Last night was one of the hottest and wildest nights I've ever had, so much so that I awoke this morning with a raging hard-on, still thinking about what those two girls did to each other under my command—how they pleasured me—how they pleasured each other—and how I loved every moment of having a threesome without another man in the room taking part in the sexual rendezvous.

Our session was only supposed to be for an hour, but it went on past that—like two hours after we were supposed to give up the room—especially after I learned who the other woman's name was—Chelsea.

Knowing the two girls' names felt more intimate and special to me—I've never been one not to know who I was fucking, or blowing me.

Since I spent more money on the girls than initially planned, I believed it was fair to have gotten more than the allotted time of only an hour.

Rico Suave's fault—not mine.

It's also Trent's fault for giving him the same heads-up as he did with me.

Even though his and my situations were different, the asshole still fucked with me to get me to bid more than what was necessary. The other guys in the room stopped early—Rico Suave continued it with the intention of not winning them—intending to make me squirm and enjoy the sight of what he knew he was doing to me—pissing me off.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

He knows I'm no billionaire—or even a millionaire.

I have money, sure, but I wouldn't consider myself a wealthy man. I make good money for a living, and I live comfortably. But I cherish the money I do have. And usually, I spend within reason. But last night, I felt I needed to make a point.

To him.

To my grandmother.

To my friends.

But mostly to myself.

However, the point I tried to make didn't make me feel any better.

I spent more money than I wanted to. For what? For a threesome, I could've easily found to have with willing participants without having to pay that kind of money.

However, which way I want to look at what I did and what I spent last night, at least I know my money went to a good cause.

That's the best way I can describe my actions for spending the amount I did—especially after making a promise to the person who means the most to me. Who took my sisters and me in and cared for us after my parents were killed in a helicopter crash over the Grand Canyon while on vacation when I was fifteen.

I think that's why I felt as guilty as I did last night while in the room with two hot, bisexual women, performing sexual acts with them—making them submit to me, and teaching them how to submit to each other, and the third person they'd like to invite to their bedroom.

Still, I feel fucking guilty.

And the guilt roaming through my mind, body, and soul was killing me.

More than I wanted to admit—to myself. And to the friends I know who'll ask me how the night went when we meet up later for drinks and to shoot the shit.

The thing is, this is me.

This is my life.

This is who I've always been.

And I enjoy the life I have chosen to live since high school.

Or have I?

That's the question I need to figure out—one of the few questions my grandmother asked me at lunch the day before.

Are you happy living like a bachelor?

Are you satisfied you have no woman in your life?

Are you glad you have no children to spoil?

Are you thrilled you use women to get what you want?

The thing is, I don't use women—they all know exactly what I want or what I'm looking for long before we make it into the bedroom.

Do I enjoy being a bachelor? Of course, I do.

Do I enjoy not having a steady woman in my life? Some days, yes. Some days, no. It all depends on the day I'm having.

Do I enjoy not having children? That I can honestly say I don't know. I like kids; I always have. But having your own is much different than hanging around children that aren't yours. But I do like the aspect of having children to carry on the family's name. I never had a brother—Callum has always been a brother to me—same goes with Trent. Brothers I always wanted but didn't have. Instead, I was blessed to have two younger sisters.

So, in some way, I guess I wouldn't mind having children to see if I can continue adding to our family tree. But I'm not ready for that. That's for damn sure.

The thing I need to figure out is if this is the life I want to continue living or if I should give in to my grandmother's wishes before she turns into an angel—something I don't want to consider right now.

All I know I need to do right now is relish everything I'd done last night—I have a strong feeling Callum may be right about last night being the last threesome I'll ever have.

And that's fucking killing me to even think about giving up what I've enjoyed doing since I was eighteen years old—thanks to my best friend, Callum.

Now, I have to thank my loving grandmother for my strange thoughts this morning because had it not been for our talk at lunch and how she looked at me while scolding me about how I'd been living my life, these thoughts about giving up what I've enjoyed doing over the years I wouldn't even be considering giving up right now.

Instead, I'd be sitting at my kitchen table, on my laptop, drinking coffee, checking the stock market to see what I've lost and what I've gained, all while thinking about how I'll be having drinks with my friends later, scanning the bar to see who'd be worth taking to bed.

