Humble is boring.

“WELL, MR. NELSON, THIS sounds like an amazing plan. When can you start working on our project?” Roger Diamond slaps his hands together with excitement.

My smile is hard to contain, so I don’t even try. “Thank you, Mr. Diamond. I’ll check my calendar and email you some dates. If memory serves me right, I have some time free next month, but I’ll verify and we can pick some dates that work for us both.”

“Good man. I look forward to it.” Mr. Diamond shakes my hand. “I hate to cut this short, but I need to get going.”

“No problem. We’ll talk soon,” I assure him.

“Sounds good.” He smiles broadly and with a final nod, heads out of the restaurant.

I’m three for three—every prospective client I met with on this trip decided to book my services. Pride surges through me and I itch to tell someone about it.

Without thinking too hard, I pick up my cell and text Quinn.

Me: Hey.

Red: Hey yourself. What’s up?

Me: Did you know I’m awesome?

Red: And so humble, too.

Me: Humble is boring.

Red: You are anything but boring.

Me: Seriously, though, this trip was a success. I’m three for three.

Red: I expected no less from the awesome Charlie Nelson.

Me: So you do know I’m awesome.

Red: Did you flash them the panty-dropping smile?

Me: I keep telling you, my dimples don’t work on men.

Red: How do you know? Did you smile at them, dimples and all?

Me: I guess I did.

Red: See, it works on men and women. No one can resist those dimples.

Me: Now you’re doling out the compliments. Keep them coming.

Red: I’m proud of you, Charlie. I knew you would sign them all, though. You’re so talented, they’d be stupid not to work with you.

Warmth blooms in my belly, and my lips curve up in a small smile. It feels good to know she’s proud of me and thinks I’m talented.

Red: What are you going to do to celebrate?

Me: I know what I want to do to celebrate.

Red: ??

Now this is new territory for me. I know we texted about it a bit last night, what with the contents of her Tumblr page, but how do I tell her I want to watch her get down and dirty with someone else?

I open the Tumblr app, scroll through her feed, and find the threesome video with the man watching the woman get fucked by another man. I hit the share button and send it to her.

Subtle, Charlie. Real subtle.

I fidget, staring at the screen as I wait for her response.

Red: You want to watch?

Me: Yes.

Red: Would you want to…participate?

Holy shit. A threesome? Do I want a threesome with Quinn and some other guy? I think about this. A threesome with two girls is a definite yes—two girls kneeling at my feet, taking turns sucking me off, kissing, rubbing their nipples together, one riding my face while the other rides my dick.

Hell.

Yes.

But me, Quinn, and another guy? What if she sucked my cock while she got fucked? I imagine it, how she would jostle as he—whoever he is—thrusts into her, her big whiskey brown eyes locked on mine. Or…I could fuck her as she sucked on his cock, and there’s always the whole double penetration scene, but that would involve me getting very up close and personal with the guy.

I can say those scenes don’t turn me on all I want, but my dick doesn’t lie, and he’s telling me threesomes with Quinn—with either another girl or another guy—sound fun.

Me: Possibly, but I want to start with watching you.

A beat goes by with no response and I’m afraid she’s not into it. Shit. Does she think I’m a total pig for suggesting it? Well, I guess I am a total pig, but still, I hope I didn’t offend her. I thought she was into it last night. She has all this stuff on her Tumblr page, after all, so the thought of it must be arousing to her, and she just asked if I wanted to participate.

I start typing out a message, trying to backtrack and apologize, but my phone buzzes in my hand before I hit send.

Red: When?

I exhale a sigh of relief. I half expected her to start giving me a piece of her mind.

Me: I get back into town Friday.

Red: So, Friday night then?

A laugh bubbles out of me at her response.

Me: Anxious much?

Red: It sounds fun, and you do need a proper celebration for your new accounts.

Me: I couldn’t agree more.

Red: Okay, we have two days to work out the details. I need to get back to work.

