by Pam Godwin
“Zero.”
“Good girl.” His fist in her hair loosened into a soft, petting stroke.
She nuzzled into the affection and purred so low and profoundly the sound seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
A knot of envy squeezed Ricky’s chest, his entire body burning for that soul-reaching touch.
“Sit.” Van directed Amber to the edge of a wooden table nestled in the trees.
Ricky hadn’t noticed it until now, but the piece of furniture must’ve weighed a thousand pounds, given the huge chunky legs and wide top. Made of raw wood, the surface was sanded down and sealed with shiny lacquer.
She perched on the ledge, her bare feet dangling above the grass. If she spread her thighs, her pussy would be level with Van’s groin. No doubt the height had been designed for exactly that reason.
A closer look at the thick tree trunks around the table revealed hardware—eye bolts, levers, and leather straps—mounted in the bark at varying positions.
With the nearest neighbor miles away, no one would hear a scream on Van’s property. The debauchery that occurred here on the regular was probably illegal in most countries.
Amber was one lucky bitch.
Van clasped his hands behind his back and prowled a tight circle around Ricky, penetrating skin and nerves with his intoxicating heat.
“Tell me why you’re here,” Van breathed against his nape, “instead of at home fucking your best friend.”
“Martin?” His pulse sped up. “Why would you assume we’re more than friends?”
“Why wouldn’t you be? He’s the only one in your house who can give you what you need.”
“He’s straight.”
“No.” Van laughed, loud and derisively. “He’s not.”
“Just because you forced him—”
“He hasn’t told you.” Van tilted his head, his glare sharp and scrutinizing. “Here I thought there were no secrets between you and your roommates.”
“What hasn’t he told me?” Ricky ground his teeth.
“How he ended up in my attic.”
Martin didn’t talk about that. Whenever questions were directed at him about his abduction or the time he spent with Van and Liv, he turned heel and vacated the room.
“I assume Liv lured him,” Ricky said.
“Guess again.”
“You?” His head flinched back. “You took him at gunpoint?”
“I didn’t use a weapon or any kind of force.”
“What are you saying?” Suspicion tensed his neck. “Did you manipulate him?”
“Not exactly.” Van removed a toothpick from his pocket and set it between his molars. “He’s your best friend. Ask him yourself.”
“I have. He refuses to discuss it.”
“Sounds like trouble in paradise.” His smirk oozed with ridicule.
“Fuck you.”
Van was on him in a blink, an iron fist around his throat and cutting his air as he was slammed face down onto the table beside Amber.
“I’ll tell you the real reason you’re here.” Van ground Ricky’s cheek against the wood.
“Enlighten me.”
“You want to make him jealous. Ignite that possessive rage he can’t control when it comes to you. What better way to provoke him than to return home, flushed and sated in the afterglow of another man’s enjoyment? You’ll tell him that man was me just to get a rise out of him. He’ll shove you into a wall, bruise you with his strong hands, and you’ll eat up every second of that physical contact. How am I doing so far?”
That was exactly how it would play out.
“How about you shut the fuck up and hurt me already?” Ricky bared his teeth. “Make me feel.”
“Put your arms behind you.” Van released him. “Cross them against your back and grip your elbows.”
His skin heated as he obeyed without hesitation.
He didn’t want to think, question, or second-guess this. It was simple. He had an itch and was seeking out someone who excelled at scratching hard-to-reach places.
Heart thundering, he tracked the tread of Van’s footsteps through the trees and around the table until the sound paused near his head.
“I’m not going to restrain you.” Van bent down, brushing his lips against Ricky’s ear. “You are bound by your own will. If you release your elbows, I will stop and send your ass home.”
“Got it.” He locked his fingers around the crooks of his arms.
“Amber.” Van shifted toward his wife. “Lie back. Palms flat on the table.”
She moved into position, face up beside Ricky. He remained chest down with his face angled toward her.
Van gripped her waist and pulled, sliding her along the table until her head hung off the edge, upside down.
