Moonlit Ménage

by Bronwyn Green

  “It doesn’t matter why they want you,” Quillen interrupted. “You need to leave this place. You need to go back to the states.”

  “I can’t. Classes start soon.”

  “Are your classes more important than your life?” he shot back.

  She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of the lunacy. “Even if I were willing, all my money is tied up in tuition. I didn’t even have enough to get a return ticket. I suppose I could take the ferry to Ireland. My sister lives there with her husband…” She shook her head at the fact she was even considering leaving.

  Tarran moved to stand in front of her. “No good. Each of the four Celtic nations will send their high court to our…to the celebration. It’s likely that the king of the Irish court would bring you back here, anyway.”

  “How would he even know me? Is there some sort of faery APB?”

  “The Sidhe can always recognise the marked,” Quillen muttered.

  She was marked?

  “Lovely,” she snapped. Frustrated and angry, she pushed away from the two men, and the music surged in her mind, enveloping her in its hypnotic pull. Inexplicably, the song grew louder the moment she stepped away from them. She wasn’t able to focus on that thought for more than a few seconds before she was drunk on the sound and attempting to again follow it to its source.

  Quillen blocked her way and she ran into his chest. Putting her hands up, she steadied herself as he settled his hands around her waist, his big palm slipping beneath the hem of her knit camisole to land on her bare skin, his warmth seeping into her flesh. The music faded considerably and a startling realisation crept into her mind.

  “It’s easier to ignore it when you touch me,” she whispered, raising her gaze to his.

  Quill’s eyes dropped to her lips. It wasn’t the first time he’d looked at her like that, but it was the first time she’d ever considered doing anything about it.

  Tarran stepped up behind her, his chest grazing her back, his body heat wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. He smoothed his palms over her bare shoulders and down her arms while the music became little more than a whisper.

  She took a deep breath and slowly expelled it, leaning her head back to rest on Tarran’s chest, keeping her gaze on Quillen. “When you both touch me, it almost vanishes completely.”

  Quill’s eyes darkened with desire, and her stomach tightened with trembling anticipation while Tarran’s clever fingers kneaded the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders.

  Her fear receded, quickly replaced by need. She wanted their touch. She wanted them to kiss her, stroke her, chase away the otherworldly threat that still lingered on the edges of her consciousness. She didn’t want to think about a world where faeries existed and apparently wanted something from her. She didn’t want to think about fluttery golden creatures who’d prefer it if she were dead. And she certainly didn’t want to think about the fact that it wasn’t right to want two men as much as she did—especially, not at once. She just wanted to feel their hands and mouths on her body—their cocks inside her. Skin against skin, making her forget everything else.

  The arousal she’d sated earlier thrummed to life again, sliding insistently beneath her skin as she trailed her fingertips over Quill’s sculpted chest. His nipples tightened, creating tight little buds under the soft fabric of his T-shirt. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as her nails caught on the sensitive flesh.

  “Brontë.” His whisper grazed over her skin like a caress as he slowly lowered his head. His hand slid along her cheek and into her hair as his lips brushed across hers, his touch feather-light.

  Brontë lifted her mouth to his, increasing their contact, needing more than a fleeting taste. He fisted his hand in her hair as if he was having trouble holding back. He plunged his tongue into her mouth on a hungry groan and pressed himself to her body, backing her into Tarran’s chest. Pinned between both men, shivers of need coursed through her, growing more intense as she felt the heated insistence of both men’s erections.

  Whimpering into Quill’s mouth, she clutched at his shoulders, urging him closer. Tarran stiffened behind her. His hands fell from her shoulders and he began to back away. Worried that he thought she only wanted Quill, she snaked an arm behind her and caught Tarran’s waistband, pulling him close again.

  He pressed his hard cock against the cleft of her ass, as he drew her hair back, exposing her neck and shoulder. His hot, unrelenting lips dragged open-mouthed kisses over the curve of her shoulder, up her neck to the tender spot behind her ear. “Do you know what you’re doing, love?”

