I considered her point. She wasn’t wrong. Finn and I had connected deeply on an emotional level, opening up in a real and vulnerable way about our pasts. Our hurts and our hurdles. Our losses and our new chances.

  Perhaps one of the benefits of pain was a path to more pleasure?

  “You may be right,” I conceded, but even if she was correct on that count, I couldn’t be sure that brutal honesty was necessary when it came to bedroom experiments. “But I don’t know if a full confession of my fantasies is the same.” I adopted a singsong voice. “Oh hey, sweetie, did you know I watch a ton of MFM vids? Yeah, well, I do. I happen to love when two guys service a woman at the same time. Also, could you and another guy maybe both take me at the same time? Yes, at the same time. ’Kay, thanks, love ya, babe. I’m going to go work on our Target registry now. I hope my boss gets us the napkin rings.”

  Laughing, Kate answered, “First, you don’t use napkin rings. No one under the age of seventy does. Second, you don’t even have a gift registry. Third, why don’t we apply logic to the ask for a threesome scenario?”

  “Oh, believe you me, I’ve already worked out all the scenarios,” I said, tapping my temple. “I have the whole night mapped out from the moment they both strip naked for me.”

  Kate cooed approvingly. “Excellent. Then let’s analyze this rationally.”

  “Wait. Are you going to make a spreadsheet of my fantasies?” Kate was obsessed with spreadsheets. She used them to track her workout progress, her audiobook consumption, and her professional goals.

  “I have one for mine,” she said coyly. Her hazel eyes darkened with frustration. “Trouble is, nothing is getting checked off these days. So, let’s check off yours.”

  “Ah, so you are going to spreadsheet my love life,” I teased.

  “Hell, yeah. The sum of column A with your threesome fantasy plus column B with asking for it equals column C: extreme pleasure.”

  “Right . . . because there are no variables to account for, like, ahem, emotions such as jealousy and so on.”

  She held up a finger to make a point. “Ah, but let me remind you—when you told him a year ago that you had role-playing fantasies, what exactly did your fabulous man do?”

  My skin tingled from the memory. “He gave them to me,” I said, a grin tugging at my lips as I remembered the night I’d divulged all those naughty fantasies to him. We’d gone dancing at Edge, our favorite club. We loved going to clubs. Loved the sultry vibe, the techno beat, the low lights, the way the bodies grinding together unlocked secret desires.

  On the dance floor, I’d unleashed my after-hours imagination. I want to pretend. I want to go home, or go out, or go to the car, and I want to enact all sorts of sexy scenarios, I’d said, the mojito lubricating my lips, freeing my dirty thoughts.

  I’d detailed them all.

  His answer?

  I’ll be your cop. I’ll lock you up till you beg for release.

  I’ll be your teacher and spank your luscious ass on my desk.

  We’ll play doctor, and I’ll devour you till you come all over my exam table.

  Kate lifted the mug to her lips and took a drink, her eyes twinkling. “And did you enjoy the benefits of him giving you all your dreams come true?”

  I laughed at the way it sounded like a fairy tale.

  In some ways, my life had become one. After the dark beginning of my twenties and the rocky path I’d traveled, I’d reached the other side and found mad love, along with filthy, fabulous sex.

  I didn’t need to rock the boat.

  “I have nothing to complain about,” I mused.

  Kate inched closer. “Maybe, just maybe, you could let him know that you might like to bring in some company.” She crossed her legs, took a sip, and issued the most knowing of knowing looks.

  I shuddered at the prospect of two guys taking care of me. I didn’t need them to touch each other. I didn’t want them to touch each other. But I longed to be touched by two gorgeous men at once. As I pictured company in bed, my skin tingled and my pulse spiked. I tried to shake off the endorphin rush, even though my libido was a dirty devil, whispering in my ear for more.

  Still, my love for my man was the angel telling me to be good, and the angel won out. “I hear you, but some things are better left unsaid.”

  We shifted gears, discussing when we wanted to visit bakeries to sample wedding cake, then debating favorite flowers for bouquets.

  Yes, that’s what I needed to concentrate on. Building our life together.

  Not adding kindling to the fire of after dark fantasies.

  As I returned to the office, I reminded myself of all the reasons to keep my dirtier thoughts to myself.

  It’s just a fantasy. That’s all. I’ll live if I don’t have it. Besides, I need to focus on this story for work, as well as finding the perfect wedding invitations, something on recycled paper, preferably. See? That’s where my energy should go. Sports agents, and trade deadlines, and rumors of new signings. That was my afternoon, and my evening would include checking out stationery options.

  Done.

  There was no time to entertain the idea of threesomes.

  I answered a text from my friend Nina asking for advice on which new pair of glasses to buy. The images she sent me made me smile—goofy selfies of her trying on horn-rimmed glasses then red cat-eye ones.

  Lily: You look HAWT in the cat-eye ones. Like the sexy boudoir photographer you are.

  Nina: Hey! I want to look like a badass photographer.

  Lily: Wear leather then and get a few tats.

  Nina: And should I get a nose ring too?

