His: MMF Bisexual Holiday Romance

by Chloe Lynn Ellis

  I reach down and cup the edge of his strong jaw. “I want you to suck my cock, Aiden,” I tell him, and he groans. “Is that what you’re trying to ask me? If you have permission to suck my cock?”

  His eyes squeeze shut. “Yes,” he grits out between his teeth. “Please.”

  Fuck, he really is perfect. The way he asks, the begging need in him… it sets me on fire. “Yes, Aiden,” I say, in my best authoritarian voice. “Since you asked so nicely. You may suck me off.”

  When he takes me into his mouth, my hips almost lift off the couch. Fuck, he feels phenomenal. It’s been so long for me, and Aiden’s mouth is a hot, wet vice. It’s clear he was telling the truth—he’s never done this before—but the sheer enthusiasm with which he bobs up and down on my shaft, sucking and licking as he fondles my balls, is breathtaking.

  Not to mention that he looks gorgeous, totally lost in enjoying what he’s doing. I make a mental note with what’s left of my reason to try watching gay porn; if men sucking cock look like Aiden does right now, I need more of that sight in my life. Already I can feel my balls tightening, my pleasure rising dangerously quickly with the heat and friction and sexy, wet noises Aiden’s making as he tries to take me into his throat. I won’t last long like this.

  I put a hand on his head, my fingers sinking into his hair, and he tilts into my touch with a noise that’s almost achingly sweet. Fuck, I’m right there—I tug gently at his hair, pulling him away. “That’s enough, Aiden,” I groan. “I’m going to come, you can stop.”

  Aiden has no intention of stopping; instead, he looks up at me with those almost-black, blazing eyes. And then he speeds up, damn him.

  “Oh, you fucking brat,” I gasp, and then white is exploding behind my eyes as I orgasm, a rush of blinding heat and ecstasy that blanks everything else out. The last thing I’m aware of is Aiden half-gagging as I fill his mouth, then the wet sound of him swallowing me down.

  It takes me several seconds to come back to myself, returning to lucidity gradually. Immediately, I look down to the man still kneeling on the floor in front of me.

  Aiden’s sexy lips are swollen, reddened and used-looking in a way that makes me curse the male refractory period. He’s got his own cock in his hand, and it looks achingly hard, a glistening bead of precum at the tip. “Uh, where’s your bathroom?” he asks me. “I should go and… and clean up.” He actually blushes, not meeting my eyes, and it’s obvious he’s thinking about what we just did. Does he feel regret? Embarrassment? Like he doesn’t deserve my pleasuring him?

  Sex isn’t dirty; I hate that so many consenting adults feel such shame about their own desire. Maybe I’m the strange one, with my hippie upbringing, but sue me. Aiden doesn’t deserve to feel that way, especially not as a result of some bullshit programming his bigoted, moron parents dumped on him. That’s the real shame, if you ask me.

  And as if feeling guilt over his sexuality wasn’t bad enough, Aiden doesn’t seem to realize how gorgeous he is. Ridiculous, considering that half my male coworkers would probably kill to look like him, but insecurity is a funny thing.

  I decide right then and there, with my brain still hazy from orgasm, that I’m going to fix this. I already knew halfway through dinner that I wanted to see Aiden again. Now, I know that I’m going to devote that time with getting him to see himself the way I do: gorgeous, special. Hell, it’s the way the world should see him, if it doesn’t already. It won’t happen overnight, and it’s going to take some work. Good thing I’m always up for a challenge.

  I reach down and gently put my hand at the place where his neck meets his collarbone, and he looks up at me, startled. He’s almost skittish, bracing for me to say something that confirms the worst things he thinks about himself. He’ll have to wait forever before I ever kick him when he’s vulnerable like this.

  “The bathroom’s down the hall if you need it,” I say softly. “But before you go, come kiss me.” Aiden gives me a look of mingled confusion and disbelief, like he was expecting me to want him to disappear immediately once I got off. I slide my hand behind his head and pull him gently toward me. He rises up on his knees, those long, muscular thighs of his bringing our faces together, and I stroke my thumbs along his sexy, high cheekbones before I settle my mouth over his.

