Three Men and a Woman: Caroline (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rachel Billings

  He took her deep, thrusting in hard all at once, and, this time, he didn’t stop.

  His first come had taken the edge off, so he took his time. He drove her up then left her hanging, backing off and enjoying it while she bitched at him. He gripped her ass roughly and pounded into her, then settled back to reach around and diddle her clit.

  Thrashing and shoving back, impaling herself on his cock, she was frantic with need by the time he gave in. He arched back, lifting her, taking over control, holding her helpless to his will. He lay into her, losing control himself, feral in his use of her.

  She was crying out her come, the violent orgasm tearing through her. It wracked her body and set her cunt to clenching spasmodically around his dick.

  That tore his own climax from him, deep from within his balls. He spurted into her, filling her with his cum, making her pussy hot and wet for his final fucks.

  He roared it out as she wailed, both of them gone with it, an intensity that was nearly painful.

  She started to crawl away from it after his last thrust, a survival instinct he could relate to. But fuck it, she was his.

  So he went after her, pulling her back close against him. He drew up the covers to tuck them in together and didn’t let her go, even as her cries turned to soft whimpers.

  * * * *

  Caroline woke with Jack looking at her.

  It was full daylight, a sunny fall day like only New England had.

  Lying on his side, he held her, watching as she turned enough to see him, to look back at him. His penis—well, his cock, if she was going to join this particular parade, and apparently she was—lay hard against her thigh.

  He didn’t do anything with it though, just let it press there as he watched her.

  He was waiting for her reaction, trying to read her.

  Yes, he had, okay, fucked her like she’d never been fucked before. He’d marked her, claimed her, used her. He’d been domineering, controlling, and a little scary.

  And, at a guess, she was supposed to decide right now if she was okay with all of that. She was quite sure that was what his intent, assessing gaze was all about.

  Was she okay with it? Damned if she knew.

  For sure, it wasn’t what she expected when she knocked on his door last night. True, she’d come to him knowing that they would make love, giving her consent to that by virtue of showing up.

  But how could she have anticipated what had happened? Jack was a sweet, brilliant, nerdy biochem grad student. He’d been patient and gentle as he wooed her and kind of intellectually practical about their first sexual encounter.

  Who’d guess he had this powerful, fierce, and, yes, darkly seductive side?

  She hadn’t seen it coming.

  The whole experience had been overwhelming. It was wicked and enticing at the same time, enthralling in the literal sense of that word.

  Even as she thought over her feelings now, the pressure of his hard cock tempted her. She could have it again, right this minute. She could let him claim her body, drive her to that incredible ecstasy as apparently only he knew how to do. Let him take her, have her. Own her.

  A very basic part of her wanted it. It was a part of her she hadn’t known until last night. It was the part that had loved what he did to her.

  Oh, not just the unbelievable pleasure he’d given her. For that, he deserved a damn medal. Before last night, she’d pretty much come to the conclusion that sex, for her, was not all it was cracked up to be. It had done nothing for her but disappoint.

  Apparently, she was just a slow starter. And Jackson Roberts had found the key to her, uh, ignition.

  It was extremely good to know she had one.

  The other thing she’d loved, well, that was more difficult.

  She’d loved how he’d used her. She’d reveled in it, the way he’d taken without asking, demanded as though he had the right. As though her body was his, owned by him.

  As though it was taken for granted that she would…submit.

  Hmm. There was the rub.

  She’d loved it.

  But could she accept it?

  What did it say about her that it turned her on to have Jack take control, to give up herself to him, to sacrifice her own autonomy?

  She looked back at him as he waited for her answer.

  She knew him, she realized. She’d spent almost two months talking with him over lunches, meeting him for dinners and movies.

  She was certain he respected her, that he appreciated her intelligence and her independence. He’d expressed interest in her studies and enjoyed exploring areas where their two disciplines intersected. He considered her opinions and valued her input. He shared decision making with her.

  If he hadn’t, she’d have written off the relationship from the start.

  So, was it possible that the dominant, controlling, forceful facet of his personality would only express itself in the sexual part of their relationship?

  And, was it possible for her to live with that? Would the incredible pleasure of hot, gritty sex justify her losing herself to it?

  Perhaps it was a matter of trust—in him, and in herself.

  And it felt like it was too soon to make that call.

  He was waiting.

  He’d have to wait longer.

  This just wasn’t a decision she could make right now. She touched his cheek with her palm.

  “Can I use your shower?”

  Heat flared in his eyes, and his hand on her hip flexed.

  She knew with a certainty that he was considering rolling over onto her, thrusting in, and fucking her like he wanted to. As if he was thinking she wouldn’t stop him, that he’d make her enjoy it. That he could make her cry out and beg him for it.

  He had every reason to believe he was right about that. It was all true.

  But he watched her a bit longer and was smart enough to realize this was a kind of a test. It appeared he cared enough to try to pass it.

  He damped down that heat in his eyes—she was smart enough to know that it was still there, just banked—and softened his grip on her hip, gently stroking now.

  “Alone?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He kissed her briefly. “All right.” Permission granted—begrudgingly. “I’ll make breakfast.”

