Tangled Hearts: A Menage Collection

by Various

  A loud baying arose behind her along with the crashing of underbrush as the predators chased her. Jenna’s breath caught in her throat, and she wheezed as she pumped her legs, the branches slapping at her face and bare skin. She emerged from the forest and found herself in a moonlit glen, the waving fronds of tall grass providing no concealment. Around in a circle she whirled, looking for something, anything, a weapon, shelter, help …

  The noise of pursuit grew closer, and hiccupping in fear, she’d taken two strides when something hit her from behind and took her down into the grass. A sharp scream left her, and she struggled, expecting at any moment to feel agony as sharp teeth tore into her. She thrashed and fought to free herself before the wolf shredded her skin.

  It took a moment for her dazed mind to suddenly realize it wasn’t fur and claws that held her down, but flesh and hands. Powerful hands that flipped her onto her back and then gripped her wrists to pull them above her head, stretching her body beneath a very masculine one—a very aroused one if the hard cock pressing against her lower belly was any indication.

  Stilling, but her heart still racing in fear, Jenna opened her eyes. Night still reined, but out here in the clearing, the moon illuminated the face of the man who’d tackled her. Green eyes stared at her from a familiar face.

  Recognition struck. “You’re one of the missing guys,” she whispered. The impossibility of meeting him made her relax because, despite the realness of it all, she knew she dreamt.

  Straight white teeth with pronounced canines appeared in a wide smile while his green eyes danced. “Well, hello there. Nice to finally meet you, in the flesh.” He followed up his introduction with a thrust of his hips, and heat coiled through Jenna at the feel of his cock nudging at her clamped thighs. Her nipples tightened as he moved over her, the hair of his chest abrading them. She blushed unseen—she hoped—in the dark. “My name is Derrick. But you can call me yours.”

  She couldn’t help but snort at his corny line, but before she could retort, the weight on her body—with its muscular planes and distinctly large erection that had her thinking naughty things—disappeared. Lying alone on her back, she blinked then frowned as she heard cursing and thumping. What the hell is going on now? She jumped up to see a naked Derrick and another man, also wearing nothing, rolling on the ground, trying to land blows.

  “Stop it,” she cried, but the pair ignored her and kept wrestling in the grass. Entertaining as it was, dream or not, Jenna wondered what her slumbering mind was up to. Because it sure as hell isn’t giving me any satisfaction.

  Forking two fingers in her mouth, she whistled. The strident sound stopped the combatants. Pausing in their battle, they tossed her a glance then peered at each other. As if coming to a silent agreement, they untangled themselves and stood to face her.

  Holy fuck. Apparently the story of the missing friends had made an impression on her because standing in the flesh—albeit dream flesh—were Derrick and Mark. Looming hunks of maleness with chiseled abs, tapered waists, muscled thighs and arms, and to her embarrassment at her horny imagination, two very well hung cocks.

  They in turn stared back at her, Derrick with a cocky smile full of promise and Mark with a longing in his eyes that made her shiver. A wave of longing struck her, a tantalizing heat that moistened her sex.

  The curl of Derrick’s lips widened. “Is it just me, or do you smell honey, Mark?”

  Heat warmed her cheeks. Surely he couldn’t smell her arousal. Apparently, her dream believed otherwise because their cocks rose, lengthening and thickening in ways that made her swallow, and her channel clenched.

  Moistening her lips, it took Jenna two tries before she managed to say in a husky voice so unlike her usual one, “Listen. I know this is a dream and all, but do you mind not looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” asked Derrick. He strode toward her with masculine grace that did nothing to cure her sexual hunger.

  “Stop looking at me like you’re going to e-eat me,” she stammered as she took a step back. Dream or not, his aggressive sexuality freaked her out.

  “But I want to taste every inch of you.” Perhaps that might have sounded better if his eyes didn’t literally glow.

  Jenna squeaked and stumbled a few more steps back.

  Before Derrick could pounce, Mark grabbed him.

  Fearful or not, Jenna couldn’t help her disappointment.

