A Madness Most Discreet Read online

“That’s great,” I said, still with an undercurrent of unease.

  “And we figured out a way to compensate Franco for his services,” he continued.

  Here my gaze swiveled to Franco whose grin only widened, all teeth.

  “And how’s that?” I asked with another flutter of fear in my gut.

  Arden tilted his golden head and licked his sensuous lips. “We’re having a threesome.”

  10

  the threesome

  “A threesome?” I studied Arden’s face to see if he was only teasing me.

  “You and Franco used to fuck,” he said matter-of-factly. “And you told me you had good chemistry. He’s the perfect third.”

  My gaze swiveled back to Franco. “Was this your idea?”

  He drank the last of his mimosa and tilted the flute toward me in a gesture to refill it. “It’s a good idea. I’m between men. We’ve had great sex, and your lover is very persuasive.” Franco shot Arden a wolfish grin. “Tits-out, no?”

  “No tits. And don’t look at him like that,” I snapped.

  “Like what?” he asked innocently.

  “Like you want to fuck him.”

  “But I do. And you too, Michael. It’s been so long.”

  “You said you’d try it, with me.” Arden gave me his most piteous look. “Think of it as an adventure.”

  “Everyone loves adventure,” Franco cheered.

  Arden made his way over to me, leaned in close, and whispered in my ear, “Wouldn’t you like to show Franco how you fuck me so good? How I beg you to make me come? And sometimes, when I’m very excited, how we don’t even have to use hands?”

  His clever hand slid over the fly of my pants, and his fingers curled to massage my hardening length. “Hmmmm, Michael?” he murmured, then dropped down to his knees and mouthed my crotch through the fabric. The heat and moistness brought my dick from half-mast to full. Meanwhile, Franco was idly fondling himself through his slacks.

  “Please, baby?” Arden striped the length of my cock with his tongue and stared up at me. So wholesome. I would give this man anything. The power he held over me was terrifying.

  “Fine,” I groaned, mostly from sheer horniness than anything else.

  Arden jumped to his feet. “Great. Let me just grab some things from my apartment, and I’ll be back in a flash.”

  “Wait, this threesome is happening now?”

  “Not until I get back.” He shot us both a look. “Don’t start without me.”

  And then he was out the door. His exit was followed by Franco’s boisterous laughter as I collapsed on the couch in defeat.

  “Feeling pretty satisfied with yourself, aren’t you?” I said.

  “I like him. I want one of my own to take home.”

  “Impossible. Arden is one-of-a-kind.”

  Franco’s phone buzzed and he dropped his gaze to check it. “I’m going to have ass until the end of summer. What did he go home for?”

  “Who knows? I keep finding new toys in my bedside drawer. He’s adventurous.” And then came the niggling doubt, am I match enough?

  “He’s good for you. Gets you out of your head. You’re crazy for each other. In fact, it’s a little disgusting.”

  “He makes me happy.” I trusted Arden. Mostly. But did I trust Franco? “Listen, I don’t know what he has planned, but I’m not the best at sharing, so go lightly with your charms.”

  “You worried I’ll steal your man?” Franco asked.

  “Terrified.”

  “He’s not doing this for himself. Or for me, but I am looking forward to it. He knows you’re comfortable with me. This is for you.”

  Was that true? I grabbed a couch pillow and hugged it to my chest. “I am so fucked, Franco. I wake up in the morning with this man in my bed, and I start thinking about wedding vows and vacation homes and small people.”

  “Children?”

  “And wondering where the good school districts are and how we’ll pay for their college education. It’s not rational.” Or wise.

  Franco smiled. “You can’t plot this like one of your mystery novels, Michael. Just worry about surviving your first threesome. After that, who knows?”

  “Arden, what the hell is that?”

  “It’s sheepskin,” Arden said, laying out a giant carpet of cream-colored animal fur on the living room floor. “Or an alpaca. It was a gift, so I didn’t ask. Seemed rude.”

  The sheep had to have been morbidly obese. I couldn’t believe Arden had hauled it all the way here from Brooklyn.

  “What’s it for?”

