“As hard…as hard as you can,” she begs us, her voice trembling as she drags her fingernails across my back. She’s exhausted and spent, but she seems to want to go out with a bang. Well, we’re happy to provide exactly what she wants.
I grit my teeth and start fucking her as relentlessly as I can, sweat pouring down my muscles as I push my body past the point of exhaustion, working it to the limit. Thank fuck I like being active and spend a lot of time in the gym – I would never be able to fuck her like this if I wasn’t in top shape.
Scott’s probably thinking the same.
His eyes are closed, his hands on her hips. Rocking his body against her hard, I can tell he’s close to his breaking point, each and every line on his face telling me that he won’t be able to resist for much longer. Well, fuck it – it’s the same for me.
“Come for me...come for me, boys,” Kayla says, clawing at my back, and that does it for me. The moment I feel her coming, her pussy lips spasming around my cock, I can’t resist it any longer. I groan loudly and surrender to the fire ravaging my insides, my cock pulsing hard as I shoot all my load inside of her tight little pussy.
“Fuck,” Scott groans at the same time, and he stops moving all together, an expression of pure bliss taking over his face as he comes inside Kayla’s ass.
We remain like that for what seems like forever, the three of us surrendering to the way ecstasy has blanketed us. Only when I feel my knees buckling under my weight do I allow Kayla to climb down from my body.
We slide our cocks off her and, moving as if the three of us are in sync, we lean back against the wall and slide down to the floor.
Sitting down on the floor of her office, all of us trying to catch our breath, I realize something I had never understood before.
Love isn’t about feelings, chocolates and roses. It isn’t about music, poetry, or any of that bullshit.
Love is about a connection, a mingling of souls. And it’s rare…very, very rare.
I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I found love now.
Kayla
“Hurry,” Brad calls from the living room. “You’ll miss it.”
I roll my eyes and stifle a yawn.
“You want coffee don’t you?” I call back and press the button on our new shiny beast, the latest and greatest coffee machine money can buy.
“Food?” Scott comes into the kitchen and turns on the oven.
I shrug. It’s a bit early to be thinking about eating and I will need at least one strong caffeine hit before I can make decisions of importance.
“Voila,” Scott produces croissants from somewhere.
“Yum.” My stomach now growls even though only a few minutes ago I could have sworn I’m not hungry.
“What are you two doing?” calls Brad from the living. “You better not be doing something I should be part of.”
We giggle.
“Don’t worry Brad,” I reply. “We’re just getting food.”
Just at that moment Brad’s head appears in the kitchen.
“Just checking,” he grins.
Several minutes later we are all huddled around our new oversized extra large television screen.
“Turn it up.” Scott complains. “I can’t hear anything.”
“You don’t need to,” Brad gives him a friendly punch in the upper arm. “It’s not like you’re going to win anything.”
“Shh,” I say to both of them as the announcer of the Emmy Awards welcomes everyone to what she says will be a night of surprises, or early morning for us since for some reason it is being held outside the USA, somewhere exotic, somewhere where the time zones don’t match ours.
We smile at each other.
Our show - it has become known as our show in the last few weeks since…well, ever since I took over, really - has several nominations.
Scott is nominated for outstanding supporting actor and Brad for outstanding lead actor. None of us are sure who determined Brad as lead and Scott as supporting actor, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is, they both are nominated.
The show itself is nominated for outstanding daytime television drama. I, together with my writers am nominated as outstanding drama series writing team. And best of all I’m personally nominated as outstanding producer of daytime television drama.
The last few months have been amazing. Life has been kind to all of us.
With my talented team of writers and supporting lead actors, the show has gone stronger. I have even been approached by a couple of other network heads to write for them.
I have been headhunted.
A month ago Scott, Brad and I decided to move in together and since we each owned small apartments it was time to upgrade.
House hunting was fun. Some of the agent’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates when they saw me walk up with two blokes. The women seemed to take it better than the men.
The lawyer who had to draw up the paper work was priceless. It took him quite a long time to work out we were a threesome.
Our house is in the hills alongside some of Hollywood’s other super stars. On our first night Scott stood on the balcony and raised a toast to everyone.
“This is where we belong.” He announced to no one in particular.
“More coffee?” I ask and look at Brad and Scott.
“I know what I want more of,” Scott’s hand reaches under my flimsy nightdress.
My pussy instantly responds, like it always does when either one of them touch me.
“Not now,” it takes all my strength to resist. “We don’t want to miss the announcements.”
Scott pouts. “What about a quickie.”
I leave him without another word.
Once I’m in the kitchen I hear yelling. I poke my head back into the living room.
“Quick,” Brad shouts. “Supporting actor is about to be announced.”
I hear just the tail end of nominations and Scott’s name.
With three quick steps I’m next to him and hold his hand. Brad is holding his fists tightly shut.
