Double Dealing

Besides, what makes it so interesting is the fact that Scott wants her as well. So, really,
this isn’t just a bet – this is a competition.
I shift in my seat, imagining Carly sandwiched between us with both our dicks buried
inside her. Scott and I have fucked in the same room before, but never the same girl. I wonder if
that would be the way to go – a friendly draw.
“Let’s try it then. We’ll see who makes a VP out of her.” I smile, looking down at my
whisky, and then add, “And we’ll see who makes her moan the loudest.” I want to give it a shot,
though. God, thinking of Carly naked, her mouth and her pussy occupied by a dick, her long dark
hair falling over my chest or my hands on her ass. I shift, trying to get comfortable around the
erection in my pants.
“You’re on,” Scott says. He throws back the last of his whiskey and wipes his mouth with
the back of his hand. “One dollar?”
“One dollar it is,” I reply with a laugh, taking his hand in mine and shaking it. It’s not
about the money with us. It’s about who gets to beat the other. It’s about bragging rights.
Another woman comes past, and she wears a dress so short it is more like a belt. She is
more drunk than sexy, falling over her own heels. She has a drink in her hand, and it is more than
half full.
Alcohol is great in moderation–just enough to drop your inhibitions can make for a
fantastic night–but there is a limit, and after that, it is easier just to walk away.
In this case, drunk-and-weaving heads toward us. Scott glances at me. Neither of us are in
the business of taking advantage of women. Do I love sex? You bet I do. But this drunk needs a
greasy meal and a warm bed to sleep it off.
She stumbles past us. I see it happen in slow-motion–she loses control of her drink, and it
splashes onto my knee.
“Goddammit,” I say, jumping up. She starts toppling toward me. I grab her arm, trying to
steady her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Someone says right behind me. When I turn
around, I come face to face with a brick wall of a man. “That’s my woman.”
I unhand the drunk girl.
“Ow,” she says, rubbing her arm.
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, at all.”