  “It feels so good when you’re on ex, and you’re naked and rubbing your whole body on it. Like wrapping yourself in furs.”

  “Ecstasy?” I asked. “Whose naked body has been on this rug?”

  “Just mine.” He swept by, pecking me lightly on the cheek, before moving onto his next task. “Franco told me you guys used to do that. Back in the day.”

  I glared at Franco who only shrugged. “He asked.”

  “Is that a good idea for you to take it, given your history?”

  “It’s fine. Just don’t give me any alcohol or I’ll turn into a Gremlin.”

  I did wonder how Arden might act when he was drunk, though I certainly didn’t want to test it. Arden was now propping up our electronic devices in a triangular arrangement and aiming the screens at the woolen rug. That could only mean one thing.

  “We’re filming it?”

  Arden nodded. “Mutual destruction. I told Franco I’d send it to his Wall Street buddies if he did me dirty.”

  “There’s only one way I’m going to do you dirty,” Franco assured him with a leer.

  Arden smiled flirtatiously and then read the concern on my face. “I’m good at editing. I can make sure your face isn’t on it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not… that isn’t…” Other than that strange encounter with the john, I’d never filmed myself before, though to have a record of Arden in action…

  Arden retrieved my half-finished mimosa and filled the rest of the glass with champagne. “Have a drink, babe. It’s going to be a lovely afternoon, and you don’t need to worry about a thing, because I’m going to take care of you, and so will Franco. You know us, and you trust us, so you only have to let go and relax.”

  Arden led me to the couch where Franco sat and watched our domestic back-and-forth play out with amusement. Arden sat on the rug in front of us and asked if we were comfortable going bareback. Once that risk was assessed, Arden asked if there were any rules or boundaries we’d like to set. Franco, not surprisingly, had none. I didn’t really want to watch Franco fuck my boyfriend’s ass—my generosity had its limits—so I made that known. Arden suggested the red-yellow-green convention for whether or not we were comfortable. It gave me some heartburn at the professional efficiency with which he executed these negotiations.

  And then the curtains were drawn, and Arden was straddling my lap and feeding me pills with his tongue, one blue and one white. “Sextasy” was a term I hadn’t heard since our college days when Franco’s bad influence had me taking risks I normally wouldn’t. The similarities between the two men were striking. I definitely had a type.

  Arden wanted to shower, so we climbed into the stall together while Franco sat on the toilet and regaled Arden with tales of our (my) first sexual fumblings.

  “He was such a prude,” Franco crowed. “Never even kissed a guy before me. I used to come home pretending I was drunk and crawl into his bed like it was my own, just so I could feel him up.”

  “And you let him?” Arden asked me. He was massaging my chest with soap and water. I’d swear I could feel every hair follicle shift underneath his gentle caress. His fingertips caught the tip of my nipple, and I shuddered.

  “He was persistent,” I said as Arden did it again. I was pretty sexually repressed before Franco came along. It took months of us flirting and fooling around before I could even acknowledge that I was attracted to him.

/>   “Took me forever to get my hand down his pants. Had to give him a few drinks before he’d let me. He has a nice cock, don’t you think?”

  “The nicest,” Arden purred. He made his way down to said cock and grasped it in his lathered fist. My skin was so sensitive—every nerve throbbing—and my dick was blisteringly hard.

  “Be gentle. It’s tender.”

  “I promise I will.” Arden rinsed me off, then slid to his knees in front of me. The water was at my back, shielding him from the spray. Franco’s soliloquy continued, but my attention was riveted on the things Arden was doing with his lips and tongue. Like honey being suckled from the comb, I dripped and oozed into Arden’s mouth as he nursed me with just the right amount of pressure. Not enough to climax, but enough to turn my thoughts into a melee of shape and color. And then, somehow, Arden was behind me again, with the removable showerhead positioned at my entrance.

  “Is someone using the backdoor?” I asked.

  “I promised Franco,” Arden said. When those details had been settled, I couldn’t seem to recall.

  “He was so quick the first time I blew him,” Franco was saying. “Hardly had it in my mouth before he squirted.”

  “Fuck, Franco,” I howled. “Aren’t some things sacred?”