  “Okay.” She smiled as she walked to the bathroom. Was that sweet Jack, politely offering to feed his guest, or dom Jack, finding a way to manipulate her into staying longer?

  “I’ll leave a shirt out for you.”

  Dom Jack. Mr. Let-Me-Just-Mark-My-Territory, You-Don’t-Mind, Do-You? Jack.

  She grinned at that but didn’t let him see it.

  Caroline had little experience at sleepover sex dates. Well, really, no experience. She hadn’t taken even the basic measure of tucking a toothbrush and a clean pair of undies into her bag.

  So she’d borrowed Jack’s toothbrush—they’d exchanged more than saliva already—and used his blow dryer to dry out her thong after she’d washed it in the sink.

  She’d had to consider about that. He really wasn’t a blow-dry hairstyle kind of guy. She guessed he was way ahead of her on the prep-for-overnight-stays scale.

  She found she actually rather enjoyed buttoning up in the soft flannel shirt he left out on the bed. It smelled of him. And the next time he wore it, it would smell of her.

  Tucked into the shirt that barely covered her ass and with the meager added protection of her skimpy undies, she found him in the kitchen.

  It appeared he could cook. He was working on an omelet—it looked like goat cheese, roasted red peppers, and grilled onions—but he interrupted himself to hand her a cup of steaming coffee.

  Real cream, real sugar—just the way she liked it.

  The man did pay attention.

  All the better to reel in one’s submissives?

  It was delicious. He gripped her—his—shirt, both hands taking hold at her waist while he watched her try it.

  “Mmm, good. Thanks
.”

  He nodded then took the mug and set it on the counter. He also reached over and turned off the burner under the eggs.

  “You look good. I like seeing you in my shirt.”

  Of course he did. What good dom wouldn’t?

  He slid both hands around her.

  “Caro, I need…this,” he said as he leaned in to kiss her softly. “Just this. Please.”

  His lips were warm, soft, and, oh, so seductive.

  He lifted after a moment to look at her, evaluating. That heat was back in his eyes and in his lips when he took her again.

  Beguiled, she slid her hands up to his face. Her elbows braced against his chest, maintaining a little distance between them even as he pulled her closer.

  He murmured her name again and again as the kiss turned harder. Their mouths were open now, sharing that coffee flavor.

  And he won the battle over their embrace, sliding her arms up around his shoulders so he could bring her hard against his body.

  She was sure it had been there, that bit of tentative neediness, the uncertainty that had required some reassurance from her.

  But it was gone the moment she’d given over, with her first consent to that soft kiss.

  And just as she knew he’d guess, none of it mattered once he took her over. She wanted his mouth hard on hers. She wanted the way his arms tightened around her, the way his hand grabbed her ass, massaging and bringing her in to cradle his hard-on.

  It was beyond her to fight it, to question the wisdom of it. She didn’t have a chance of keeping from arching into it when he found her nipple and pulled on it.

  She moaned when he squeezed her ass, just on the verge of pain.

  “Jesus, somebody steal your bed?”

  Jack stiffened and lifted his head.

  Mortified, Caroline buried her face in his chest. Awkward.

  “Need coffee, do you?” Jack’s words were cool, with just the barest hint of chagrined humor. His gaze was still on her.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Caroline heard the roommate, presumably, put action to word as he poured a cup.

  “Breakfast smells good, too. Is it done yet?”

  With a strained sigh, Jack took his hand off her ass. “Caro, this is Matthew. Matt, Caroline.”

  “Hello.” Caro took just a peek then went back ostrichlike to Jack’s chest. And then she groaned.

  Blond hair, blue eyes, just an inch or two taller than Jack. Deadly handsome. Hard, ropy body of a soccer player, displayed all too well in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts hanging loosely below his waist.

  She butted Jack’s chest now, staring down at the kitchen floor while she spoke, refusing to look up again. A certain amount of horror laced her words. “Matthew Churchill?”

  There was a sudden stillness, both men quiet.

  One of them was no doubt remembering, exactly as she was, the summer ten years ago when they’d both spent a month with their families at a South Carolina beach, just three houses apart. He’d been seventeen to her fifteen and the first major crush of her life.

  He was the last, really, until this romance with Jack.

  “Caroline Freeman.” He rolled it out in the slow, Southern drawl he’d perfected that summer and used as a tease whenever he’d said her name.

  Lacking options, she finally lifted her head. She looked up to see Jack watching her carefully. She stepped back a little, but he didn’t really let her go. He turned so they both faced Matthew, but he pulled her close, tucking her into his side.

  Matthew didn’t seem to miss any of that unspoken message. “You were supposed to come back the next summer, when you weren’t jailbait anymore.”

  She heard Jack’s tight draw of breath and felt his grip on her arm harden.

  “We couldn’t. My father lost his job. We didn’t have vacations again for years.” They never had, really. Her father had never fully recovered from that blow.

  “I waited for you. I looked for you every day.” He ran his gaze over her. Maybe it wasn’t hot, but it was at least very warm. “You filled out pretty good.” He took a swig of coffee then set the mug down, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at Jack.

  “I knew her first.”

