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  “We could hire body doubles. Or use other models. I’m getting sick of seeing your face in all the ads, anyways,” Taddy joked.

  Chubby as a child, Lex had shied away from the spotlight as an adult. Once Massimo fell in love with her, she’d experienced a level of self-confidence like never before. She learned to love her body and herself. Her face was on the label, the billboards in Times Square, and on every magazine cover from New York to Dubai. Their bestselling dress sizes were double digits. Consumers loved Lex’s curves.

  “Ha!” Lex felt an urge to kick her, but knew Taddy meant well. She always did. “It was your idea to put my face on this label. I wanted to stay behind the scenes, remember?” For the first two years of Easton Essentials’ success, no one had ever met Lex. Massimo, who was her fabric supplier at the time, thought she was a man. He was pleasantly mistaken.

  “Blah, blah, blah. Humanizing you was genius. The shoppers wanted to see the wizard behind the curtain at Oz and they have. You’ve made millions off the campaign. Correction, we’ve made millions.” Taddy crossed her arms and eyed Lex up and down. “We’ll leave the dress open in the back. Minus your ‘cup runneth over’ cleavage, no one will notice.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Vive should be here by now with those clothes pins.”

  “Screw that. The Jaws of Life won’t get me in, or out, of my gown. Nothing will help.” Lex couldn’t believe the dress was too small. She’d worked out for months, getting fit to look the part of a princess when she married her real life prince, Massimo Tittoni, royal heir to Isola di Girasoli and CEO of Girasoli Garment Company.

  She’d adopted Taddy’s cardio schedule of ninety minutes on the elliptical daily. She’d stuck to Vive’s diet of twelve hundred calories a day—no more, maybe less. And she’d incorporated Blake’s panache for weights—lift, lift, lift.

  As a designer and owner of Easton Essentials, the world’s fastest growing fashion brand, not fitting in her wedding dress was a rather big fuck-up.

  “Let’s tease your hair higher. Maybe do some extensions. A Dallas hair-do will make the rest of you appear smaller.”

  Taddy was always full of great ideas, but somehow that one hurt Lex’s feelings.

  “Fine.”

  She waved her hairstylist Nackie over, who brushed then sprayed. Lex closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth, but caught the taste of what reminded her of rubbing alcohol.

  “As soon as we leave here, I’ll call Dr. Fassenbender.” The sounds of Taddy rummaging through her Givenchy satchel became louder. “Come to think of it, I may have one in here.”

  “One what?” Lex asked, opening her eyes. There was no time for cosmetic surgery, not even lunchtime liposuction.

  “Water pill. He has these kick-ass ones. Your bloat drops overnight.” A little blue capsule appeared in her hand. “Tah-dah. Here, take it.”

  “No.” There was one thing Lex learned from her parent’s mistakes: don’t take pills.

  “Suit yourself.” Taddy popped the dot onto her tongue. Closing her mouth, she smiled and swallowed.

  “Dammit. This can’t be happening.” She shouldn’t have designed a ball gown pattern to wear. What was she thinking?

  Elaborate Swarovski crystals scattered throughout the bodice from front to back, and a richly textured layering of the full skirt gave her the fairytale she’d always envisioned. But she’d have to take the zipper out and make a corset back. God, she didn’t want to do that.

  “My darlings, forget the dress!” shouted the photographer, Jemma Fereti, as she moved Nackie back to the sidelines. Jemma had been flown in from Milan at Taddy’s request to capture the pre-wedding photos of Lex and Massimo. “Taddy has a good idea. We’ll focus on head shots of you wearing the crown of Tittoni and the veil. I want you nuda.”

  “Naked?” Lex gasped.

  Known as Europe’s top fashion model, turned co-designer at Girasoli and photographer, Jemma caught erotic femininity on film. She had wanted Lex in her birthday suit from the start of the shoot.

  She stalked over to Lex and held out her hands. “I get that you’re frustrated. But I’m not here to shoot fashion. I’m here to get on my camera those beautiful jewel-toned eyes, those full lips, and the look of happiness you have when you think of Prince Tittoni.”

  Such a smooth talker. “It’s been six months since I had the baby, Jemma. The weight should be off by now.” Her eyes stung with tears.