  His accent seemed so much thicker when laced with arousal. Need fluttered through her belly as he sank his teeth into her earlobe. Breaking away from Quillen’s lips, she nodded, but she knew she was in over her head. That knowledge didn’t send her fleeing from them, though.

  Quill grasped her by the shoulders and turned her to face the other man. Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, he exposed her back and pressed kisses to her spine. “Have you ever taken two men at once?” he asked.

  She shook her head, unable to pull herself from the intensity of Tarran’s silver-grey eyes.

  He gazed down at her and trailed his fingertip over her collarbone and down into the valley of her breasts. “There are other ways to avoid being summoned by the Sidhe that don’t involve fucking two men.”

  Her pussy clenched at his roughly whispered words. “This isn’t about them…not really. This is about realising what I want. I’ve been fighting it since I met you, but I just can’t any longer.” Her cheeks burned, and she was grateful that darkness would mask the embarrassment flushing her face. “I want you both.”

  On a groan, Tarran slipped his arms around her waist and crushed her to him. His rock hard cock prodded the soft flesh of her belly as he took her mouth. Where Quill had tasted of minty greens, Tarran tasted of exotic spices. He stroked his tongue along hers as he explored her mouth.

  Her breasts ached with neglect, her nipples tight peaks of need. Quill gripped her hips and pressed his cock snugly against her ass, rocking into her. “I think I can speak for both of us when I say we’ve been dying to touch you like this. But are you sure this is what you want?” he whispered against her ear.

  Panting, Tarran lifted his head and waited for her answer.

  Fear and desire beat frantically in her chest. “You’re both what I want,” she whispered.

  Chapter Three

  The bright moonlight shining down on them, Quill slid the thin straps of her shirt over her shoulders down her arms, effectively pinning them to her sides and exposing her lace covered breasts. They were beautiful—full and trembling, topped by deep pink nipples, thick and stabbing forward, puckering the fabric. He cupped the pale globes and immediately began plucking and rolling the nipples between his thumb and fingers.

  Brontë’s head lolled back on his chest, breathy little whimpers escaping her parted lips as he continued to tug and pinch. She writhed between their bodies, the honeyed scent of her arousal drifting to him. He had no doubt that she’d be slick and ready the moment they touched her sweet cunt.

  He slipped his hands inside the fabric and palmed her breasts. She jerked, shoving her groin into Tarran’s. The other man closed his eyes briefly before reaching around her back and unfastening the hooks on her bra. Gently freeing her arms, he pulled the clothes from the upper half of her body. Quillen glanced down to where his hands still cupped her, his sun bronzed flesh dark against her milky-white skin.

  Tarran dropped to his knees before her, and Quill shifted his hold, lifting her breasts from beneath to offer them to the other man. Tarran stared at her, and they both watched as her nipples tightened further under his heavy-lidded gaze.

  “Taste her,” Quill urged. “You know you’re dying to.”

  Brontë’s breath caught in her throat as they both watched Tarran lean forward to curl his tongue around a tight peak. Her trapped breath became a strangled moan as he drew the tip into his mou
th and sucked on it.

  Quill twisted the other nipple, only letting up when the other man chose to switch sides. Squirming and panting, Brontë drove her hand in to Tarran’s hair and held him in place. At the same time, she twisted her head and kissed as much of Quill as she could reach, his neck, his jaw, until he finally claimed her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth much like he planned to do to her pussy.

  Tarran released her nipple. Nuzzling her stomach, he trailed a path downward. Reaching the juncture of her thighs, he rubbed his face back and forth over her mound, before sitting back.

  “You smell so good, love. All I’ve been able to think about is licking you until you come.”

  “Oh, God,” she groaned.

  Reining in his jealousy, Quill released the closure on Brontë’s skirt and watched it puddle on the ground at her feet. He had a feeling that sharing her with Tarran would prove to be more difficult than any other relationship they’d ever had, but it would be worth it. He breathed in the sweet scent of her arousal, as he traced a path along her belly to toy with the elastic waistband of her panties.