  “I apologize for my friend’s lack of manners and for disrupting your dream. We did not mean to frighten you. It’s our first attempt at dream walking, and apparently we have much to learn.”

  A frown knitted her brow. “Dream walking? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s complicated—”

  Derrick interrupted. “What slow poke here is trying to say is we need your help.”

  Help? Not with undressing. That part was already taken care of. As for getting them clothes? Nah, she liked them the way they were. Perhaps he meant help of a more erotic nature. The writer in her could easily picture a seduction. This whole dream would make a great scene in a book, with one guy of course. Her publisher wasn’t into freaky taboo threesomes. “How can I help you?”

  Did they want her on her knees? Back? Bent over? With her fear a thing of the past, and within the safety of her dream where no one could see or judge, Jenna allowed her naughty thoughts free rein.

  “We need you to help us get our bodies back.”

  So much for thinking they wanted her plump frame for some sweaty under-the-moon sex. She held in a sigh. “Get your bodies? But you’re dead.” And digging up some corpses did not sound like fun. She truly possessed a sick mind, even asleep apparently.

  “Not exactly. We were placed in limbo by a witch,” explained Mark. “She cast a spell when we wouldn’t mate with her and link our power to hers. We’re not technically dead, just caught between worlds.”

  “This is getting better and better. Cursed werewolves are haunting me and my house. And only I, chubby Jenna, can save you. Let me guess.” She tapped her chin. “We are going to need to have wild monkey sex, and poof, you’ll be living men again. Damn this is going to make a great book. If I can remember it that is when I wake up.”

  Quicker than she could follow, Derrick grabbed her. He pressed her against his hard length, his rigid cock pressing against her tummy. His evident arousal and flashing eyes halted her breath.

  “This is not a joke, Jenna. We’ve been trying to get your attention since you moved in.”

  “By haunting me?”

  His lips curled, a teasing grin that tugged at her. “What else did you expect us to do? We’re ghosts.”

  “So I wasn’t imagining things? You’ve been watching me.” It would explain a lot.

  “Watching, listening, touching …”

  And that explained even more. She leaned back as far as his embrace would allow and wagged a finger at Derrick. “You mean to say you’ve been groping me. That’s perverted. I don’t even know you.”

  “You might not know us, but we’ve gotten to know you,” said Mark, coming to Derrick’s defense.

  “It’s still creepy.”

  “Says the woman who’s been walking around aroused and aching.”

  Was she that obvious? She pursed her lips. “For a guy who claims to want my help, you’re doing a fine job of irritating me into leaving you here instead.”

  Mark cuffed Derrick. “Would you shut up!”

  “Hey. I’m your alpha. You don’t get to hit me.”

  “I do when you’re acting like a dumbass and pissing off our only hope. I apologize for his crass words and behavior. I promise, we’re really nice guys in the real world.”

  Ah yes, for a moment there, she’d almost forgotten the men she conversed with weren’t real but figments of her imagination. Figments with throbbing cocks, one of which still pulsed against her lower belly. Didn’t it figure she’d have a dream about two sexy hunks, and despite being naked, they wanted to talk instead of doing more pleasurable things
with their mouths? “Let’s say I did agree to help you. What is it exactly that you expect me to do?”

  “You need to locate the spell that did this to us and find a way to reverse it.”

  “Ah yes, the spell cast by a witch. She’s someone local I gather? Where can I find this evil crone?”

  Derrick grimaced, and his arms around her tightened, pressing her against his muscular frame, teasing her skin with the friction of his, and the heat. “On second thought, I’m not sure if I like this plan, Mark. She’s just a tiny thing. She could get hurt.”

  Before she had a chance to retort—no one had ever called her tiny, not with her hips—a second nude and aroused male body pressed up against her back. It seemed Mark tired of letting his friend Derrick get all the one-on-one skin time and wanted in on the action. It was enough to make a girl swoon, and Jenna almost did. Her knees buckled as sweet heat and arousal flashed through her. Two sets of hands and bodies kept her from falling, their decadent closeness making her lashes flutter as her breath caught. Mmm … how lovely it felt. So taboo, and yet right.

