Three Men and a Woman: Liberty (Siren Publishing Menage Amour)

by Rachel Billings

  A hundred yards or so behind the house was another fenced-in cluster of buildings—a horse barn, Liberty knew from Tag’s description, shop, and machine shed.

  She’d stopped her car at the top of that small rise and would have stayed to look a bit longer. But she saw the gate into the yard roll open and then noticed a tall figure standing in the shade of that stone terrace. Somehow, even in his stillness, he communicated an urgent need. Come. I still want you.

  Liberty didn’t resist the pull of his will. She drove down, went through the gate, and came to a stop in the shade of willows that edged a small rain garden. Two pickups and a couple four-wheelers were pulled up there, too. Tag was at her car, looking all cowboy-attractive in worn jeans, faded tee, and muscle, opening her door and putting a hand out for her even as she turned the key to shut it down.

  She took his hand, looking up into those brown eyes that shone with eagerness, and stood. He was crowding her, within the vee of the open door, so when she got to her feet she was nearly up against him. Then he took a half step and she was.

  He gathered her up like he hadn’t had a single moment of doubt in three months. His presence came back to her like muscle memory, maybe heart memory—the warmth of his hard body, the strength of his arms. He tucked his head along hers and held her for the longest time, like he was savoring the return of…his heart.

  Somehow, though he was mostly still, his hold on her, around her, was an active, energetic thing. Like the longing he’d had for her was wallowing in the pleasure of finally, yearningly, having her in his arms.

  She recognized the feelings in him because it was so much like that for her. Like…coming home. Like being, finally, right again in a way she hadn’t felt for three months. Centered, after three months of being…off-kilter.

  Dozens of times on the road earlier in the day and in the ninety previous days, she’d told herself not to expect this. To be prepared for the fact that the bond they’d formed in that three-day weekend wasn’t truly as strong as it had felt, that their connection just couldn’t be that real.

  It took only a minute in his arms to extinguish all her doubts. Like a spring wash through a gully, her qualms and reservations were swept away. She held him as he held her, like her body was truly alive for the first time in months, like every cell of her person was stirring from hibernation, lifting its face up to enjoy the sun once again.

  At her ear, his breath slowly eased. After long moments, he lifted his head and they gazed at each other. His dark eyes met hers and then tracked lingeringly over her face. He brought a hand up to rub his thumb over her lips. He watched the effect of that for a long moment, his touch rough and gentle all at once, his gaze seeming mesmerized.

  Finally, he looked into her eyes again and spoke. “Hi, sweetheart. Liberty.”

  She smiled, already seduced. “Hi, Tag.”

  He kissed her then, and it was as though any moment of misgiving, any sliver of hesitation, had been cast off. His mouth was soft, at first, and warm, at first. But within moments the kiss was hard and hot, and their hands stroked over each other as though they’d been dying for just this thing. Heated murmurs slipped out with needy breaths. Fingers grasped and twined to secure every opportunity for connectedness. Arms clutched as though their bodies could be made to merge together into one.

  They held each other, and breathed each other, and kissed each other until, finally, Tag lifted her up. Kicking doors closed behind him, he carried her in his arms, away from the car, up the steps of the terrace, through the doorway of his home, through a living space she barely glimpsed, down a hallway, into his bedroom. He set her down by his bed, and she got her first look around. On three sides, from waist-high to nearly the ceiling, the room was nothing but window. It was a lovely effect of being outdoors, being one with the land that surrounded him, so fitting and consistent with the man he was and the home he’d built. Liberty loved it.

  She was sure that, in another month, the windows would be open, so not just the visual of the land would be brought inside, but the sounds of it, too, the feel of the air, the scents.

  Inside, the space was the same blues and browns as the outdoor environment. The bed was huge, floating above a wood frame, dressed in white and blue like a cloud in a pretty sky.

  Then Tag put a finger at her jaw and turned her attention back to where he wanted it. On him.

  No hardship there.

  “I’m desperate for something here,” he told her. “You’ve got two seconds to tell me if you need anything. Food? Drink?”

