Free Fall: an MMF romance (Wilde Boys Book 2)

  Free Fall

  Wilde Boys Book Two

  Sara Cate

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Don’t miss the next announcement!

  Acknowledgments

  Beautiful Monster

  Beautiful Sinner

  Also by Sara Cate

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2021 by Sara Cate

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  www.saracatebooks.com

  Photographer: Michelle Lancaster

  Model: JJ Michaels

  Editing: Amy Briggs of Briggs Consulting

  For my readers

  Prologue

  Amsterdam

  “Choke me, Nash.”

  Squeezing my fingers around her throat, I press firmly for a moment on the spot under her ears, and she moans in response. I’m glad she’s having fun, because I’m already bored. It’s like watching a porn I’ve seen a million times. It’s fine. Gets the job done, and if I could stop watching it I would, but I can’t—because I need this.

  Her hand slams against the wall. It’s a little too fucking dramatic if you ask me. Lotte’s friends are always like this. Choke me, Nash. Punish me. I’ll be a good girl.

  Over and over again, it’s always the fucking same. None of it is real. They want me to lose control on them, but I don’t give a shit about them enough to do it.

  We’re in a dark back room of the party, and I guess this is what the rooms are for, but I can still hear the music and chatter from the crowd through the door. It’s not my first time at one of Lotte’s parties. I started coming to them a few weeks ago after a lot of persuasion on her part. Not that I was turned off by the idea of a party, but I knew through work gossip they were an easy way to get laid, and it felt too soon. I should have rushed my ass over the minute she told me about it the first time at work. I should have wanted to cleanse out any and all residual feelings for Zara, but I didn’t. I can’t explain why, but I wasn’t ready.

  Until I was. And then I never looked back.

  My mind is wandering too much, and my arousal is moving in the wrong fucking direction. I’m supposed to be moving toward coming, but it’s like a standstill.

  “Harder,” she pants, her lithe British accent not sounding so proper now as she begs me to stick my dick so far inside her it feels like I’m rearranging her guts.

  The problem is I know she wants it harder because my cock is slowly deflating. What is wrong with me? This girl is hot. I’ve had my eye on her for a few weeks now. I like how she looks almost innocent and normal, and she’s never with anyone except maybe a couple of girls. But maybe that’s the problem. There is no ring on her finger or man over her shoulder. There’s no fucking conflict. It was too easy to talk her into a private room and a quick fuck.

  She’s not fucking your dad, the voice in my head reminds me, so I squeeze my eyes shut.

  A quick memory flashes through my mind. A dark night, a warm body in my hands, a cock down her throat that wasn’t mine.

  I don’t get off on Zara anymore. But sometimes that little flashback resurfaces, and it’s like a secret key in my pocket, and as fucked up as I know it is, it gets me off easily because within seconds, I’m filling up the condom around my dick and the girl almost seems relieved. She probably thought it was going to end sooner.

  We’re both panting for a while before we start cleaning ourselves up and I discard the rubber in the trash in the corner by the door. It’s a simple guest bedroom and it’s bigger than the other room I’ve ended up in, which is a glorified broom closet.

  “That was fun,” she says before handing me a card. Looking down at it, I see her name scribbled on the paper with a phone number. Britta—British Britta. That should be easy to remember, if I wanted to remember it.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I reply.

  Then, she steps closer to me, and I notice her eyes are two different colors. I know someone else with two different colored eyes, but I can’t seem to remember who. The thought distracts me for a moment as she leans up to kiss my cheek, the most contact our faces have made through this whole interaction.

  “You lived up to your reputation, Nash,” she says with a mischievous smile. “I’d still like to see what you’re like when you really let go.”

  She turns to leave the room, letting the door hang open after she passes through. The noise from the party is deafening now, but I’m not ready to rejoin it. I almost feel bad, like British Britta was probably worth more than a quickie in a dark room, and I shouldn’t have had to think about a fucked up threesome to get off while I was with her.

  I drop into a chair in the corner, pulling out the flask in my pocket and guzzling down half of it and letting the harsh burn of vodka singe my insides. It’s better than letting my thoughts go where I know they’re going.

  I miss her, and it burns worse than the vodka. It’s the regret, really. All the shouda, woulda, coulda thoughts that haunt me at night. I should have stayed on Del Rey. We could have kept up the messy little arrangement we had, and everyone would have been happy.

