Amani Pt 02

Hey Everyone!

All character are 18+ and the sex is safe, sane, and consensual.

Writers love getting feedback, so if you're feeling up to it, drop a comment and give a rating.

-RSP

***

Chapter 1

"If you think 'we're your future' is a sexy and mysterious line, you obviously haven't seen enough

Dateline

," I said, staring at the man beside me before shifting my gaze to the one across the table. "Feel free to pick your creepy asses up and walk out of the door."

Dominic—the bastard—settled further back. "You'll see."

"That you're both insane? Oh, I already do." I barked out an uncomfortable laugh, squeezing my hands into fists. "Shame on me for trusting a dating app to give me anything less than weirdos who stalk women

across state lines

! How did you even find me?"

"Your location is still turned up in the dating app," Dominic said, "and you'd already mentioned going back to Baltimore after the family reunion. Wasn't hard to put two and two together."

"However you think what you're saying sounds, trust me it's a thousand percent creepier."

"Everything alright here," the grandmotherly waitress interrupted, making me aware of the scene I was nearly making in the quiet little roadside diner.

"Our partner is just upset with us," Dominic offered smoothly, a heartbreaker smile firmly in place.

Their Partner? Did this motherfucker think we were in Europe?

"Thank you, but everything's fine. These gentlemen are now leaving."

"She means ordering, Ma'am," Alex said, Georgia accent so thick he practically sang the words. "Could we see a menu?"

The waitress looked at me, pale blue eyes meeting mine in a conversation I'd had with too many women to count.

You okay?

I nodded minutely.

Yeah.

Her smile was strained.

You don't look fine.

I'm okay.

This time my nod was firm, eyes steadily holding hers. I wasn't exactly sure if that was a lie despite the very dangerous situation I found myself in. A hot weekend threeway did not give these men the right to stalk me or whatever it was they were doing.

The second they ordered and the waitress disappeared to put it in, I seethed, "What you are doing is a

crime

. You do realize that. You're smart enough to see how fucked up all of this is, right?"

Alex reached for me and I flinched away. The man had the gall to look hurt. "Dom and I have been together for years. But we've always felt like there was something missing."

"Getting worse."

He raked his hand through his short hair, giving it a tug. It was Alex's go to move in just about every situation and since this was only the second situation I'd had with these men, my mind immediately went to sex. To one hand gripping his hair with the other gripped his hard cock and

why the fuck am I thinking about this?

"Don't you feel it, Amani?" He went on before I could interrupt, "The connection between us."

"No."

"You're lying," Dominic said in that irritatingly smooth way of his, unfrazzled and unconcerned.

"Fuck you!"

"You already did," he purred, leaning forward, elbows on the table, "but we could go again,

querida

."

Before I could respond the food arrived, hot and fragrant and comforting.

I think I'm gonna be sick.

There was no way I was eating a single bite, too consumed with mixed messages telling me to stay and let Dominic follow through with that suggestion and other ones telling me to get as far away from these two as humanly possible.

"We'll leave, Amani. If that's really what you want," Alex said solemnly.

"You invaded my phone—my personal space—without my permission."

"We did."

"You stalked me."

"Yes."

"So apologize for Christ's sake!" I nearly shouted, biting back the scream scraping up my throat.

Alex has the good sense to look chagrined, but it was Dominic who answered, "We were wrong. We never should have touched your phone. That was intrusive and a violation of your trust. We never should have followed you like this and put you in this situation. This

never

should have happened."

Sad as it was, that apology made me want to forgive them everything. It rang with authenticity, an acknowledgement of error and that was so rare to hear that part of me just went:

when are you going to find men like this?

God, how low was my bar?

"Then why did you do it?" I asked because I had to, because I couldn't let an extremely good apology and amazing sex masquerade the glaring red flags with these men.

"What choice did you leave us?" Alex said harshly, jaw working. "You disappeared. You blocked us when we tried to call. You got in a car and

fled.

What were we supposed to do?"

"Be grateful for an epic night of fuckery," I said, looking incredulously at each in turn. "Popped the night in your memory palace and moved on with your life."

"And have you moved on? Is that what this is? Because it looks an awful lot like running away from something

real

to me," Dominic taunted.

"Everything okay over here?" The waitress interrupted, voice quiet and unsure. "Food not to your liking?"