  Lily: Something to consider, but I’d have to vote no. Only because it wouldn’t match the glasses.

  Nina: Ha. I have no plans for a nose ring or ink. But thanks for the specs compliments. BTW, I am shooting a couple today who met when he hit her car! I’m going to do my best to make zero jokes about being rear-ended.

  Lily: LOL! Will that be hard for you, Nina?

  Nina: Um what do you think? It’s a punny way to meet.

  Lily: Especially if he tested out her new engine.

  Nina: I bet he got it to rev.

  Lily: And he probably took it for a joy ride.

  Nina: With his stick shift.

  Lily: OK, I must know. Where did you learn all the car innuendos?

  Nina: Where did you, lady?

  Lily: I pride myself on innuendo.

  Nina: Ditto. See you this weekend. Until then, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

  Funny, I couldn’t toss out a comeback like that doesn’t leave me with much. Nina was innocent, though I suspected not in her head. I definitely wasn’t innocent there either. My thoughts remained a wild swirl, though I tried to focus the rest of the afternoon. That’s what I needed to do. My job.

  After all, my focus had to remain on work, my wedding, my marriage.

  Right now, I was nose to the grindstone on work, since I loved my job. I set my phone down and dove into my report for Sports Network on the looming major league trade deadline, then did some prep work for an upcoming conference I was leading in our hometown. I reached out to the sports agent I’d secured for the panel I was moderating this weekend.

  I checked in with Ford Grayson in New York, making sure he was good to go.

  But he picked up the phone, calling me back instead. That could only mean he was going to say no.

  “Ford, don’t give me bad news,” I said.

  “Me? Deliver bad news? Never. Never ever. I only come bearing excellent news.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “I cannot grace you with my presence on the account of a prior commitment,” he said in his big, booming voice.

  I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re just now remembering a prior commitment?”

  “To my wife,” he said, sounding a little sheepish.

  Well, that I understood. “Ford,” I teased. “Did someone forget an anniversary?”

  “Not exactly. But I need to be in town for her,” he said, his voice a little vulnerable and instantly I understood. He’d made an offhand remark last time I saw him about him and his wife being ready for babies. I had a hunch they were going to be trying for one this weekend.

  “Say no more. I forgive you. But who’s your substitute?”

  “I have a fantastic replacement. None other than Josh Summers.”

  I whistled my approval. Josh Summers was quite a win. He was one of the top agents in the country and having him on my panel along with Haven Delilah, a former Olympic gold medalist and also a rock star agent, was quite a feather in my cap. I planned to move her onto that panel now since she’d pair well with Summers.

  “Then I fully accept you kicking yourself off the panel. Also,” I said, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Good luck this weekend.”

  “Thanks, Lil,” he said, sweetly then we hung up.

  I connected with Josh on the details, then I tapped out an email to Haven and hit send.

  Dear Ms. Delilah,

  I hope this note finds you well. We are so excited about your attendance at the upcoming sports marketing conference. We’ve had a few last-minute schedule changes, and I wanted to give you a heads-up that we will be moving you onto the Negotiation Skills panel. We have several other esteemed agents on it, including Josh Summers. Can you attend a prep session in advance? How about Friday evening? We could meet at the Lily Bar and Lounge. (No relation!)

  All the best,

  Lily Whiting

  There.

  I reflected on my day, seeing myself clearly.

  Seeing who I was in this phase of my life.

  Lily Whiting, a friend who gave fashion advice. Lily Whiting, a sports reporter who was professional and direct, outgoing and businesslike.

  And Lily Whiting, who got along well with her business colleagues.

  That was what the world saw. That’s who I was.

  My truth.

  And as I stared at the e-mail I’d just sent, it put my dirty thoughts into sharp relief.

  How could I be the woman who interviewed athletes and general managers, invited top agents to intensive conferences, discussed the dynamics of the business of sports, but behind closed doors I was this . . . wild thing?

  A wild thing who fantasized about trysts on balconies as strangers watched.

  A voracious creature who loved to pretend she’d been bad, so bad, and needed to be punished with bites and swats and hair pulls so hard she screamed.

  A woman who daydreamed about the sheer overwhelming intensity of two men taking her at the same time.

  I had to reconcile these two sides of myself and the way to do it would have to be denying the after dark side.

  Trouble was, I shivered as a rush of heat spread through me from my chest, down my belly, and straight between my legs. My mind quickly assembled one of my go-to images. Finn, in his charcoal slacks, dress shirt, and a tie. And another man. A nameless, faceless man. But someone who looked like Finn, dressed like Finn.

  They’d find me in bed, wearing only the sexiest lingerie, lazily touching myself, like I’d been waiting to be discovered. When they found me, they’d be instantly aroused, so ready to please me at the same time.

  God, I was a hedonist.

  A raging, shameless one.

  And I had to stop it. Shut down the thoughts.

  I was getting married. I was moving into a new phase of my life, one I wanted, one I cherished.

  I couldn’t go there. Even with my fiancé. Some things were better off as fantasies.

  Especially when Finn sent me a text, asking me to meet him at Eden after work.

