Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve

Asher

There was nothing more fulfilling than sipping coffee while watching the early sunrise. The floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of the coast. Braxton and Cruz had to fly to London to meet with Dad and uncle Jaxx. Dominic was out there surfing the waves, making the most of the calm before the storm. The house was peaceful and homely because Bexley was back here where she belonged.

“Good morning,” Bexley spoke as she entered the living room wearing a floaty lemon maxi dress and wedge sandals.

She caught me off-guard, startling me with her sudden announcement.

“Morning,” I returned, drinking in the vista of her appearance. “Are you ready to begin the lesson?”

She cringed, baring her teeth. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She didn’t sound too convinced about that.

I set my half-empty mug onto the white marble coffee table and took a seat on the cream leather sofa. Bexley straightened her skirt before sitting down. Sunlight kissed everywhere it touched, outlining us in a warm yellow hue. Dust particles danced in the air all around us like tiny flecks of gold. It was magical.

“Have you ever played Poker before, Bexley?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, wringing her hands in her lap. “I’m not very good at card games.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reassured. “I can teach you.”

Bexley sat up straight, paying close attention.

“To be a good spy, you must train your mind to absorb information, remembering important details without writing it down. You may have no choice but to react within a fraction of a second, like answering a question without breaking a sweat, shooting a target, or defusing a bomb with only moments to spare. Your practised game-face comes in useful for bluffing. Remember your lies because your opponent will not forget them. Your ruse is your cover; it’s the only thing stopping the enemy from putting a bullet in your skull.” I stopped to check if she had taken that in.

“Okay,” Bexley answered, hanging on every word.

I recalled the time she used to roll her eyes and accuse me of being a know-it-all. Our nanny used to say that women were attracted to intelligent men and that a stimulating conversation was just as important as physical attraction. I wasn’t as buff as my twin, but what I lacked in brawn I sure made up for in the brain department.

“One of the tricks I learned to master, was the art of manipulation. Convincing the enemy that you possess information that could potentially ruin them. That is the ultimate bluff, tricking them into revealing their plans because they assume the game is up. Getting them to crack won’t be easy, but the longer you wear them down they will let things slip. The key is getting them to think that you know everything there is to know in the hope that it’ll trigger a reaction.”

“What happens if the enemy captures me?” she asked, bunching her brows with worry.

“It’s our job to prevent that from happening,” I reassured her. “But in the unlikely event that it happens, I want you to outsmart them with that quick-thinking attitude I love so much. They won’t kill you as long as you can be of use to them. Even if things seem hopeless, I want you to shine with confidence. Let them believe that they would be making a huge mistake if they were to kill you. Lie if you have to. Lead them on a wild goose chase around the world. The Chameleon wants that information, and he will stop at nothing until he gets it.”

Bexley nodded, giving me an indication that she understood.

I reached across to the coffee table and retrieved a deck of playing cards from the drawer. Bexley watched with keen intrigue as I slid the cards from the box and began to shuffle them.

“Lesson number one,” I schooled, dealing out the cards. “We’re going to work on your Poker face.”

Bexley took her hand and arranged each card so that it was fanned out in front of her.

“Are we playing for any particular reason other than working on my game face?” Bexley asked with cheeky intent.

“How about we play for control?” I suggested. “The loser has to do anything the winner wants.”

“You’re on,” she agreed.

The wry smile on her face and the wicked gleam in her eyes implied she would be the winner either way. I dealt the cards, then explained the rules of the game. Bexley assured me she understood. She had always been a fast learner, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. As the game progressed, Bexley made a few novice mistakes. She studied her hand, her lips pulling to the side in a thoughtful twist as she decided her next move. Just as I thought, she knew more than she was letting on. She lost some, then she won some, giving me nothing but doe eyes and cute smiles. She was a natural. I got chills watching her act. The little minx knew how to play all along, thrashing me by the fifth round.

“How am I doing?” she asked, looking pleased with herself.

“You’re quite the little fibber, aren’t you?” I mocked, playfully.

She flashed a Mona Lisa smile and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to interpret that.

“Dad taught me how to play when I was six.” She sucked back her laughter. “Sorry, but bluffing is my speciality. It’s how I get my way in the boardroom.”

“Good. You’ll need to use it to your advantage,” I coached. “Remember what I said about hesitating. Your body language can give you away with a simple twitch of the eyes, or a lick of the lips. Keep your mind sharp and your emotions poised. Never give them a reason to doubt you,” I told her, feeling proud of the woman she’d become.

Bexley edged closer to me, then straddled my lap, her hands pressing my shoulders onto the backrest.

“I beat you fair and square,” she uttered, her lips hovering over mine. “Now it's time to claim my reward.”

“Name your price,” I bargained, willing to give her anything she wanted.

“Complete control,” she replied, looking me dead in the eyes without flinching. “I know that’s going to be hard for a man like you, Asher. But trust me to take the lead and you won’t regret it.”

Dominic

Holy fuckery!

What the hell have I stumbled in on?

Bexley was straddling Asher, grinding herself on his lap like she was riding him fully-clothed. My cock kicked inside my jeans, swelling like it was trying to break free. I watched as her fingers worked to open the buttons of his shirt, and sucked in a breath as she raked her nails across his chest, tracing circles over his lean abs. I shouldn’t be here. This was a private moment between them, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the erotic scene that was playing out before me.

“Put your hands behind your head,” Bexley ordered.

Asher obeyed; his hungry eyes trained upon hers like he was lost in submission. Bexley flicked her hair over one shoulder, then slowly unzipped the back of her sundress, letting it pool around her waist. She was braless. Asher’s chest heaved with shallow pants. His greedy eyes landing on the pert nipples that only he could see. Bexley shimmied out of her clothes, toeing off her footwear, and knelt onto the floor between my brother’s parted knees.