Me: Work hard so we can play hard later. ;-)

Sweet baby Jesus. My heart is pounding in my chest with excitement. Despite my vast experience with females, I have never done anything like this. I mean, I’ve watched my fair share of porn, but I’ve never wanted to watch a woman actually have sex with someone else before.

Then I get stuck on one thought: who are we going to find that would be okay with me watching? Do we need to set it up as an accident, like the way Quinn ended up watching me? What if the guy spots me and gets upset?

We definitely need to work out the details.

 

STUDYING THE FINISHED PIECES in my studio, I try to decide which ones I want to bring in to the gallery today. Every month, I go through this process. You’d think I’d want to sell all of my pieces—it is, after all, my source of income—but I pour my soul into my art, and it isn’t always easy to part with pieces of my soul.

Charlie’s piece is going for sure. I’m so excited to see what Suzanne, my manager at the gallery, thinks of it. Running my hands through my hair, I blow out a breath and just gather up all my finished pieces except for the charcoal drawings I did of Charlie. I can’t part with those yet—and I’m not sure if I ever want to.

After loading everything up into my car, I drive to Art Redefined. I’ve been working with this gallery for a couple of years now, and we seem to be a good fit for each other. I can’t make the same style art every time I create, and Suzanne loves that I produce variety. What I make all depends on my mood and frame of mind; plus, I’d get bored to death being stuck in one style.

She squeals at the sight of my full arms. “Ooooh! What do you have for me today?”

“Have a look at these while I get the rest from the car.” I carry them into the back room and head back out for my second load. When I get back, I see her staring at Charlie’s piece. “What do you think of that one?” I ask her without telling her it isn’t mine.

She can’t tear her eyes away, awestruck. “This is magnificent, so painful and raw. What happened to you since I saw you last, Quinn?”

I beam at her. “I knew you’d like it. That isn’t my work, it’s by a friend of mine. He didn’t want it and didn’t think it was very good, but I love it.”

“Where does he usually sell his art?”

“Actually, he’s a photographer, not a painter. He works in marketing, but after a particularly rough night, I suggested we paint to relieve some stress, and this is what he came up with.”

Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “Can I sell it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can he make more?”

I laugh. “Not sure about that, but I’ll work on it.”

“You do that. I think this piece will go fast.”

Happy with Suzanne’s response, I go about unwrapping the other pieces. The bell rings, indicating that a customer has walked in.

“I’m going to go man the front, can you give me your inventory list when you’re done here?”

“No problem, meet you out there in a bit.” Each piece has to get photographed and added to a list so she knows what’s available, and I busy myself with the simple tasks. Every month Suzanne rearranges all of the pieces on display, exchanging old inventory for new, or just rotating the pieces to a different spot to keep the look fresh and new. Once the gallery has been rearranged, there is an open house for members, an insider’s first peek at new art. We’re encouraged to attend to mingle with buyers, but I’ve only been a handful of times—too much schmoozing for my taste.

“Hey gorgeous,” a deep voice says from behind me. I spin to find a tall man wheeling a cart carrying several canvasses and sculptures into the room. He’s clad in faded jeans torn at the knees and a paint splattered t-shirt, soft from use and so well worn it’s almost see-through. On anyone else, the outfit might make you think he’s homeless, but this man is fit and muscular, and the shirt only makes you notice what’s underneath—the broad shoulders, firm chest, and flat stomach. My eyes roam up to his face, noticing the dark stubble decorating his square jaw and upper lip. His long black hair is a mess, as usual, but the rumpled look only makes him that much sexier. Tobias notices my roaming eyes and grins at me.

“Hey, I was hoping I’d find you here.” I grin back at him. “Want to have lunch with me?”

“Lunch?” One eyebrow quirks up. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

Right. So, Tobias and I have had sex a few times since my divorce. He’s fun, laid back, and so good at oral, it makes my toes curl just remembering. We haven’t gotten together in a long while, though, but when Charlie texted me that he wants to watch me with another guy, Tobias came to mind.