  But I didn’t. I handed Zara to my dad because he gets everything. He’s the superior version of me, and she chose him so easily. I mean, why wouldn’t she? I treated her like shit, but in some fucked up way, she liked it. She wanted me to treat her like shit, and I didn’t have to feel bad for how fucked up I was or explain why I liked the way she looked with my hand around her throat. It was easy and I wasn’t alone.

  Now I’m alone, and I jerk off to fantasies about fucking her while he watches. And every night I convince myself I never really loved her.

  There’s a knock on the open door, and two guys poke their heads in, both flinching when they notice me sitting in the chair in the dark.

  “Oh, sorry,” one of them mumbles. His hand rests possessively on the other guy’s shoulder as he pulls him out of the room.

  “I’m done in here. It’s all yours,” I say as I get up to leave.

  They’re blocking the doorway, so I shuffle awkwardly waiting for them to move and I get the distinct feeling they’re both checking me out.

  “You’re welcome to stay,” the man in the back says in a flat tone. The guy in front of him bites his lip, and I give them both a polite smile as I move clos
er to the exit.

  “Uh, maybe next time,” I stammer as my skin starts to flush with heat.

  “Suit yourself,” he says again, pushing his partner toward the bed against the opposite wall.

  Clearing my throat, I pass them by. Once back in the party, the sudden pang of anxiety claws at my insides when I realize everyone I came here with is either gone or busy, and I’m in a crowd of strangers alone.

  Time to go home, then.

  I fish my phone out of my pocket and stare down at the screen as I move through the crowd and text Lotte to thank her for inviting me. I barely notice the tall black wall of man that steps in front of me, but I absentmindedly stop as I hit send.

  “Nash Wilde.”

  It’s a familiar deep voice pulled from a memory that has been locked deep down, like an echo from my past. My head flips up as I stare at the face paired with the voice, and it takes me two, three, four seconds before my brain catches up with itself.

  Ellis Prior.

  “What the—”

  He laughs, a silky dark timbre that hums from his chest as his face cracks a cool, effortless smile.

  Ellis Prior is standing in front of me. At a party in Amsterdam.

  “I thought I saw you earlier. You remember me, right?” he says.

  My mouth is hanging open like a fucking idiot as I nod. You don't forget Ellis Prior. Least of all me.

  He worked with my dad for years when I was a kid, spending weekends on Del Rey, casting shadows with his larger-than-life personality. Or at least that’s how it looks in my memory. And while I remember him as the young, twenty-something business executive with thick light brown hair and a smile as bright as his commanding presence, the man who stands before me now is about fifteen years older but no less intimidating.

  “Of course,” I stammer. “Ellis Prior.”

  “That’s right. How are you?” He extends a hand, and I blink before reaching out to shake it. My eyes linger on the golden, tan skin of his arm under the black button-up shirt rolled to the elbows. After the handshake, he folds his arms in front of him, posturing with his shoulders back and chest out. It’s a power stance, and I do my best to match him.

  I know he asked me a question, but my mind is too warped by this sudden onslaught of past and present colliding.

  “I’m good, thanks. You?”

  Before he replies, he touches my elbow gesturing to the patio where there are only a handful of people congregating.

  “Looks more suitable for conversation out there.”

  I’m following him through the crowd toward an empty spot on the large, covered patio. There are no more seats out here, but Lotte told me her neighbors hate her parties, so she doesn’t encourage people to party outside.

  The fresh night air does help to clear the fog from my head. Brushing my sweat-moist hair from my face, I stare at Ellis and laugh.

  “This is fucking crazy, right? What are you doing here?”

  There’s that heavy chuckle of his again.

  “I’m working on a two-year contract with a software company here in Amsterdam. I've been here for about a year now.” He leans his elbows back on the railing, staring out at the party, where the crowd is starting to dwindle now as people head home with their partners—new and old. "What about you, Nash Wilde? All grown up and at a dirty party in the Netherlands."

  His heavy stare lands on my face as he scrutinizes me, and I realize this is probably a lot more fucking weird for him. The last time he saw me I was about ten years old. While I looked up to him, he saw me as nothing more than a bratty kid who occasionally crashed the party.

  I bite the inside of my cheek just thinking about it. He thinks this party is kinky and he has no idea what the last year has been like for me. He knows my dad. What would he think about what we did?

  “So, what are you doing here, Nash?"

  "I'm in an internship at Schiller Industries. I got here in January."

  He leans toward me, a subtle smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. "What are you doing here at this party, Nash?"

  I laugh, feeling like an idiot, but try to hide it. "Lotte is my friend. She's been trying to get me out of my apartment since I got here. What about you?”

