Sharing My Best Friend's Brother

Ashley

"Are you sure your man is okay with this?" Diamond murmurs against my skin, her lips brushing my throat as our bodies grind in rhythm under the strobe lights.

Her hands roam, bold and warm, as the bass pulses through the floor—and through me. The air inside the club smells like smoke, s*x, and alcohol. And the lights scatter across our skin like glitter-drenched sin.

I tilt my head just enough to catch sight of Gray in the corner booth.

Drink in hand. Arm draped across the backrest like a throne built just for him. That dark, unreadable expression of his locked directly on me, watching like I'm the only thing that exists in this whole d*mn place.

He doesn't blink.

Doesn't smile.

Just drinks me in with that gaze that strips me bare and sets every nerve in my body on fire.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at my lips.

"Oh, he's more than okay with it," I purr, arching into her touch, fully aware that every grind, every kiss, every teasing little moan is just for him.

Grayson Bennett—president of the Crimson Reapers, my best friend Alyssa's older brother, and the man I've been messing around with for the past nine months—doesn't exactly come with a label.

Mostly because he's still technically married to the wife who ghosted him nearly a year ago.

But I've been on the back of his bike. I've been to the clubhouse. And he sure as hell doesn't complain when I tag along—or climb into his bed.

Six months ago, I realized I was bisexual. Not a groundbreaking revelation or anything—I'd always suspected it—but growing up with ultra-religious grandparents meant I didn't exactly get the space to explore it.

Especially not with girls.

Which is ironic, really. Probably would've been less drama sneaking girls into the house than hopping fences to meet up with tattooed bad boys who smelled like weed and Axe body spray.

The first time I ever slept with a woman, it was at a s*x club with Gray.

Actually, the one War opened shortly after his almost-thing with Alyssa.

There was this s*xy-*ss Latina dancer spinning on a pole in front of us, all curves and confidence, and she invited me up to dance with her.

I said yes without thinking.

And the second I felt Gray's eyes on me—hungry, possessive, challenging—my whole body lit up.

So, I pushed it. Took it a step further.

I kissed her.

Right there on stage, with the lights catching the shimmer of our lipstick and our hands exploring each other's bodies.

The moment was electric. My p*ssy ached with need.

And all I could think about was him f*ck*ng both of us.

And that's exactly what happened.

We ended up in a private room and spent hours f*ck*ng like we were trying to burn the sheets off the bed—his hands and mouth everywhere, his c*ck switching between our dripping pussies as we moaned, gasped, and screamed his name like a prayer we wanted answered all night long.

And he sure as f*ck delivered.

I thought I'd be jealous, watching him with another woman—but he gave us exactly what we needed, and we weren't shy about giving it right back to each other.

Let's just say... there were plenty of orgasms to go around.

Now? Threesomes are kind of our thing. Not every weekend or anything, but often enough that it doesn't feel dirty anymore. And honestly? Even if Gray and I ever made things official, I don't think I'll stop.

As long as the other woman knows the rules—he's mine.

Gray knows the second I say my safe word, everything stops.

No questions. No exceptions.

And so far? I've never had a reason to doubt he'll honor that every d*mn time.

I grab Diamond's hand and lead her off the dancefloor, weaving through the crowd until we reach Gray's booth.

He leans back in the chair, arms still draped over the backrest, and spreads his legs just a little wider when he sees us approach.

His eyes rake over her with slow, deliberate interest. "Who's this?" he asks, tilting his head.

The low roughness of his voice makes my p*ssy clench.

I smirk, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear as she blushes under his gaze. "This is Diamond. She wants to play with us."

His lips twitch, dark with approval. "Good. Show her what I like, sweetheart."

"Yes, Sir."

I lean in, my lips grazing the shell of her ear as I whisper, "Get on your knees and take out his c*ck."

She shivers, her breath catching in her throat, before slowly sinking to the floor in front of him.

Gray doesn't move.

He just watches her—calm, composed, in complete control—like he's already got the entire scene mapped out in his head and he's just waiting for us to catch up.

Diamond's hands tremble as she reaches for his belt. I guide her with a firm hand on her shoulder, grounding her.