  “No crying, Princess. Get out of the gown. We’ll do some abstract photos, sì. I promise to capture your real beauty, my darling.” Jemma stepped back and swapped out the camera she held for another with her assistant.

  Yeah, lady…real means real fat. I don’t want that. I wanna be glamorous. “I can’t go nude,” Lex pleaded as she appeared to have made up her mind already. “These photos are not only going to The Times, but over to Vogue and Town & Country. They have to make a statement of class and elegance.”

  “Sì,” she said agreeably.

  “These are royal photos.” Her face was going to be blasted on the Easton Weds hangtag labels and on every major media outlet in the world. Next to Kate Middleton, her wedding week was going to be the paparazzi’s biggest swoon. Millions were projected to follow her, if not in person then on TV, as she made her way down the aisle.

  “Lex, she’s the best there is,” Taddy interrupted then lowered her voice to add, “Jemma will get more photos later with other models, otherwise known as Photoshop.”

  There was one thing her BFF knew better than anyone else in the world and that was the importance of a good public image. If Taddy said yes, then she’d have to go with it. She trusted her; she always had.

  “The pics won’t be going anywhere if we don’t have any. Now, get out of that gown and keep the headpiece on.” The dominatrix was coming out in Jemma as she bossed her around. “Go get changed.” She faced her assistant. “Dim the lights.”

  I can’t go nude.

  Thor’s Boy Pussy

  Blake hesitated, sucking air through his teeth and taking in the Rachmaninoff-ish music playing in the background. The orchestra tunes set his anxious mind more at ease.

  Vive had refused to head over to the photo shoot ‘til he gave her an answer.

  He never spoke about his sex life much because he never really had one. Odd, right? He’d come out about being gay at such a young age, and yet Blake never went balls-to-the wall for cock-n-balls. But Thor and Vive, they more than made up for him with their sexual activities, though he never judged them or anyone. Well, except maybe Diego.

  Now, there they sat, waiting to hear what he desired for his new sex life. It should’ve been a defining moment, one to mark a new chapter as a Manhattanite. He didn’t know what to say, and certainly not the truth as to why he abstained from sex, so he played along. This was all hypothetically speaking, of course. “I’ve never…”

  “What the fudge-balls is it, Blake?” Vive demanded.

  “Bottomed. I’ve never bottomed.” He forced a fake grin. Maybe if he smiled enough he’d get into this. “Before I turn thirty, I should…ya know…try it, at least once.” Slightly embarrassed, he lowered his voice, leaned closer, and confessed, “I’ve always dreamed of a guy breaking me in. Topping me for a few days in a row ’til I was his…all his.” Lord knows his ex-husband didn’t touch him. He almost believed what he was saying to his friends. It felt close to natural to have those desires.

  “That’s sweet. You’re such a romantic.” Thor stuck his pointer finger toward his tonsils, motioning as if he was going to puke. Then he typed on his tablet computer.

  She rolled her heavily shadowed eyes and encouraged, “Great, now keep going, gorgeous. How do you wanna be topped?”

  “I’ve always been in control. Perhaps I should surrender as you said. Test the submissive waters.” Yeah, that’s it. His friends loved this.

  “Ooh, you’ll never go back to topping again. It’s too much work,” Thor confirmed from vast experience. “Topping is like Zu
mba, only worse, all that thrusting. I’d rather rest on my back, not on my laurels, and take it like a good bottom should.”

  “I’d love to be…tied up.” If he gave into the fantasy, he might as well go all out. Bring on the dream. Right? “Have a man worship me. Dominate me. Whip me. Fuck me.”

  “Meow.” Vive curled her gold, glittery nails and projected a feral kitten’s paw in heat. Hedda started to lick her hand.

  “Fabulous. What else?” Obviously, Thor’s patience faded quickly.

  “That’s enough.” Game over, Blake couldn’t imagine anything else other than bottoming and being tied up. What the hell else was there?

  “No, my little ingénue, it isn’t,” Thor disagreed.

  Vive lowered her face down to Hedda’s and kissed her behind the ears. She knew better than to pressure anyone to do anything, but when it came to sex, Blake noticed she was struggling to keep her mouth shut. What more was there?

