Zane:

She’s been let down by everyone in her life. By her father, who picked his new children over the daughter who was grieving the loss her mother, and by us. We might not have explicitly promised to love her and cherish her until the end of our days, but our bodies did. We asked her to abandon her own dreams and come with us, and at the first sign of trouble, we’d taken the easier way out. Instead of fighting for Nina we let her run. Just like her father.

I will fix this, I swear to myself.

We go outside, and Nina’s mouth falls open when she sees the limo parked in the driveway. “Are you sure I don’t need to change?” she asks warily. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Manhattan,” Scott replies. “It’s going to be a late night, Neen.”

“No kidding,” she says, glancing at her phone. “It’ll be nine-thirty before we get into the city. What do you have planned?”

“So impatient,” Scott says. “You’ll find out soon enough, Nina. What’s the rush?”

“I’m not a patient person,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

My lips turn up in a grin. “I seem to remember we had ways of encouraging good behavior.” The memories are vivid, of Nina’s naked body writhing between us, her legs parted, her pussy wet and ready, her nipples hard and pebbled with need. If I close my eyes, I can hear the hitch in her voice as she begged us to let her come, begged us to fuck her hard, begged for more…

All the blood in my body rushes to my cock. It takes effort to ignore my erection, but I do. This isn’t about my needs; sex was never the problem between the three of us. This is about putting Nina first.

The traffic into the city is light. It’s Thursday night—most cars are heading out of Manhattan, not into it. We eat our picnic and time flies, and before we know it, we’re exiting the Hudson Parkway. Nina peeps out of the window. “West 57th,” she says, reading the street sign that’s illuminated by the bright city lights. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

Nina hates surprises. The suspense must be driving her insane. “To the MOMA. It was Scott’s idea.”

Her eyes go wide, and she sucks in her breath sharply. “You remembered,” she whispers.

It was about a year after we’d started dating. Evolving Whistle had been in the New York area on a grueling four-week tour. Chris had booked us at a different venue every single night, and when we weren’t practicing, we were writing new music.

One Saturday, in the midst of all that madness, Nina had asked if we would go to the MOMA with her for a couple of hours. “Nina, we have to rehearse,” I’d said, running my hand through my hair. “Our timing was off last night, and we sucked out there. We have to straighten our shit out.”

“No problem,” she’d said. “I’ll just go by myself.” She hadn’t sounded disappointed, I remember. She’d sounded as if she’d been expecting us to rebuff her.

Looking back, that was the moment when things had started changing for the worse. That day, when we wouldn’t go to the museum with her.

Scott’s more introspective than I am. That’s why he picked the MOMA today. Perhaps if we can go back to the place it all started to go wrong, we can start fixing our mistakes.

I look at her now. “That day, why was it important for you to go to the MOMA?”

She doesn’t meet our eyes. “It was a long time ago,” she mutters. “I was just being foolish.”

“Please, Neen,” Scott says softly. “I know it was important. I didn’t see it then, but I see it now. Please tell us why.”

The second rule is honesty, but participation in the game can’t be forced. We’re balanced on the edge of a precipice, and even the slightest move can send us into a freefall. She told us a little bit today about her father. Will she trust us again?

I hold my breath. If she can’t tell us why the MOMA was important, then there’s no hope of getting Nina back. Without trust, we have nothing.

“That Saturday,” she says, still looking at her lap, her fingers tightly laced together, “was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Right before she got sick, the two of us had gone on a mother-daughter trip to the MOMA. She loved modern art.” She brushes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t want to go alone.”

Guilt presses down on me like a physical weight. She was mourning her dead mother, and we left her alone.

Next to me, Scott has gone white. “Nina,” he begins, then he shakes his head helplessly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She looks up at that. “You were busy,” she replies. Her lips twist into a wry smile. “Don’t beat yourself up—it was my fault too. I knew if I told you why I wanted you with me, you would have dropped everything and you would have been there for me. I knew that, but I didn’t tell you anyway because I wanted to test your love for me. My dad picked Joanne and the twins over me, and instead of dealing with my issues around that, I formulated tests for you to prove your love. If you went to the MOMA with me without knowing why, that would prove you loved me.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t a very mature thing to do.”

I hear what she’s saying, but I’m not going to let myself off the hook that easily. We made a commitment to her, and we didn’t hold up our end.

