Shine: Wild Love Series

by Red L. Jameson

  I creep into my bathroom which is en suite to my bedroom, so glad I closed my curtains and everything is dim. I’m fairly certain Metallica disbanded and some of the members are playing in my eyes now. After I retch a few times, not throwing up anything but feeling rotten, I take some aspirin, hoping I’ll keep it down. A heavy dose of mouthwash seems to help. Crawling into my bed, I sigh contentedly as I stretch. Chris’s head was heavy on my hips, twisting my legs to lie still. So it feels fantastic to lengthen my legs and arms.

  My bed was a gift from a visiting art professor before he returned to Finland. The thing is so huge it needs custom mattresses and bedding. Dr. Lieben worked at our campus for only one year. In that time I had a few lunches with him, asked him how he was doing, but nothing extraordinary. Yet, when his green card was refused, he gave me this giant hand-made bed. The frame is a mixture of spun iron and balls of milky glass, ornamentally placed here and there. It looks like a throne bed for a princess from Game of Thrones. It’s one of the most beautiful works of art I’ve ever seen, let alone slept in.

  Tim thought Dr. Lieben was in love with me. But I’ve never thought that. I think he was lonely. And loneliness, I know all too well, creates a wildness within a person. The lonely forget social rules, forget to mask emotions, forget to cover gratitude. Instead, there’s such overwhelming relief from the ever-squeezing loneliness that gifts become too extravagant and love is given too freely.

  Tim hated the bed, so away it went to a storage unit. After Tim died, after I moved into this house, I—and the help of half a dozen movers—hauled it out of storage and into my too-large blue and lavender room. I worry I love my things too much. I can’t help but adore how pretty my bed and bedroom are.

  Drifting into the peaceful cloud right before sleep takes over, I vaguely feel my stratocumulus moving. Someone’s getting under the covers. The mattress dips and quakes. A warm chest presses against my back and a heavy arm is slung around my waist. A nose nuzzles into my nape, moving to my ear.

  “You okay, Jane?”

  It’s Gabe. I smile.

  “I threw up.”

  “Oh, poor Jane.” He gently caresses my stomach. And what I like so much about him is he’s not teasing me. He’s not ridiculing my upset stomach. He seems genuinely concerned.

  I know, maybe that shouldn’t shock me so much. But Tim would have laughed at me. Many others I’ve known wouldn’t have been concerned if I were sick. Especially sick from a hangover.

  “Are you okay?”

  He kisses my lobe. “I’m better now.”

  His erection presses against my ass.

  My eyes pop open. Wow. He’s huge. Good morning, I can’t help but think.

  “Sure, don’t invite me,” Chris grumbles as he walks into my bedroom. His blond hair is standing on end, and he stumbles around my bed and gets under the covers on the opposite side of me. “Shit, I feel like shit.”

  Gabe stiffens at Chris’s entrance, but says, “Jane threw up.”

  Chris looks at me, and I’m staring at him, I’m sure, in bewilderment. He cups my cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. You need me to get you some Sprite or something? Ginger ale?”

  “Maybe you should,” Gabe says, then presses his hardness against me again. “I want coffee too.”

  Chris chuckles and rearranges the covers, revealing his t-shirt-clad wide chest. “Sure, Gabe. I’ll just leave you alone with Jane. I might not be all that smart, but I’m not dumb.”

  Gabe laughs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Their easy camaraderie throws me. Well, having two men in my bed at once throws me. I have no idea what’s going on. Do they know what’s going on? Why are they so comfortable both being in my bed?

  “Where’d Paul go?” Chris asks.

  Gabe and I shrug, then I say, “I was going to take a nap and call him, see where he went.”

  Gabe’s hand holds my hip and pushes his erection into me all the more. “Paul’s a nice guy.” His voice is close to a growl, and I almost shudder from the noise.

  “Yeah, he is. I like him.” Chris sighs. “I never thought I’d like one college professor let alone two.” He smiles at me and winks.

  Gabe’s hand skims up, up, up, just touching the base of my breast. “Yep,” he says. “Paul’s a good guy.”

  “You’re a good guy.” Chris points at Gabe.