That's what I'd rather be doing.

But no. I'm doing the opposite because of what I did the night before—sitting at my dining room table, hiding the tail between my legs while thinking about my grandmother and what she expects to see out of me before she takes her invitation to go to the pearly gates and staying there forever.

***

Like always, I was the first of my friends to arrive at Lucky's, find a table large enough for our clan, and kick my night off with a glass of whiskey on the rocks while waiting for them to arrive.

Even though I told myself I wouldn't do it, I did what I always did when I got to the bar—I scanned the room, looking for potential chicks to take home—their home... not mine. That's a big no-no in my books—I don't need or even want them showing up on my doorstep looking for more—thinking they could talk me into being in a relationship with them.

I leaned back in my chair, sipping my whiskey and assessing the women roaming the crowded establishment. Studying each woman, my eyes and dick found interestingly enough to bring to bed—by seeing who they came to the bar with, how their mannerisms were when interacting with their friends, whoever took time to say hello to them, danced, and how they drank their choice of beverage for the evening. Of course, I also checked out their bodies, eyes, facial features, tits and ass.

It wouldn't be me if I didn't.

But I also had another problem I still wasn't sure how to deal with yet, and it weighed heavily on my shoulders—something I didn't wish to have going on with me tonight. It had been a long week, and even though I was looking forward to attending last night's auction, I was more looking forward to having drinks with my friends—especially after the talk with my grandmother.

I need someone, them, anyone, to tell me the woman who had taken my sisters and me in after our parents' deaths who doesn't understand that not everyone nowadays wants to marry and have children like everyone once used to care to do—as in the old days—she's wrong. But who am I kidding?

My closest friends are married.

And if their wives aren't pregnant already, they're trying to have them right now, especially since Eloise is already a couple of months shy of giving birth—and she and Callum just married five months ago.

Finally, Jace and Tallulah arrived, and when I noticed them looking around the room, I stood, waving to get their attention. Once Tallulah saw me, she nudged her shoulder into Jace's and pointed in my direction.

"Sorry, we're late," Jace said, pulling a chair out for his wife, and as she sat, he added, "Someone couldn't decide what to wear tonight."

"What's new?" I returned with a smirk playing on my lips after seeing Tallulah's eyes roll.

Jace laughed. "True," he returned, sitting beside his wife, his hand immediately resting on her thigh and caressing it as he looked at her, asking, "What are you drinking tonight?"

She rested her hands on the table, folding them together, and looked at me quietly, saying, "Just a water with lemon," like she was trying to hide from me that she was pregnant. She doesn't have to tell me Jace finally knocked her up—I immediately saw the glow on her face when she sat down.

He nodded, and when a waitress finished with the table beside us, he grabbed her attention and ordered their drinks.

I lifted my glass, showing our waitress I was a sip away from being empty, saying, "I'll take another one of these also."

The rest of my friends showed up soon after, and when I saw Eloise's belly, Callum immediately shook his head, warning me not to say a word after noticing my eyes hadn't shied away from widening. She doesn't look anything near seven and a half months pregnant—she seems to look fifteen months pregnant or carrying more than one.

So, knowing how much Eloise is a bit of a firecracker, how Callum had told us she's much more fired up and much more short-tempered than before her pregnancy, and how he told me she wasn't having a good night last night, I'll try my hardest not to upset her.

And it will be hard—I enjoy rattling Eloise's feathers.

After drinks were ordered and served, we got to our usual shooting the shit—catching up on our lives since the last time we got together, around a month ago. It used to be weekly when we got together, but because of Callum and Rory's schedules with traveling for work, we haven't gotten together as much as we'd like.

It just so happened that Rory and Callum were finally in town this weekend, making it so we could all get together and hang out.

As I suspected, Tallulah is finally pregnant with Jace's baby. Isabelle, Rory, Hudson, Shelby, Greyson, and Amanda are still trying to add to their families. And well, after Callum discreetly told me about his wife's pregnancy, Eloise wasn't pregnant with multiple babies as I first assumed after seeing her tonight—she's just... huge—and miserable.