  Jack’s grip on her clamped down. “She’s mine now.”

  “I’ve wanted her since I was seventeen.”

  “Not my problem you let her get away.”

  Dear God. Caroline lifted her hands. She stepped away from Jack, tugging her arm for a moment before he let her go. His scowl said he didn’t like it even then. She turned so she faced both of them and looked from one to the other.

  It was too much to take in. She’d just spent an amazing night with Jack, not only pushing but absolutely blasting through her boundaries about sex. She cared for him very much, surprised but enticed by his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde contrast of sweet and dom. The intensity of it was a bit scary, and she needed to think about it.

  And then in the midst of that, there was Matthew. They’d had the sweetest little first flirtation possible. They’d met on the beach and developed the most innocent of relationships. They took sunrise walks, playfully chased waves, went for long bike rides. All with an undercurrent of longing that was expressed in nothing more than quiet handholding. About as opposite to the night she’d spent with Jack as one could get.

  It was all too much.

  “Uh, I’m going to go.” It wasn’t like her to dodge a problem—she was more a face-things-head-on kind of girl. But right at this moment, escape seemed the only option.

  The men were quiet, but she was sure she felt the scorch from two hot gazes on her back as she went to Jack’s room to retrieve her clothes.

  She was on hands and knees looking under the bed for one of her clogs when the door opened.

  She really wished she’d put her jeans on first when she looked back to see Jack there, taking advantage of a prime view of her ass.

  She stood up, turning her back to him while she dressed.

  He let her, though she felt the frustration steaming from him with her every motion.

  Finally, she stood in front of him, slipping her feet into her clogs.

  His face was hard, his eyes fierce. And he wasn’t going to move out of her way until he was ready.

  “You’re mine.”

  “Jack—”

  “Say it.”

  “No.”

  “Caro.”

  There was a plea in his voice and vulnerable need. Also, there was command, and she heard it.

  “It’s too soon. It was just one night, Jack.”

  He brushed her objections away. “You gave yourself to me. Not just your body but your…yourself.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and dropped her head, looking down at the floor. “Yes, Jack, I did,” she finally said. With difficulty, she looked up to meet his gaze. “And it was amazing, astounding. And to be honest, it was also a little scary.” She watched his eyes, saw his worry. “I have to think about it.”

  “It’s not about Matthew?”

  “That was a crush I had when I was fifteen. I haven’t seen him in ten years.” That part was true. “He doesn’t mean anything.” For that, she couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “He still wants you. That means something.”

  Caroline took a deep breath, trying to center herself. Whatever was between Jack and her deserved respect and truth. She looked back at him.

  “I suppose it’s true that, if I’d run into him two months ago, I’d have wanted to be with him. We had a little romance that I’ve always held close in my heart, a very sweet memory.

  “But I’m with you now, aren’t I, Jack?”

  “Yes,” he said, swiftly and categorically, no hint of reservation. “You’re with me.”

  “Okay, then. I’m not going to be thinking about Matthew.” She wouldn’t, if saying could make it so. “All right?”

  He watched her for a long moment. She wasn’t certain what was behind his eyes. “Yes. All right.”
>
  He stepped forward to take her in his arms and kiss her—softly, longingly. Sweet Jack.

  “I’d wanted you to spend the weekend,” he said between kisses. “Will you stay?”

  She shook her head, even as his lips tempted. “No. I need some time.”

  “Will you come back tonight?”

  Hours? No, that wasn’t enough. She shook her head again.

  He sighed hard and held her against his chest. “Caro.”

  She squeezed her arms around him, feeling nearly as forlorn as he sounded. “Will you have free time next weekend?”

  She knew he held back another sigh. “I can take Saturday off. I’ll have to be in the lab all of Sunday.”

  “Friday night, then? And we’ll have Saturday, too?”

  He nodded, stroking his thumb over her face. “Yes. You’ll be thinking of me? Of us?”

  “Yes.” Probably to the exclusion of all else.

  She didn’t say it out loud, but he seemed to hear it anyway and took blatant satisfaction in it.

  “All right, then. I’ll walk you home.”

  “No, Jack. I want to clear my head.”

  The look he gave her said he didn’t think he wanted her head all that clear.

  And she could only wish.

  “All right, baby.” He kissed her again and walked her through the living room to the door.

  Matthew was conspicuous by his absence.

  * * * *

  Well, he wasn’t all that absent. Matthew ran, huffing up, to be at her side before she was more than half a block away.

  “Caroline.” He took her arm, clearly meaning for her to stop.

  Well, she’d had enough of men exerting their will over her. She shook off his arm. That was what she intended, in any case. It turned out he didn’t shake.

  What a surprise. Here was another man with more doggedness than expected.

  “Caro.”

  Dammit.

  He’d given her that nickname back when she was fifteen, and it had always generated a little thrill in her heart. No one else had ever used it.

  Until the last two months.

  She sighed. “I’m not stopping, Matthew. If you want to talk to me, you have to walk.” She paused. “And let go of my arm.”

  He held his hands up in surrender and meekly walked along beside her. Well, meekly was the wrong word, since he leaned into her enough that his arm brushed her shoulder about every other step.