  I can taste myself on his tongue, and our mingled flavors are erotic as hell. Someday soon, I’ll treat him to the same experience. But that can wait. Slow, tender, I reassure him with my mouth, showing him that I have no intention of shoving him away. Quite the opposite; I don’t know if I’ll ever touch him enough. I pull him fully into my arms, tangling one of my big hands in his hair and deepening the kiss. His cock is a hard, hot brand between our bodies, and even though I’ve just come, I can feel my own twitch in response. Aiden whimpers, leaning fully into the kiss.

  When I break away, he makes a soft growling noise of frustration. Then he gasps as I grab him by the shoulders and spin him around, seating him in front of me on the edge of the couch, his bare back against my chest. His skin is chilled, and I savor the contrast against my own overheated body. I circle one arm around his waist, holding him in place against me, and with my other hand I tilt his head up to look at the mirror. “Look at yourself,” I murmur. He tries to glance away, but I keep his head in position with a firm yet gentle touch.

  “Look.” Aiden’s gaze meets mine in the mirror, and he groans at the sight of us, of my big fingers splayed out against his bare skin. I watch as his hard cock twitches, allowing myself a growl of satisfaction against his shoulder. Most women are much shorter than me, but Aiden’s height means I’m perfectly positioned to kiss and bite at his graceful neck as I take him in my hand. “You’re perfect,” I tell him, my eyes never leaving his in the mirror. “I want you so fucking much, Aiden,” I say, pumping my hand along his thick length. “I want to watch you come for me. Will you do that?”

  He nods sharply, his lower lip between his teeth.

  “Good,” I growl. And then I tighten my grip on him, and really get to work. It doesn’t take long before he’s crying out, squirming and bucking up against my hand in desperate need for release. I bite down hard on his muscular shoulder and he comes with a shout, his cock erupting all over my hand and his chiseled stomach. I continue to stroke him in slow, even pulls, holding him close as he shudders and slumps against my chest.

  For a moment, we’re silent, the only sounds the ragged panting of our breath. “Oh, fuck me,” Aiden finally says, his voice raw.

  I chuckle against Aiden’s skin, reaching a hand up to gently rub at one of his nipples, and he jumps at my touch on his oversensitive flesh. “Soon,” I promise. “But now, I think you’re right; let’s go clean up.”

  I’d like to climb into the shower with him, but I let him have it all to himself, washing up on my own in the half-bath. I smile at myself in the bathroom mirror. Patience; there’s plenty of time to enjoy absolutely everything with Aiden.

  And “everything” is exactly what I’m planning on.

  Chapter 4

  Ginny

  Another holiday weeknight, and another super-long shift. What is it about the holidays that makes people suddenly want to go out to eat, even on a Thursday? I’m so beat, I just want to go home and relax. I didn’t even get to see Luke; matter of fact, I haven’t seen him for, gosh, two weeks? I sure hope nothing happened to him. Kendra says he came in on my day off, that she remembers because he ordered his steak weird. I asked her if he requested it blue, and she laughed at me, said I was right.

  Apparently he was with a cute guy. Is Luke gay? Did I totally misread everything? But he was so flirty, and I thought… Ugh, ugh, ugh. Let’s just say that worrying about my favorite sexy regular definitely isn’t improving my mood.

  I wish I could call my mom and ask for advice, or complain to my dad; she’d pour me a big cup of Irish coffee and we’d talk at the kitchen table, or Dad would pat me on the shoulder and tell me that I shouldn’t put up with ‘whatever that young man is doing.’ I’
d feel better. I almost smile, lost for a moment thinking about them, but the reality is I’ll never get to talk with them again. When I come back to earth and remember that, I feel even colder and sadder than before.

  I’m trudging along, wrapped up in my thoughts and doing my best not to get trampled by the hordes of holiday shoppers in Downtown Crossing, when the sharp peal of a bell cuts through the noise of the crowd doing late-night shopping and piped over music from all the different shops. I turn toward the sound; it’s one of those charity workers dressed up like Santa outside the department store that took over where Filene’s Basement used to be. Gosh, I miss Filene’s; I went with Mom whenever she needed to get a nice dress, back in the day. I hug my arms around myself, trying to get myself back on track. Is there anything that won’t make me sad, these days?