  Franco laughed while Arden readied me. Both my hands were planted against the wall for balance. It had been so long since I’d been given such treatment, and it dulled my normally sharp edges even more. There was something so intimate about Arden preparing me for penetration by another man.

  “You were so sweet our first time,” Franco said as we climbed out of the shower. Instead of handing me the towel, he started drying me off himself. He kissed the top of my wet head and tucked a loose bit of hair behind my ear. That had always been his thing—our thing.

  “I was nervous,” I said. Franco had let me top him first, then later, took his turn. He’d always been a generous lover, and he was probably part of the reason I enjoyed both roles. I used to be so bitter that he’d taken my virginity and made me beholden to him, throughout his dishonesty and immaturity. But over the years, those wounds had mostly healed, and I could appreciate the care he’d shown me when we were intimate.

  “You know, I always loved you best,” he said.

  I shook my head at him. My emotions, like my nerves, were already raw and exposed. Arden pulled me out to the living room and lay himself down on the sheepskin like an offering. I descended dizzily, kissing his lips, his neck, his pretty pink nipples, stiffening like rosebuds. I traced my tongue along the grooves of his chest, and lower. My cock was painfully hard, and I rubbed it against the fur to seek some relief. Distantly, I heard Arden and Franco conversing about my sexual preferences—what I liked and what I didn’t. I never knew they’d paid such close attention or that I was so transparent.

  “Enough of that.” Franco pulled me off Arden by my hair. I’d managed to trap him beneath me, which was generally my goal. “You’re smothering him. Come wrap those juicy lips around this.”

  Franco directed me to his cock—just as long and proud as I remembered—and I took him in my mouth while he leaned back with one leg bent and watched me. His majesty, I used to call him. There was some royal blood in Franco’s family line, which could account for only some of his arrogance. Franco’s cock was familiar to me, and I knew already how he liked to be pleasured. He was the one who’d taught me, after all.

  “He sucks cock so well,” Arden said. He was straddling my backside and scoring my laterals with his fingernails. Shivers of arousal arced through me, raising the fine hair at the back of my neck. My dick was on pins and needles where I humped the rug.

  “I think it’s kicking in now,” Arden said dreamily as he leaned forward to lick my earlobe. He latched onto my neck, and even his teeth felt good—sharp spikes of pain soothed by gentle pressure. And then he was guiding me to my knees, and someone—Arden—was rimming my ass.

  I abandoned the task of fellating Franco to bury my face in the rug and moan.

  “He likes that.” Franco pet my head. “Gets him nice and relaxed. He’s probably tight as fuck. When’s the last time you took a cock, Mikey?”

  I shook my head, too embarrassed to show my face. Arden’s tongue was stroking my most private of places, licking my rim, then curling in deeper. My hole flared and throbbed as I gripped the fur with both hands and pushed my ass higher, greedy for it.

  “I like him slutty like this,” Franco said. “Bestselling author Michael D’Agostino getting tongue-fucked on his hands and knees. Begging for it like a needy whore. What do you think, Mikey? Should we take a picture and put it on your next book cover?”

  “I’m not…” I began to argue but why bother?

  Arden was using his fingers now to coax me open. The squish of lube grew louder in my mind, as did Franco’s heated murmurs of encouragement. He called me more degrading names and described in detail what Arden was doing to my ass, if only to humiliate me further. He could say anything to me in that moment, and he knew I wouldn’t argue or fight back.

  “Say you’re a filthy little whore,” Franco demanded.

  “Filthy,” I managed and that was it.

  Everything back there was liquid and warm as I melted in a puddle of desire. My noises begged for it as Arden prepped me, raw meat ready for consumption.

  “I want to fuck,” I said. It was the most coherent thought I could string together. “Arden.”

  And then he was lying underneath me, knees spread, grasping his tight cock and balls while working a petite silver dildo in and out of his ass. The lubed metal slid effortlessly along his hearty, pink flesh. The toy wasn’t mine, and it looked expensive. Probably given to him as a gift from one of his wealthy lovers, engraved with something vulgar and sentimental.

