Her Dueling Daddies Read online

  Her Dueling Daddies

  A smexy menage romance

  Lee Savino

  Contents

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  Her Dueling Daddies

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Excerpt of Beauty & the Lumberjacks

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  Also by Lee Savino

  Author Bio

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  Of all the sex tapes I’ve seen, Theo Kensington’s is the best. He got a beautiful, muscled back that flexes with his buttocks in time with his thrusts. His jaw clenches and his eyes bore into the mirror over the bed. It’s almost as if he’s looking at me.

  Then he pulls out and I get a good look at him. All ten inches.

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  Her Dueling Daddies

  Two daddies are better than one...

  I'm caught between two dominant daddies--best friends who compete at everything. Both Bear and Sawyer have muscles for days but they want to know who’s better in bed. And they want me to judge.

  Their game, their rules, but I can play along. They call the shots, in and out of bed, and disobedience has delicious consequences.

  As the final round approaches and the stakes are raised, I’m hoping this isn’t just a game.

  I'm falling, fast, and I don't think I can choose.

  They're both playing to win. But which one’s playing for keeps?

  1

  “And that is why I’m never, ever sleeping with a guy again,” I announce and set my glass very carefully back on the bar, which is blurry and not quite level. I frown. The bar was level when I came in.

  “Never?” The bartender leans close. He’s a surfer dude with tanned skin, shoulder-length blond hair and sparkling blue eyes.

  Shame I’m no longer dating.

  “Never ever,” I confirm.

  “Too bad,” a voice rumbles high above my head.

  I look up. And up. And up some more. Towering over me is the biggest guy I’ve ever seen, complete with a muscle shirt stretched over impressive pecs. I couldn’t fit both hands around one of his taut biceps.

  “Whoa,” I breathe. I swing my head back and forth between him and the hot bartender. One looks like a swimsuit model and the other belongs on the cover of a weight-lifting men’s magazine. Why the heck couldn’t they have shown up an hour earlier? Before I swore off men forever.

  “A bottle of water for the lady,” the newcomer rumbles. The bar is dimly lit, the flickering light from a few TVs washing over the big guy’s face.

  “You’re tall,” I tell him.

  He arches an eyebrow at me. I take a moment to marvel at his perfect lips and jawline.

  “You are also...” I think for a moment, “very large.”

  His face splits into a grin.

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” I raise a finger to make my point. “Sleeping with guys is overrated.”

  “Sounds like you haven’t been with the right guy,” Hottie Bartender says. He and Mr. Men’s Magazine exchange glances.

  “Nope,” I announce cheerfully. “But it’s okay. I’m getting a vibrator. A big one.” I set my hands apart to show the length. “Battery operated boyfriend. B-O-B. Big... Bob.”

  “You think Bob will do the job?” the bartender asks.

  I nod vigorously.

  He leans closer, blue eyes flashing mischief. “You should come back and give me a full report.”

  “Why?” I cock my head. “Are you shopping for one?”

  The bartender turns his head to hide his laugh. “This is better than television,” he says to the newcomer, who agrees. Most everyone in here is playing pool or watching some big sports game, but these guys are totally focused on me.

  I rest my hands on the bar, warm all over from the praise.

  The bartender hands a bottle of water to the big guy, who opens it and offers it to me. Big guy is still grinning. I can just hear him thinking how cute I am. His eyes amble over me as I gulp down some water, and I almost choke.

  “Easy, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling against my ear. Shiver. His biceps are practically the size of my head. I imagine us horizontal, me sliding up the hard plane of his body, my softness molding to his muscles.

  No. Nope. Not happening.

  “My vow will not be broken!” I try to slam my hand down on the bar. Something sloshes over my hand. I stare at the now half empty water bottle that I forgot I was holding. “Oops.”

  “No worries.” Hottie Bartender mops up with a towel and the big guy leans in close.

  “Why not, baby?”

  Baby. I like that. What was I saying again?

  “Guys suck. They want you to suck. But they never give you an—” I hiccup. “—anything in return.” I know this from personal experience. Jerry wasn’t winning any awards in the bedroom department, but if I can learn to suck a dick, shouldn’t he at least attempt to find my clitoris?

  “It’s not that hard to find,” the bartender says, and I realize I said all of that out loud. Normally I’d be blushing, being this candid.

  “Guys get off so easy, they just don’t try.”

  The newcomer absorbs this. “The right guy does.”

  The bartender nods.

  “In fact,” the big guy continues, “the right guy makes sure the lady comes first, second, and third.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “It’s true,” the bartender says with a twinkle in his baby blues.

  “That’s impossible,” I breathe.

  “You’ve never come multiple times?”

  “I’ve never come with a guy before.” With my first few partners, I faked it in case it hurt their feelings. With Jerry, I didn’t even bother.

  “What?” the bartender stares at me.

  The big guy swivels on the stool and gets in my space, leaning over me, intent. “Is that true, baby? Never?”

  “Never ever.” I hold his gaze for a moment. There’s something I’m forgetting. I wrinkle my forehead, trying to remember. “What’s your name?” I ask the big guy.