"How about you, Aaron?" Greyson asked, taking a sip of his gin and tonic. "What's been going on with you? You're much quieter tonight than usual. Everything good?"

Callum chuckled but didn't say anything—he's just eying me with amusement, waiting to see what I'll spill the deeds about last night—with my grandmother and her friends and how my night went at the Night Lovers Club.

Now, everyone's eyes are on me.

I didn't have much to report—other than what my grandmother had brought up. My plans at first were to bring up my talk with her, but now, after they sat at the table, I'm not so sure I'd like to say anything.

I still like where my life is right now, and if I were to bring up what my grandmother asked of me, I know how much my friends would agree with her—something I don't want them to agree with her about right now.

When I stared at my drink, not saying a word, Callum leaned to me and quietly asked, "Are you quiet because last night didn't go as planned?"

"Are you getting sued or something?" Hudson asked. "Is that why you're staring at your drink, not saying much?"

What kind of fucking question is that? He knows how careful I am with every patient I deal with.

My eyes shot up, defensively asking, "Why would I get sued?"

He shrugged. "The look on your face says something is going on with you. You look almost as if you lost your best friend."

I did—in a way. He married the hot as fuck Eloise.

Lucky fucken bastard.

I raised my drink to my lips, finishing what was left, and as I returned my empty glass to the table, I said. "No, I'm not being sued. I'm careful with everything I do—extra careful, that is. You all know that." Then it hit me about something intriguing I could tell them. With a smile, I said, "Actually, I do have something exciting to report."

"You got laid by two women last night, didn't you?" Callum said loud enough for the group to hear.

Fucker...

I turned, glaring at him as I said, "Actually, I was going to say that a woman came into the office yesterday begging that I transform her into looking like Raquel Welch."

"No shit?" Jace loudly wondered, surprised. "Who goes in asking to look like a sex icon from the sixties?"

I looked at Jace, saying, "A twenty-six-year-old woman who has dreamed of looking like her since she was young." I shrugged. "Apparently, she's a fan and lover of older classic movies—and Raquel Welch."

"Can you even do that?" Amanda asked.

Is she kidding me right now?

"Of course I can." I raised my hands, palms facing her, wiggling my fingers, smiling while saying, "My magical hands can do anything. You should know that. Remember, right before you married Greyson, I added another Megan Fox to the world," I winked. "My best and proudest work by far."

She repeatedly pointed her pointer finger at me, smiling, "Oh, yeah! I remember that now. And now I remember, after seeing the photos you took of her before and after, I was shocked by how much she resembled her. They were like identical twins!"

Yeah, I also remember wanting to fuck her right after—the only problem was that she was married, so that never happened. As for my patient Angela, who wishes to look like Raquel? I'd fuck her in a heartbeat—even before she expects me to turn her into her idol. She's gorgeous. She's not married, and her emergency contact is her mother. So she may be available for a night of fun with me.

However, with my talk with my grandmother hanging over my head, that's enough to make any man's dick remain limp—which most likely means I won't be having sex any time soon.

Thankfully, I could block out everything she'd said to me last night to have the type of night I had—an incredible night that I'll never forget—especially if it'll be the last time I'd be partaking in a threesome.

After ordering another round of drinks for the table, I looked at Hudson when I noticed him studying me and defensively asked, "What?"

"Something's bothering you." Hudson brought his beer bottle to his lips, and with his eyes focused on me, he took a swig, then added as he lowered the bottle to the table, "Even though you're smiling now, you still have an expression on your face that says you're dealing with something heavy. So spill."

Callum laughed. "He's probably drained from the day he had yesterday."

Eloise leaned over Callum and punched my arm, scowling, "That's for asking him to join you last night."

Isabelle squirmed in her chair, grinning like the she-devil she was, cheering, "Now this I can't wait to hear about." She lifted a brow. "What did you do last night?"

I elbowed Callum, quietly groaning, "Asshole." Then I sighed as I said, "My grandma had me take her and her six friends to play bingo last night." Before they laughed at me, I added, "And, let me say, it was quite comical, interesting, and at times, I wished I were deaf."

Everyone at the table laughed. Then, still chuckling, Rory asked, "She's still making you play bingo with her?"