  I’m holding my breath while Gabe’s hand slowly returns to my waist. He sighs with a sound I’m fairly sure is tinged with guilt. “You’re a good guy too, Chris.”

  “Did that make you stop from feeling up Jane?”

  Gabe silently chuckles. “I don’t know why you’d say you’re not all that smart. You’re pretty damn clever.”

  Chris rolls on his back, flinging a giant arm over his eyes. “Nah. I just thought if I were you, what I’d be doing under those covers with Jane pressed against me.”

  We’re silent for a long time. Gabe starts rubbing a small circle on my belly. Chris’s breath evens out. I try to relax, but I have no clue how, sandwiched between two men who have made themselves at home in my bed.

  Gabe sweeps his nose against my nape again. “Think he’s asleep?”

  “I’m not asleep. Just resting my eyes,” Chris growls.

  Gabe softly chuckles and kisses my neck. The feel of his whiskers against my sensitive skin nearly makes me moan. His tongue traces a design on the side of my neck, an area that feels connected to the apex of my legs.

  “And what do we have here?” Paul walks into the room, smiling at Gabe and me.

  10

  Paul’s holding a drinking carrier full of what appears to be coffee and a bag that looks suspiciously like it’s from a pastry shop.

  I can’t explain it, but all the tension in my body is released when Paul walks to the foot of my bed, smiling.

  “Coffee.” I sit up, holding my hands out to him. “You are a god.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “You want what I have, honey? You’re going to have to come and get it.”

  “But I’m so comfy.”

  “I bet you are.” He glances at Gabe and Chris who are now sitting up and leaning against the headboard that’s laced with shredded white silks and rayons and threaded with eye-catching crystals.

  I affect my best Oliver Twist. “Please, sir. More, sir.”

  Paul’s smile widens. “Not my favorite Dickens, but close.” Then he lifts a brow, a mischievous glint in his dark gaze. “What are you willing to do for some coffee, honey?”

  Apparently, Paul can drink like the devil because he doesn’t seem to be affected by a hangover. Oddly, Metallica seems to have left my skull and eyes. I feel better. Spunky. Playful while looking at Paul.

  “What do you want me to do?” I shift to sitting on my shins.

  Paul’s smile is appreciative that I’m playing with him. He takes a deep breath, like he’s mulling over how best to make me beg, even narrowing his brown eyes.

  Last night, I learned that Paul lived by himself for almost a whole year before he’d been put into foster care. He’d been thirteen. He went to school every day, even on days when he’d been sick because it was his one sanctuary. He loved reading. He’d fall into a book, as he calls it. It was his escape. It was his world. It’s why no matter how shitty things got, he always went to school. He has a post doctorate that I didn’t even know about. He’s highly overeducated to be working at the small university where we teach. But he wanted a small town. He wanted stability and thought he’d find it here.

  I wish I had it in me to give him stability. I have no clue what I have to give any longer. But I love playing with him. He’s brilliant and I feel like he has no clue how smart he really is. He’s never demeaning, which someone with his IQ could easily be. Instead, he’s encouraging. Kind. And it seems under those huge words, his self-effacing humor, he just wants someone he can rely on.

  “I want you to kiss…” he pauses dramatically, “Chris.”

  I’m surprised Paul’s said this and turn t
o Chris as if he has an answer to Paul’s request.

  Chris smiles and shrugs. “I was just saying how I liked you, Paul, and thought you were a real good guy.”

  “Kiss ass,” Gabe grumbles.

  Chris laughs then looks at me. “I’m game if you are.”

  Swallowing, I crawl toward him, hesitant. Quickly, I swoop in and kiss his lips, and pull away, settling a few feet from Chris, before any kind of passion is revealed. Ah, but I loved the way his lips felt against mine, the morning whiskers against my chin, his warmth and scent.

  “Nah-uh.” Paul shakes his head, frowning. “I want you to really kiss him. Like you would if Gabe and I weren’t here.”

  I blink, feeling my arms and my neck begin to shake. I don’t know why I’m trembling. I’m scared, I guess. And I am. I’m also terribly aroused. Is it Paul that makes me feel so…ready for sex? Or is it the situation? Or is it the men in my bed? I really don’t know but wonder if they can sense my excitement. And shame.