  “Bear.”

  “Bear.” I repeat. “Teddy Bear?”

  “No, just Bear.”

  “As in, he’s ‘big as a bear,” the bartender puts in.

  “Well, that’s legit,” I say, leaning back to take Big Bear in. If I hugged him it’d be a challenge to get my arms around him.

  This time the bartender doesn’t bother to hide his laugh. “Evie, where have you been all my life?” Did I tell him my name? Guess so. I cock my head to the side as he reaches over the bar and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. His blond locks are long enough, I can do the same to him. So I do. He shakes his head, chuckling.

  “Tomorrow night you drink free,” he winks at me.

  “Oh, I don’t do this a lot,” I blurt. Is he flirting with me? I don’t quite know what to say. “I just had a bad day and needed a break.” I didn’t date Jerry long, but break ups are never easy. Or maybe I want to wash his final cruel words away.

  Talking to this hot bartender will cure all my ills. He’s all smiles and charm, his blond hair glowing, a bright sun in a dark bar.

  “Maybe you need to work out some tension.” He grins, and my insides curl. Dang, he is flirting. Normally I’d blush, make my excuses and hide, but no longer. I’ve sworn off men forever. I no longer care.

  “What do you suggest?” I toy with my hair. Pretty and coy, that’s me.

  “I can think of something,” the bartender starts when
Bear clears his throat. The big guy has been watching us closely.

  “Not tonight,” he says, fixing me with a somewhat stern look.

  “Aww,” I pout.

  “Not tonight,” the bartender confirms. “But later. Would you be up for a little game?”

  “Sure.” My voice sounds breathy. “I like games.”

  “Good.” The bartender glances at Bear, who’s frowning. “What?” he says to his customer. “She’s perfect.” I get a little thrill, and he turns back to me. “One of us will call you.” One of us? What’s up with that? Is this some sort of tag-team?

  On TV, some ball player does a sport thing that’s good for his team, and the men in the bar watching erupt in cheers. I clap my hands along with them, enjoying the sporty atmosphere. Normally I’d be home, licking my wounds and eating junk, wishing I could stick to a diet so I could land a decent guy, but my last conversation with Jerry made me so angry, I jerked my car into the sports bar’s parking lot and stalked in.

  “So, what’s the game?” I ask as the place quiets down. “Like pool?”

  “Do you like pool, sweetheart?” Bear asks. Sweetheart. How nice.

  “I’ve never played. I have to warn you; I suck at most games.”

  “You won’t suck at this. Or, you might say, the harder you suck, the better you’ll be.” The bartender winks at me.

  Ohhhh. I nod and try to look worldly. “It’s a sex game.” I try to wink back at the bartender and blink instead.

  “Tomorrow,” the big guy says firmly, speaking more to the bartender than to me. “We’ll talk tomorrow when everyone has a clear head.”

  “Okie-dokie. I should go.” I hop off the barstool and wait a moment for the room to stop spinning before fumbling for my wallet.

  Big Bear’s large hands come to my sides and steady me.

  “I got it,” he says and nods at the bartender, who nods back. “And I’m calling you a taxi.”

  “Oh, no need, I can Uber,” I hiccup.

  “A taxi,” he rumbles and turns to the bartender. “Call Max.” The blond nods and heads for the phone.

  “Who’s Max?” I ask. I wish I could remember the thing I’m supposed to remember.

  “A taxi driver I trust. And when you’re home, you need to drink more water before you go to bed.”

  I attempt to roll my eyes. “Yes, dad. You gonna come tuck me in?”

  “Not this time.”

  Cue my blush, spreading over my chest, advancing up my neck.

  I reach the door and turn, swaying on my feet. Bear looms over me. Beyond him, the bartender gives me a wave. I return it. Two hotties in one night. Shame I made a vow.

  “Do you have someone who knows you’re here?” Bear asks. “Someone you can call when you get home?”

  “Uhhh... no.”

  “Give me your cell.” His hand dwarfs my phone. He finishes programming his number in as the taxi drives up. “There. Text me when you get home.” He walks me to the cab and opens my door. “Make sure she gets inside,” he instructs Max.

  “Sure thing, Bear.” A pause, and I realize Bear is handing Max a few bills.

  I roll down the window. Rain mists over my face, waking me up a little. The thing I’m supposed to remember nags from the back of my brain.

  Bear finishes paying for my ride and leans over me.

  “Remember to text,” he orders. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “You will? Why?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “To check on you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  My thoughts tug and shout at me, but I don’t understand. “Uh... thanks.”

  “No problem, baby,” he murmurs. “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Mine too.” Oops, a little too forward. I blink to disguise my lust-filled eyes. “Bye.”

  “Bye, baby.”

  The car glides off and I wave. I can’t help the happy warmth that fills me, knowing Bear’s waiting on the sidewalk to watch me go.

  At 10:15 on a Tuesday, the mall parking lot is nearly empty. Which is good, because it means there aren’t many witnesses to my pre-shopping panic attack.