Honestly, I don't mind taking her and her friends and playing bingo with them. Not only does it get her out in the free world, but it's also a change of scenery from being at the nursing home all day—and I love the smile it brings to her face whenever I hang out with her—even when I'm winning fucking coach purses.

"Yeah, she does. But that's all right. She's eighty years old, and who knows how much longer I have with her. You know?"

"I get it," Rory responded, "I'd do the same if my grandmother were still here."

Callum humorously asked, "So. Did you win anything, finally? You never answered when I asked last night."

"My grandma won twenty-five hundred dollars," I answered, avoiding his question.

"Wow. I'll bet she was tickled pink," Callum said, sipping his scotch.

"She was. And so was I. I think that's the most money she's ever won."

He elbowed me in the side of my ribs. "So. I'll ask again. What did you win?" Callum pushed as if he knew I won a fucking purse.

I turned, facing Callum's curious eyes, and glared at him as I said, "Nothing. Nothing at all," I lied, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of my friends and their wives.

Humor played on his lips as they curved upward. Which means—he fucking knows.

Fuck.

"Liar," he quipped, grinning, returning his glass of scotch to his mouth. "That's not what I heard." Callum looked at Eloise, then his gaze circled the table, smiling even wider as he looked at each one. "A little birdie told me," he swung his thumb my way as he looked at Jace, "he won a coach purse."

That earned Callum a kick to the shin—kicking him hard. Hopefully, I bruised the fuck out of it too.

"Ouch," he laughed.

Amanda's eyes widened, "You won a coach purse? What are you going to do with it?"

I groaned, angry with Callum for embarrassing me. Then I looked at him and sighed, "So, who was the big mouth? Hmm? Who was there that I missed?"

Tallulah giggled. "My aunt Edna was there. She remembered you from my wedding and called me immediately when she saw you'd won a purse."

Of course, Edna was. And, of course, she had to call Tallulah, knowing how much of a big mouth she had, and would tell my friends what I'd won.

I suppose I could say I'm glad I left a mark where it was enough for her to remember me.

But, even with all the alcohol I consumed that night, I also remember how much her aunt Edna wanted Callum. And since he embarrassed me, now's my time to embarrass him.

I looked at Callum with my pointer and middle finger spread, pressed on each corner of my lips. I stuck out my tongue and flicked it up and down fast before teasing, "So, homeboy. Your secret girlfriend was there. Tell me, asshole. Have you told Eloise about her? I'm sure she'd love to know how much you wanted to bring her to her room the night of Jace and Tallulah's wedding."

He returned the glare. "You're a sick fucker. You know that? Sick..."

I hissed, "Takes one to know one." I looked away from Callum and at everyone, as I sipped my whiskey, studying their expressions, then groaned, "So you all have known since last night. Just lovely. Just fucking lovely."

"I'll take it off your hands," Isabelle grinned. "If you don't plan on using it, that is. But if you are planning on using it, then—"

"I gave it to my grandma," I lied, cutting her off, not wanting to hear what else she wanted to say. I tried giving it to her, anyway. But she refused to take it, saying she wanted me to gift it to a woman—my girlfriend—something I don't have or even desire to have.

But I'll still try getting my grandmother to take it off my hands—she deserves it.

Callum elbowed me, and when I looked at him and saw the curiosity playing on his lips, his grin told me he wasn't going to let go about last night, and he was seconds away from asking how my night went after bingo.

I was right.

Itching the corner of his mouth, still grinning like the asshole he was, he asked, "So. You never said how your night at the club went. Was it everything you hoped it of being?"

My eyes wandered away from his and to the curious eyes focused solely on me. I had nothing to hide since my friends knew the type of life I lived, so I mentally threw my hands in the air, and grinning, I admitted, "It was the best fucking night I ever had in my life."

Rory's eyes caught mine, and with humor in his voice, he asked, "Besides having fun playing Bingo with your grandma and her friends and winning such a fantastic prize—a coach purse, what else did you do that made your night the best ever?"

I knocked back my whiskey, and as I lowered the tumbler to the table, looking at it and thinking about the night I had, with a proud grin, I bluntly said, "I had a threesome."

Isabelle's eyes rolled. "That's nothing new."