  Don’t think about that, I chided. I focused on Arden’s pleated muscle being stretched wide. Cold, unyielding metal against warm, supple flesh. The dildo wasn’t as thick as my cock, I noticed with some satisfaction. Even when Arden was well-prepared, he still faltered for just a moment when the flare of my cockhead was at its thickest. I watched him writhe against the soft cream fur like a sex dream, mine for the taking.

  “Fuck me, Michael.” Arden abandoned the toy and reached for my engorged, leaking cock, guiding me to his entrance. His pucker kissed my glans, and then I slowly sunk inside him, relishing the strong squeeze of his channel and the singular focus on his face, forcing himself to relax so that he could accommodate me. The sensation of filling him up overwhelmed me. I fell forward onto my elbows and edged in deeper as his slick heat enveloped me. It could have been my own heartbeat, pulsing inside him.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you too.” He tugged at my earlobe with his teeth. When I hadn’t moved for a while, he bit me, waking me from my stupor.

  We moved like two primordial organisms attempting to fuse into one. I wanted to consume him—skin, blood, and bone. I hardly knew the sounds I made, only that they were guttural and out of my control. I fucked Arden into the carpet, through the floor, buried him in dirt and dug deeper still, until we were completely cocooned within the earth.

  “Franco wants in,” Arden said quietly. I nodded in assent, and Arden gripped the globes of my ass, spreading them for Franco’s purposes. And then Franco was behind me, nudging my shy hole with the head of his cock, assuring me with some measure of glee that I’d be feeling this tomorrow.

  “You ready?” Arden asked, a song drifting across the water.

  “Yes.”

  Some signal was given, and then Franco was pushing inside, cleaving muscle and flesh and demanding entrance, as pushy as he’d ever been. His propulsion sunk me deeper into Arden, where everything was bright and beautiful. And then Franco began to move, filling me up, making me feel so warm and whole.

  “You feel so good,” I murmured. “Both of you.”

  “I told you he’s a crybaby when you top him,” Franco said, but there was affection in his voice and
in his hands as they massaged my back and sides. I had loved Franco deeply and passionately. I remained loyal to him, through it all, and it was only by cauterizing my feelings and limiting our time together that I was able to grieve him and move on.

  “He broke my heart,” I told Arden who nodded in understanding.

  “He’s sorry,” Arden said. “Didn’t you hear him say it?”

  “When?”

  “When you were sucking him off.”

  “That’s when he makes all of his apologies.”

  “It’s when I see things most clearly,” Franco said and shunted in deeper with a groan of satisfaction.

  “Don’t break my heart, Arden.”

  He shushed me with a gentle kiss. “Don’t think about the end, Michael. Think about the three of us, here and now. You’re inside me and Franco’s inside you, and we’re all bound up in each other, like blood brothers. Let go and feel it.”

  I felt it, our bodily communion. Franco, my first love, and Arden, my present. I was caught between them, and safe. My pleasure soared, and I stopped thinking altogether. Stopped breathing, it would seem, from the gasps that tore from my lungs. I felt every searing sensation as Franco flowed into me and the breathtaking squeeze of Arden’s lithe body as we ascended together.

  I’d been caught once in a mob in Times Square, and for a few moments, the crowd surged and lifted me off my feet. There was no use in struggling or resisting the crush of bodies. I simply had to wait until they stopped moving and I found my feet again.

  Similarly, I ebbed and flowed between men, absorbing the force of Franco’s penetration and channeling it into Arden. It was a mystical transference of power and pleasure. I let go of my need to control things and simply rode the waves. Tossed and turned, I found my anchor in Arden’s eyes.

  “There you are,” he said.

  I didn’t know who came first, but soon enough, we rose and crested in a cacophony of sex noises, peak after peak after peak, then collapsed in a warm, sticky pile. None of us dared move or do anything more than catch our breath.

  Franco maneuvered me so that I was couched by his body in a sated sprawl while Arden relaxed in my arms. Somebody’s stomach rumbled—mine, I thought—and Arden fed us, hand-to-mouth, then brought us drinks to replenish our fluids. Thanks to his cocktail of drugs, my flagging erection was raising its sails again.