The Billionaire Throuple

Andreas Santiago

[A week later]

There are two things that never happen in Samuel the Third's manor. The sun never sneaks up on anyone because of the floor high windows in nearly every freaking room and Samuel the Third never says stop.

No, he doesn't, ever.

He goaded me until I felt like I had something to prove and someone to save, but not even the ugliest part of myself has made him bat an eye. I thought I was close to breaking him a few times, so I'd stop, but he'd kiss me and say, "I've never been happier."

He's vanquished me. He's drained me of everything. Yes, even that. I'm laying flat on my back in his elephant-sized bed as the sun is peeking in on us, thinking it's slick, but already blinding the fuck out of me. Samuel the Third's head is laying on my chest while his hand rubs my stomach. I made him stop elsewhere.

Yes, the sex addict threw in the towel after a week. Not a week straight, but as often as we could, so double digits. Turns out, he's right, we are different, but I think it'll be okay. I think we can help each other heal, not our respective addictions, but our past trauma.

Aside from sex, I've been showing him there are tons of ways to be cared for that don't involve pain and I think I'm finally ready to talk about the horrible thing I've never spoken a word to anyone about.

"Sammy-three?"

He looks up at me, staring in wonder. His hair is matted, his face is pale and his eyes clearly suffer from lack of sleep, but he still smiles. He smiles as if he's doing it for both of us. Those blue-black eyes I once thought were so shifty, have stolen my trust—something I thought had been locked away for good five years ago.

"Remember our first night?" I ask. He nods, slowly. "Duh, of course you do. I want you to know it meant more to me than you think and I'm finally ready to tell you why."

He crawls up the bed, so our faces meet. I scoot up to rest my back on the headboard, so I'm sitting up. He does the same.

"For me, it was a do-over," I say, "It was how I wished my first time could've been because I knew it was yours and I know we've been through a similar hell."

He nods quietly. I appreciate him so much for how patient and attentive he is. I really wish I'd met him sooner in life, even with nothing to his name, I still would've wanted him. I would've wanted him more, to be honest.

"I want you to myself because I can't control Nemo or anyone other than me and I want you to always feel valued and loved," I say, "I don't want you to ever hate yourself or feel miserable or ever have to wonder what the fuck you did to deserve..." My voice cracks, repressed memories are hitting hard, like pellets of buckshot melting through my chest, carving away at my heart. "To deserve having someone you thought loved you, forcing himself on you, repeatedly, to have to act like you enjoy it."

He puts a hand over my mouth. "No! That's not what this is. It was terrifying at first, yes. As I imagine all first times to be, but it was a test for me too." He sits back and folds his arms across his chest. "You promised no more of this. I'm holding you to it. There are no lies between us."

His stare is straight-up fierce, more intense than I've seen it. It's chilling, as though his eyes turn from blue to black with a flick of his wrist.

Any other interruption would've closed my vault of secrets for good, but the way he snapped, the way my care seems to anger him, makes me want to tell him even more. He has to know what I've been through, so he'll know I'm not being old-fashioned or selfish, but I'm not reneging after the week we went through. I take his hands into mine, scoot until we're hip-to-hip and tell him everything.