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Chapter One

Theodore

His thick, rigid length shoves deeper inside me, the husky voice telling me to breathe and let him in.

I’m trying.

I grit my teeth, burying my face in the soft mattress to stifle my moans and help with the pain. It burns and it aches, but it feels too good to make him stop.

He pushes the rest of the way inside, and nothing has ever felt so good. Never. I didn’t know sex could feel this way. Something you feel in every cell of of your body.

“That’s it. That’s my good boy,” the man behind me croons, running his large palm over my ass. “Now lie there and let me use your body how I need to get off.”

Fuck yes.

He pulls out and slams back in, waiting a second or two before doing it again.

He does this a few times before moving faster, going harder, getting deeper.

His thick cock strokes something inside me and I find my hips bucking along with him, needing friction—needing to come.

Even after I do, I’ll want more because I can’t get enough of him, of this feeling.

I fear if it stops, I'll never get it back.

“You take me so well, Theo. I wish you could see your tight hole swallowing my cock. It’s so beautiful.”

My stomach heats, my dick gushing precum onto the sheets beneath me. I’m so close, and I’m not even touching myself.

“I’m-I’m close,” I sputter out, turning my face to the side so he can hear me.

“Yes, you are. Because that’s how good my cock is to you. Come for me, Theo. Come good and hard for me,” he says as he keeps slamming into me.

His words send me over the edge. The orgasm hits like a lightning strike, and my dick throbs, shooting cum all over the bed. I feel it puddle in the sheets, sticking to my skin. I groan loudly, faintly hearing him speak behind me. The words are fuzzy; the sound strange—like being underwater.

“—to wake up.”

But this feels so good. Everything feels so damn good. I want it to keep going. I don’t want him to stop. Even though I came, he can keep fucking me. It still feels so good… and I can come again.

“Theo! It’s time to wake up.”

I jerk upwards, blinking so my surroundings come into view.

A dream.

That’s the third one this month. Fuck.

“It’s about time,” Marianne says, shaking her head with a small smile. “You have to get going. My parents will be here for lunch soon.”

I push myself up from Marianne’s bed, noting the way the sheets stick to my body. Not again.

“Oh, Theo. Seriously?” Marianne says with a frown. My chest seizes, embarrassment heating my body. She comes over, pressing a kiss to my lips. “I’ll never understand how you can come so much. We just fucked last night.”

I let out a nervous chuckle, not sure how else to respond.

I get off when we have sex but it’s never satisfying.

It’s just never… enough. So it's no surprise I have so many wet dreams—they're no stranger to me. They happen all too often and seem to be getting more frequent the closer we get to our wedding. It’s something that’s happened to me for years, always making me question certain things, but I ignore those things because that’s not what my life is set out to be.

Before looking for my clothes, I tear the sheet off the mattress, use them to wipe myself up, then toss them in the hamper. I grab my clothes from the chair to get dressed as I make my way to her closet to grab a clean set of sheets.

Thankfully Marianne doesn’t seem to care about me waking up in my own cum and instead takes it as a compliment.

She loves my high sex drive and the fact I’m always so willing .

She’s a sweet girl. Too sweet. She’s beautiful too, and any man would be lucky to have her as a wife.

Not only because she’s great, but because her family is one of the richest in the state.

Mine is too, which is how we got paired off to be married.

Now, our families won’t call it an arranged marriage because that's so "outdated," but it was nurtured, suggested, and pushed.

So, here we are, six months out from the big day.

Each morning I wake up after a dream like that, I wonder more and more if I need to put off this wedding…

How can I marry a woman when I so clearly want something else?

It doesn’t matter what I want, though; it’ll never be accepted. That’s not how the Beaumonts do things. But I need to know…

If I knew what it would be like to have sex with a man, it would put my mind at ease.

I mean, it can’t really be all that amazing, can it?

It’s just sex. I have it often enough. Maybe the dreams are coming because I’m anxious.

Maybe I’m not into guys at all, but it's code for something.

I should be looking at the deeper meaning of being railed in the ass by some dominant guy who calls me a good boy.

What the hell that could mean, I have no idea.

That I need to speak my mind more? That I let too many people walk all over me?

In my dream, I like it. In real life? It makes me furious.

Yet, my mouth stays shut. Are my dreams telling me I should learn to like it? I have no—

“Come on, Theo. Hurry up!”

I put on the last corner of the sheet and toss the comforter back on the bed, then fix the pillows.

If her parents catch me here, they’ll be furious.

We aren’t supposed to spend nights together, even though we’re both adults.

Definitely aren’t supposed to be having sex.

Her parents think she’s a virgin. I wasn’t even her first.

Marianne likes to push boundaries, and when she offered for us to have sex well before the wedding, I wasn’t going to say no.

I am a man, after all. If only it was worth the shit I’ll get if someone were to find out.

It’s not that she’s bad in bed. I’m pretty sure she’s great.

She does all the right things, she’s loud and talks dirty.

I imagine if she were a guy I’d really enjoy those things. Maybe I’m just losing my mind.