  “Fuck all this yapping. I can’t take it anymore. I have to—” Derrick didn’t finish his sentence, but she could guess it as his lips claimed hers in a scorching kiss, a kiss so passionate and fierce she couldn’t help but moan in his mouth. His firm lips caressed hers while Mark’s latched on to her neck in exploration.

  Such sensual decadence. Jenna fell into a swirling well of pleasure, the sensations their lips evoked making her mindless. When the two men tried to pull themselves away with matching strangled groans, she reached up to clutch Derrick’s face while wiggling her bottom against Mark.

  “Sweetheart, we shouldn’t. We’ve things we need to discuss. Plan.”

  “Later,” was her husky reply. “Please.”

  They couldn’t resist her soft plea. Back they dove for more, their mouths frantic with need, their bodies grinding and sliding across hers in a delightful friction that brought her almost to a peak. As if sensing how close she hovered, they lay her on the ground, and their hot lips latched onto her breasts, one set for each.

  Oh my. She panted and writhed as their wicked, hot tongues swirled around her nipples. She cried out as they bit down on her tender flesh.

  Who cares if this is a dream? This feels so good. Jenna clutched at both their heads, digging her fingers into their scalps and tugging at their strands. She gyrated her hips in need. Imaginary or not, she wanted them to touch her. To pleasure her. To sink their hard cocks into her pussy and take turns thrusting.

  Even if only a fantasy, she wondered what making love to two men at once would feel like.

  “No,” gasped one of her dream lovers. “Derrick, stop. We have to tell her more before it’s too late.”

  Too late for what she wondered. A thought that was consumed with aching unfulfilled need as they rolled away from her and helped her stand on shaky feet.

  Jenna blinked at them dazedly, not understanding why her subconscious made them stop. It’s my dream. Why the hell aren’t they making love to me? I can tell they want to. Their erections stood proudly from their groins, and she reached out to touch one, only to have it move back out of reach. A distressed sound came out of her lips. She was so damned horny. Why wouldn’t they let her play?

  “Jenna, sweetheart. Please, you have to listen. I promise, when we get our bodies back, we will make love to you until you can’t walk, but right now, you have to listen.”

  A moue of disappointment tilted her lips, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “What if I don’t want to listen? I much preferred what we were doing. This is, after all, my dream. A dream, which thanks to you, now sucks. Maybe I’ll just wake myself up and finish what you started.”

  That got their attention. A pair of male jaws literally dropped.

  “She is so fucking made for us,” said Derrick, his voice raspy and thick.

  “Yes she is,” agreed Mark. “Which is why we can’t allow ourselves to be distracted, not if we want out of here. Now listen, Jenna. I know you think this is all your imagination, but it’s not. When you wake up, you’re going to have to look up witch spells and find the one meant to put somebody in limbo.”

  An exasperated breath blew out of her. “And just where am I supposed to find this spell? I don’t exactly have a black book of curses and stuff you know.”

  “Google it,” was Mark’s dry reply. “When you find it, see what you need to do to reverse it.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Okay. Whatever.”

  This time, Mark was the one to grab her. “I’m serious, sweetheart. This is not a dream, well, it is, but my friend and I are quite real. Kind of. Damn it, please, just do it.”

  “Or else what, I’ll keep being haunted by horny ghosts?”

  “We’re not real ghosts. Could a real ghost do this?” Derrick leaned in and nipped her neck hard.

  The pain woke Jenna, and unlike her previous dreams, this one remained quite vivid from the conversation with the two guys, right down to the feel of their erect cocks pressing against her.

  “Make me horny, will you,” she muttered, throwing off the comforter. She shimmied out of her pajama bottoms and underwear and spread her legs wide. Screw walking around aroused all day. She was tired of it. And if she couldn’t get satisfaction while asleep, then dammit, she’d do it herself.

  “I hope you’re watching,” she said, not quite believing in the existence of ghosts, but with the dream so fresh, it seemed right. Then she touched herself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Derrick’s eyes snapped open as the dreamscape suddenly disappeared, taking his delectable mate with it.

