Calling the Shots by Christine D'Abo Page B

instead of words, she let out a soft sigh. Oliver chuckled.
    This was…different. Chancing a glance, Josh was surprised to see the two lounging together, more relaxed than he remembered. Together in his bed.
    Oliver cracked open an eye, a sleepy smile crossing his lips. “You okay, boss-man?”
    He nodded. “We better get Beth cleaned up or she’ll hate us in the morning.” There was something soothing about wiping her belly with the tissue. It felt right to take care of her. “Blanket?”
    “Shit yes, I’m freezing.” Beth sighed again, this time turning on her side. “Can I use your shower in the morning?”
    In the morning? It was a novel idea. “Sure. I can’t promise girly soap though.”
    “I’m just thankful you have a king-sized bed.” Oliver made a snuffling sound as he spooned around Beth. “Don’t want to land on my ass once you two get all comfy.”
    As they settled down and their breathing evened out, Josh lay on his side, watching them. Despite the strength of his release, his body still hummed. This was different and new. He tried not to think about the potential, about how badly he wanted this. To be a part of something.
    Oliver and Beth.
    Paul and Sadie.
    Careful not to disturb them, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Shit, what the hell was he doing?

Chapter Eight
    At some point Josh had drifted off into a fitful sleep. The dream started off pleasantly enough. He was at the club, walking naked through the building. The sounds of fucking filled the air, making him hard and desperate to join in. People were sprawled out on the floor in heaps, limbs tangled together as they ground against one another. His name was being called out, but he didn’t know by whom. He needed to find that voice.
    Josh shivered as the desire-filled moans grew louder, tempting him from his chosen path to come closer. No, he couldn’t—he had to stay focused.
    Ignoring the grabbing hands, he moved down the too-long hallway, searching each room for the voice. Wait, not a voice. Voices.
    He knew it was a dream, but it didn’t make opening the door at the end of the hall any less difficult. Standing in the center of the room were his parents. Loud discussions had filled his childhood with noise. Painful silences punctuated his teen years. And when his mother shifted her attacks toward him, the echo of her shouts still rang in his ears.
    The words coming from them made no sense, as though he was hearing them underwater. Neither noticed his presence as he stood there bared before them. As the pointing and sharp tones grew louder, Josh wanted to rush between them and beg them to stop. There was no point. This was about him, always the root of their problems.
    Useless. Perverted. Whore.
    His mother spun around to face him. Josh froze in place, his feet unwilling to take him away from the hate and rage directed at him. She’d only gone a few paces toward him when his dad reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Their shouts rose in volume, giving Josh the shove he needed to flee.
    He nearly got out of the room when Paul and Sadie appeared wrapped in each other’s arms by the door. They were smiling and happy, but ignored him as they laughed at a shared joke. Josh turned again. His parents were gone, even as their shouts lingered, chasing him as he moved back through the club. Jagged shapes rose up through the walls, reaching for him. There was no comfort anywhere. Nowhere for him to sit and rest. God, he was tired.
    Stumbling out into the main club, Josh was suddenly alone in the cavernous space. Leather and chains, restraints and equipment of all shapes and sizes filled the room. Everything familiar, and yet twisted around so he didn’t know what things were. Trapped in the shrinking space, he couldn’t find a way out. Everything rose up, higher and higher until the mound reached the ceiling.
    The top of the pile hit the rafters, wavered for a moment, before crashing down on top of him.
    Josh sucked in a