Is it normal for people to question their sexuality before their wedding?

I have no idea, since I’ve never been married before.

These thoughts have come to me fleetingly over the years, but never as consistently as now.

Maybe it’s stress. What I do know is I can’t go the rest of my life not knowing.

I need to figure this out before I make a huge mistake.

I take the shot of whiskey that burns when it goes down, putting the glass on the bar top.

“You should just tell her,” Asher says, raising his hand to get the attention of the bartender—Morgan, his girlfriend.

“Absolutely not,” I say. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“If she’s as cool as Morgan, she won’t care,” he answers, running a hand through his dark hair.

It comes down to his shoulders, and it’s the type of thick, luscious hair women are jealous of.

Hell, I’m jealous of it. Morgan comes over to us, resting her elbows on the bar.

“Can we get two more beers and shots, babe?”

She winks at him, then goes off to get our drinks.

He stares at her ass as she goes. It’s a big ass; pretty sure she’s had one or two Brazilian butt lifts done.

Her blond hair is long enough to reach her lower back, and because we’re friends, I can absolutely admit how hot she is without the threat of getting knocked out by Asher.

“No one is as cool as Morgan,” I answer, and Asher chuckles.

“Yeah, I got lucky.”

He really fucking did. I mean, how many women are confident in themselves enough that they don’t care if their boyfriend is bisexual and enjoys having sex with guys? She joins in sometimes; other times she lets him do his thing.

I’d considered bringing this up to Marianne and using them as an example.

Explaining to her that a relationship can function like this.

Asher said it was cool to do that, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Marianne is not Morgan, and bringing something like that up is a death wish.

Marianne is cool for the most part, but she’s not Morgan cool.

Once I put that information out into the universe, I can't take it back. Suggesting that is giving her dangerous information that I'm not sure I can trust her with. Also, I don’t want to be with Marianne at all. So, even this setup wouldn’t work for me.

“Maybe it isn’t because she’s a girl but because she’s her…” I suggest.

Asher shrugs. “Maybe. She does look kinda prudish.”

I chuckle. “Oh, she’s not.” He raises a brow. “Just last night she was begging me to fuck her in the ass.”

“Please tell me you did.”

I frown. “I did not.”

“Lame!”

“Who’s lame?” Morgan asks, putting our drinks in front of us.

“Marianne asked Theo for anal last night, and he didn’t do it.”

Morgan shakes her head and leaves.

I scowl at Asher. “Seriously?”

“What? You know she doesn’t care.”

I know she doesn’t, and neither does he.

They’re both my best friends. We’ve been a little trio since Elementary school.

I’m lucky to have friends as close as them, that I can trust with everything—especially something like this.

There aren’t many people who would be so accepting of all this shit going on in my head.

Asher and Morgan like Marianne enough, they've known her as long as me, but their loyalty lies with me. Always has, always will. And it’s the same with me.

It’s a good thing they don’t argue and fight, though, because I don’t know who I would choose .

“Here, this is what you need.” Morgan slaps a business card down in front of me. I pick it up to look at it.

“Foxy’s Rent-A-Date? Seriously?” I groan.

She’s grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah, Jacob down there,” she points to the end of the bar, but I refuse to look because it’s weird, “is an employee.”

“So, he’s a prostitute?” Asher says, grabbing his shot glass. Morgan leans over the bar and slaps him upside the head.

“Hey!” he shouts, his shot spilling a little. “Alcohol abuse!”

“Well, don’t be so stupid. He’s not a prostitute.”

“So, he’s a…” I start, waiting for her to fill in the blanks. Because this sounds kind of like a prostitute.

“He’s available to rent for dates. Duh.”

Asher does the stupid cough thing, throwing the word prostitute into the middle.

“It’s dating, Asher. Not sex.” Morgan glares at him.

“So how is this going to help me?” I question.

“He said there are all sorts of guys there, and plenty of them accept dates with guys. Go on a date, pretend you aren’t married, see how it goes.”

“I don’t know—”

“Yes!” Asher shouts, drawing out the word. “Fuck, yes. Babe, you are a genius.” He leans over the bar to grab her face and kiss her. She shoves him off, laughing.

“You’re ruining my tips,” she complains, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “What harm can it do?” she then asks me .

“Well, someone could see us, first of all.”

“And if you don’t plan on letting him fuck you in the middle of the restaurant, it won’t matter, Theo. Shit, do either of you have brains?” Morgan shakes her head before walking off.

I raise a brow at Asher. “How do you deal with her all the time?”

He chuckles, picking up a shot glass.

“Her pussy is magic.”

When he tips the glass to his lips, I realize it’s mine.

“That’s mine!” I reach for it, but he puts his free hand out to push me away and quickly takes it. I pick up his beer and down it. He just laughs.

“Oh, hey. If things don’t work out with the rent-a-date guy, you could always let me fuck you.” Asher grins at me like he’s given me the cure to all my problems.

“I really fucking hate you sometimes," I mutter.

All he does is laugh.