  “Don’t tease, Quill,” she begged.

  His cock jerked in his jeans at the sound of his name torn from her lips. “Say it again.”

  “Don’t tease.”

  He tapped her swollen lips through her panties, loving her strangled cry. “No. My name.”

  “Quill,” she breathed. “Please touch me.”

  Grinding his cock into her ass, he slipped his hand inside her underwear, stiffening as his fingers slid through her drenched folds. The practical, white cotton covering her was soaked through. She definitely wanted this—wanted them.

  Pulling his hand back, he lifted his finger to his mouth to taste her. Tangy sweetness exploded on his tongue and he wanted more. He wanted Tarran to taste her, too. He wanted to eat her until she came over and over again.

  “Touch yourself,” Quill growled against her ear.

  “What?”

  “Show us how you touch yourself when you’re alone.”

  “But I—”

  “Touch yourself for us,” he insisted.

  Releasing her grip on the other man’s hair, she slid a trembling hand down the front of her panties. Both men’s attention was riveted on her cunt, and the slender hand sliding up and down.

  Tarran reached out and tugged the fabric from her body. “I need to see you, love,” he murmured as she continued stroking.

  Her cheeks flushed hot against Quill’s chest as she leant back and closed her eyes, but she didn’t stop pleasuring herself.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured against her ear. “I can see the sheen of your juices coating your fingers, glistening in the moonlight. You’re so wet for this.”

  “For you,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

  Placing his hand over hers, he lifted it from her pussy and offered it to Tarran. “Taste her.”

  His friend drew her fingers into his mouth, sucking her essence from each digit before moving to the next. “I need more.” Using his fingers, he spread her lower lips wide and devoured her.

  Brontë slumped against Quill as Tarran licked and suckled at her pussy.

  “It’s okay, cariad,” Quillen said. “I’ve got you. Just relax, and let us make you come.”

  Keeping her upright, he toyed with her nipples—twisting and pinching them as she rocked and shuddered against the other man’s mouth. Every once in a while, Quill would graze her clit and dip his fingers into her heated juices, then paint her nipples with his damp fingertips.

  Hanging on to Tarran’s head with one hand, she dug the fingers of her opposite hand into Quill’s thigh. That slight bite of pain simply drove his arousal higher. Her full pink lips parted, and all he could think about was her mouth wrapped around his aching cock. He needed to be inside her more than he needed to breathe.

  Her body stiffened against him, and he knew she was close. He glanced down the length of her body to see Tarran sucking her clit between his lips. Quill pinched her nipples in time with the other man’s rhythmic pulls and she fell over the edge. Her body shook, convulsing, as her cries filled the quiet night air, muffled only slightly by the trees.

  Quill gently lowered her trembling body to the ground. “Okay?” he asked.

  She nodded slowly. “Better than okay, but I can’t remember words anymore.”

  “You know we’re not done yet, right?” Tarran asked, removing his shirt.

  Dropping to her knees, she reached for his belt and unbuckled it. He stood and kicked off his shoes as she dragged his jeans from his body. His erect cock sprang free, and she grabbed it, slowly working her hand up and down the length of him.

  She looked at Quill. “Stand up.”

  Rising, he moved closer to her. He was already leaking pre-cum. It probably wouldn’t take much to bring him. She ran her other hand appreciatively over the bulge in his jeans before unbuttoning them and yanking them down his legs. He kicked free of the fabric and tugged his T-shirt over his head, dropping it onto their pile of discarded clothing.

  She gripped his cock with her free hand and firmly stroked him. Without warning, her lips closed over the head, sucking the sensitive flesh into the wet heat of her mouth. Striations of pleasure shot up his spine and down again to tingle at the small of his back.