  “You should get face-fucked, pissed on, and fisted,” Thor suggested.

  “What?”

  “Ahem,” Vive added. “Let’s not forget topped raw, and my favorite, gangbanged—”

  “STOP.” Except for the raw and fisting part, Blake appreciated most from the list. “I’d get face-fucked, sure. Have a man hold my head back and pillage my throat with his cock, shooting his cum on my tongue. Then I’d spit it out.”

  “Done.” He typed. “Have you ever swallowed a guy?”

  “Swallowed?”

  “You know, taken his load in your mouth when sucking him off?” Vive was, for many years, the group’s sex expert.

  “Nope.” To him, swallowing was right up there with raw sex, which he equated to HIV.

  “Cum doesn’t taste bad.” Thor stuck his pinkie in the dipping sauce and licked it.

  Vive smacked his hand from the condiments. “Cum doesn’t taste good, either. Now, I can’t accept you never swallowing.”

  “It’s true.” Blake didn’t have much experience. Once he’d found out about Diego’s sex parties, he swore celibacy during his marriage.

  “Did you know one out of four women takes it in the mouth?”

  “Gay men in this town are a little different.” He smiled, trying to get comfortable with the unimaginable. “Anyways, I’d be willing to try a golden shower.” No harm in a little pee.

  “Now we’re talking. Keep going,” Thor ordered.

  “A three-way. I’m the only homo in Manhattan who’s never indulged in a ménage à trois.” He only said it to appease them; there was no way in Hell he was going there.

  “Two guys in one bed is too much work for me. You have to ride one while sucking the other. I don’t have the rhythm, especially with all those cocks flying around at me.” Vive laughed. “Isn’t that right, my sweet jelly bean dog?” She raked her fingers up and down Hedda’s back.

  Blake never imagined anyone could love a pet as much as she did. Hedda was her everything. She’d lost her first love in high school and had given their baby up for adoption at sixteen. Vive had never recovered from her past. Taddy had made them swear for everyone’s sanity when they moved to Manhattan never to speak about it—ever.

  “It’s always been this city or bust with us. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.” He smiled and thought about New York and how there were many more men out there to meet. Right? There had to be some guys in the city who didn’t know him, Diego, or what happened in their past. There must be.

  “What about raw sex on this list?” Thor asked.

  “Not sure I could find the right top for that.” Blake lifted the glass to his lips and slurped crushed ice. This was making him uncomfortable. Even with his two best friends, he knew the topic of being uninhibited in the gay world was…taboo. Did he fantasize about making love without a condom? Absolutely. He even hated to watch the pornos where the actors wore them. But it was what it was. And what it was…was smart.

  “Say what?” Vive tilted her head and frowned. “Sweetie, I know condoms are a must. But what about after you’ve been with someone for a while? Don’t-cha wanna take the gloves off?”

  “Diego and I always used latex.” The condom era of their relationship was way, way into double digits, way-way-way before they’d married. When they’d enjoyed sex, when Diego could and would have sex with him, seemed a lifetime ago.

  “How innocent, b-o-r-i-n-g.” Thor mocked him with a zzzzz sound.

  He had no idea what went down with Blake’s ex-husband. If he did, he would never respond like that. “If I found a guy I trusted, we tested together, and were both clean, I’d consider it.” He didn’t think it was ever possible, but a guy could hope. Couldn’t he?

  His jaw hung open. “You’re making me hard.” He air-jacked his right hand as if beating off. “I’ll be spreading my pre-cum on our crab cakes as dill sauce in a few.”

  “You’re the king of nasty. You know that, right?” Vive scolded as if forgetting she made a living out of trash-talking.

  “Duh. Let’s recap your wish list.” He handled the tablet, acting as if he was James Madison who had just freshly penned America’s Bill of Rights.

  Blake read over the notes:

  #1 Face Fucked & Load Swallowed

  Maybe he could get into a brutal blow job, though he’d never swallow.

  #2 Pissed On

  It sure beat being shit on.

  #3 Rimmed

  He wasn’t sure what that even was.

  #4 Fisted

  No way!

  #5 Tied Up, Whipped, & Dominated

  Yes, please.

  #6 Ménage à Trois

  Yawn, cliché. So Vive in college, but whatever.