We each glanced down at our uneaten meals, still lightly steaming. My stomach rolled, but I picked up my fork and knife, spread the butter over the pancakes, meticulously cut my short stack into bite size bits, drizzled the whole thing in fake syrup, speared a bite, and viciously consumed it. It was a hard swallow, but I forced it, turning to look at her waitress with some semblance of a smile. "It's fantastic."

The woman was the poster child for incredulity but she said nothing, choosing to instead walk away.

Alex and Dominic stared at me as I forced another bite. "Don't eat if you're not hungry."

Swear to God, my eye twitched. "You will eat your food and then leave."

"Amani—"

"Period."

The rest of the meal was quiet, painfully so. We were all finished within fifteen minutes. Shortly after, the plates were taken away and a check left on the table. Dominic reached into his back pocket and pulled out an absurdly large bill, leaving it on the table as he slid out of the booth.

His eyes were unreadable. "When you're ready, Amani," he began softly, reaching into his front pocket, pulling out a business card, and sliding it across the table to me. "Come to us."

I bit my tongue, aware that saying anything now would be pointless.

Alex sighed before leaning close and lightly kissing my cheek. "You belong with us, Amani. You'll see that."

Yeah, and one day humidity wouldn't frizz my hair.

"Goodbye, Alex, Dominic."

Chapter 2

Two Weeks Later

"So, Rose, how was your week?" Jessica asked around a spoon full of...

"What is that?"

"Oat-milk soaked chia seeds with erythritol," she responded, shoveling another bite into her mouth.

"I only know one of those ingredients," I said, eyeing the mason jar skeptically across the wide expanse of my desk. As the only two women in management at the company, it was an unspoken rule that we avoided break rooms and bounced between our respective offices for any meals and chats.

"It's from this new diet I'm trying," she said, holding out what looked suspiciously close to bugs in white jelly with cocaine on top.

"I'm perfectly fine. Thank you."

Her laugh was obscenely carefree, unworried about its volume or length. Her laugh was the epitome of our relationship. It was why Jessica and I could have breakfast together in the office, grab a quick lunch at one of the places near the corporate building, or go for happy hour drinks directly after work. It was also the reason she'd never been to my house, didn't know what I looked like between hair styles, and my normally Black Southern accent took on the dulcet tones of most White Northerners. She would never be able to handle Amani with a laugh like that, so she got Rose.

"So?" she prodded, "Your week?"

"The Harrold account is slowly killing me," I murmured, bringing my mug of coffee up to my lips and taking a silent sip, "but Damphere signed on for another year plus four mil."

Jessica rolled her eyes, cracking a grin. "I was thinking more of your social life."

"What's that?" I laughed softly, shaking my head and completely moving past any mention of bad sleep and cringy dreams filled with two men doing absolutely filthy things to me. "How was your week? In social life terms," I added for her benefit.

"Well..." she dithered, fiddling with the edges of her phone case laying hammocked in her lap. "I was on one of the dating apps—one of those swipe-righter—and matched with someone."

She looked coyly at me, waiting for me to ask for more. I humored her, "And?"

"It was a couple looking for a unicorn."

My reaction was visceral: eyes widening, knee hitting the desk, mouth falling open.

"I know, right!" she squealed as I rushed to mop up the coffee that'd sloshed over the sides of my mug, thankful I'd had the foresight to move any and all documents off my desk.

"Y-Yeah," I stuttered, feeling shaken. "What did you do?"

"We talked a bit," she said, smiling. "Flirted. But it wasn't really for me, you know? It's sexy to think about, but going through with it? I'd be too jealous."

I hadn't been.

"And it'd be too awkward when we 'do the deed,'" she air-quoted. "Figuring out what goes where and who does what."

No awkwardness for me.

"It just seems unrealistic. If three people were meant to have sex then our bodies would work that way."

I wanted to ask what she thought her mouth, vagina, and asshole were for when having sex, but I bit my tongue.

Hadn't

I

been her not too long ago?

The only reason I'd even swiped right on Dominic and Alex was because I thought they were hot and it would be fun. A part of me—a very large part—had thought that once I'd met them and seen how weird the whole three person thing was and how unrealistic the night would turn out, I'd leave. But that wasn't what happened.