  As quickly as she took him into her mouth, she let him go and slid Tarran’s cock between her lips. The other man groaned and his head fell back as she worked him in and out of her mouth while she stroked her hand up and down the length of Quill’s shaft. Back and forth she alternated—one cock then the other until they were both far too close to coming.

  Quill tangled his hand in her hair and eased her away from him. “That feels so good, but I haven’t gotten a chance to taste you properly, yet.”

  He loved the way her eyes widened, shining brightly in the moonlight. He and Tarran both dropped to the ground, and the other man sat back against a tree, pulling Brontë with him. He settled her between his spread legs, draping her thighs over the top of his, baring her pussy to Quill’s hungry gaze.

  Tarran trailed his fingertips from her knees along the insides of her trembling thighs, to tease her slick flesh. He glanced at Quill. “What are you waiting for?”

  Quillen prowled forward, pressing nibbling kisses to the tender skin on the insides of her thighs. Her breath caught, as he inched nearer to his destination, her sweet scent beckoning him closer. Reaching out, he spread her lips and dragged his tongue along her wet folds, carefully avoiding her swollen clit.

  She lifted her hips, trying to get his touch where she wanted it most, but Tarran locked an arm around her waist, keeping her securely under their control. “Not yet, love,” he murmured.

  Quill traced the opening of her pussy, teasing her as he worked the tip of his finger in and out of her grasping flesh.

  “Oh God, please. One of you just fuck me already.”

  Ignoring her plea, he circled his tongue around her throbbing clit, before sucking it between his lips. He loved the way she shook and strained, desperate for more as her moisture soaked the earth beneath her. He tormented her until she was nearly ready to explode. Finally, he lifted his head.

  “Now,” he told Tarran.

  The other man lifted her until his thick shaft prodded her tight opening. Quill watched as Tarran worked his way inside her. She stretched to accommodate him, sliding downward, slowly swallowing every thick, heavily-veined inch.

  Tarran’s eyes closed, and his breath hissed through clenched teeth. “So tight.”

  As envious as Quill was that he wasn’t buried inside her beautiful cunt, he wouldn’t have missed seeing this for anything. Together, they’d make her happy.

  Breathless moans escaped her parted lips as she took Tarran as deeply as possible.

  “You have no idea how beautiful you are, cariad,” Quill said. “So snug around his cock, your juices dripping onto his balls.”

  Tarran gripped her waist and lifted her up th
e length of his shaft before slamming her down again. Her whole body shuddered with the impact, and she cried out.

  “More,” she chanted. “More, please, more.”

  Unable to keep his distance any longer, Quill lowered his mouth to her pussy again, trailing his tongue along the place she and Tarran were joined, loving the way she rippled beneath his touch.

  “Quill,” she panted and grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his head up to face her. “I need your cock.”

  He almost blew at her harshly whispered words.

  “Stand up,” she ordered.

  Following her directions, he braced himself against the tree as she guided his dick into her mouth. Wet heat engulfed him as she took him as far down her throat as she could, her cheeks hollowing as she drew on him. Every desperate cry that escaped her vibrated around his cock, tightening his balls and shoving him closer to the edge of release.

  He loved the sight of her lips stretched around his girth and the slick sheen she left on his skin as she pulled back. Slipping his hand in her hair, he guided his cock into her mouth as Tarran ploughed into her from below.

  Quill glanced down and saw the other man’s hand between Brontë’s legs, stroking her pussy and teasing her clit. The sight was more than he could handle. A tingling sensation coalesced at the base of his skull before shooting down his spine to pool at the small of his back like fireworks sizzling beneath his skin. He tried to pull out, but she refused to release him.

  “I can’t hold back,” he gritted out.

  Her only response was to draw harder on him.

  The tingling at the base of his spine exploded outward, streaking through his cock and into her mouth. She swallowed him down as Tarran pushed into her, deeper and harder. Brontë strained with him, breasts jiggling, and Quill slipped from her lips as her head dropped back against Tarran’s shoulder. Gripping her hips in both hands he shoved deeper while she met him thrust for thrust.