  “Bathroom?” she asked. It hadn’t been a long drive, but she was pretty sure what he was feeling desperate about would keep them occupied for a while.

  He turned her and walked her backward, several steps, until they were through another doorway. He left her there in his spectacular bathroom—more stone and glass, Wyoming outside in.

  She could easily have dawdled in there—he had a sweet shower and a spa tub, and both were tempting. But the biggest temptation was on the other side of the door, so she was back there in a couple minutes.

  He’d stripped down to nothing but his jeans. She got just a glimpse of that view as he took her in a kind of flying tackle back to the bed. To on the bed, laid out on her back with him fully on top of her. He kissed her, his arms circling her head, and rocked against her enough for her to know he was sporting a significant hard-on.

  “I’ve been dying for this,” he told her between kisses. “Been waiting for it for what feels like forever.”

  “Me, too, Tag.” She had her hands on him, relishing that smooth skin, following the bulges of muscle.

  He used his teeth on her earlobe. “You ready for it, then?”

  “Yes,” she shivered. God, yes.

  “You remember I’m not using a condom.”

  She smiled. They’d talked about her getting birth control as they’d spoken on the phone—well, one of them had talked, and one had out and out nagged. She was using the patch now and had completed a full cycle on it. “I remember.”

  Tag leaned in to kiss her again, then went about peeling away her clothing and using lips, tongue, and teeth on every bit of skin he uncovered. After the first couple buttons of her blouse, he played over her clavicles. He nuzzled her sternum, taking in her scent, then pressed his nose into the center of her bra as he opened another button. Lifting up, he watched as he finished undoing her blouse and opened it up.

  He paused for a good look. Regarding her carefully, he offered a hand, one side and then the other, helping her flex up so he could take the blouse away.

  She’d dressed for him, the little blouse she’d worn and the short, tight skirt. And underneath, too, were items that were now drawing his attention. She wore a pushup bra, pink with white polka dots, with frilly white inserts leaving the upper slopes of her breasts bare. The pushup band gave her plenty of lift and seemed to make him a happy man.

  “Good look on ya, babe,” he said. He nuzzled some more, sliding his tongue under the edge of lace.

  Moments later, with an appreciative moan, he pushed back onto his knees. Straddling her, he put his hands on her hips and rolled her over. He’d never made any attempt to disguise how much he liked her ass, and now he tucked a pillow under her hips to put her on display for him. “This is good, too,” he said. “So much to choose from.”

  He ran his hands along the bare skin of her back until he reached her skirt. Through it, he palmed her ass, his big hands taking hold on each side, grasping and massaging. Then his fingers sussed out the hidden zipper in the center and slowly worked it down. She guessed he got a little peek of her panties then, because she heard another murmur of appreciation and a wry comment that pink polka dots were going to feature in his fantasies for a while.

  “Lift, babe,” he instructed. When she complied, he tugged the skirt down her hips and stripped it away. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said when he’d accomplished his goal.

  More white lace banded her bikini, overlying the small bits of
pink. She appeared to have a hit on her hands—or, on her ass.

  His thumbs brushed roughly over the portions of her ass that were left bare. “This is so pretty.” He hooked a finger into the low waistband and worked it a little side to side. “But I know what’s here, underneath,” he told her, “and I need to see it.”

  He planted a finger at her sacrum and drew it down, taking the bikini with him. He tugged just in the center, making a vee, and she knew by his satisfied grunts exactly what he revealed. Her anus first and, then, with another tug, the slit of her pussy.

  “God, that’s good, babe.” He leaned up over her, and, along her waist, she felt his free hand pressing into the mattress for support. He put his mouth at the base of her spine and, wetting his way with his tongue, he followed the vee.

  Until his tongue was at her anal opening.

  He’d played with her ass before, had fucked her there, but he’d never put his tongue on her there.

  Or in her.

  “Oh, God. Tag.”

  He didn’t speak because, well, he was busy. With just the tip of his tongue, he pressed in.