  This always happens. The shaking, the cold sweats. I sit in the car, wishing I could just leave. My hangover isn’t helping. I don’t know if the sick feeling in my stomach is from legit queasiness or dread.

  My phone lights up with the Darth Vader theme from Star Wars.

  “Perfect,” I mutter and answer. “Hey, Auntie Jen.”

  “Evangeline,” she trills, and I wince at the sound of my full name. “Have you got a dress?”

  “Was just going shopping now.”

  “Wonderful!” I hold the phone away from my ear as she prattles at full volume and speed. “Remember, something in black. Black is perfect for you—it’s slimming. Of course, you know that.” She fake laughs. “I know the family expected you to be a bridesmaid but the floral pattern in cream... well you know. Patterns aren’t very flattering on someone even a little overweight. And cameras add ten pounds.”

  “Yeah, Auntie Jen, I get it.” I’m a fatty. Not the first time she’s pointed this out.

  “It’s just too bad the diet I told you about didn’t go well. Genevieve would’ve loved to have you in the wedding party.”

  My cousin Genevieve, the family darling. We were born on the same day but couldn’t be more opposite. She’s perfect. Beauty queen. Homecoming queen. Now she’ll be the first of us to get married. Of course, all my other cousins are younger and boys, but it makes my failure all the more obvious.

  It’s not a competition, but it is.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find a dress. If anyone wonders why I’m wearing black to a wedding, I’ll tell them floral prints make me look like a couch.”

  “Oh, Evangeline, you’re so funny.” Another fake laugh. Or maybe it’s a real laugh. It sounds super fake. “Remember, black is your color. Bye now.”

  She hangs up and I get out of the car, slamming the door. How did my cousin get all the grace, poise, and beauty in our generation, plus a metabolism that could burn through a brick wall? It wouldn’t be so bad if Auntie Jen didn’t consider cellulite worse than a criminal record. It doesn’t matter that I’m generally a decent person. As soon as I outgrew a size four, I was officially the family’s black sheep.

  At least black is slimming. Do black sheep look less fat than white ones? Are sheep even fat? Or do they just look that way because of their wool?

  I stomp into the giant department store entrance, already wishing I could skip shopping and head straight to the frozen yogurt shop.

  “Can I help you?” a saleswoman practically leaps on me.

  “Just looking.” I continue ripping through the hanging dresses and the lady retreats from my scowl. After a few minutes, I find two appropriate dresses—black—and ready myself for the dreaded dressing room. Mirrors are never my friend but dressing room mirrors are the worst. I swear they’re all warped in a way that adds inches to my hips. They’ve never failed to leave me disappointed in myself. I end up vowing to go on a crazy diet, which leaves me wracked with hunger pains until I rip into a Häagen-Dazs while ugly crying. Which gives me more reason to hate myself.

  And now I’m tearing up in a department store. Pathetic.

  My phone rings again and I get a flash of relief at the generic ringtone. Talk about saved by the bell.

  The name on the screen isn’t familiar, but my neurons stir at the sight: Bear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby.” Deep, rumbly voice, almost a purr. Oh yeah, the memory is coming back. Me, a bar, too much tequila, a guy with biceps big enough to be seen from space.

  “Bear?” I croak.

  “Yeah, baby. You okay?”

  “Um... yes?”

  “You didn’t call.”

  Call? Was I supposed to—

  Ooooh. He asked me to call him.

  “Sorry, I... fell asleep. But I did drink water!” I crow. For som
e reason, I want him to know I obeyed.

  “Good girl.” His approval warms me all over.

  “Thanks for... taking care of me.”

  “No problem.”

  “Can I just say... I’m never like that. I never get drunk like that in public.”

  “It’s okay, baby. No harm in letting go once in a while.”

  “It was more that,” I blurt. “I was having a bad day. My cousin is getting married, and I’m happy for her, but she’s winning at life and I’m not.” As I talk, I cover my face with my free hand. My blush is creeping up from my neck, spreading like a stain. I need to stop. But something about this guy just makes me want to share.

  “Why do you say that?” No sign in the deep voice that I’m boring him with my patheticness.

  “‘Cause it’s true. We’re the same age. I’ve always been compared to her and I never come out looking good. For example,” I take a deep breath, “She’s a beauty queen and I’m... well, I’m me.”

  Silence.

  Yeah, this is humiliating. But I’ve given up guys, and it’s not like he’s gonna date me, so it doesn’t matter what I say. “And she’s getting married and I just broke up with my boyfriend.”

  “He didn’t sound like a keeper.”

  For a moment I’m confused. Did I tell him about my ex? Then last night’s whole conversation comes flooding back and the crimson tide of my blush advances. I’m about to turn bright red in the middle of the department store.

  And then it hits me: the thing I’ve been trying to remember. It shines in the daylight with horrific clarity: don’t talk about not being able to orgasm with a man. That’s supposed to be a secret between me and my vibrator.

  Damn tequila.

  “Jerry was all right.”