by Amira Rain
“Guys like them,” Megan said.
“Really,” said Amy.
“It felt free, being with Tate,” said Megan with the wistfulness of remembering something very, very sweet from long ago. “I wanted to get back some of that feeling. And I wanted you to see what it was like too. It’s something that you can only feel when you’re with one of them.”
“How disappointed are they?” Amy asked.
With a shrugging expression on her face, Megan replied, “Somewhat disappointed. They were looking forward to it as much as I was.”
“You told them how sorry I am, right?”
“I told them. And they weren’t mad. They said we’re ‘only human,’ after all.” She tossed her head in a shrugging sort of way at that.
“Well, that was generous of them,” said Amy.
“They didn’t mean it to be insulting. I think they just…know the way we are, the way I know how they are.”
“Experience,” Amy said.
“Yes,” said Megan. “Experience.” She then added, “Of course they did want me to ask you if you are absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure you won’t join us. They said you wouldn’t be sorry if you changed your mind.”
Amy sighed, finding no rebuttal to that argument. “I’ll bet I wouldn’t. Not the way those two look. If I didn’t really want it to work between me and Chris this time… God, it’s so tempting. Really tempting. If Chris hadn’t called, we’d probably be on our way to see Nash and Pearce right now. But I can’t do it. I can’t say yes to getting back with Chris one minute, and go charging out to see two guys—even two guys like that—the next. No, my mind’s made up. This is like the biggest ‘thanks but no thanks’ in the world.”
Megan accepted her friend’s decision. There was nothing else to do but accept it. “I get it,” she said. “You don’t want to be ‘that kind of woman’—fickle. No, fickle would not be a good look on you.”
“Can you be happy for me, then?” Amy asked.
“Of course, I can,” said Megan. She touched Amy’s hand supportively. “Of course I can. I’m happy for you and I want you to be happy, just like you want for me.”
“I do,” Amy replied. “I absolutely do.” She paused. “So, to get back to the question…are you going ahead and doing this without me?”
“Their invitation still stands,” Megan replied. “Nash and Pearce still want me. That is, they still want me to go see them.”
“And they still want you.”
“They do,” Megan said, and Amy could see the idea of it taking hold of her friend’s imagination. The twins in Rendall Glen had given them both plenty to imagine.
“So, you’re going, then.”
A final look of decisiveness came over Megan. “Yes. Yes, I am. I’m going.”
“Okay, then,” said Amy, acceptingly. “You go. Go and see them and have your adventure. Which would have been our adventure. Go ahead. And I hope it’s great. And I hope it gets you ready to open back up to life. There is still plenty of life out there, you know.”
“There is,” Megan agreed. “That’s how I’m taking this. This is me saying, ‘Okay, life. I’m ready again.’”
“Then go get ‘em,” Amy said, grinning widely. “And get ‘em good.”
The two friends squeezed each other’s hands, smiling broadly and warmly. When all was said and done, there was nothing so warming as the acceptance and support of one’s best girlfriend in the world.
They made tea, and sat for a while and drank, and talked for a bit about other things. Then Amy checked her phone, both for the time and for messages.
“Oh, I’ve got a text,” she said, her eyes glinting at the screen of her phone. “It’s Chris.”
“Then you’d better be going, huh?” said Megan.
“I guess I’d better be.”
Amy got up to leave and Megan saw her to the door. There they paused for goodbyes.
“I really was curious about the whole thing,” Amy said, “and I really would have gone through with it. I honestly wondered how it would be to be with…a guy like that.”
“You can say what they are,” said Megan.
“That’s okay; we know what they are. And now they’re going to give you not only what they’ve got in store for you, but what they had in store for me. You’ll be getting yours and mine.”
Megan arched her eyebrows, remembering Tate and knowing full well what she would be getting. And getting, and getting, and getting…
“Go on,” said Megan. “Chris is waiting.”
“Can’t keep him waiting,” Amy agreed.
They went cheek-to-cheek for an air kiss, and Megan let Amy out. Once her friend was gone, Megan leaned back against the door and smiled a faraway sort of smile, saying softly to herself what Amy had hesitated to say, the word for the twin brothers that she had resolved to visit on her own.
“Lycanthropes.”
Megan’s pulse quickening at the thought of it—the thought of two of them, and identical twins at that—she headed for the bedroom that was once hers and Andrew’s, took her laptop from the desk, and set herself up on the bed. It was late enough in the day that they would be done with work. She would probably catch them at home, as they lived where they worked. She suddenly felt abuzz inside, anxious to see them and talk to them again. She logged on for a video chat. In a moment the connection was made, and there they were, the two of them, looking as heart-stopping as ever, sitting in the living room of their log home just an afternoon’s train ride away.