I chuckle at his confusion. “No, I actually mean lunch—you know, where we go to a restaurant, sit down, and exchange conversation while we eat food?”

“Is eat food code, too?” His eyes roam my body, and I have to stop myself from squirming at his attention. I keep thinking about Charlie watching me suck Tobias’s cock—or even better, Charlie feeding me his cock while Tobias eats my pussy.

“Have you ever known me to beat around the bush?” I quirk my eyebrow up at him.

He sighs. “No, you’re as direct as they come. You sure I can’t convince you to come to my place instead?” His pretty lips pout and he blinks at me with puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t worry, I think you’re going to like what I want to talk to you about.”

“Well, now you’re talking.” He rubs his hands together with a wicked grin. “I’ll be done here in five minutes.”

I laugh, looking at his cart so full of pieces. “No you won’t, but don’t worry, I’ll help you when I’m done.”

20 minutes later, we’re walking down the street to my favorite sandwich shop. We chat about nonsense while we order at the counter and pick out a table, the aroma of fresh bread making my stomach grumble.

“All right already, Quinn. The suspense is killing me. Out with it.” He bites into his BLT and stares at me with curiosity.

I swallow the delicious bite of chicken sandwich and contemplate how to begin. Hell, Tobias already knows I’m not subtle, so I just spit it out. “My friend and I are looking for a third, someone to play with me while he watches. Would you like to play with us?” I pretend my heart isn’t beating a mile a minute and take another bite of my sandwich, feigning indifference to his response. If I’m being honest, I want Tobias to say yes. I know him, I feel comfortable with him, and I’ve already had sex with him. I might be secure in my sexuality, but I’m not sure how to go about picking up a stranger to play with me and Charlie.

He doesn’t make me wait long for his answer. “Fuck yes. I’m in. Tell me more about your friend.”

I put down my sandwich and blow out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“I’ve had a couple of threesomes before. Does your friend want to partake?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

That’s the other thing—Tobias is bisexual. He doesn’t let a silly thing like gender get in the way of acting on attraction.

“I don’t think so, at least maybe not right off the bat. Charlie is…” I trail off, trying to find the words to describe him. “He’s young and fun, sexy and charming. We hook up every now and then, more often as of late. One night at Club Bailar, I happened to stumble upon him with another girl. I meant to turn around and leave, I promise I did, but he caught me standing there watching them and kept going while staring at me. It was the hottest thing.”

Tobias’s green eyes glitter with delight as I tell him about my accidental foray into voyeurism. “So now he wants to watch you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in love with him?”

My heart stutters in my chest—it’s been doing that ever since Charlie shared his painful past with me. I think of his nightmare and after, how he opened up to me and let me see his vulnerability, and my chest squeezes. Then I remember my past with Reid, how he promised to be there for me and when faced with a choice, he didn’t choose me. I ignore my stupid heart’s reaction to Charlie.

“No, don’t be silly. We’re just friends—friends who fuck a lot.”

He looks dubious. “Are you sure? Because I’m down to fuck, but I don’t want to step in the middle of a relationship.”

“I promise, you’re not stepping in the middle of anything. We just want a fun night full of orgasms and depravity,” I reassure him, also trying to reassure myself, too.

An elderly woman at the table next to us splutters. Shit, I may have said that too loud in my efforts to be convincing.

“Well, how could I pass up orgasms and depravity? Let’s meet up for drinks. If we all get along and want to take it further, we can progress from there.”

“Sounds perfect.” I smile at him, excitement tickling my belly.

This is going to be fun.

Charlie: You around?

Me: I am. In fact, I think I have a plan.

Charlie: Tell me.

Me: So I have this friend, someone fun and unattached, and he’s interested in joining us.

Charlie: Who is he?

Me: His name is Tobias. He’s 30, sells his art at the same gallery I do.

Charlie: Have you fucked him before?