"I mean, isn't that why they call women who want to sleep with people in a relationship 'unicorns'? It's a made-up fantasy."

But the number that I'd programmed into my phone with the profile picture of two smiling men thoroughly in love with each other hadn't been a fantasy; it had been the realist thing in my life. I'd known that then and I still knew it now.

That physical thread around me hadn't disappeared; if anything it'd gotten stronger, thicker, more painful to resist. My nails dug into my palms and I was fucking irate. Two weeks. Two weeks since they'd left that diner. I'd been worried that they'd lie and follow me, spent days on edge, vacillating between hoping they showed up and hoping they stayed away and than berating myself for even thinking about them at all.

Red flags were raised and laws broken, and amazing sex and conversation did not excuse that. It didn't.

It couldn't.

Didn't matter now anyway since I knew they weren't coming. Two weeks was a pretty clear indication that they'd listened to me when I told them to fuck all the way off. However, the desire for them to stay away was completely overshadowed by my inability to have a halfway decent orgasm. It made me irritable beyond reason.

"... Rose!" Jessica snapped her fingers in front of my face, getting my attention.

"Snap your fingers in my face again and see what happens," I shot out reflexively, stunning her and myself.

Damnit!

That'd been Black Southern Amani, and Jessica couldn't handle her. "It's, like, really rude," I soothed with a small smile.

"Um," she dithered, biting her lip nervously. "You looked kinda lost there."

"Thinking about the Harrold account," I replied smoothly, grateful for the plopping noise that sounded from my computer, making me aware of a new notification. "Work calls."

"Oh, come on! A couple more—" She glanced down at her phone screen before scrambling up and shoving her mason jar into her purse. "Damn, I'm about to be late for a meeting with Pierce."

"Another one?"

"He does love his face time," she muttered around a grimace, already at the door. She paused, looking over her shoulder at me. "We still on for happy hour at Pells?"

"Absolutely!" I assured before shifting back to my computer and the deluge of emails.

I lasted a whole two minutes before I caved. My skin felt too hot and tight. A clawing need sunk into my flesh, infuriating me beyond rationality. Sex drives were healthy things; orgasms a great stress reliever. But there were lines—real, distinct boundaries you

did not

cross.

Bringing a vibrator to work.

Using that vibrator in your office.

Cumming against your office couch and having to wipe the leather clean.

"God, I'm a mess," I groaned, pushing up from my chair and going to the door to lock it. I moved to the windows to close my blinds. Striding back to my desk, I snatched up the bright aqua vibrator hidden in my purse and stomped over to my couch.

I barely breathed as I unzipped my pants and forced them down to my ankles, then pushed up my blouse and bra. My clit was swollen, hot to the touch, painful. Slick painted my pussy and thighs, and nothing was enough. Not my teeth in the leather or the seizing jerk of my body as another orgasm curled my toes and arched my back. Frustration nipped at my heels because it didn't

feel

right—not my fingers grazing my nipples or my thumb strumming my clit as I ground down on six, thick inches of disappointment.

The orgasm was quick and dirty. Fucking useless. There was only the shallowest hint of satisfaction, like eating a sugar-free candy on a diet.

"Ugh," I groaned into the stiff arm of my office couch, yanking the vibrator from between my legs and clicking it off. "How the fuck do I feel worse?"

My phone rang from my desk, the noise jarring me into action and I stepped back over the line I should have never crossed. Pants and panties went up, bra and blouse went down, and I shaped my face into something other than flushed horny anger.

Clearing my throat, I strode to my desk, settled into my chair, and answered the receiver, "Amani Johnson speaking."

The day flew by after that in a series of meetings, email chains, never ending chat threads which always seemed to need immediate attention, and client account reviews. By the time Jessica knocked on my door jamb, eyebrows raised in silent question, I'd been re-reading the same email for 15 minutes, trying to make sense of the legalese and failing.

"Let me just wrap this up," I mumbled.

"Take your time," she said politely, stepping into the room and planting herself on the chair across from my desk.

"No, I need to get out of here." I fired off some version of an "I'll get back to you" email, set a reminder for myself, and quickly typed up a list of my morning tasks before switching off the monitor. Grabbing my purse, and stuffing my feet into the slip-on shoes under my desk, I was out of my chair in the next second. "Let's go."