Nash and Pearce Maguire: identical twins. The most swoon-and-faint-inducing twins that Megan Brosnan had ever seen. The sight of one of them would be breathtaking enough, but both of them together was enough to make a girl need mouth-to-mouth. Lots of it, from the two of them. For starters.
They were shirtless, as they had been for most of their shared video chats with Megan and Amy. Nash and Pearce knew how to tantalize a girl, that much was true. After the initial introduction, the twins had done all of their chats shirtless, the better for the women to appreciate them. And there was everything to appreciate about these two; they were flawless. Their faces radiated dark handsomeness, the lower jaws and upper lips rimmed with stubble, the dark eyes filled with carnal promise.
Thick waves of deep brown hair crowned their heads. Their bodies were tall and long and lean and tight, packed with perfectly formed muscles. The pecs were big, solid plates of muscle, the abs were cobblestone paths of sinew. Hair dusted generously across the chests and down the stomachs. Nash and Pearce Maguire, the human embodiments of magnificent creatures of the forest, were twin forest fires of sexual abandon, waiting to happen. Waiting to consumer her. Seeing them again, Megan had no trace of doubt that she was making the right decision. They represented an adventure that needed to happen.
After exchanging greetings with the twins, Megan got down to the news.
“So, Amy and I had a long talk, and her mind is made up. She’s sorry, but she really wants to give it another try with her ex and make it work this time. It’ll be just me getting on the train, and it’ll be just the three of us for the weekend.”
“That’s too bad,” said Nash. “Not that it’ll be the three of us, but that it won’t be the four of us. Pearce and I were looking forward to a four-way.”
“We’re still looking forward to seeing you,” Pearce said. “A three-way will be just as good. And you’ll have our full attention, both of us.”
“Absolutely,” Nash agreed. “Our full attention.” And he stroked his chest for emphasis, a sign to Megan of what she would soon be getting and doing. In stereo.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Megan grinned back at them, practically salivating over their chests. And all of them. She flashed in her mind to earlier chats when the brothers had taken off more than just their shirts. “Friday can’t get here fast enough.”
“It’ll be worth the wait. Just think, this is Wednesday, but it’ll be ‘hump day’ for real soon.” The brothers smil
ed at her in a way that reminded her of what they were when they weren’t two scorchingly hot men.
“I know,” said Megan.
Pearce turned to his brother and asked, “Want to give her another preview?”
Nash grinned back at him. “Let’s.”
Megan’s heart strained like a big dog on a leash at what followed. The twins stood up from their living room sofa, unbuttoned and unzipped their jeans, pulled then down, and cast them off, exposing the thick and muscular towers of their legs and the twin prizes between them.
Nash and Pearce were endowed with long, thick, veiny tools of flesh, each one sporting a generous foreskin, as their people did not practice the ritual of removing it from male members as humans often did. The last time Megan had enjoyed an uncircumcised one was when she was sleeping with Tate. Now she was going to have two of them. Count them, two.
The brothers sat themselves down, stroking and shaking the hardening members at her. Megan’s eyes lit up as if she were a little girl in a candy store—except no candy she’d ever had was as sweet as what she was seeing now.
“These will be all yours in just a couple of days,” said Nash. “All you have to do is come and get ‘em.”
“Or get ‘em and come,” added Pearce.
“I’ll be there,” said Megan appreciatively. “I wish I were on the train right now.”
“Us too,” said Pearce.
“For sure,” added Nash.
Megan lingered over the sight of Nash and Pearce, sitting on their leather sofa, presenting and offering themselves. The twins let her take a good, long look—in anticipation of what else she would soon be getting good and long.
Hurry up, Friday, Megan thought. Hurry up.
CHAPTER TWO
The tree-covered hillsides loomed up on either side of the moving train. Megan could have driven to where she was going, but she had decided to take the train because this weekend was going to be about things she had never done and hadn’t done in a long time. A romantic train ride was one of them. So she sat at a window in the train car, gazing out into the trees but not really seeing them or the journey to the town of Rendall Glen on which she had embarked. Her mind was on the journey of her life that had brought her to this day.
Megan Brosnan had of course not set out to be a divorced woman starting her life over in her thirties. When she was a young girl, she thought she had her life all figured out, as many young people do. Megan went to school as a business major and expected to have a “buttoned down” kind of life, a prospect that at the time she did not mind.
To her it represented security, and she liked the idea of security. But college is a time when a young person is apt to be exposed to all kinds of things in life that might be worth pursuing, outside of what she initially had in mind. Megan enrolled at college with little more on her mind than money and marketing. She quickly began to find things well outside of that envelope.
To her credit, Megan was careful not to expose herself to things that were too risky—drugs, too much drinking, too much partying. Boys and sex were another matter. She enjoyed handsome, athletic-looking boys too much to keep away from them; and being a very pretty girl with hair almost black and a body with exactly the right curves in exactly the right places, she found as much of their attentions on her.