  “Tag.”

  Then it was more. He pressed further, stretching her open with the length of his tongue.

  He was tongue-fucking her ass.

  Moist and hot, so very intimate and taking. Liberty shivered, not entirely sure if it was in protest or pleasure. But weeks back, he’d asked her to trust him with her body, and he’d never failed her.

  She groaned as he worked at her sphincter, stretching and stimulating. She said his name and appealed to God. Beyond her control, her body flexed, raising her ass to him as though she was asking for more. As though she was inviting his possession.

  Tag growled in pleasure. He lifted, removing his tongue and shoving in two fingers. He worked her then, reaming her, stretching, scissoring his fingers. “God, you know I want this. I want to fuck you hard right here. But you know what I want first, don’t you? Know what I need.”

  She did know. He wanted to be bare inside her pussy. He wanted to fuck her that way and release, filling her with his cum. He’d told her on the phone, as he’d asked her—urged her—to seek birth control. That act meant something to him—a symbol of possession, a binding.

  “Yes,” she said. “I want that, too.” He’d convinced her of it, made her see the appeal. Made it matter to her, too. To take him in, to receive. To accept that part of him, his essence, that representation of self.

  He hadn’t exactly been waiting for her permission. Even as she spoke, he used both hands to tear her panties down her thighs. He kept her legs pressed together, but hiked her up a bit more, elevating her ass and exposing her pussy.

  She liked that, she’d learned on that weekend three months back. She liked his hard fucking while he kept her thighs closed. Somehow, her clit had all it needed then, the stimulation from his rough thrusts all the way enough. She didn’t need his fingers to help her to a wild orgasm, or anything else. He filled her deep, and the stretch and pull of it did it all.

  He situated her now and held her for a good moment, his hands at her hips. She knew he was savoring the view—the visual of her, exposed and ready for him. And more, the meaning of it, the intention.

  She was his. He held her, possessed her, dominated her, in a way. She submitted, gave herself to him, put herself in his hands.

  If ever there was a man who appreciated that way of things, Tag was that guy.

  For a long moment, the only sound was her edgy breathing. Then there was one thing more. The subtle whisper of cloth letting go as he unbuttoned his fly.

  He positioned himself, that hard, big cock of his, right at her opening. He gave her a moment to remember how she’d missed it, how she’d missed him. How much it meant to her, what a thrill it was to have him filling her, possessing her. How good he made it for her.

  He put his hands back on her hips during that moment, his grasp firm, letting her know what was coming. Giving her notice how hard he was going to take her. Have her. Fuck her.

  And then he did it. He pushed in, filling her in one long stroke. Stretching so much, forcing her body to accept all of him, causing that exquisite burn. He groaned with the pleasure of it, and she did, too.

  “Lib. Libby,” he said. He was still holding her, still holding still inside her. Except for a subtle arch, a tense flexion of his whole body that had him grinding in, had her body lifting, suspended on that hard cock.

  “Tag. Oh, God.”

  He growled, shuddered once, and gave her what she knew she had coming. He held her hips, leaned into her, and thrashed. He fucked her, hard, telling her over and over again. What he felt—her tight, wet pussy, like it was made just for him. Clasping him, accepting him, burning him. What he saw—her ass under his palms, his cock sinking into her, her body accepting him.

  Just exactly as it should be. Like was every last bit right.

  Like she was his. She was his and she was there in his bed and nothing had ever been better than that.

  He came over her, one hand at her shoulder holding his weight. Just as she knew to expect, he put his other hand between their bodies. He slid his fingers in until they were at her anus again. Until they pressed in, stretching her. Until they thrust, driving into her each time he fucked her. He worked them, separating his fingers, distending her.

  All the time, fucking her so hard, so good. The way she’d been missing so much.

  “Tag!”

  “Baby,” he said. “Come for me. Come.”

  She could hardly hold back and wouldn’t have wanted to. He was doing her so good, the hard fucks into her pussy, the stimulation of her ass. “Tag. More.”