"Someone's eager," Jessica chuckled, popping up from the chair. "That means you're drinking, right?"

"Heavily."

"Ooh!" Her eyes widened. "What's the occasion?"

"Surviving the week," I laughed, moving out of my office and toward the bank of elevators. "Is there ever another reason?"

"For heavy drinking?" she demurred, bobbing her head. "Work, partners, and family. That's about it."

I chose to skirt right past that pronouncement, instead climbing into the elevator and asking, "Are you drinking?"

"'Am I drinking?' she asks," Jessica mimicked, cackling in some parody of the Wicked Witch of the West. "We're doing shots!"

A chill went up my spine at the glint in her eyes. Jessica was a private school legacy kid who'd rushed a sorority in her freshman semester and grew up with three brothers who all went on to military careers. It didn't take more than two drinks and two shots for me to crown the winner in our duo. Too bad it didn't stop there.

Which is how I found myself planted at Pell's weathered bar, with a heavily tattooed bartender smirking at me as she shook he head and poured me another shot. I threw back tequila that went down so smooth it was

criminal

not to have another, and I realized I was not happy enough for this hour. Happy Drunk Amani could be trusted with her phone but Viciously Horny Drunk Amani with unsupervised phone time equaled cyber-stalking two sexy men with the information on the business card they'd given her, uh, me.

Fuck.

Creepy Amani got led me to a U.S. based non-profit that worked specifically to help LGBTQA youth across some major cities: Miami, New York, D.C. Chicago, L.A, and Houston. It didn't take more than a click to know who Alex and Dominic were: lottery winners that had taken a few million, invested it wisely, and turned it into

lots

of millions they used to be wealthy philanthropists. Because of course they were.

Didn't help that there was an ungodly amount of shirtless pics. Pictures of them sweating while helping with construction of the centers. Pictures of them kissing—some chaste and some downright pornographic.

I clung to the memory of them showing up at the diner with bloody fingernails, willing my desire-drenched head to remember how fucking not okay that had been—contines to be. But then my eyes strayed back to the photos, thumb swiping unconsciously to the next one with those abs and honest-to-God cum gutters.

"Ooh! They're hot!" Jessica piped up over my shoulder, startling me out of a rabbit hole that either ended with a broken vibrator or ruined vagina.

Maybe both.

She plopped down onto the stool next to mine, her voice one notch above acceptable but not yet obnoxious. Pells boosted good alcohol at reasonable prices and the type of gastropub fare that a person craved after sixty plus hours at a desk. "Are they new clients?"

"Somethin' like that," I slurred, trying to put my phone away and failing miserably as it slipped through my fingers and landed on the grimy, tiled floor. "No, no, no—Oh thank God!" I stroked over the intact screen, feeling tears well up as I crouched beside the stool.

"Hey, hey," Jessica murmured sloppily trying to wrap an arm around me and only managing to drape herself over me. "Wus wrong?"

"Nothin'," I mumbled because it

couldn't

be anything. If I let myself get mixed up with Dominic and Alex then God only knew what'd happen to my life. My parents were accepting to a point, which included my cousin Deadra moving in with her long time girlfriend but not marriage. They supported gay rights but not gay pride. They were okay with two men holding hands in public, but a child with two fathers was crossing the line.

My parents were arbitrary and didn't make a lot of sense, but they were also mine. I wasn't sure I could handle not having them and not being accepted by them because I wanted to fool around with some rich gay men. These men lived in the public eye—if their profiles said anything—and it was only a miracle of fate that kept us from being photographed that night.

Plus, it wasn't like I kept a low profile anyway. You couldn't be a Black woman in a management position at a Fortune-500 company and not have a few articles written about you and the "struggle" you endured to get to your position. I knew the weight of my sex and my color and what and who I represented; there was no way I was going to risk myself—

my reputation and career

—for a fantastic fuck.

"Jus' PMS," I mumbled, absently clicking through my phone applications with more muscle memory than true intention. I was just drunk enough to make a dumb choice. Just stupid enough to announce my unicorn status to Jessica and declare how very not awkward it was to figure out what went where in a three way with two gay men. Two men whose most recent location drop on their social showed them at a nightclub in D.C., 40 minutes away from me by car. And my GPS was nice enough to tell me traffic was light. "I need another drink."