The psychic, the author, and the hacker
Three different views of one unforgettable night
Hi friends,
Below is a three-way sex scene from my as-yet-unpublished poly, romantic thriller.
The premise of the book is as follows:
What would you do if your mother was wrongfully convicted of murder? Would you take on the world to help her clear her name? That's what Dominy Cruz is determined to do. She's not a cop, lawyer, or superhero—she's a small-time con artist with psychic abilities and a troubled past. She wants nothing more than to help her mom get out of jail. But how can she find the money to hire a lawyer good enough to clear her mother's name?
When Joyce, a rich, charming, and successful romance writer, calls Dominy's psychic phone line, Dominy thinks she's found the perfect mark. With her long-time hacker lover, B, at her side, they soon discover that there's much more to Joyce that meets the eye and what started as a con becomes something else entirely. As complicated, undeniable feelings begin to blossom between the three of them, they discover that Joyce's ex-husband is harboring deadly secrets that will soon put all of their lives in danger.
Perhaps the best behind-the-scenes story about this scene (and the whole book?) is how I was fact-checking a certain couch position—you’ll see!—to figure out if it was feasibly possible to arrange three people together this way.
I asked Vika for help, but we are a measly two people, so what good is that?! Hence, we enlisted the service of an enormous stuffed bear1. At five feet tall, it was the perfect size of a short queer person, and due to its insentience, did not complain about being subjected to such a task.
The bear proved that you could indeed position three people together in such a way—the only issue was, when Vika looked down, she saw its jovial plastic eyes staring back at her and nothing else.
The things we do for love…
B
While Tess is making dinner—a whole roast chicken, collards, hush puppies, and even dessert (strawberries and cream), I sneak a peek at the Ina Garten recipe she’s using.
I can’t help the smile spreading across my face when I read the name. “Engagement chicken?”
Tess stops cutting the onion and looks at me. “Sorry there’s no recipe for helping someone hide from their ex whom they stole money from and has ties to the mob, B.”
Dominy comes up from behind. “It’s Cornish hen,” she says and a laugh barks out of me. “I read it in Good Housekeeping.”
She’s wearing all black—black halter top, black shorts, black belt, black Docs. This is “dressed up” for her. Look at that. Something starts to buzz in my chest. An energy. It’s like we’re atoms in a molecule, each of us contributing to a bond that’s growing stronger, more complex with every passing moment. Static shoots through my fingers. I’m not thinking about Sean. Or Robert. Or fear. Or even tomorrow. I’m only thinking about tonight—this apartment, these women, this skin.
Dominy leans down to give me a soft kiss.
“Where’s mine?” Tess teases.
Dominy shoots me a questioning glance and I nod slightly, a silent permission granted. She presses a quick kiss to Tess’s cheek. Their eyes lock. The air hums, as if tuning into a radio frequency.
It’s hotter than a $2 pistol outside—and in. I want to dive into this pool, to dig my hands into Tess’s hair and run my teeth down Dominy’s neck.
But I don’t. I will not be impulsive. I will wait. I’ve been doing good. Mending things. Thinking about others and not just myself. My wants. My aches.
But damn.