by Jayne Rylon
With their help, she rotated like a chicken on a spit. A big skewer at that. The motion completed their joining. She came to rest on his pelvis, fully impaled, with her knees on either side of his hips. This time she faced him.
When she opened her eyes and met Matt’s stare, her pussy contracted around him. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He seemed equally as devastated by the perfection of their linkage, or maybe because of the foreign object Clint wielded like a pro. “This isn’t going to be a very long ride, I’m afraid.”
“Good. Because I’m dying over here.” Clint pinched her ass.
“Sorry, but I usually can’t come without rubbing my clit.” She blushed as she admitted how well she knew her own body. “Do you mind?”
Clint rounded on them so fast she wondered how he’d managed to scramble to his knees instantly. He flopped onto his side with his head resting half on her thigh and half on Matt’s ripped abs. His arm still reached up and behind her, doing whatever he was doing to his partner.
With her straddling Matt and Clint lying beside them, his cock landed somewhere in the neighborhood of Matt’s armpit. Neither of them seemed to mind, though. Clint rasped, “No way are we letting you take care of yourself again.”
Before she knew what he planned, he’d leaned over and extended his tongue, licking her clit with a steady flicking of his talented muscle.
A flash of arousal lit up every nerve ending in her body. As if on autopilot, she sought completion along with the man she rode. Men, if you counted the addition of Clint’s wriggling tongue.
And she did. God, she did.
She posted up and down on Matt as if riding a horse. He felt as sturdy as one beneath her, his thick muscles bunching and flexing as he fucked into her and accepted the vibrator plumbing him with help from his partner.
Each trip didn’t move her very far. There wasn’t much room to maneuver either with Clint’s face buried at the junction of her thighs or because of the way Matt’s cock filled her, his head locking deep within her core. Still, the slight grinding motion was enough to ensure Matt’s veiny shaft caressed every bit of her pussy.
“Matt! Clint!” She tried to withstand the tsunami of delight they conjured. Resisting proved impossible.
“Yes, wild thing.” Matt lifted his hands to her chest, flicking his thumbs over her gathered nipples. “Come for us. With me. Now.”
She couldn’t have said no.
Wouldn’t have.
Clint’s tongue lashed her even as Matt’s cock bulged. She threw her head back and screamed as she came. The jets of superheated liquid that splashed inside her as Matt joined her in simultaneous release only amplified her reaction to her new lovers.
Squeezed from the barest room left inside her, Matt’s come leaked from her pussy and onto the tip of Clint’s tongue, which never stopped triggering wave after wave of her climax.
Until he surprised them all by shouting, humping Matt’s side with two quick jerks and launching several lines of his own come across Matt’s pecs and ribs. Jambrea couldn’t help herself. She came again, starting another cycle of pleasure that echoed through them all.
At the height of his orgasm, Clint must have let go of her lucky vibrator. The buzzing sounded louder between Matt’s thighs on the mattress. When Clint adjusted his position to reach it, Jambrea leaned forward.
“Sorry I couldn’t do this before.” She stared into Matt’s hazy eyes as she lowered her torso and kissed him, gently yet thoroughly. Their heaving chests smeared Clint’s ejaculate between them. Neither of them minded. Actually, it felt right to have him gluing their skin together.
They were still feasting on each other’s lips in between whispered compliments when Clint returned from the bathroom, where he’d likely cleaned her toy and left it to dry.
“Holy shit.” He crashed to the mattress. “Jambi, if you need more, I’m good for it. Just give me a second to keep my heart from exploding first. I swear I’ve never come that hard in my life.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, adoring the damp softness that painted the V between them. “Nah. I’m good now. So good.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.” Matt grinned up at her with enough affection infusing his lurid stare to have her reeling at the potent combination.
A few minutes later, they’d recovered some of their wits and a little nervous energy.
Though they’d nearly fucked each other senseless, it was the middle of the day and none of them seemed likely to fall asleep any time soon.
All three of them perched cross-legged on the bed, their knees touching so that the area between them was an equilateral triangle. Jambrea let her hands wander until her right palm rested on Matt’s knee while the other was filled with Clint’s. The center of Matt’s chest glistened with the messy trail of Clint’s release. She probably matched. A shiver ran through her at their nearness, not to mention the leaps and bounds they’d taken in the past hour or two.
Soon Clint and Matt put their hands up. They each meshed their fingers with hers, then each other too.
“Is this weird?” Clint’s cheeks were adorned with twin red spots when he asked his partner for feedback.
“For you? Or for me?” Matt didn’t seem fazed.
“Either. Both, I guess.” As if he were reading an awkward-o-meter, Clint squinted at his best friend.
“If it is, it’s about to get a whole hell of a lot worse,” Matt answered.
Jambrea’s heart grew three sizes when Matt let go of Clint. He wrapped his meaty hand around Clint’s neck and drew the guy closer. They hovered no more than a millimeter apart, staring into each other’s eyes.
She held her breath.
And when they surrendered, coming together—mouth on mouth—she couldn’t stop tears from running down her cheeks. They were beautiful. Powerful, and perfectly balanced.
The connection they had as longtime friends, who’d literally learned to entrust each other with their lives, spilled over into this exchange. Privileged to observe their bond growing and morphing in front of her, she leaned forward and tried not to blink.