Drum roll. The announcer smiles and pulls the name out of the envelope in snail’s pace.
“Hurry up,” I urge him, bouncing up and down on my seat.
“Scott from The Kings.”
We hug and cry with each other, almost missing the announcement of lead actor.
“Shush,” I hold my hand over Scott’s mouth. We listen to the nominations and again my heart is beating so fast I feel as if I’d just run a marathon. With Scott having won an award it would not feel right if Brad didn’t.
The camera zooms in on the announcers face. She holds the paper in front of her eyes as if she needs glasses. I can see she’s reading silently. Come on, just say it, I mouth.
“Looks like our new show is going to be cleaning up tonight,” she says and I’m already squeezing Brad’s hand.
“The winner of outstanding lead actor is Brad from The Kings.”
I can’t believe it. We hug, we kiss, and we hug again. I’m crying and laughing at the same time.
When they announce our writing team as winners of outstanding writing I feel as though I can’t take much more.
“And now ladies and gentlemen, viewers,” a handsome face says from the television “we come to outstanding daytime television producer.”
Brad and Scott crowd around me. Both of them hold me as tight as possible. If they squeeze any more I won’t be able to breathe.
“It’s a tough field this year,” says the blonde assistant to the announcer smiling broadly into the camera.
“Like every other year,” agrees the announcer. The names are read out. Goosebumps crawl up my arms and back when I hear my own name. It feels surreal.
I close my eyes and put my hands over my ears. I don’t think I can listen.
“You’ve won!” shouts Brad.
“You’ve won!” shouts Scott and both of them kiss me.
I fall back on the couch. They pounce. Their hands are all over me a
s are their mouths.
Oh my gosh. This is amazing.
Almost at the same time both of them pull back.
I sit up.
“What?” Suddenly all feelings of happiness disappear. They look so serious. Do they have bad news? Are they leaving me?
“Kayla,” Scott takes my hand.
“Kayla,” Brad takes my other hand.
Has someone died?
“We want you to know,” Scott starts.
“That you mean the world to us.” Finishes Brad.
They are leaving me. I can tell from their faces. I brace for what comes next.
“Kayla we love you and we want to spend the rest of our lives with you. Will you marry us?’
I blink. What? Did I hear correctly?
“Will you?” they repeat and now I start to cry.
No words pass my lips and so I simply nod.
We melt into each other’s arms and Scott kisses me. Brad’s mouth is traveling downward where my wet pussy waits for him. And both my hands are busy with needy dicks.
I can’t believe it, but this is my life now.
I’ve been blessed.
Now or Never
By Vivien Vale
Copyright © 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
Want Vivien Vale in your inbox? Get freebies, new release updates, bonus chapters, and more!
Sign up for my newsletter!
Kat
I wasn’t completely expecting Jason to be here, but I’m still disappointed he’s not. Or, at least, he hasn’t been here for the past few days, so I’ve been lying on this chaise, looking nonchalantly that way and this way.
I’m not such a nonchalant person, it turns out, because once I finally push my legs over and walk to the beachside bar, Miguel, the young man who’s been bringing me my afternoon cocktail, asks when the person I was waiting for would be arriving.
“I’m not—I’m, um, alone,” I say. Making my voice light, I add, “I’m having some much-needed quiet time.”
Miguel—sweet, sweet Miguel—stammers and apologizes.
“I misunderstood, Ms. Aviva. For some reason,” he says, “I thought—”
I wave away his apology. Sweet Miguel isn’t crazy. I’ve basically been jerking my head around every time I hear the sound of people entering the hotel’s private beach. I shouldn’t quit my day job to be a covert CIA agent.
Still, no Jason.
I didn’t come here for Jason. Well, not just for Jason, but I’m curious about what happened to him. I came back to see if he stuck to his word and if he stayed in this “forever country,” as he always called the Riviera Maya region of Mexico.
He said—this was seven years ago now—he would never leave Tulum once we got here, and I understand now why he wanted to come. It’s beautiful here—in certain areas of the beach, the only sound is breaking waves and wind. The Caribbean Sea is every shade of turquoise.
I think of all the plans we made. Spending weekends on Cozumel, an island off the mainland. He said we’d stay out of the city, stopping only long enough to rent two scooters and then ride the circumference of the island to its undeveloped east side.
Where everything would finally be okay.
The months we were together were easily the most extraordinary of my life.
After everything blew up in our faces, though, I packed my bags and left Jason and plans for Mexico behind me, focusing on my safe life of deadlines and bills, awful spin classes, and too much wine. All I kept of our plans for tucked away in my heart.
Before he said it had to be Mexico, I asked him to come to DC with me.
“If you like it there, you could—or, you know, we could—stay for a while,” I told him. “We could come to Tulum once or twice a year for retreats and workshops. I mean, I don’t want to be working on Capitol Hill forever. I have, I don’t know, maybe five years left at most. Any longer and I’ll keel over dead, probably.”