Ricky knew where this was going, and so did she, given the swallow that jogged in her throat.
Anticipation lengthened his cock, trapping it at a painful angle between his hips and the table. The sound of Van’s zipper made him impossibly harder.
Then he saw it, the long stiff evidence of Van Quiso’s arousal.
Van rested his erection over her gaping mouth like an offering, teasing the shaft across her lips.
She licked at it, panting and squirming, all while keeping her hands flat on the table at her sides.
A groan escaped Ricky as Van fed her his dick, inch by steely inch. When he reached the back of her throat, she swallowed rapidly without gagging.
Ricky could’ve done the same. In that soundproof attic, Van had fucked his face until his gag reflex no longer existed.
“Put your fingers in your pussy.” Van thrust his hips, his breathing accelerating. “Work it hard. I want a puddle under your ass.”
The blow job lasted forever and not long enough. From inches away, he watched Van’s cock sink and retreat, over and over. He lay so close to them the musk of their hunger infused his inhales.
He focused on clutching his elbows and tried to not come. His orgasm hovered right there. If he ground his groin against the table, he would blow.
And this would be over.
Finally, Van pulled free from her mouth and angled toward Ricky. Gripping the base of his dick, he slowly dragged his fist to the tip and squeezed out a bead of pre-come.
He swiped his thumb over it, catching the clear drop, and pressed it between Ricky’s lips. “Suck.”
Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked Van’s thumb the way Van had taught him—hard, consistent, and with a firm tongue.
The subtle tang of Van’s essence teased his taste buds. The breathy sounds of Van’s groans fueled his need for more.
“Fuck, I haven’t forgotten your mouth,” Van rasped. “Martin doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He slid his thumb across Ricky’s bottom lip. “Don’t give up on him.”
It was a lost cause. If he pushed Martin much harder, he risked ruining their friendship.
Van circled the table, stopped behind Ricky, and helped Amber into a sitting position.
“So fucking wet, baby.” A groan rumbled in Van’s chest as he thrust a hand between her legs, fingering her until the squelching sounds of her arousal hit the air. “Jesus, you make me so damn hard. Sit just like that. Don’t move.”
Van turned his attention to Ricky, divesting him of his shoes, jeans, and everything he wore from the waist down.
A few hard kicks shoved his feet apart, and he didn’t fight it. Didn’t cower or lose his shit as the sound of Van’s leather belt whistled through the air.
The first strike against his ass stopped his heart. He didn’t find his breath before the next fiery smack landed on the back of his thigh.
“Fuuuuuck!” He’d forgotten how goddamn hard Van hit.
The son of a bitch didn’t hold back, didn’t pause for breaks, didn’t give a millimeter of mercy. He wailed and whipped and annihilated Ricky’s backside until everything burned—his skin, muscle, bone, organs.
With his legs spread so wide and his junk hanging unprotected be
tween his thighs, Van made sure that leather strap caught the back of his ball sac as often as possible. It was torture by fire.
Ricky could release his elbows at any time and put an end to the ungodly pain. Maybe Van would break his promise and keep going until Ricky lay broken and bleeding.
But Amber trusted Van. Camila trusted him, and deep down, Ricky did, too. He wouldn’t have come here if he thought he would be powerless.
That was the appeal, wasn’t it? To be with Van on an equal playing field? It was something he’d never experienced beneath Van’s whip.
But it hurt. Holy fuck, it took everything he had to keep his hands fastened to his elbows and his legs spread, exposing his tender balls.
Just when he thought he wouldn’t survive another strike, Van dropped the belt. Clothing rustled, and Van’s shirt fell to the ground.
Then the rock-hard terrain of Van’s abs lowered against Ricky’s arms, where they folded at his back. He wished he were shirtless, too, so he could feel the damp warmth of Van’s skin.
Sultry breath visited his ear, followed by the press of Van’s erection against the back of his balls, flesh on flesh, heat on heat.