"No, it isn't," I proudly admitted, then my grin widened when I looked at Callum, adding, "but it was the first threesome I had with two women—not a threesome with one woman."

Amanda's head shook with a disappointed look in her eye, and then she scolded, "You're thirty-five years old. Don't you think it's time to quit acting like a horny teenager and look for someone you could settle down with?"

Who cares how old I am? I sure as hell don't.

And did she visit my grandmother yesterday? That's the exact remark she made to me at lunch.

I wanted to defend my actions and furrowed my brows as I responded to her remark, "People of all ages have threesomes. It's a sexual lifestyle many people enjoy—something I've always enjoyed. What's the big deal? It's my life—not yours."

"It's like I've been saying for months," Rory said, then shot his eyes to Callum as he said, "It's time for you to grow up—something I said not too long ago to our boy sitting beside you."

Eloise peered around Callum, grinning as she said, "If my childish, stubborn husband can give up such a life he once enjoyed, then you can, too."

Callum, not retorting to Eloise's comment like he would've done in the past, and knowing how he stayed home last night afraid to get into trouble with her made me want to laugh—that proves she has him wrapped around her finger. Instead, his eyes humorously looked into mine as he sipped his scotch.

"A little help here," I said quietly, begging that he stick up for me.

But I got something else.

Callum set down his scotch, wrapped his arm around Eloise, and pulled her to his side. "Sorry, bro. You're on your own now." He looked at his wife's growing tummy and then turned his eyes on me. "I'm happy with where my life is now." With his free hand, he shoved me, saying, "I know once you meet the one you feel you won't be able to live without, you'll feel like all of us sitting at this table do after finding such a person."

"Thanks for your support," I grumbled, leaning back in my chair.

Callum laughed, "Anytime, brother," he quipped, just as the woman looking to go under the knife to look like Raquel Welch walked past our table.

Seeing Angela—I think that was her name, walk by our table with a group of women who looked to be strippers like her got my eyes to focus on them rather than the ones at my table. It also had my dick twitching in my boxers, telling me to ignore my friends, that he was more anxious about having some Saturday night fun.

He wasn't the only one looking to have some Saturday night fun—my mouth was too.

So, to make a point to my friends that they couldn't control me or how I choose to live my life, I wrapped my hand around my tumbler and smiled as I stood. "Excuse me, there's someone here I need to talk to."

"Where are you going?" Jace loudly wondered.

Knowing Angela and her friends were on my mind, curious to see what these strippers were into outside of work, I flashed him a shit-eating grin, saying, "To talk with one of my patients. The one who came in asking me to turn her into the most beautiful bombshell ever to live, Raquel Welch."

Angela may be about ten years younger than me. But I don't care—she's not a minor, and by the looks of it, neither are the friends with her.

I know my job is to help make women feel better about themselves, giving them the looks and helping to give them the confidence they desire, and I wouldn't mind recreating the beautiful sixties bombshell for this girl. Still, I think it would be wise for Angela to save her money—she's already gorgeous and just as beautiful as Raquel.

Her tits? Okay, that I can fix for her without feeling guilty. But as for the rest of the features, she'd like me to change? That I have a problem with.

Rory's head shook. "You're helpless. You know that?" He looked in the direction my eyes were focused on, and then his eyes returned to mine, looking irritated. "They're a bit young for you. Don't you think?"

I looked at Callum when I felt his gaze on me. Seeing how he was giving me the you dirty dog look, I smirked, then eyed Rory, saying, "Age is nothing but a number, buddy, especially when they're of age," I winked, walking away from my friends and not caring they'll be giving me shit about it later.

As I headed toward the group of girls, smiling away, I sipped on my whiskey, thinking about what I'd say when I got to Angela and her friends. She looked smoking hot in her fire-hot red mini sleeveless, backless, bodycon dress.

The front of her dress had me licking my lips—a V-neck showing the outlines of the perky breasts she would like enlarged. Then, as I scanned the rest of her dress—and body, I envisioned slipping those spaghetti straps down her arms while peppering feathery kisses along her silky-smooth flesh. And the black knee-high, shiny boots she was wearing, I imagined fucking her while she wore them.

My dick expanded in size just thinking about what I could do to this girl—what I'd like to do.

