Will,
ever the serious one, had calmly shaken his head and remarked that the weekend
had been “interesting” and left it at that.
    Thirty minutes later she’d walked out of Damon’s house
wishing to hell she’d been an accountant, or a pre-school teacher or a…a…dental
nurse. Anything but an artist who didn’t give a rat’s bum what society thought.
If she gave a rat’s bum, she would never have dared believe for one
wonderful, stupid moment that she and Will and Damon could have a
happy-ménage-ever-after together.
    And the next morning she’d moved to Morpeth and set about
forgetting that society-bucking HEA. That fantasy. That future.
    Six months later, after she’d finally achieved it, her world
went up in smoke.
    Stomach churning, she opened her eyes and looked at the glass
sculpture commissioned by the Prime Minister’s office—two forms of towering
strength and impossible beauty. Will and Damon. She remembered blowing it,
remembered the utter joy and perfect contentment that had thrummed through her
while she’d created the stunning piece. She’d thought those emotions had to do
with the artwork itself, but now she realized it was the subconscious subject
matter.
    Damon Hunt and William