The limo pulls up in front of the museum. “Do you want to go in?” Scott asks her.

She holds his gaze. “Or what? What’s the other option?”

“Or Zane and I forfeit,” he replies. “And we leave. This isn’t a game anymore, Nina. Shit just got real.”

Though my heart sinks, Scott’s right. We might want a second chance, but I’m not sure we deserve one.

She’s silent for the longest second of my life, and then a grin breaks out on her face. “You arranged a private after-hours tour of the MOMA,” she says. “It seems a shame to waste all that effort. Let’s go.”

* * *

Nina:

What do you want, Nina?

I don’t know the answer to that. I’m operating purely on instinct. My friend Mia might make calm, rational decisions, but that’s not me. I’m emotional, and I’m impulsive, and I’ve never been able to say no to Zane and Scott. I quit my waitressing job and went away with them when I’d only known them for a few days. I jump without a safety net; I always have.

And you’ve crashed and burned because of that, my inner voice says snidely.

I shush that voice. Tomorrow morning, I can try to make sense of what’s happening, but right now, I’m going to live purely in the moment. I’m going to go inside and see some amazing art.

Two hours later, I’m floating on cloud nine. “That was absolutely fantastic,” I say, sinking back into the limo, Zane and Scott on either side of me. “Thank you so much for taking me.”

Scott looks at me with an indulgent smile. “I’ve never seen someone get so excited over paintings,” he says. “You’re welcome, Nina.”

Zane’s been mostly silent ever since he found out why I wanted to go to the MOMA. All of a sudden, I’m done with the past. Yeah, they weren’t perfect, but neither was I. “So this game,” I say, resting my hand on his thigh, “was there more to it than visiting Manhattan’s finest cultural attractions?”

His lips curl up in a half-smile. “Are you ready to move up to the next level, Nina?”

Go big, or go home. “Yes,” I reply, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m ready.”

Scott’s eyes glitter with heat. “We came prepared for that possibility.” He opens a drawer underneath the bar and pulls out a brown paper bag. “Want to know what’s in here?”

“Yes.” Just like the first time we met, my need far outweighs my nerves. My pulse might be racing, but my body throbs with desire.

“Open the bag,” Zane instructs. He leans back against the leather seat of the limo and stretches his legs out lazily in front of him. He might look relaxed, but I can read him well, and there’s a tightness around his mouth that suggests he’s not as unaffected as he looks.

The partition is up, and I’m reasonably certain that the driver can’t see or hear anything, but I still feel naughty and wanton at what I’m about to do.

Scott notices my hesitation. “Hey Tony,” he says loudly.

There’s no response.

“Don’t worry, Neen,” Zane reassures me. “He can’t see anything. Now, can we get back to the game?”

Yes. The game I intend to win. With slightly shaking fingers, I open the paper bag and pull out a fat, heavy glass butt plug. “You shouldn’t have,” I quip lightly, trying to conceal the wave of lust that sweeps over me when I see the sex toy. “I didn’t get you anything.”

There’s lube in the bag too. I’m fairly sure I know where this is going. “Should I put this in?” I ask them. I’m wearing a sweater and jeans. To insert the plug, I’m going to have to get completely naked. No wonder Scott had no interest in me changing my clothes.

Zane’s eyebrows rise. “And deprive us of the pleasure of doing it?” A grin creases his face. “Take off your clothes, Nina. All of them.”

The limo is roomy and spacious. If I stop to think, I’m going to lose my nerve. I’ve never been naked in a car before. We’ve fooled around in the back seats of cabs, but that was petting. This is definitely the next level.

So I don’t think. I just obey, and that’s a lot easier. I unbutton my jeans and wriggle them down my hips, removing my panties at the same time. The leather seat is cool on my bare butt, but I keep going, pulling my sweater and t-shirt over my head, then finally removing my black lace bra.

They watch me undress, their eyes heated. “Good girl,” Scott mutters when I’m done. “Lie down on your stomach, sugar. Get your head on Zane’s lap while I insert this plug in your ass.”

He says sugar, and another rippling wave of heat washes over me. I position myself as instructed. My mouth is inches from Zane’s cock. His erection is tenting his trousers, and I rub my palm against his hard, straining length. “None of that,” he chides, moving my hand away. “This isn’t about us today, Nina. It’s about you.”