  Our favorite sex-toy shop.

  Yes, that was our speed. We were the kind of couple who’d have a threesome with a battery-operated friend.

  Him, me, and the dolphin.

  And I’d be fine with that.

  When I was done with work, I googled local deejays and wedding singers, checking out some clips.

  Yep, this was the speed I needed to be cruising along at and not the lawless filthy one.

  4

  Finn

  I couldn’t entirely get my mind off my obsession with Lily’s pleasure.

  But I did my best the next day.

  Jake and I met our friend Adam for a working lunch at a restaurant near our firm. Adam ran his own production company and we handled all his contracts. Adam was a good friend too and the three of us always had a blast together whether while working, working out, or going out.

  That would be what I needed most right now.

  “The next slate of shows are going to be the definition of bingeworthy,” Adam said, then took of bite of his chicken Caesar salad.

  “Then we need to make sure Webflix pays a pretty penny for them,” Jake said.

  “How about a pretty dollar?” I suggested as I took a drink of my iced tea on the terrace of the cafe.

  Adam wiggled a brow. “I like that. Make it a ten.”

  “A franklin,” Jake added, clearly wanting to win this one.

  Like the competitive assholes we were, we continued to escalate till we hit ten grand. “Speaking of,” Jake said, a quizzical look on his face. “What’s the most you can bet on blackjack?”

  I shot him a curious look. “You planning on becoming a card shark?”

  He scratched his jaw. “Maybe I should. I’m excellent with bets.”

  Adam laughed. “If there’s one surefire way to lose money in Vegas, it’s at the tables. And consider that free advice. I know that’s hard for you to conceive of, being sharks of attorneys and all.”

  I pointed at him, as I narrowed my brow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but do you want us to be anything but sharks?”

  “Fair point,” he said, as he returned to his salad, and we finished reviewing the contract details we planned to lock up for him.

  When we were through, I paid the bill, though my mind drifted once more to my favorite place. To Lily. To thoughts of her deepest wishes. To my own desires to give her everything.

  I couldn’t get my mind off her.

  I wasn’t sure I ever would.

  And I didn’t know if that was a good thing.

  After I finished reviewing files for a case that afternoon, I hit the gym with Jake.

  “Ready to be destroyed in another round of one-on-one?” I asked after we tackled the weights. Another activity that might distract me from my number one obsession. Did I need a distraction? Quite possibly or my mind was going to combust from thoughts of getting my woman to tell me her deepest secret.

  He rolled his eyes as we hit the courts. “You seem to have a different definition of ‘destroyed.’ You see, destroy is what I do to your sorry ass when it comes to basketball.”

  “Bud, that’s cute that you think you’ll win.”

  He arched a brow. “Allow me to remind you by taking no prisoners.”

  It was all in good fun because Jake did usually kill it at basketball. But I was required by the universal code of men to trash-talk.

  It was what we did. What we’d always do, I had no doubt. I’d known him for years, and he was the best kind of guy. I wasn’t going to say he was like a brother, because no one could fill that role. But hell, he was damn close.

  He’d been there for me when I didn’t even realize I needed someone, the friend who’d insisted I get my shit together when he saw I was about to snap.

  A few years ago, he’d found me in the office at two in the morning yet again, draining another pot of coffee, obsessing over another case.

  Hands parked on hips, he’d shaken his head and said, Finn, it’s time to deal with all the shit you’re not facing.

  That was all he’d said.

  Well, he’d said a few more things as he’d turned off my computer and dragged me out of the office. Like You’re a miserable bastard. It’s understandable, but it’s time to face the music.

  I’d gotten my act together, gone to group therapy, and finally worked through the shit from losing my brother.

  Yes, there was some tough issues I had to excavate in group. Nothing was easy about digging deep and serving up your insides to a shrink in front of other people. To admitting how you’d become more tightly wound, more angry, more combustible.

  That’s the guy I was.

  A guy nearly driven mad from loss.

  I missed my brother every damn day. Still did. But thanks to Jake making sure I had a place to vent, I was finally able to process, to accept.

  And eventually to move beyond the searing pain.

  I learned how to come to peace with the loss.

  Then I met Lily. I fell so goddamn hard I still had bruises on my ass.

  Hypothetically.

  Point being, I didn’t fall in love till I had dealt with the grief. And when I fell, I fell all the way into the deep end, no turning back. It was like I was finally able to access my heart again, my emotions, and hell, it was incredible to be able to do so, and even better to give them to her.

  To someone who cherished what I had to offer. Who valued and honored it. Who understood who I was, and who I wanted to be.

  Was I obsessed with pleasing her?

  Yeah, I was.

  So sue me.

  But this particular fantasy she had? The one she seemed to only tell Google and Tumblr?

  I was obsessed with that, too. Because I didn’t want my woman to go unfulfilled. I didn’t want her to feel deprived of a single thing. Besides, my job was to be better than Google and Tumblr. To deliver the real thing to her. To make her happy beyond measure.

  But where would I find a willing participant who wasn’t a freak? Who Lily would want?