Her thong was a thin scrap of lace, neither here nor there. The thickest part plunged between the globes of her derrière; no doubt soaked with the essence of her arousal. My cock ached to be stroked, pulsing to be handled, and my balls filled with the need to release. But this wasn’t my turn to muscle in on the action. This was Asher’s. He had earned this small slice of heaven. Who was I to take this moment from him? We have our entire lives to build memories with Bexley. I would get my one-on-one with her, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t watch my brothers take theirs. My loins stirred with the urge to watch. So, instead of turning to walk away, my feet rooted to the spot.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” Bexley cooed as she loosened Asher’s belt.

Asher held his bottom lip between his teeth as Bexley tore through the buttons of his slacks, pulling the zip down painfully slow like she wanted to drag out the torture for as long as she possibly could. She tugged on the fabric, yanking it over his hips with a little help from him.

“You’re so big,” she told him, stroking the tent in his boxers. “All this belongs to me and only me.”

“Yes . . . only for you,” he agreed, his voice breathy and restless.

I couldn’t stand it a moment longer, pulling open the buttons on my jeans and delving a hand inside my boxers. My cock jerked in my hand, cold moisture dragging across the back of my knuckles where pre-cum had oozed from the tip. I worked my jeans midway down my hips, just enough to free the goods, giving myself enough room to work with.

“Good,” Bexley replied, sounding satisfied with his response.

She did something to make him hiss through his teeth, then release a strangled groan. I worked myself in a steady rhythm, hardly breathing through fear of getting caught. Bexley leaned forward on him and started bobbing her head. Asher’s grunts of pleasure made my balls boil with excitement. I closed my eyes, imagining it was my cock she was sucking. I was so close to my bursting point, my toes curled inside my Converse, my stomach clenching as I reached the pinnacle of my release. Where was my stamina? I couldn’t allow myself to cum just yet. This show was too good to miss. I slowed my momentum, preventing the spark of my desire from reaching a climactic explosion.

“Fuck, Bexley!” Asher moaned, rearing his head back on the sofa. “This feels incredible.”

Bexley came up for air, getting to her feet. She tugged the lace over her hips and let the thong drop to the floor. Asher scooted down the sofa cushion, allowing her plenty of room to climb aboard. I expected her to straddle his lap and start riding his cock, her tits bouncing in his face as they fucked.

“Uh, oh god,” I mouthed the words but nothing but air came out.

The imagery inside my head made my balls swell and fizz like a shaken bottle of pop, the tingling sensation boiling over the point of no return and firing through the end of my cock in thick, long, spurts. I caught it in my palm and smeared it against the side of my leg.

“Oh fuck,” I yelped a strangled whisper.

I lifted my gaze to find Bexley had straddled my brother, but not with her back to me. She was sitting on him in reverse, watching me as I came. Her heels resting on the edge of the sofa, legs parted, giving me an amazing view of her pussy. I saw everything. Swollen lips, reddening with arousal, her puckered nub just begging to be licked, the way her entrance pulsed around Asher’s cock having sucked him down to the root.

“Well, don’t just stand there with your meat in your hand. Get over here and taste me,” she demanded, reaching down to caress Asher’s balls.

I stood there like a deer caught in the headlights, having been caught red-handed. The voyeuristic haze drained from my mind the second I was rumbled.

“I . . .” I swallowed away the dryness. “I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t resist,” I provided a feeble excuse, not wanting to encroach any more than I already had.

“Our woman gave you an order,” Asher spoke with authority. “Are you really going to deny her wishes?”

Not likely.

Leaving my jeans open, I yanked them up and staggered forward to comply. As I sank to my knees, I could see Bexley’s pussy pulsing, stuffed full of my brother’s cock. Her cream trickled from within her and rolled down his ball sack. Fuck. The heat she was throwing off was enough to make me dive right in and feast upon her like a starving man.

Asher’s hands clasped her sides, helping to ease her up and down as I teased her pussy. Her body quivered into a frenzy, desperate to come. She looked down at me through hooded eyes, her crescent lashes fluttering as she lost herself to a maelstrom of emotions. Asher’s upward thrusting, and my fingers gliding through her labia, sliding around her clit, dragging out the teasing until she began to beg me for it.

“Please,” she mewled, needing that final boost to catapult her brains through the stratosphere.

Asher’s face scrunched with pleasure, needing the constricting clench of Bexley’s pussy to tip him over the edge.

I leaned down to taste her, fluctuating between dragging my tongue around in lazy circles and taut flicks. Her cream was sweet and I couldn't get enough of it. The feel of my tensed tongue, soft lips, and rough stubble delivers a plethora of sensations, and she flew apart within seconds.

“Fuck.” Her voice was strained, her back arched as Asher kept her moving through her orgasm.

Her moans became whimpers, and she sagged like a wrung-out rag doll. Asher barked out a harsh cry as he came, his cock rooted deep inside her, holding her there as he filled her. A strong scent of sex clung heavily to the air, sweet versus protein. It was so fucking sinful, I leaned down for one more lick, loving how she shuddered with sensitivity. Asher lifted her off his cock and tugged her body against his. His chest heaved against her back, sweaty and spent. I glanced between her parted legs to see his seed oozing from her shrinking muscle like a flower in full bloom.

“Could you please go and run our fiancée a bath?” Asher delegated the task to me.

I got to my feet, not bothering to fasten my jeans. “We could all use a bath after that,” I said, gesturing at all the dark stains in the denim.

When our parents designed this house, it was done so with a large family in mind. It was why our father was giving it to us as a wedding gift.