  “I get bored easily,” he says in a dark, ominous tone like there’s more meaning there than he’s giving me now. In my memory, Ellis never seemed like the kind of guy who handled boredom well. He was younger than my dad and definitely had a wild streak. Apparently, he still does.

  “I guess I do too,” I reply, and he laughs again.

  "You're not ten anymore,” he says like it’s an observation, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me as if he’s sizing me up, and I fidget under his stare. “So, how is your dad?"

  My smile fades and I let out a heavy sigh.

  "Uh-oh," he says as he pulls a rolled cigarette from his pocket. I watch his fingers as he lifts it to his mouth and flicks a lighter, the flame illuminating his dark brown, almost black irises. Once he lights it, the smell hits my nose and I bite my lip to hide my smile and look away.

  Ellis Prior is smoking pot at a party in Amsterdam.

  When I look back at him, he holds the joint out to me, and I take it with a small shake of my head. "This is fucking crazy."

  It's quiet for a moment, and I'm grateful he didn't ask me to expand on the dad question. I don't even fucking know what I would say about it. How I'm not mad at my dad, but I don't not hate my dad right now either. Ellis was present at a time of my life when I looked up to Alistair Wilde, worshipped the ground he walked on, wanted to live my life in his image. In that world, I still had a brother.

  "Hey," he says after a moment, and maybe it's inspired by the fact I'm staring blankly ahead. "I heard about Preston. I'm sorry, Nash."

  "Thanks," I reply, looking up at him. Whenever people apologize for Preston's death, I look at them to see if they're giving me pouty condescending bullshit or if they really are sorry. I've never known Ellis to be fake, so it's no surprise his expression is genuine.

  "I talked to Alistair shortly after it happened. I never got to talk to you though."

  His gaze is fixed on my face, and I start to feel a strange thud-thud in my ears. The pot hits my system, and the tension in my shoulders melts like wax.

  Two girls walk up to us, and it takes me a moment to realize one of them is Britta, but she's not staring at me even though she announces herself by saying, "Hey, Nash." Both her and her friend are staring at Ellis.

  "Hello, ladies,” he says.

  Ellis is only about an inch taller than me, but it does feel like we all have to look up to see him.

  "I didn't know you were friends with him," Britta whispers toward me, but I shake my head because I have no fucking clue what she's talking about. Does Ellis have a reputation around here I didn’t know about? I can’t exactly say I’m surprised, but I’m still reeling from him being here and all this is a little bit too much to process.

  "Nash and I are old friends," he says to her as he curls a piece of her hair behind her ear. She licks her lips in response. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet.” He takes Britta’s hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. Then he does the same to her friend as the two girls stammer out their names, crowding close to each other.

  “We were just about to get something to drink. Can I get you something?” Britta asks with a saccharine sweet smile.

  “I’d love a beer,” Ellis replies. “I think Nash needs one too.”

  “Okay,” she says as she loops her arm through her friends. The two of them dash into the party, and Ellis takes another hit off his joint, offering it to me, but I put up my hand. My head is having a hard enough time keeping up as it is. There's something about how he spoke to them, the way he gently persuaded them without being harsh that fucking strikes a nerve. I'm pretty sure they would have dropped to their knees before he could utter the first syllable of “suck my dick”.

  My eyes track over to him again, and I fight the urge
to pinch myself. I try to remember the last time I saw my father’s old friend, and how it felt back then to stand next to him compared to how it feels now. As a kid, I looked up to him, figuratively and literally. Now...it’s the same, except I’m supposed to be his equal. I’m a grown man now. I’m not supposed to gaze up at him like a God.

  We make small talk for a while, him asking me more about the program I’m in, my plans for the future and what I intend to do with my life now I’m all grown up, as he continues to remind me. The entire time it feels like he is controlling the conversation. It’s strangely comfortable.

  “You got a girlfriend, Nash?”

  Suddenly, there’s a sharp bolt of pain in my chest, and her face comes to mind. Like there’s a string draped across the ocean still connecting her to me even though she hasn’t been mine in months. She never really was.

  “Nope.”

  He’s looking at me now, expressionless and unassuming.

  “Do you?” I ask to fill the silence. The air feels charged now. Am I missing something?

  He doesn’t answer, just lets out a low, gravelly chuckle.

  Just then, the girls come back with two Heinekens and hand them to us, but they're both still looking at Ellis. They’re each sipping on their iced cocktails, bouncing lightly on the balls of their feet expectantly.

  "So, the spare room is empty. Do you guys want to go back there?” Britta asks, and beer almost comes out of my nose.