Wait, no sex? Really? Are they going to wind me up and torture me by not letting me come? Surely they wouldn’t be that cruel.

I’ve no time to ask Zane what he means. I feel the trickle of lube at my anus, and Scott inserts the plug slowly and steadily into me.

I whimper. It’s been twenty months, and I’m out of practice. The plug feels huge, and it’s stretching me uncomfortably. “Take it out,” I groan. “It’s too big.”

“Shh.” Scott strokes my ass before spanking it sharply. “You’re not trying. Stop tensing up, and you’ll be able to take it.”

I hold back my biting retort. He’s right. As soon as I force my muscles to relax, the plug slides into place, my muscles closing around its neck. “Such a good girl,” Scott says, his voice warm and approving. “Get up. It’s time for your reward.”

My reward better be an orgasm.

“You know,” Zane says thoughtfully, an amused glint in his eyes, “we never did eat dessert.”

Scott wipes his hands clean on a conveniently located roll of paper towels while Zane opens the small refrigerator built into the limousine wall console. He pulls out a bowl of fruit and a can of whipped cream. “We should fix that.”

My breathing speeds up. “Lie down again, Nina,” he says. “This time, on your back.”

Scott slides off his seat, positioning himself between my legs. “For two years,” he growls, “I’ve dreamed about the way you taste.” His finger strokes the soft folds of my pussy, and I throw my head back, awash in heat. “I like this reaction, Nina.”

My hips rise to meet his hand, but he is having none of it. “Not so fast, sugar,” he says. “It’s a long ride back to New Summit. There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.”

He explores my slit slowly, teasing me, stroking everywhere except my clitoris. Holding my gaze, he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks. My cheeks break out into a flush. “So much better than the memory.”

“So, dessert.” Zane shakes the can in his hand, then holds the tip over my nipple, and squeezes. I inhale sharply as he coats my rosy peaks with whipped cream. “Would you like some fruit, Nina?”

Oh God yes.

Tremors of need wrack my body as Zane drags a strawberry over my hardened nipple, then holds it to my lips. “Eat.”

I open my mouth. The tartness of the berry explodes on my tongue, mingled with the sweetness of the cream. This is so naughty, so wicked. I squirm with heat, my back pressed against the cool leather of the limousine, my head in Zane’s lap, my ass grinding on the seat. The butt plug moves inside me every time I wriggle, every time Scott’s fingers drag through my pussy in careful exploration.

My thoughts dissolve to nothingness.

“I think I’ll have a strawberry too,” Zane announces. He dips the fruit in the whipped cream, and when it rubs against my nipple, I swear I’m going to combust. “Mmm,” he says. “Sweet.”

Just then, Scott’s hands spread my thighs wide. “I’m ready for some sweetness of my own,” he says. He bends his head toward me, and his tongue licks at my slit. When he reaches my clitoris, he sucks it between his teeth, and I almost arch off the seat in response.

“I’m pretty sure that I’m getting the tastier treat,” he says.

Zane chuckles. “I’m pretty sure you are. But…” he adds, sucking a nipple between his lips while rolling the other one between his thumb and forefinger, “I’m not complaining too much.”

As the car speeds through the night, I writhe on the back seat, naked, exposed, uncaring. Scott keeps licking me, slow and steady. My nipples throb and my breasts feel heavy under Zane’s careful attention.

Their hands explore every inch of my body. They stroke my skin and cup my breasts, and tap at the base of the butt plug, seating it deeper in my body. Their mouths feast on my flesh, their stubble prickling against my tender skin. My core starts to coil under their sensual assault, tighter and tighter. A hot molten ache flows through me, a restless yearning for my climax that is so close but hovering frustratingly out of reach…

Then Scott slides two fingers deep into my pussy, twisting them to find my g-spot. His tongue laps at my clit, again and again, the rhythm deep and steady, and the dam bursts. I explode with a soul-shattering intensity, and I might never be able to put the pieces back together.

They make me come two more times on the way back home. Scott and Zane change positions, then Zane buries his head between my legs and makes me come, then Scott insists on another turn. While they might be willing to watch me orgasm indefinitely, after the third climax, I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.

I fall asleep in the back seat of the limo, still naked, wrapped up in Scott’s thick overcoat. This is only the first night, I think, the last coherent thought I have before exhaustion claims me. Can you survive four more?

I already know the answer to that question. I just don’t like it.