The second his c*ck springs free, she gasps.

And yeah, that's the correct reaction.

I remember the first time I saw it too. How it made my mouth water.

How it still does.

Gray's eyes flicker to me, heat simmering behind them as his voice drops lower. "Your turn."

I drop to my knees beside Diamond.

She shifts just enough to make room, her fingers gripping the base of his c*ck.

I lean in, wrapping my lips around the crown, sucking slow and steady—just enough pressure to make him groan, deep and guttural.

His c*ck twitches, slick with my saliva now, and I gently guide it toward Diamond's mouth.

She opens for him eagerly, her lips closing around his tip as I slide lower, dragging my tongue along the thick vein running the length of his shaft.

"F*ck," Gray hisses, his jaw tightening as his fingers dig into the chair beneath him.

My lips curl into a smirk.

I know he's fighting the urge to grab my hair, but he won't.

Because we've had that conversation.

I already warned him: don't touch a Black woman's hair unless you're trying to start a fight you won't win.

And I just got my hair braided.

I didn't sit for six d*mn hours just to let a man f*ck up my edges.

Diamond moans around his c*ck, messy and eager, her tongue working the top half of his huge c*ck while I trail wet kisses down the base, licking where her lips can't reach.

Gray's breathing gets heavier, his thighs tensing beneath our touch.

"Look at you," I murmur, brushing her hair back so I can see her wrecked face. "Taking him so well."

She whimpers, her eyes fluttering open to meet mine, and I feel the sharp spike of power twist low in my gut.

I f*ck*ng love this.

Love having him stretched out in front of me, fighting to stay still.

Love watching another woman come undone while I keep the reins.

I wrap my hand tighter around the base of his c*ck, Diamond's saliva dripping on me as I s*ck on Gray's balls, flicking my tongue over them. His hips jerk, and a deep groan rips from his throat.

"Goddamn," he growls, losing control more by the second. "You're gonna make me come before either of you take your panties off."

I glance up at him, grinning wickedly. "Then maybe you should stop us."

He doesn't.

Of course he doesn't.

Because he loves this just as much as I do.

Gray sets his drink down, his eyes still locked on me—like we're the only ones in the room, even though the bass is thumping and half the club is watching with barely disguised hunger.

Let them.

We're not the only ones f*ck*ng in here tonight, and it's not like we don't enjoy putting on a show.

Another kink I didn't realize I had... until recently.

Gray pulls a fistful of Diamond's hair and drags her off his c*ck with a wet pop. She gasps for air, her lips swollen, drool glistening on her chin and dripping down her chest.

"Sweetheart," he says, his voice all grit and command, "get on the table."

My body moves before my brain can catch up, heat flashing down my spine as I climb up.

"Diamond," he adds, his eyes never leaving mine. "Take off her panties. Real f*ck*n' slow. Then eat my girl's p*ssy while I stroke my c*ck and watch."

Goddamn.

Yes. Please.

And as I settle on the table, skin flushed, pulse racing, I know one thing for sure—whatever this thing is between Gray and me, I'm not ready to let it go.

Not even close.

Especially not with him watching me like he owns every inch of my body.

And even if his wife does come back?

I'm not giving him up without a goddamn fight.

Grayson

F*ck.

Ashley Johnson is something else.

I've had women throwing themselves at me since the day I took over the Crimson Reapers. Comes with the cut. The patch. The reputation.

Before I got married, I was running through a different chick every night.

Sometimes two.

Sh*t, sometimes even three.

Anything to shut out the noise in my head. To pretend I didn't need the pills just to keep breathing.

Never lasted long.

And I sure as hell never thought I'd be the type to keep going back to the same woman for a threesome—especially not my sister's childhood friend.

We're not exclusive. Made that clear from the start. Just a no-strings hookup. Still, I figured it would blow up eventually.

Ashley always struck me as the jealous type.

The slap-the-sh*t-out-of-you-for-looking-at-another-woman type.

Turns out, I was dead f*ck*n' wrong.

Because right now she's sprawled out on this table, Diamond's head betwee