Gifting Me To His Best Friend (A Touch of Taboo)

We’re vacationing with Derek for the holidays, just like we do every year. A tradition that I inherited with my marriage to Grayson. Every time Christmas rolls around, it’s an additional a complication I don’t need, a temptation I know better than to even consider. He’s my husband’s best friend. Bromance doesn’t begin to cover it. They’re closer than brothers, close enough that I get jealous sometimes. How can I not when sometimes I catch Grayson looking at him like that?

I stare out the window at the pristine white mountain. Normally, we travel somewhere warm with a beach during the holidays, but Grayson’s been feeling nostalgic for a “real” Christmas with snow and nature, so this year it’s Colorado. He and Derek spent all day skiing, but throwing myself down a mountain and hoping for the best isn’t my idea of a good time, so I bundled up here in our cabin with my e-reader and enough tea to outlast a siege.

Cabin.

The descriptor is laughable. This building, tucked as it is into the slope, is as much a cabin as our penthouse is an apartment. It’s outfitted in high-end appliances, the towering vaulted ceiling is made of real logs, and all the furniture is mountain chic. It’s not a beach resort, but even I can admit that it’s cozy and beautiful.

And I’m doing a poor job of distracting myself.

I watch Grayson and Derek out of the corner of my eye. They couldn’t be more different. Both are white but that’s where the similarities end. Grayson is built lean, courtesy of his hours spent running as he trains for one marathon or another, and he’s got a head of curly black hair. Derek is built bulkier with lighter brown hair and a full beard. Every time I look at him, the word that comes to mind is thick. Add in his penchant for wearing flannel, and he looks like a lumberjack that can rip down trees with his bare hands.

They’ve both showered and changed and are wearing what passes for relaxing clothing. Jeans and a knit sweater for Grayson. Lounge pants and nothing else for Derek. As if he doesn’t care that the lines of his body draw a person’s gaze down, down, down to the faint trail of hair leading from his navel to the drawstring of his pants.

I jerk my eyes to the window again, but the fading light turns it into a mirror, reflecting the living room back to me. I can see myself, curled on the couch with a throw blanket, and the men standing farther back in the kitchen.

“Emma?”

My skin gets hot with embarrassment, even though I haven’t technically done anything wrong. “Sorry, I was mentally wandering.”

Grayson comes and leans over the back of the couch to press a kiss to my temple. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles at the strength of my response. “Thought so.”

I give in to temptation to twist and watch him walk back to the kitchen. The first thing I noticed about him when we met seven years ago is how nicely he filled out a pair of jeans, and nothing much has changed in the intervening time. Grayson’s ass is biteable.

Derek barks out a laugh. “You sure you want a drink? If Emma was looking at me the way she looks at you, I’d be hauling her back to our bedroom.”

“You’d haul my wife back to your bedroom?” Grayson asks it mildly, and even from here I can see his lips twitch. “Fuck, Derek, tell me how you really feel.”

Derek looks at me. I can’t see the brown starbursts in his hazel eyes from here, but I know they’re there. He’s smiling like this is a joke, but there’s an awareness there in the depths of his eyes. The same one that heats me up on the inside. We’re attracted to each other. We have been since we met at my and Grayson’s wedding. We might joke about it with my good-natured husband, but there’s just enough truth for it to sting.

I wish I had a drink in my hand, because my laugh comes out a little strained. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Definitely not.” Grayson grabs a bottle of wine and pours three generous glasses. “You’re my wife, which means my property. I’m pretty sure it says that in the marriage contract.”

I roll my eyes. He might deliver his jokes drily enough for someone who doesn’t know him to take them at face value, but they are jokes. Really terrible jokes. “I knew I should have read the fine print.”

“Your loss, my love.” He returns to the couch with two glasses of wine and sinks down next to me. “You sure you don’t want to come skiing tomorrow? We can take you on the bunny hill.”

I smother a sliver of disappointment that we’ve moved on from the conversation of passing me around. It’s only ever been joking. Grayson and I get freaky in the bedroom, but adding in another person is a fantasy we’ve never actually followed through on. If we did ever go that route, doing it with his best friend would be a terrible idea.

Because I’m not the only one attracted to Derek.

I take a sip of wine and try for a smile. “I’ll take a pass. There’s a really cozy chair next to the fireplace with my name on it, and half a dozen books to work through while I’m on vacation.” Not to mention the fifty others that are sitting unread on my e-reader. I keep meaning to stop buying new ones until my reading catches up to my purchases, but it never happens.

Derek drops into the chair across from us. He really should put on a shirt. It’s distracting as hell to watch his muscles move beneath his skin as he sits forward and back. The man is all restless energy, and always has been.

He catches me looking and skates his own perusal down my body. I’m suddenly achingly aware of how my black leggings cling and the fact that I didn’t bother with a bra under my slouchy sweater. Derek grins. “You two are almost a matching pair.”

I glance from Grayson’s sweater to mine. They’re both gray, though mine is light and his is dark. “That happens after being married for a small eternity.”

“Seven years last summer.” Derek sips his wine, watching us with his witchy eyes. “The seven-year itch is a real thing.”

I give a nervous laugh. “Right. As if you’d know with all the long-term relationships you’ve been in.” In all the time I’ve known him, I haven’t met a single significant other, though I know there have been a scattering of both boyfriends and girlfriends because Grayson told me.