  “This is weird,” Gabe says.

  Paul, in a look I’ve never seen on his face before, glares at Gabe. “Don’t do that, man. Don’t make her feel bad.” I’ve also never heard his voice like that. He’s gruff, not smooth as velvet. He’s animalistic and, although Paul isn’t exactly a big man, at that moment he’s so alive with tension he looks like he could take the other two men down.

  I can’t look at Paul for too long. At that second, with him so feral, he makes me think about staring into the sun, the glare so bright it hurts. So I glance over my shoulder at Gabe.

  He’s wincing, his lips twitching. I expect him to be angry. For the men to fight, storm out of my house. But he’s looking down at my blue and lavender bedding, taking a deep breath, seeming to look like he’s thinking and sorry too.

  He glances up at me, swallowing. Too quick to know what he was doing, he lunges for me and kisses me quickly and tenderly. His morning whiskers rub against me. His hair is coarser than Chris’s and I’d love for Gabe to rub his face along my breasts.

  But I don’t know what to think or feel or what I should do.

  Gabe leans back. “Kiss him.” He glances at Chris.

  I look again at Paul, wondering how the ring leader got this to happen. I don’t understand any of it other than I’m turned on. Perhaps I’m merely dreaming. I did drink a lot last night. Maybe this is just an alcohol-induced dream. But it’s a damned good one.

  “Go ahead, Jane.” Paul nods toward Chris. “Kiss him so you can get your coffee. Better hurry before it gets cold.”

  I turn back to Chris and crawl slowly toward him. The moment is clear to both of us. What we do next will change something. We know it. Everyone in the room knows it. I kneel on my shins beside his lap. He’s staring into my eyes with such longing and warmth. That’s what I feel from him. He’s a heater. Not just physically but I feel that heat spread through my breastbone straight to my heart. Like Paul did in my office, Chris is melting me.

  I’ve been so cynical. I haven’t trusted a man since I first met my husband. And I hate to admit how with every man I meet, I wonder if he’s a cheater. I wonder if my dean cheats on his wife. I wonder if my general physician has sex with one of his nurses behind his wife’s back. I wonder if the friendly man at the DMV has fucked around, hurting the woman he loves.

  You know what disease my husband left me with? The disease of pessimism. And, oh, how I don’t want what Tim did to define me. I hate that it has.

  But in Chris’s gaze all of that seems blurry. My poisonous pessimism is lessened because his optimism outshines it. I want to see the world as he does. He knows down to his bones there’s more good than bad, more love than hate. So I gently place my lips against Chris’s, hoping he’ll melt all of me.

  He caresses my cheek, gently feathering his lips against mine. His tongue slides against me. I hesitate, but I want to feel the way I did in the bathroom when we first met. I want to feel his big hands everywhere on me. I want to feel so hot that I can’t help but burn.

  I open and thrust my tongue in his mouth. He captures me by my neck, and holds me still as he strokes against my tongue. Slowly, I place my hands on his chest. God, he’s so hard and his heart is beating into my hand. I love that. I feel him. I feel the very heart of him. And I want him to be mine.

  We kiss and kiss and kiss, until I hear Gabe breathing. I pull away, not daring to look at anyone but down at the rumpled bedding. What did I just do?

  Gabe reaches around my waist and pulls me on his lap. I’m compliant because I feel terrible for liking what I’ve just done. Then Gabe kisses me. It’s not like before, quick and tender. He’s inside my mouth, claiming me, moving his lips, making me come back to life for him. I kiss him back. His legs are firm, his chest is iron, and he’s so insistent, so pushy, so sure. He makes me feel more confident while I kiss him. And I’m melting for him too.

  But I pull away because I’ve got to know. “You don’t think less of me?” I can’t look at Gabe or anyone. And, really, I’m asking all of them.

  After a lifetime of men thinking I’m less, my husband who I’ve never been sure if he loved me, I can’t help but worry about men thinking less of me. In graduate school I was always trying to prove myself especially to my male professors. I wanted to be…I just didn’t want to be less than anymore.

  And at that second, all the years of feeling I had to work so hard and having never been enough, never having enough, never feeling loved, comes creeping out. I’m scared I’m going to cry in front of them.