She was careful about it, but she was neither celibate nor ashamed. She kept herself out of trouble with boys and everything else. But the longer she went on as a student, the more curious she grew about things beyond the money-making side of life. And in her curiosity she stepped outside of her business curriculum and into auditing art classes. It was in one such class that she met Tate Dunster.
He was a model in her Life Drawing class. But he was no plain-looking, mediocre, flabby, academic artist’s model; not this Tate Dunster. He was young—he looked to be no more than a year out of college himself—and he was a dark, hard-bodied, sinewy, ridiculously handsome Adonis with a dusting of a goatee, a perfect chest of hair, and eyes like dark coals. His body looked as if it had been cut by a sculptor who worked in flesh and muscle.
And when he stripped naked to pose for the class he revealed between his thighs a mouth-watering pipe of uncircumcised flesh and a scrumptious sac of plump berries at its base. Megan hardly knew whether to try to draw him or just walk to the center of the studio and genuflect in front of him.
Somehow, Tate seemed to sense that her interest in him was not merely that of a student rendering a subject. When the class broke between poses and he threw on a robe and stepped down into the studio, Tate always went to talk to Megan and see how she had drawn him. The class critique sessions always pointed out the flaws in her work. Tate seemed to find no flaws in her drawings of him—nor in Megan herself. This delighted Megan no end. She loved being near him, wrapped up as he was in his robe, concealing his sublime body and his delectable maleness under it. She loved the way he spoke to her. She loved it even better when at last, at the end of one class, he asked her out.
One little date for burgers and ribs was all it took for Megan to join Tate at his little studio apartment just off campus, in his bed. Or rather, on the mattress with the blankets, pillows, and comforter on the floor. Tate was not regularly employed in one place, instead doing odd jobs around town including modeling at the college. His living space was spartan and minimally furnished. Megan did not care. All she needed was the makeshift bed on the floor and the exquisite body and man-pipe that she had been drawing in it.
He was so incredible that he made her forget she had ever lain with any other boy. He instinctively knew where and how she liked to be touched, and nuzzled, and kissed, and licked—and screwed. He made her come every time just by penetrating her, something that she had never experienced with a boyfriend or a partner before. Tate was as perfect a lover as he looked, and the more Megan had him—and he gave her plenty—the more she wanted him.
In no time at all, a bond formed between Megan and Tate; a bond and an intimacy deeper, more profound, more soul-stirring, than anything else that Megan had ever experienced in her life. Megan felt as though she had gone from majoring in business to majoring in Tate. It was one night when they lay tingling post-coitally after their second time during the night, tangled up in sheets, when Tate kissed and nuzzled her neck and told her that his erection was back and he was ready again if she was, that Megan posed a game-changing question.
Laughing at the tickle of his goatee on the soft skin of her neck, Megan said, “You are the horniest guy. I love it, but you have got to be the horniest guy that ever lived. It’s like a super-power with you, isn’t it? Superhuman sex. Mmm, that thing of yours never quits. What have you got, like radioactive hormones?”
Tate pulled away from her neck and set himself back down on his own pillow, eyeing Megan with an expression that she could not read.
“What?” she asked. “What?”
“It is something,” said Tate. “I’ve been wondering when it would be the right time to tell you. And how to tell you.”
Megan’s glee at Tate’s libido started to turn to something a little more serious. “Oh no, Tate,” she reacted nervously. “What is it? Is it something you’re using, something you’re taking? That’s it, isn’t it? Oh my God, you’re on something.” She put a palm to her face and shook her head. “I might have known, this was so good, there had to be something like this.”
Gently, Tate took the hand from Megan’s face and fixed her with that same baffling look. “I’m not on something. I don’t need to take anything. What we do to each other when we get in this bed, that’s all the drug I need. I don’t do anything but sex, Megan. Guys like me don’t need to be on anything; we don’t do that.”
Now Megan was all the more confused. “‘Guys like you’? What does that mean? What are you talking about?”
“Guys like me, it comes naturally to us. We can fuck twice as much as other guys. We’re always ready for another round. It’s how we are.”
“Who is ‘we,’ Tate. W
hat is it you’re trying to tell me?”
“I’m saying…there’s something about me that I don’t think is like any other guy you’ve been to bed with.”
“Do you mean the reason you can do it so much is because being in love makes you that way? It’s because you love me?”
Now Tate took on an air that Megan, had she been able to put a word to it, would have called “solemn.” He said, “I want you all the time because I love you. But I can fuck all the time because that’s how I am. Megan, what makes me different from other guys is something I was born with. I’m not human.”
Incredulous, Megan sputtered out laughing. “What are you saying? What, are you telling me you’re a werewolf or something?” And she laughed on until the stony seriousness on Tate’s face made her laughs stumble, fall over themselves, and fall to a dead stop. Pulling farther back, she let out a little gasp. “Tate…are you? You’re not, aren’t you? Tell me you’re not…”