The twins turn three today. Multi-colored streamers, dozens of balloons, and two long tables with giant rolls of paper and all colors of paints cover the back patio, and a few feet away is a princess bouncy house. Two rainbow cakes, candles, some of Homer’s freshly baked cookies, low-sugar vanilla ice cream, milk, juice boxes, and an assortment of k-cups, teas, and chilled water bottles for the adults are right through the open French doors. Fourteen two- and three-year-olds are at the ranch for an early afternoon of painting, jumping in a bouncy house, finger painting, and bubbles, the festivities lasting until the toddlers give out and go home for nice long naps.
“Heavens to Betsy.” Morgan is watching three-year-old Rylee and Kaylee as Keith tells the girls it’s time to check out the bouncy house. She turns toward a beaming Keith. “If those little dolls get any prettier, we’re going to need to hire Rock as a bodyguard.”
Rylee giggles while Kaylee continues to pout as Morgan twists fingers underneath the arms of their matching red-and-white-checkered dresses to give them quick tickles before they run off with Keith and the rest of the giggling girls. Rylee’s head of thick deep-brown waves, which already reach her shoulders, are held back by a bright red headband. Her hair bobs up and down as she skips happily beside twin sister, Kaylee, who’s still rubbing at her sky-blue eyes, still sulking after a five-minute crying fit from trying to brush through the fine short strands of her hair to pull back into a single blonde ponytail. These two girls are like night and day, openly different from one another. Rylee is the patient twin. She has no problem having her hair brushed or her nails clipped. She’s also smart and loves sports just like her daddy. Kaylee, on the other hand, throws dramatic screaming fits like a child being tortured just at the mere sight of a hairbrush coming anywhere near her pretty head of golden locks. Yet, she begs to have her nails painted and loves playing in my closet and trying on my shoes. This twin will undoubtedly push all our buttons and give us a run for our tolerance.
“Wanna come in and help me get the candles and cake ready?” I ask Morgan and Janette York, a Springhill middle school history teacher that I’ve become close friends with. Being in the back of the house, I can’t see if anyone is driving up or leaving the ranch, but right as the three of us rise to go get the cake and ice cream, there’s a tall man walking around from the front of the house, his back to the three of us. Medium-length blond hair glistens underneath the sunlight, while faded black jeans are just tight enough against his fit body that Morgan’s brows lift in unison with Janette’s as we all stare at the backside of the man holding two gifts in his hands while he makes his way toward the bouncy house.
“Well, who on earth’s sweet fine ass do we have the pleasure of seeing?” Morgan asks. “I know the dimensions of every male derriere in this county, and that damn sure isn’t one of them.”
Tears fill my eyes, and my heart is beating in my ears. I know that ass. I know the hair. I know those arms that are dropping two packages to the ground and holding them out wide for big hugs from twin girls that are beaming with smiles, full of giggles and toddler laughter as they run toward one of their favorite people.
“Uncle Jason!”
****
Drinking the glass of Pinot in my hand is the last thing I feel like doing right now, my emotions jagged, my insides tight. I shudder out a breath and look at the two beautiful, exhausted little girls that are dead asleep against Jason’s chest with his hand on Rylee’s back, his other gently brushing Kaylee’s soft blonde strands. Tears glisten in his eyes, which look just like hers.
We’ve never done any kind of paternity testing.
We don’t need to. We have all the proof we need.
It’s rare—one in a million some say. Heteropaternal superfecundation occurs when two eggs are fertilized by the sperm of two different men within the same ovulation period. God knows I never planned on any of this. Not two men. Certainly not delivering twin daughters by two different fathers. None of us knows what the future will bring or how and when we can explain this very untraditional situation to these two amazing girls. We love them more than life itself. Hurting them would be devastating. But the three of us are strong. And determined. We will find a way. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
“Why don’t you just move back to Springhill where you belong?” Keith’s tone is low and soft, but powerful and stern. “Where you’re loved? Where you’re needed? Where you’ve always been meant to be?”
Jason winces and blinks back emotion, trapped in confusion that I know is eating him alive and ripping his insides into a hundred agonizing pieces.
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, Keith,” he reiterates in a whisper.
“Don’t you?” Keith gestures to Jason’s hand, which hasn’t budged from Rylee and Kaylee. “Do you want to miss Rylee’s first time riding a horse? Kaylee’s first crush? What about the first time one of them comes home from school in tears for flunking a math test or getting into a scuffle with their best friend? What about Kaylee’s first prom? Or her senior prom when she’s being shuffled away by a teenage boy with a nice hard dick inside his pants, just waiting for the night to end? Or perhaps waiting for the real night to begin?”
Jason’s face tightens. The vein in his forehead pops out, and his chest begins heaving with short unsteady breaths. His eyes lock against Keith’s, powerfully blue but filled with an indisputable despairing vulnerability. “Fuck you,” he mouths quietly to Keith, whose eyes almost look black in the late evening hour.
After the girls are tucked into their beds, we end up in the bedroom, where, for the next two hours, Keith’s Dominant side comes out in full, angry, commanding force that begins with him pushing Jason into the wall then lowering his jeans and jacking him so brutally, so powerfully, that it’s a challenge just keeping my eyes open. After Jason’s breathing becomes pants and his eyes start to roll to the back of his head, Keith releases the hard erection from his palm and bends me over the bed and shoves himself inside me as Jason watches. Keith fucks me so hard, so deep, that I wonder if he’s doing this for his own pleasure or simply to elicit more misery in Jason.