Me: Yes. Not for a while now, though. The last time was probably six months ago.

Charlie: And he knows I want to watch? He’s cool with it?

Me: Yes. He suggested we get together for drinks first to make sure everyone can play nice and then go from there.

Charlie: You trust him? I mean, is he clean?

Me: He has a condom rule, never goes without, but we can exchange test results if you want.

Charlie: Yes, I want.

Me: No problem.

Charlie: I have to go, but Red?

Me: Yes?

Charlie: I can’t wait.

Me: Me either.

I swear I’ve never been this horny in all my life. Thoughts of meeting up with Charlie and Tobias tomorrow night are never too far from my mind. I went to the spa today to get waxed and buffed and polished, and my nails are painted red, so shiny and sexy. My legs are hairless and soft, my pubes trimmed and tamed, with the hair directly around my delicate bits waxed and bare for extra exposure. It's so smooth and sensitive down there, I can now feel my underwear against my skin. Not going to lie, it feels so good I get turned on just walking.

Charlie sent me a Tumblr video earlier depicting a delicious threesome that had me shoving my hand in my underwear to get some relief instantly. Despite masturbating mere hours ago, I’m still horny. It’s like I have this itch that won’t go away until it’s scratched.

So, even though it’s only eight PM and I want to do some work in my studio, I know I won’t be able to focus until I masturbate again. Just as I strip off my clothes and settle into bed with my vibrator in hand and finger ready on the Tumblr app, my phone rings in my hand. The picture of my mother is like a cold shower, instantly dousing my libido. I debate ignoring her, but that never works well.

I draw the sheets up to cover my nakedness and throw the vibrator back into the nightstand drawer. Then I take a deep breath and swipe to answer.

“Hello.”

“Oh my goodness, you actually answered. I’m shocked.” My mother’s sarcastic voice is like a needle to my brain. So she’s starting with the guilt this time—I guess it’s better than leading up to it.

“You say that like I never answer your calls.”

“You usually don’t.”

“That’s because you always make me feel guilty, like you are right now.”

“Well, if the shoe fits.”

Wow, it only took 3.2 seconds for the conversation to go downhill. I sigh and try to find an ounce of patience.

“Let’s start over, Mom. How are you?”

“I’m fine, dear. I’m calling to tell you we’re having a family dinner on Sunday. Your sister is coming up and it would be nice if you could join us.”

Damn. I dread family dinners. My parents take every chance they get to point out that I abandoned my wedding vows—though they fail to acknowledge that Reid also abandoned our wedding vows when he cheated on me. Half the time, they actually invite Reid, so I have to see his shitty face and try not to punch him. I think if they could, my parents would just adopt him and boot me out of my family. You’d think they’d be on my side after what I went through, but they hold fast to the claim that wedding vows are forever and divorce is taking the easy way out.

“Did you invite Reid?”

“Your father had lunch with him today, and I imagine he did extend the invitation,” she informs me.

Fuck. Every time, it’s like a punch to my gut.

“Why do you do this to me, Mom? Reid is my ex-husband, the man I found fucking some other woman in my bed,” I screech.

“Language, Quinn. You don’t have to be so crass,” she scolds.

“I’m not being crass, I’m stating the facts. You and dad continue to treat him like he’s still a part of the family, and he isn’t. We’re divorced. If you want me to come to family dinners, stop inviting him.” My blood pressure is escalating by the second, but I can’t help it. This drives me insane.

“He’s our son-in-law.” She sniffs. “There’s nothing wrong with us hoping you two might get back together, and you can’t get back together if you never see each other.”

I open my mouth to correct her—he was their son-in-law. Was being the operative word.

But then an idea comes to mind.

“If I come to dinner, can I bring a friend?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, see you Sunday.”

I’m going to see if Charlie will return the favor and come with me—that should put a smile on my parents’ and Reid’s faces. I snicker at the thought of sticking it to Reid.

Getting out of bed, I throw on some painting clothes then lose myself in my work.