I walked around her group when I approached and stood beside a giggling Angela. The blonde with huge tits standing across from Angela eyed me and smirked as she nudged her chin my way. "Hey, Chastity, look to your right."

Chastity?

That must be her stage name.

Or, then again, she could be just a girl who happens to look like Angela.

Angela's head turned my way, and not caring about my conversation with my grandmother, my dick immediately jumped inside my boxers. Her smokey bedroom eyes bringing out the warmth of her brown creamy eyes, and brightly lined red lips looking for a home were enough to tell me this vixen was out looking for a night of fun—and if that's what she was looking for, I'll let her know I'm a willing participant.

After getting my dick to calm, I finally said, "Angela, right?"

Her ruby-red lips curved upward beautifully, sending my dick into a frenzy. "Yes, I'm Angela." She turned her body to face me, sipped her cocktail, and said, "Doctor Rhodes, right?"

"That would be me," I said, grinning. "I saw you walk past our table and thought I'd come to say hello."

Angela looked away from me when she turned to face her friends. "So, this is the doctor I told you about that'll be doing my surgery."

Maybe...

I asked her to take two weeks to think about going through with the surgery. It's only been a day.

She looked over her shoulder at me, her lips stretched wide as she said, "He's also a fan of Raquel Welch, so I'm more determined than ever to have him do this surgery for me." Returning her eyes to her friends, she added, "He'll know exactly how to make me look identical to her without fucking up by making me look like I'm Raquel Welch on drugs with lips that look like they were overly injected."

Now I know she never went home to do what I asked.

She's dead set on going under the knife.

So that has me asking, "You never did as I asked, did you?"

"Nope," she answered honestly. "I saved for this. It's been a dream of mine since I can remember. And nobody will stop me from doing anything I'm determined to do."

"Can I be honest?"

Her brows pinched inward. "If you tell me you won't do it, then no. I don't want to hear what you have to say."

I won't tell her no, I won't go through the surgery. But I will let her know in my own words it's unnecessary. "I think you're gorgeous enough as it is. Why change something you don't need to do?"

She handed her drink to her friend standing beside her, then turned to me, my cock thickening in size when she grabbed a fistful of my shirt and batted her beautiful eyelashes as she looked me in the eyes. "I thank you for the compliment. It's flattering. But I need you to know nobody will talk me out of doing this. And if my determination to look like my idol is too much for you to do, I'll find someone else to do it for me."

I don't think so.

If Angela's this serious about wanting me to transform her into a hot as fuck bombshell from the sixties, then she's got herself a surgeon. And I got another photo to add to my collection.

She pulled me closer to her, my dick spasming when she delivered me a sultry look. "I'll tell you what. If you tell me you'll go through with this surgery, I'll repay you by giving you something you've probably never had."

Her bedroom eyes and sultry voice are causing my mind to swirl and my dick to harden to the max, becoming scrunched inside my pants.

I needed to adjust my cock, but I also didn't want to embarrass myself in front of a patient and her friends, so I left my scrunched as fuck dick like it was. And because I was curious about her suggestion, I asked, "What's that?"

"A show..."

"A show," I repeated. And because I knew Angela was a stripper and seeing how her friends appeared to be the same as her, my brows rose high as I asked, "What kind of show?"

"We'll give you a private show." She looked at her friends' beautiful, curious faces, and then I about fainted when she looked at me, adding, "And if you're a good boy, we'll give you an even more interesting and fun show." She leaned forward, brushing her ruby-colored painted lips against mine when she said, "You look like you can handle more than one woman in the bedroom, but the question is, do you think you could handle four of us women?"

She's being a little minx by giving me an ultimatum.

So, either I do the surgery and get four women to satisfy in the bedroom. Or, I turn the surgery down and forget about having a fivesome with four fucking wildly beautiful women.

Gee... let me think...

It didn't take me long—about a second it took to flirt with the idea of having four amazingly hot female taking turns, wrapping their hot mouths around my cock, leaving evidence of their lipstick behind, including watching them pleasure each other to give her my decision.

It was a no brainer.

My eyes traveled down Angela's button nose to her lips, and I responded with a massive grin, "I can handle anything. So. What are we waiting for?"

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!