“Christ, your pussy is so wet. You’re so damn hot for me.” He’s gloating now. Clearly. With Jason only inches away, his pants still around his ankles and his erection still silky hard, Keith is doing his best to punish and intimidate. “And it’s mine.”
“Fuck you, you selfish bastard.” Jason’s voice is strained, and he reaches for his jeans.
Keith shivers vigorously then pulls himself from inside me and turns toward Jason, his cock heavy and thick, glistening and wet. He spins Jason around, bends him over right beside me, then spreads his cheeks before viciously shoving himself inside with nothing but my fluids lubricating him. He begins stroking in and out with driven sadistic thrusts that have my eyes swimming with emotion, my belly rumbling with love and lust and hope.
“Fucking hell,” Jason says through gritted teeth, his hand underneath him wrapped around his erection as Keith holds him by the neck while plowing his thick cock in and out, my finger rubbing furiously at my clit. Only seconds pass before Keith tenses and the three of us are all coming like uncontrollable, besotted lovers who can’t stand to be anywhere else but together.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Maynard, Massachusetts
Two Days Later
Jason Lee
I swallow the last drops of a dark beer and look out over the Assabet River from my balcony. The last twenty-fours have been pure torturous hell. All I can do is remember two little girl’s faces when I said goodbye. Tears flowing like they’d lost their best friend. Four little chubby hands clinging to my legs like I was their lifeline as I walked to my rental car. Bite marks still red and inflamed on my ass.
I’ve never felt worse. I’ve never felt more alone.
I’ve never been more certain about my feelings than I am right now.
There’s only been one other time I’ve felt this discombobulated, with that lost, unsettled
feeling of gloom and dread and love so deep inside me that has me feeling like I might die. I felt similar the day I left Springhill, my shirt wet with Jen’s tears, my heart pounding in my chest as Keith hugged my neck while trying to be strong, trying to stay calm and collected, when I could feel his pulse racing against my own. For weeks, I felt like I might just shrivel up and die.
I feel that way today, only worse. Helpless. Weak. Hopeless. Broken.
Jealousy stabs at me with thoughts of Keith and Jen laughing, sharing meals, fucking, and falling asleep together. Raising my daughter. Ugly, backbiting envy coils through my chest like sharp clusters of barbed wire knowing that Jen’s luscious lips linger around the same cock that mine have been cherishing for years. The only cock I’ve ever had inside me. The only cock I’ve ever sucked dry. The only man I’ve ever loved. The only woman I’ve ever loved.
And those two beautiful baby girls. My daughter. My offspring. My heart and soul. Christ Jesus, I’ve never felt so in love. Never felt so protective. Never wanted to be a part of any four people’s lives so badly. Rylee and her pretty dark hair and bright smile. Kaylee and her touch of boldness, her sky-blue eyes and fine blonde locks which I don’t even have to question she inherited from her biological father, though she calls me her uncle, a fact that if I overthink for too long, slices through me with a pain so agonizing, so cutting and deep, that I almost want to blow my fucking head off for ever allowing it to happen.
A single tear rolls quickly down the side of my face and lands on the top of my thigh.
Who am I? Where do I belong? Where does life need me to be?
“Christ!” I tug at the sides of my hair, damned well knowing where I belong.
And it’s not in Maynard fucking Massachusetts.
Three hours later, I’m still outside. The sun is long gone, and there’s only the pitch-dark black of night. With my hands shaking, my heart in my throat, and my future on the line, I reach for my phone and pull up my contacts. He answers on the second ring.
“Jason.” His sleepy tone is low and hoarse.
“I—I…” I twist my eyes shut while trying to fight the emotion barreling through me.
“What is it, Jason? Why are you calling me in the middle of the fucking night?”
“It’s … you. Me. Her. Those two beautiful girls. I tried,” I say with my voice cracking. “I fucking tried with all that I am. I did.”
Keith lets out a loud, shaky breath. “What are you trying to say?”
I release my own air, which is lodged deep in my throat, as I picture a nude Keith, a nude Jen beside him, those perfectly beautiful little girls tucked tightly in their beds. I ran once when everything in my heart told me to do the opposite, but I won’t run again. This journey called life is short, and I won’t miss another day in my daughter’s life. I won’t miss another first. I won’t miss a single fucking thing. She’s my family, my blood, my world. And whether the three of us grow strong, or whether this tough love weakens, I’m determined. I’m hell-bent. I’ll fight for the people I love until the very end. With no idea how or if this can possibly ever work, I’ve finally realized that anything worth having comes with a steep price, and I’m more than willing to take that risk. I’m damn sure going to give it all I’ve got and the old college try. I’ll die trying.
“Your boy … he’s coming home.
The End
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My father calls it a sin. I call it love.
I knew Keith Ryker was someone different the instant I laid eyes on him. His voice was powerful. It was robust. It demanded that you listened as it spoke. I felt drawn to him, aching to know him in the wrongful ways that a boy was meant to know only a girl. Ways that, for the next two years, I would try my best to forget. Ways that would only grow stronger as I grew older.
How can this be a sin, when all I feel is love?
Call Me Sweetheart: An MMF Ménage (Sugar & Sin Book 2)
COMING SOON
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