  “Merry Christmas, young lady!” Santa booms. “Could you spare a gift for those in need?” He gestures with a flourish toward his donation bucket.

  That’s a great idea—if I can’t make myself feel happy, I can at least contribute to making the holidays better for someone else. “Sure, I’d be happy to,” I say, tucking a few dollars into the bucket.

  “Ho ho ho, as generous as you are lovely!” Santa says. He beams at me, hands on his big, round belly. “A generous donation like that, and I’m sure Santa will be happy to bring you whatever you ask for!”

  “Oh, gosh,” I say, and laugh in spite of myself, a little flustered. He’s a really good Santa, kind of charming, even if I’m still in the middle of my holiday blues. He reminds me of my dad, and I get all misty-eyed; Dad’s face in my mind, I decide I’ll play along. “I don’t know, a cure for loneliness, maybe?” I mean it to sound offhanded, like a joke, but it comes out about as light as a lead balloon. Oh, Ginny, I think. What a thing to drop on the poor man.

  “I hear that,” a man’s voice says behind me. “In fact, I think I might’ve said that exact same thing to Santa here, not too long ago.” He puts out a big hand for me to shake. “I’m not exactly big on the holidays, myself. I’m Aiden,” he says. “Aiden Campbell.”

  Wow, but he’s cute—really tall, with shaggy, soft-looking brown hair, a sweet smile, and dark, puppy-dog eyes. He’s got a peacoat on, but there’s no disguising shoulders that broad or hips that slim. Yum. What the heck—I could use a nice, man-shaped distraction, and thinking about Luke and his cute mystery guy has just been stressing me out more lately.

  “I’m Ginny,” I say, taking his hand. Ooh, warm. I think about telling him to call me Virginia, but immediately decide not to. Thanks to Luke, I know that a hot guy saying my full name is… special. I don’t want to hand that over to someone immediately.

  Aiden shakes my hand gently. “Hey, would you—would you like to get out of the cold? Get a cup of coffee?” He points with both hands toward the Common with its lit-up trees and gives me a bashful half-smile. “The really nice places are closed this late, but there’s a Dunkin’s right around the corner. Be happy to get you a hot chocolate, if you’re not a coffee kind of girl. Woman!” He puts up both hands, genuinely apologetic. “Woman, sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, and gives me a grin. “Okay, hot chocolate is definitely on me, now.”

  I giggle in spite of myself. I don’t mind being called a girl, but it’s refreshing that he would care about that; it’s not usually the kind of thing a guy changes unless a woman tells him to change it... and he actually listens. A point in your favor, Aiden, and a great big arrow pointing to him being the sweet kind of man I like. Now if only he had a bossy streak…

  “I’d love to,” I tell him.

  He grins and holds out an arm for me to take, letting me wrap my hands around his coat sleeve before we set off. It’s a sweet gesture, gentlemanly; score another point, Mr. Campbell. When was the last time a guy offered me his arm?

  “So what brings you out so late, this close to Christmas?” Aiden asks me as we walk the few blocks up Boylston to the Dunkin’ Donuts.

  I blow on my hands, trying to get them warm. “I’m a waitress,” I tell him. “Down at Verve, by the Opera House?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Aiden says with a smile. “Went there a few weeks ago. That place is great. Didn’t see you there, though,” he says, and gives me a grin. “Would definitely have noticed.”

  I feel a flutter in my belly at the flirting; he really is the sweet type. “What about you?” I ask, as we reach the corner of the Common and the tiny coffee shop. America might not run on Dunk’s, but Boston sure does.

  “Ah, retail, hate to say,” he tells me.

  I wince in sympathy. “Ouch,” I say. At Christmas, retail might have food service beat in the Awful Customer Olympics.

  There’s a table in the corner, by a window, and I take one of the wobbly chairs gratefully. Aiden goes to get our drinks, letting me stay off my feet, which I definitely appreciate. I stare out at Tremont Street, watching the traffic. Boston’s great for people-watching. Aiden comes back with two steaming cups of cocoa and sits at the side of the table nearest me, instead of directly across. If that’s not flirty, I don’t know what is.