  Gabe’s shaking his head when he glances over my shoulder. Paul’s there. He must have put the coffees and pastry bag somewhere, and he swiftly catches me and holds me in his arms, taking me away from the bed. I’ve never been manhandled like this. First Gabe, now Paul. They hold me and sweep me off my feet.

  “Say the word, honey, and we’ll back off. Or at least, I will.” Paul leans his head against mine and places me on my bureau, where I can see Chris and Gabe still in my bed, looking at me.

  “I’ll back off,” Chris says. “If you don’t want me.”

  I look at Gabe who frowns. “Fuck that. I want her. If she says no to me, I’ll keep trying. I mean, I’m not going to stalk her, but I want her.” He looks directly at me. “You. I want you. I’ve never met anyone like you. I feel comfortable with you. I can see you becoming my best friend. So, yeah, fuck that. I’ll fight to have you, Jane. But I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  Paul softly laughs. “Gabriel, the gallant. But he does make a good point.” He glances at me. “My point was, I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. You have all the power here, honey. You say one word and we’ll do what you want, except I think we’ll try to win you back if you say you don’t want us.”

  I shake my head. “I—I don’t understand. I’m not trying to be daft, but what you’re saying…did something happen last night? Did you guys talk? I don’t understand.”

  “We didn’t discuss if we were willing to share you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Paul shrugs, sliding a hand down my back to rest on my bum and the bureau. “After you passed out in Gabe’s lap, and by the way he was rather gallant making sure your head didn’t land on his dick. Anyway, we did talk about you. I think we all feel the same. We want you, want to get to know you better, and, like Gabe, I think we all feel you could become our best friend and hopefully our lover.”

  “Our lover?” I gasp.

  “That—that came out differently from what I meant.” Paul furrows his dark brows.

  “Is there such a thing as a Freudian slip, doc?” Gabe asks. “I mean, I think that is what you meant.”

  “Fuck it,” Chris blurts and leaves my bed, slowly walking toward Paul and me. “You guys are making this way too complicated. No, we have no idea what we’re doing. But all of us feel the same—this attraction to you is so powerful there is no denying it. And that means something. We all agreed about that then passed out.” Chris grabs a coffee and smiles just at me. “And f
orgive me, baby, but I think you owe Paul a kiss.” Then he sips his drink. “Hey, this is hazelnut, huh?”

  Paul shrugs. “I thought everyone would like it, and I—”

  I grab Paul and force a kiss on him. He grunts but then groans in my mouth. He’s pushing my legs astride and standing inside my thighs so fast I’m not sure what to do. He’s pushing the kiss to do more, be more, and I’m trying to catch up.

  I think he has been orchestrating this so we could become lovers. All of us. Maybe even at the same time. And my vanilla mind sizzles at the possibilities. Paul captures my waist and pulls me against him. Hard. And he’s hard. Ah, god, he’s so fucking hard. Through his jeans and mine, I can still feel the width of him, the length. I wonder if I can even feel his pulse.

  Suddenly, he pulls away, taking a step back. He glances at Chris, still beside us, then down to the ground. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  I feel dizzy and so needy. My—okay, I’ve got to get the courage to call it what Paul does—pussy aches for him. I want him inside me.

  Paul takes another step away, but Gabe’s there catching his elbow, saying, “You’re just going to leave her like that? You kiss her like that and walk away?” Gabe smiles at me. “If you don’t do something, I will.”

  But Chris acts first. His mouth is on mine, he’s right where Paul was, in between my legs, my chest against his.

  “That was hot, the way you kissed him,” Chris whispers then kisses his way to my ear. He lifts me and carries me back to the bed.

  “Wait,” Paul says and instantly Chris peels himself off me, leaving me panting on the bedding.

  Paul’s shaking his head. “I have to know, Jane.” He waits until I sit up and look at him. I’m sure I’m blurry-eyed and probably look flummoxed, but he asks, “Do you want this?”

  For such an articulate man, he’s not asking me specifically what I want.

  All three men are around the bed. Gabe to my left, Paul in the center, and Chris to my right. They’re waiting for me to answer.