He felt the power in the body mashed against his, the strength of muscle flexing around him. Blood scorched through his veins, a fire Van smoldered hotter and thicker with each drive of his hips.
To accept the touch of a man, appreciate the sound of a deep masculine groan, and long for a presence bigger and more rugged than himself… Ricky hadn’t known he coveted these things until Van had shoved his face in it.
Exhibitionism was another turn on, thanks to Van. As much as he despised what had been done to him in that attic, there had been tantalizing moments amid the misery. Moments that had involved Liv.
She hadn’t participated in the sodomy, but Van often made her watch. Her presence had changed the dynamics somehow. Made Ricky feel less alone.
He’d started to crave her eyes on him, became addicted to an outsider’s attention.
Eight years later, he still hungered for the rare hookup with another couple, when one of them watched for a while before joining in.
Like now.
He angled his neck to steal a view of Amber.
She sat stiffly beside his hips, her gaze fixed on Van’s cock and her hand thrusting between her spread legs. Lips parted, she breathed heavily, noisily, breathtakingly stunning in her flushed state of lust.
Leave it to Van to marry the hottest woman in Texas.
What would it be like to spend a night in their bed, naked and grinding between them?
The greedy parts of him ached for a pair of lovers. Wanted them to hold him, kiss him fiercely, fuck him hard, and love him deeply. Rough and sweaty. Raw and honest.
To bask in the unapologetic passion of a man like Van, to experience the possessive love of a woman like Amber… That would be something worth fighting for.
“She’s every man’s fantasy.” Van reached under Ricky’s hips and gripped his engorged cock, causing his breath to strangle. “But if you don’t take your fucking eyes off her, I’ll remove them from your face.”
Van squeezed his dick so ruthlessly a roar tore from his throat. It felt as though his manhood—balls and all—was being ripped from his body.
“Okay, stop!” His fingers started to slip from his elbows. He adjusted his grip and turned his face into the table. “Not looking. My eyes are closed. Please, just stop!”
Van’s fist relaxed, finger by finger, and began a slow, sensual slide along Ricky’s length.
Pain morphed into pleasure as each stroke melted through his groin and tightened his nuts.
“Oh, God.” He rocked his hips, thrusting into that strong, confident handhold.
Blissful tremors rippled through him, gathering low and deep, pulsing to erupt. The pressure, the rhythm, and the caress of masculine fingers felt as stimulating as his own hand. Better even. Fucking perfect.
Van had married a woman, but sweet lord almighty, he still knew how to master a cock.
Lowering to a crouch, Van repositioned his grip, reaching between Ricky’s legs from behind and pulling his erection backward until it angled toward the ground, parallel with his thigh. Then he stroked harder, faster, twisting his fist along the length.
“I’m not going to last.” Ricky grunted, his body shaking in his effort to hold off his release.
“Yes, you will.” Van’s gravelly voice brushed across his ass.
That dangerous mouth hovered between his legs, taunting him with heavy breaths.
He rocked his forehead on the table, his chest rising and falling in sync with Van’s strokes. The rush of orgasm threatened, throbbing toward detonation.
Right there. Oh, fuck, right there.
Van’s hand stopped moving and squeezed right below the head of Ricky’s cock. His thumb and forefinger applied firm pressure, pushing back blood and forcing the climax to retreat.
A moan hit his throat and stuck there. He struggled for air, wrestled to keep his arms locked in position, while directing his frustration into the pained expression that strained his face.
Beside him, Amber’s whimpers grew louder, faster, and he realized Van’s other hand was between her legs.
A moment later, that hand moved to Ricky’s backside, and drenched fingers sank into the crack of his ass.
There was no teasing, no warm-up, before Van forced a digit deep inside him, using only the lubrication from Amber’s arousal.
With a sharp grunt, he lifted on his toes and choked against the wicked invasion.
Another finger penetrated. Then a third. Stretching, pounding, Van impaled his rectum with one hand while the other jerked him off in twisting, merciless strokes.