  So close. I was so close to her. For the first time in years, he’d touched someone, and not just anyone, but his woman. A woman who practically begged him to fuck her, and what did they do? They turned her on and then didn’t follow through so they could give her instructions on how to save them.

  He understood the why, but with his cock aching to burst and once again back on the ghostly plane, he yelled at the injustice.

  “So unfair.”

  “I know,” Mark’s mournful reply. “Maybe we should have pleasured her first.”

  Say what? Before he could ask what Mark meant, the soft moan caught him. Derrick practically fell through the bed as he realized what Jenna was doing.

  Oh no, she isn’t. She was.

  Derrick lost control and sank out of sight, but not for long. He popped up at the foot of the bed and stared dumbstruck for a moment before he fell to his knees. As if he could hold himself up once he realized Jenna touched herself. He wasn’t the only dumbfounded one. Mark could not resist the show either and knelt beside him.

  He wasn’t sure when he began to stroke his cock in time to her rubs over her clit. He found himself hypnotized at the way she pleasured herself, her nimble fingers stroking her slick flesh, the moisture just begging for a hot tongue. Derrick pumped his shaft and edged up to sit between her legs.

  “What are you doing?” asked Mark hoarsely.

  “Getting off. You should do the same.” He continued to stroke his cock right over the quickening movements of her hand. He’d never seen anything more beautiful than Jenna with her cheeks flushed, her eyes shut, and her lush mouth open and panting.

  “Come for me, baby,” he crooned, not caring if she could hear him. He knew she was close, he could see it in her face and the tenseness of her body. For the first time, a hand job wasn’t enough. He wanted to pretend for one moment that he was buried inside her.

  When she thrust her pelvis up on the brink of her orgasm, he pumped his ghostly cock forward and penetrated her with his spiritual flesh.

  With a gasp, she opened her eyes, and for a moment, Derrick could have sworn she saw him. Then she came with a keening cry, and even insubstantial as he was, the pressure of her release around his ghostly cock was enough to make him bellow and come himself.

  Oh fuck. If she can affect me like this even in limbo, it’s going
to be insane when I finally get to touch her in person.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, accompanied by a constant cold freeze as she dressed, showered, and ate breakfast, she couldn’t stop thinking of the dream—and the aftermath.

  My imagination. It has to be. I don’t believe in ghosts and magic. But forcing herself to believe was hard because, even if she ignored the ghostly caresses on her skin, it was harder to ignore the doors that swung open at her approach, the rattle of picture frames, the fluttering of drapes, and the myriad other poltergeist-type acts.

  What about when it felt like one of them fucked me last night when I was playing with myself? She must have still been asleep when she imagined it, never mind the fact she’d woken bare-bottomed and sticky this morning.

  She decided to go on as if she hadn’t had the freakiest dream and night ever. But the ghosts she didn’t believe in wouldn’t stop bugging her. The third time she felt a cold swipe at her groin, she threw up her hands. “Fine. I’m going to Google it. Are you happy now?”

  No one replied, but a tingly air kiss on her neck pimpled her skin, and her nipples poked holes through her T-shirt. “Stupid perverted ghosts,” she mumbled, but with a smile. Yeah, so she was being stalked by the undead. It was still nice to be wanted.

  Clearing a spot on the dining room table, she plunked her laptop down and booted it. When the search window for Google came up, she typed in “witch spell”.

  “Good grief, 3,010,000 results.” That was about three million nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine more than she wanted. She needed to fine-tune her search. Gnawing on the tip of her thumb, she twiddled with the search terms and became engrossed in her research, amazed at the amount of websites out there devoted to witchcraft.

  On a whim, she typed in “witch Strange Dales”. To her surprise, a listing popped up for a shop in the town itself. She clicked onto the website and found an online store for all types of witchy items from charms to potions and more. Under the contact info, she got a surprise because there was a picture of the blonde ice queen she’d bumped into, one Clarissa Mayweather.