“We’re not talking about my relationships. We’re talking about yours.” He leans forward, expression intent. “How are you spicing things up these days?”

His willingness to ignore any and all social niceties is something I love and hate about Derek in equal measures. I can’t count on him to back off from asking questions no polite person would ask. He and Grayson are too close, too willing to share things. Neither are particularly good at boundaries.

I very carefully don’t look at Grayson. “Our sex life is fine.” Better than fine, really. Even after all this time, we can’t get enough of each other. At least a few days a week, he stops by on his lunch break and we bang like a pair of horny newlyweds. We meet in bars and pretend to be strangers and fuck in the bathroom, in the parking lot, in the car itself. The games just get more elaborate as time goes on.

“Fine,” Derek repeats slowly. He glances at Grayson, and I don’t miss the fact that he gives my husband the same thorough once-over that he gave me. “That sounds depressing as hell.”

Grayson laughs. “So we’re back to you being jealous.” He finishes his wine and sets the glass aside. Both Derek and I have most of our glasses left, but there’s a new tension in Grayson that wasn’t there before. I recognize it even before he looks at me. “You finished?”

There’s only one answer to that question, and I’m already nodding, my body flushing hot in anticipation. “Yes.” I set my glass aside and take his hand as he rises. He moves quickly, scooping me up and tossing me over his shoulder. My exhale whooshes out in a breathless laugh. “Grayson!”

“If you’ll excuse us, I’m going to go have fine sex with my gorgeous wife.”

“Well, fuck you, too.” Derek laughs. “Have fun, kids. I’ll be in my room with my hand to keep my company.”

I catch sight of him through the long fall of my blond hair as Grayson hauls me away, watching us with a visceral heat in his eyes. I can’t tell whose ass he’s most intent on, mine or my husband’s. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I’ve survived yet another conversation with him, yet another round of teasing that isn’t quite teasing.

Grayson carries me into our bedroom and drops me on the bed. I barely get my hair out of my face before his mouth is on mine. It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve done this, he kisses me like he might never get another chance. I’m already going for the front of his jeans, desperate to purge the uncomfortable thoughts, the forbidden desire that I have no business feeling. It doesn’t matter where it originates, only that I slake it with my husband.

Unfortunately, that reasoning feels flimsy at best. Especially when I’ve fantasized about Derek more times than I care to count.

Grayson breaks the kiss long enough to pull my sweater over my head. He huffs out a laugh. “No bra.”

I shake my head and grab his hand, pressing it to the apex of my thighs. “No panties, either.”

He curses and goes to his knees between my legs, kissing his way down my stomach. “Tell me the truth, Emma. You finger yourself while you read those dirty books, don’t you?”

He knows I do. He’s caught me more than once. I gasp out a breath as he dips down and kisses my pussy through my leggings. “They’re called one-handed reads for a reason.”

“Mmm.” He keeps kissing me there, until my leggings are soaked from his mouth and my desire. “I should send the author a thank-you note for always having my wife hot and ready for me.” He finally tugs down my pants slowly, trailing kisses and licks over every bit of exposed skin. “Tell me about the one you were reading today.”

Another of our games: playing out some of the dirtier scenes in my favorite books.

Except this time, I don’t want to tell him. I lace my fingers through his hair and tug him back up toward my clit. “Just eat my pussy. Please.”

He exhales against my clit, but he’s watching me with those dark blue eyes. “You’re dodging my question. Why?”

Because it’s too close to home, too close to speaking the forbidden. I give his hair another tug, but he doesn’t move. “Grayson, please.”

His brows draw together. I have half a second to brace and then he pushes to his feet and strips out of his clothes. Even as weirdly guilty as I feel, I catch my breath at the sight of him naked. Lean and strong and a big cock just for my pleasure. I reach for him, but he catches my hand and uses his hold to flip me onto my stomach. “What—”

His weight presses against my back, pinning me in place even as he wedges his legs between mine, spreading me. Grayson slides a hand down my stomach to stroke my clit. “Tell me.” He doesn’t give me a chance to deny him, sliding into me in a smooth move and kissing the back of my neck. He exhales against the damp spot and my toes curl. “Indulge me, Emma. Tell me about your book.”

I can’t deny him, not as he starts fucking me slowly. Not when he’s kissing that spot on my neck that turns me molten hot and mindless. Not with his fingers creating a delicious friction against my clit.

I gasp. “It’s a ménage.”

“Mmm.” He keeps up his sexy assault, and it’s hard to remember why I didn’t want to tell him this. “Two men?”

“Yes.” I moan, trying to arch back onto his cock, but he has me too effectively pinned. I am fully at his mercy, and he seems to be in no hurry. He grinds into me, rubbing my clit against his fingers with the movement of his hips, and words spill from my lips. “It’s a husband and wife…and his friend. The wife and the friend fuck, a lot.” I fist my hands into the comforter, my body shaking as he works me toward orgasm. “And there’s this scene…” I shouldn’t keep going, but I can’t stop. “Her husband fingers her under a blanket while the friend is in the room. I keep going back to it because it’s so hot. I touched myself to it today.”

He shifts up a little until his low voice is in my ear. “Do you want me to play with that pretty pussy while my friend is sitting in the same room?”

Yes, oh god, yes I do.