The assault scorched flesh and nerve endings, shooting trails of fire through his body in every direction.
Teeth grazed his buttocks. Then firm lips and an aggressively hot tongue. Van’s mouth was the sweetest torment, tasting his skin, sucking the welts, and licking the crevice between his flexing glutes.
Feverish currents zinged beneath Van’s grip and ignited around the fingers that pushed viciously hard inside him. He unraveled, biting down on his moan with clenched teeth until the sound escaped in a guttural growl.
Goddamn, it felt too deep. Yet he wanted more. Hands and fingers weren’t enough. He needed more than a touch, more than a night, more than a borrowed lover.
But Van held him there, working his body toward that blissful edge. His legs shook against the force of pleasure, thrumming to burst.
“Now.” Van tightened his strokes and sank his teeth into the back of Ricky’s balls.
A titanic surge of ecstasy poured out of him. He groaned and lost his grip on his elbows, slamming his hands onto the table as he emptied himself onto the ground.
He collapsed against the wooden surface, twitching with residual tremors, his breaths gusting past his lips.
Behind him, Van rose and slid a hand down the length of Ricky’s spine over the t-shirt.
He arched into the caress, clinging to the unexpected tenderness, needing that simple touch more than anything Van had offered him tonight.
Too soon, Van pulled back, straightening his pants and collecting Ricky’s clothes.
Nighttime critters sang softly amid the surrounding trees as Ricky dressed and slipped on his shoes. Then he turned toward the beautiful couple.
Amber hadn’t moved from the table, her minidress gathered around her waist. Van stood sideways in the V of her legs, with his hip pressed against her pussy, concealing her nudity.
She curled around his side, her cheek on his shoulder and fingers toying with the unbuttoned fly of his jeans. He was still hard, his bulge straining the zipper beneath her roving hand.
They weren’t finished. Not with each other.
That was his cue to leave.
“Thank you.” He glanced at Amber then met Van’s steel-colored gaze. “I needed that.”
“Come back anytime you want,” Van said
. “Though, I know you won’t.”
He considered arguing and decided against it. “We’ll see.”
Amber straightened against Van’s side. “I’ll walk you out.”
Van growled at the same time Ricky said, “No. It’s cool. You guys enjoy your night.”
He ambled away, across the lawn, and as he reached the side of the cabin, her scream shuddered through the darkness behind him.
He paused and peered back, leaning around the corner of the house.
Moonlight illuminated the curves of their silhouettes. Van held her so tightly, so possessively, it was impossible to determine where she ended and he began.
They moved as one, chest to chest, foreheads together, her body on his lap, and her legs hooked around him.
Hungry moans shivered the air. The wet sounds of greedy mouths. They writhed together, enclosed in their own world. A universe where they only needed each other and the fathomless love they shared.
“You won’t,” Ricky whispered, his chest tight.
Van was right. Ricky wouldn’t seek him out again. Not for sex.
What he truly wanted, what he needed, waited for him at home.
Martin Lockwood released a slow breath at the sound of Ricky’s truck pulling into the driveway. It was anyone’s guess where he’d gone tonight. He’d sneaked out before Martin could ask.
Not that Ricky needed a keeper. He was a grown ass man and could do whatever or whomever he wanted.
“I can feel you tensing all the way over here.” Kate smiled at him from her cozy position on the couch. With her head on Tomas’ lap, she tucked her feet against Luke’s hip. “I bet Ricky would help you work out that stiffness.”
“Kate…” Martin dropped his voice in a warning tone and straightened in the recliner.
“She’s right.” Tomas absently played with her hair, his gaze glued to the basketball game on TV. “You’re glaring so hard I can hear it.”
They liked to tease him about harboring romantic feelings for Ricky. It was all in good fun and not even remotely true. He was sick of hearing it.
Luke released a soft snore from the couch, his red hair flopping over his brow with the loll of his head. A mechanic by trade, he’d spent the past twelve hours working on his motorcycle and running errands with Camila.