  He gave her what she wanted—harder, deeper.

  “Oh, God. Yes.”

  With a wild groan, he came down on her. He wrapped his hand roughly in her hair and held her. He put his face against the back of her shoulder, nuzzling, his breath hot against her skin.

  And then his teeth. Taking hold. Like a stallion covering his mare. As feral and primal as that.

  He fucked her and reamed her and bit down on her until she came. Until she thrashed wildly under him, shuddering, coming, screaming.

  Until his body rocked, flaying into her, muscles seizing, breath snarling.

  They shuddered it out together. Liberty felt entirely surrounded, contained, owned, even as her consciousness splintered. Somehow, she didn’t have to have her head about her to know that Taggart Harper had her in his possession.

  That nothing would mean more to him than that fact.

  Chapter Three

  Tag shuddered as he spurted the last of his cum into Liberty’s hot pussy. Belatedly, he loosened the clench of his jaw, aware that he’d done more than just secure her there. He’d bitten down. He’d left his mark on her. Teeth marks.

  She groaned as he slid his fingers out from her ass, and, for one long, sweet moment, he laid himself over her, giving her almost all of his weight. He pressed his lips against her shoulder, where he could feel the indentations from his hold on her. He kissed and soothed there, a silent apology.

  Though the truth was he didn’t entirely regret it. Or regret it at all, really.

  He liked this. He loved having her here, on his ranch, in his bed. He’d known last January, after about the first hour with her, that she was it for him. That she belonged here, with him, to him.

  He loved her, and she was his—whether she got that or not. He surely hoped she was getting on board with it.

  Nuzzling into her for another moment, he breathed her in. Then he pushed up, pulling out of her and going back on his knees. With soul-deep pleasure, he took a good look at the effects of his lovemaking—the bite marks and sucking bruise at her shoulder, the pucker of her anus, still a little loose from the way he’d worked it. And the white dribble of his cum from her pussy.

  That was the best. He hadn’t been inside a woman’s pussy without a condom since he was a teenager. He hadn’t cared before, had been content to take
responsibility for safety. But from his first night with Lib, he’d been dying to be bare inside her. To feel her woman’s body as it was meant for her man. To feel the sweet friction of her soft, wet tissues as he thrust inside.

  To leave the deposit of his cum within the vessel of her body. Like was meant. Even though she was on birth control, that action held meaning for Tag. Like an ante into the future, an intention.

  That aspect of a sexual encounter, that very basic purpose of it, to procreate, had never crossed his mind before except as something to be prevented. Until the first time he’d made love to Liberty.

  He’d been the one to urge her onto birth control. But now, he wanted to urge her off it. He liked the potential in that spurt of cum. He liked its basic, biological purpose.

  He wanted it.

  Though, possibly, he hadn’t entirely sealed the deal with the girl. He figured she’d get a clue this week. He’d make sure of it.

  Then there was that more deal, that crazy thought he’d had that was making more sense every day. That he was one hundred percent sure she wasn’t ready to hear.

  He put his palm on her ass, more a caress than the slap he’d meant. “Up, baby,” he told her. And then he helped.

  Reaching around her waist, he lifted her up until she was on her knees in front of him. Belatedly, he unfastened her bra and took it away. “Stay there,” he said.

  Tag moved off the bed, standing to the side and then circling completely around. From every side, he looked at her.

  She was gorgeous, there in the center of his bed, his room, his ranch. His life.

  The light from three sides lit her up.

  The rich brown of her hair shimmered gold now. It softly touched the skin of her shoulders, and the light put a glow there, too. Her breasts thrust out, bathed in the light like a caress, the nipples ripe and rosy.

  From almost every perspective, he saw her with his land behind her, encircling her. He saw how she fit there. He was sure of it.

  When he’d put her up on her knees, her eyes had gone to the windows. She’d looked out over the landscape. But she’d become aware now, he could see, of how he looked at her. Those blue eyes came to his, almost shy. But still, she was brave enough to stand up to what he was doing.