  #7 Topped Raw

  No-no-no.

  “For fuck’s sake, I never said number three and four, rimmed and fisted?” The list was extreme. Blake couldn’t. He wouldn’t. But why was the talk of those sexual activities suddenly making his nipples sensitive? They poked, more or less, through his checkered, button-down shirt. Why was his cock stiffening in his gabardine slacks? Was there a man-whore lingering underneath his dandy exterior, waiting to bust loose?

  “Thor added some for good merit to get you ready for Nello. Taddy has about ten more guys coming your way. I think number two is Gunter Khan.”

  “Guns? That’s what the boys call him.” He couldn’t believe Taddy had pulled it off.

  Rumors at Brill, Inc. offices ran rampant saying her assistant, Kiki, had made the calls and booked the dates. Gunter Khan came from Pakistan. The gays in town coined him ‘Guns’ for one good reason: his biceps were loaded. So huge in fact the Paul Stuart store on Fifth Avenue custom-made his shirtsleeves. His body resembled steel.

  “Now, if you’re gonna start being a good lil’ bottom, you’ll need to get warmed up.” Vive nodded Blake on and said, “I know my asshole takes a little more foreplay than my vajayjay. Hell, my puss-puss is always on, ready to cream at a second’s notice.”

  Her vagina monologues almost made him yak. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at casual sex. Anyways, how does rimming and fisting get one...warmed up?” Blake wasn’t considering it by any means, but he was curious.

  “The best way to take a guy is by first lettin’ him eat your ass.” Thor flashed his lustrous whites at Blake. “That’s my favorite pastime.”

  “Rimming? Really?” Vive asked and then confessed, “I love sucking dick myself, but I’ll never lick a man’s crack. Men have asked, though.”

  His friend nodded. “When a guy’s rimming me, I can come without touching myself. It’s euphoric. It happens when I’m being topped, too. My body shoots off all by itself.”

  “Like Taddy’s shotgun without the safety switch on.” She pointed her fingers in Thor’s direction then blew on the tips off her nails, mimicking a smoking gun. “Gunter is gonna expect your ass smooth and tight, honey.”

  “You’re making up this handless orgasm thing,” Blake snapped. It didn’t exist. He’d never come without yanking his shaft twenty times over.


  “I am not.”

  “And the fisting?” He clenched his hand and punched the air.

  “Thor, I’m turning the mic over to you. I’m out all things non-penis for penetration. Hell, I can hardly take a dick up my ass let alone a fist.”

  Taking the conversational stage, he elaborated. “Sometimes when you’re getting rimmed, you’ll open up. That’s when he slides his fist in.” He demonstrated by taking his fist and pushing it through his other hand.

  “As if my hole is gaping wide and set for a fist punch?” He thought his friend was full of shit.

  “I never said ‘fist-punching’ your ass,” Thor responded with air quotes. “You’re not ready for a punch, you dumb twat, but fisting, yes.”

  Vive got all ladylike. “You know I’ve talked to you about saying that ‘T’ word when you’re in my presence.”

  “What ‘T’ word? Twaaaat?”

  “Boo, I’m gonna hurt you.” She rolled her sleeves up and mocked a punch. “Now, what the hell is the difference between a fist punch and fisting?”

  “There’s a big difference between getting fisted and fist punching,” Thor replied.

  “Geez, Louise. Excuse me.” Blake felt as if he required a manual with a vocabulary key.

  “Interesting. That reminds me, if you’re gonna do anal activity, we’ll need to get your cookie sugared first thing tomorrow morning,” he encouraged.

  “Cookie?”

  “Your asshole. Don’t you have a nickname for yours? I call mine my Thor-cookie. Because it tastes sweet, like—”

  “Shut up.” He’d heard enough. The conversation was over. “I call my arse my ass,” he added as Vive cackled next to him.

  “Hmm.” Thor frowned.

  “And what the hell is sugared?”

  “It’s in Details magazine.” Vive shot him her you-should-know-better look. “It’s similar to waxing, but they use sugar and lemon water. It’s gentle on the skin, more so than the traditional hot and cold wax. Sugaring goes back to the Cleopatra days.”

  “On my ass crack?” He winced at the painful thought.

  “From shaft to tailbone.”