Of course, I had more years of work in me than I realized. When I told Jason I only had five years left, I didn’t count on the promotions I received and the campaigns I got to run. I didn’t count on being given the lead to craft and lobby for the congressman’s signature legislation.
I didn’t count on years after the law had been passed, that it would be threatened again and again.
Of course, I didn’t expect that. Not after all the years we gave to passing it. I didn’t expect it to be gutted completely, not after I had given over my entire twenties to it.
But it was declawed, and I’m gutted. Effectively, everything the law was supposed to do has been undercut. It’s a nothing law now—it does nothing, it helps no one, and I didn’t count on how much that would hurt and how personally I would take it.
And, of course, I didn’t count on Barrett. I didn’t count on meeting him one random Thursday night at the Black Cat, and then I didn’t count on him moving in with me two months later.
I for sure didn’t expect to be his boss three months after that. Then, of course, I was surprised by the exquisite, piercing pain and humiliation of watching my relationship disintegrate in front of my colleagues, the congressman, and our entire close-knit staff.
And six months ago, when I thought the dust had settled, I should have known something was up when the voices hushed when I opened my office door and walked into the room where everyone but the congressman sat. Barrett is getting married to Melinda, a press secretary who works for a congresswoman two offices down. A girl, incidentally, I hired as an intern four years ago.
Of course.
And so it goes.
The happy couple should have said their vows this very afternoon. Melinda and Bare together forever starting this weekend.
Then I got the cryptic message.
Now or never.
I gave myself the week off and booked a ticket to the last place I ever thought I’d go: Tulum.
And if all my instincts are correct, at some point, Jason should appear.
“Uno mass,” I say to Miguel, making my American accent as thick as possible.
Miguel laughs at me gamely and takes his time making my third margarita. He slides it to me.
I incline my head. “Grassy-ass, sir.” And I wave over my shoulder back to my chaise.
I misjudge the distance and nearly fall back into the chair. My drink splashes.
“Shit,” I mutter, moving the glass into my left hand and licking the right one.
“I bet it tastes salty,” a voice says. A voice I’d know anywhere. The voice that haunts me.
Jason.
I can hear his smile.
I look up, and there he is, staring down at me, dripping from the sea like the most fucking gorgeous demigod you’ve ever seen.
Jason
Her tongue darts out to graze her lips, licking up the margarita salt still lingering there. My eyes are drawn to them, and instantly a thousand memories assault my brain, my body responding to them as it always does.
“You know I like it salty, Jason,” she replies, her provocative voice and suggestive smirk almost masking the shock I see in her eyes.
And fuck, if her words don’t make my already-stiff cock turn to pure steel.
Katherine fucking Aviva.
I want to ask her what she’s doing here. Why now? It’s been seven fucking years, and she just now shows back up in Tulum and gives me that irresistible smile, flirting with me about how fucking salty she likes it like no time has passed.
“What are you doing here, Kat?”
It comes out even harsher than I intend, and I’m certainly not trying to sugarcoat anything. But I need to fucking know. Did she get my message? Does she know what’s at stake?
Her smile falters for half a second, but
then it’s right back in place. She leans back gracefully in her beach lounger and takes a slow sips of her cocktail, looking up at me from under the brim of her hat, taking her goddamn time.
That seems to be her modus operandi. It’s not like I actually believed she’d come like she said she would—after she’d done all the things she said she needed to do before she was ready to explore what else life had in store.
Whatever the fuck that means.
All I know is she was supposed to meet me here.
And again, it’s been seven fucking years.
Kat shifts in her chair, and I’m sure it’s a measured move because it has its precise desired effect. Her full, round tits bounce slightly, threatening to prove that no, string bikinis are not, in fact, made to keep anything contained.
And fuck, that sparks another round of images in my head. It’s like they’re coming at me from everywhere, attacking from all sides. The sexy intermingled with the sentimental.
In my mind, I see her splayed out beneath me as I drive into her tight, wet pussy, then I spray hot cum all over the most fucking fantastic rack I’ve ever had the good fortune to fuck.
My cock twitches with need.
That image is replaced by one of us on a dark sandy beach in the early hours of the morning, our slick, naked bodies twined together, and the crashing waves are the only sound we can hear over our thundering hearts. The whispered I love you’s.
My heart clenches with pain.
Still she says nothing.
Fuck this.
I huff out an angry breath and turn to leave without another word.
I’m not doing this. Not today. Not ever if I have a fucking say. It doesn’t matter how much is at stake.
“Jason, wait.”
The urgency in her voice stops me, though. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, the muscle in my jaw ticking.
There’s also a hint of nostalgia in the way she says my name. And a hint of pain.
The Marriage Mistake Page 63