  I take a moment to savor the taste and the heat, and, when I think he’s not looking, to check out Aiden closer up. He is really, really cute, and I feel a welcome pull of attraction. Nice to know Luke hasn’t totally ruined me for crushing on other guys. “So,” I ask after a moment. “Why are you suffering from holiday-itis?” Aiden hesitates. “You totally don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I hurry to say, but he shakes his head.

  “Hey, I’m the one who brought it up,” he says. “Means it’s fair game.” His smile fades, and he gets a look on his face. I know that look; it’s the looking-inward expression I get when I think about how much I miss my parents. About the accident, about how things are never going to be the same, not ever again. “I’m, uh.” He pauses, and I see a line in his jaw tighten. Whoa. Whatever he’s thinking about, it’s bad stuff. “I’m not in touch with my family anymore,” he finally says. His words come out kind of brusque, like there’s a lump in his throat. “Haven’t been for a couple of years.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry,” I say, looking up into his dark eyes. “I know how hard losing your family is, believe me. I—” I take a deep breath and blink back the tears at the corners of my eyes. “I lost my parents in a car accident, last Christmas.”

  Aiden looks horrified. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he says, reaching out to cup my shoulder. “That’s terrible. Fuck, and here I am upset because I don’t have a good relationship with my folks.”

  I try to smile but can’t help sniffling a little. It helps to have someone care. “It’s all right,” I tell him. “Whatever you went through, it’s still a loss, it’s still super hard.” I squeeze his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Aiden looks at me for a moment, then gives a little half snort, half laugh of disbelief. “You really mean it,” he says, shaking his head. “You actually, really care what’s bothering me. That’s… wow.” He smiles sadly. “I could have used a friend like you back in college.” He takes a sip of his hot chocolate. “So, uh. Fuck. There’s not an easy way to say this,” Aiden says, running a hand through his hair. “They kicked me out.”

  I gasp, appalled. “They what?!” It’s unthinkable to me; families are supposed to be where you’re loved the most. You’re not supposed to be kicked out of them.

  “They, uh,” Aiden says. He exhales, a long huff of breath, then he presses on. “They thought I was gay.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.

  “That’s awful!” I say. I’m disgusted, angry; how could anyone cut their son off like that, for who he loves? Then the full meaning of his words percolate through my brain, and I tilt my head and look at him. “Wait, they thought you were gay? Like, a misunderstanding? Can’t you just talk it out, then? I mean, it’s not good that they were mad about that, that’s wrong, but they didn’t even listen to you? I can’t believe they’d be so horrible about a mistake.”

  Aiden r
uns his hand through his hair. “Not so much a misunderstanding as… as them kind of walking in on me with a guy in college,” he admits.

  “Oh,” I say, a little taken aback. First Luke, now Aiden? I feel like I should just move to a desert island or something; if my gaydar is this out of whack, if I’m this bad at reading signals, it would save me a lot of embarrassment if I just never talked to a cute guy again. But at least I can take, like, the tiniest bit of comfort from the fact that the idea of Aiden wrapped up with some other hot guy is, well, hot. “Well, gosh,” I say, trying to laugh it off. “That seems pretty, uh, pretty darn conclusive, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not gay,” Aiden says. He looks really uncomfortable. “I like men, yeah, but like women, too. I like ‘em all,” he tells me, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at me with a pleading expression in his puppy-dog eyes. “I tried to tell my folks, but it didn’t… it didn’t go over so good.”

  I feel like I’m caught up in a whirlwind of self-doubt and conflicting information, instinct and confusion. I cling to the one thing I totally understand: it seems like Aiden’s family is a bunch of bigoted jerks. “They kicked you out, for that? For being bi?” I ask, trying to make sure I have it right. Aiden nods, and I feel that disgust and anger return, replacing my confusion. “Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit!” I say, more forcefully than I intend to; my volume makes a few of the baristas look over in our direction.

  “That’s bullshit,” I say again, quieter. “Your family is supposed to love you, no matter who you are, no matter what. You’re supposed to be safe with them.”

  I’m not normally this fierce, but it feels good to be angry, to feel something besides despondent and sorry for myself for a change. I would give anything to have my parents back, and the idea that Aiden’s folks just discarded him because they have stupid, bigoted old ideas makes me want to scream.