by Josee Renard
Her men didn’t hesitate to follow her orders. The two big bodies faced each other, their cocks inches apart, their eyes heavy lidded and their breathing harsh.
She leaned in for a taste, first one and then the other, then grabbed their hands and placed Morteza’s hand on Eli’s cock. When she touched Eli’s hand, he smiled a brilliant smile and followed her lead without resistance.
Ellie watched as Morteza’s grip grew tighter, as Eli’s breathing grew harsher, as both cocks grew. She felt her body heat again, her cunt dripping and close to spasming without a single touch. Watching them, the care they took with each other, the way they watched her and each other, the way their cocks strained toward each other, it was impossible to resist.
But resist she did.
“Stop.”
And they did.
No questions, no groans, each hand still wrapped around a frantic cock, each body fighting desperation.
“Did you come today?” she asked.
“Of course,” Morteza said. “Twice. I told you I’ve become an expert masturbator.”
Ellie laughed.
“Eli?”
He blushed a little before answering. “First time since the last time.”
Morteza said nothing, but pulled Eli against him. Ellie watched as Morteza kissed Eli, first gently, the kiss of a friend, then deeper and harder, leaving Ellie and Eli in no doubt as to how Morteza felt about the confession.
Ellie rolled herself on top of her men, pushing them aside until she was once again in the middle, their arms joined across her belly. Eli’s confession had chased away any pain she had felt about his absence from her life, and she could see from the peace on Morteza’s face that the same was true for him.
“Enough,” she said, “enough about the past. And we can talk about the future tomorrow. Tonight is for make-up sex.”
“Tonight is for doing-without-for-a-year sex,” Eli growled.
Morteza grinned and kissed Ellie, as deep and as hard as he’d just kissed Eli. “Tonight is for all the things I’ve learned.” He bit her bottom lip. “Okay, maybe not all of them.”
Eli needed no further coaching from Ellie. He slipped down the bed until his head was in Ellie’s pussy and he lifted her legs over his shoulders, opening her up to his ministrations. Then he commenced to drive her crazy.
All those years and all those women had been great training. That was her final coherent thought as he used his tongue and his teeth, his fingers and his hands. He had her trembling in seconds.
She closed her eyes but still felt Morteza reaching for something from the bedside table. The bed shifted as he knelt behind Eli, and she felt Eli’s gasp on her clitoris as Morteza opened a bottle of mango-scented oil.
The man hadn’t forgotten a thing.
The bed shifted again as Morteza raised Eli’s ass from the bed, and another gasp, this one much hotter than the last, almost pushed Ellie over the edge.
Ellie opened her eyes and locked them on Morteza’s. His face had gone taut and solemn, the skin stretched tight over his cheekbones. She watched him pour oil into his hand and then drop the bottle to the floor.
“Eli,” she whispered. “Don’t stop, no matter what. Don’t stop.”
She watched Morteza run his un-oiled hand down Eli’s back, felt the tremors each movement caused in Eli, felt them intensify when Morteza’s other hand disappeared from her view.
* * * * *
Morteza had dreamed of this exact moment, Ellie laid out on the bed like an offering, while one of them—it didn’t matter which—drove her to distraction. He had dreamed of fucking Eli, and here he was, oil in hand, hand wrapped around Eli’s cock while Eli’s tongue was buried deep in Ellie’s cunt.
He heard her tiny moans and Eli’s deeper ones. He felt the trembling transferred from Ellie to Eli and knew he was part of that pyramid of sensation.
The oil was hot in his palm and he slicked it over Eli’s cock, then cupped his balls and heated them. He laved Eli’s spine from base to neck with his tongue, taking not-so-careful nips as he did so.
Each time his teeth touched Eli’s back, he heard Ellie groan and knew that Eli’s teeth echoed Morteza’s bites, a little more gently, but equally effectively.
He slid in closer behind Eli, using his hips to push Eli’s legs wider. Two fingers pulled the ass cheeks apart, and he blew hot air at the puckered hole waiting for him.
His fingers dripped with oil and pre-cum, and Morteza slathered his aching cock and pressed gently against Eli, knowing that Eli wanted this and knowing too that this was as new to him as it had been to Morteza.
One tiny push and the bud opened. The head of Morteza’s cock slipped in, Eli cried out, and Ellie echoed the cry with one of her own.
“Ellie,” he said, “scoot down. Put a pillow underneath your ass.”
He waited while she did as he asked, then reached down and gathered Eli’s throbbing cock in his hand. He lowered himself against Eli’s back until his cock—and Morteza’s hand—touched the heat of Ellie’s cunt.
He trembled with anticipation.
“Now,” he whispered in Eli’s ear. “Now,” he said to Ellie.
One thrust lodged his cock inside Eli and Eli’s cock deep inside Ellie.
“Don’t move,” Morteza ordered as he savored the sensation of the three of them once again locked together, as he erased the pain of the past year from his mind and his body, as he felt the orgasm, the one he’d striven for in vain, well up in his cock.
He knew it would be Ellie who surrendered first to movement, and she did, pushing up against Eli’s cock and raising her arms until they rested on Eli’s shoulders, her hands tangled in Morteza’s hair as he rested his forehead on Eli’s back.
He felt more than heard her voice.
“You belong to me. We belong together.”
Eli moved, his cock slamming into Ellie’s cunt. Morteza followed, his cock trapped inside Eli. One thrust, then another. A cry of release, though Morteza couldn’t tell whose cry it was. It might even have been his.
His heart broke open as his cock emptied inside of Eli, as Eli shuddered beneath him, as he watched Ellie’s eyes fill with tears and her face flush.
Morteza was finally home.
Author Bio
Josée Renard writes women’s fiction, magic realism, paranormal, and erotica—short fiction, poetry, and novels. Josée blames her good friend Anna Leigh Keaton for getting her into writing erotica—she loves Anna Leigh’s books and wanted to try one herself. She blames her mother and her two grandmothers for her reading and writing obsession. All of them were avid readers, and they passed their books and their obsession on to her.