While they might have suffered one or two clashes of their teeth as they wrestled for control, they quickly developed their own pattern of thrusts, parries and dodges that enthralled her. Through it all, affection and a level of comfort—which she hadn’t yet quite developed with them—escalated into something amazing that transcended physical expression.
When she thought they might have forgotten about her existence, Matt lifted his hand to Clint’s face, held him still, and withdrew just far enough to nip the other man’s slightly swollen bottom lip. Clint grinned as he shook his head, breaking free.
“Who knew? You’re actually a pretty good kisser, Ludwig.” Clint hopped up, giving Matt ample opportunity to slap his ass with a resounding smack that echoed through their oasis.
The crack was almost as loud as the guy’s whistling as he headed for the bathroom to clean up.
Matt crashed to the mattress, his arms and legs splayed as if he couldn’t hold himself up a moment longer. He laughed and laughed. The ringing of his delight melted her from the inside out.
Jambrea crawled to his side and snuggled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, sheltering her. With these two men in her life, she knew nothing could hurt her again. Loneliness and doubt were things of the past.
“Thank you for being so brave.” She kissed the spot over his heart.
“Thank you for refusing to let us run. You gave me the courage I couldn’t find myself. To take a risk. To jump.” He squeezed her so tight her eyeballs nearly popped out, but she didn’t care.
Never would she prefer him to let go.
For the first time, she believed he wouldn’t.
None of them would.
Chapter Eleven
An hour or two later, they’d recovered enough to start eying each other like a tasty mid-day snack. Jambrea crossed and recrossed her legs where she lounged on the couch with Clint, her hea
d on his shoulder. Her fingers walked up and down the tail of his dragon tattoo, which peeked from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt.
It made her smile to feel like she had the right to touch him. No more keeping her hands in her pockets when she was around the guys for fear of offending one or the other, or both.
On the TV, the anchorman droned on about the positive identification of a mutilated heart that had been mailed to the White House. DNA testing confirmed it belonged to Rudolph Small, the presidential hopeful who’d gone missing almost a full month ago. She shuddered.
“Is this too gross for you?” Clint pointed the remote at the screen, which flashed blurred out images of what could only be gruesome shots of the decomposed organ, maggots and all. “I can change it.”
“Nah. I’ve seen a lot worse at work.” She still didn’t have to like it though. “I’m more disgusted by that wax-lip grin on the opposing candidate’s face. That’s Bertrand Rice, right?”
“Yeah.” Clint wrinkled his lip. “And I agree with you. What kind of idiots does he think we are to be droning on about remorse for the victim’s family when last week he attempted to smear good ol’ Rudy from Virginia to Hawaii and back? It’s pretty convenient timing if you ask me.”
“No kidding. He’ll probably tap dance on Mr. Small’s grave before long. I have to admit, I’m not a huge fan of politics.” She sighed. “Or violence. It makes you wonder about what kind of person could do that to another human being. That’s not the product of self defense. It’s cold, calculated and intended to terrorize someone other than the victim, right? The poor guy would have died before he knew what was happening if such a traumatic chest wound was the fatal strike. Probably they didn’t butcher him until long after he’d already croaked. If they’d wanted to make him suffer, they’d have opted for something a lot more…survivable. At least for a while.”
“You’d make a fine cop, Jambs.” Matt smiled at her. “I was trying to figure out who that was actually a message to. The president seems like a stretch. He’s already in his second term and wasn’t supporting this candidate anyway. More likely they pulled that stunt to make sure it was broadcast to the intended audience, whoever that might be. The media should know better than to air that shit.”
“Except it makes for good ratings. More money from advertisers. I hate when I click on a news story online and some cheery jingle for dishwasher detergent plays before a clip of tornado destruction or war updates. It doesn’t make sense to me that they smear their products with such vile atrocities. But I guess a captive audience is a captive audience, so why not exploit it?” She sighed. “I spend a lot of my time patching up wounds inflicted intentionally. It’s been getting kind of hard lately to remember the majority of people hold life in higher regard than that.”
“Tell us about it.” Clint rested his chin on the crown of her head. “It’s one reason I love spending time with you. Compared to most jerkoffs we deal with on the job, you’re a welcome relief. Kind, sweet and innocent.”
“Less naive now than I was a few days ago.” She smiled up at him with equal parts minx and maiden.
“We’ll have to work on that some more soon.” Clint laughed. “But no matter how many new and inventive positions we contort you into, you’ll still be a damn fine person. And that’s what I appreciate most about you.”
“Thanks.” She beamed up at him.
Matt paced the floor beside them a few more times before he ran his hands through his hair. None of them did well with being cooped up. Even Parker swam laps in his travel bowl, which had a place of honor on the coffee table, instead of residing over his aquatic kingdom from the comfort of his pink porcelain castle.
Fortunately, she had some ideas about how to burn off their excess energy.
Apparently so did Matt, and their solutions had nothing in common.
“I’d better take a walk,” he said in a rush, ruining her daydreams with a reminder of the world—and danger—outside the walls of their refuge. “The library is about six blocks away. That’ll be the best place for me to contact the rest of the guys. I’ll check in and see what’s up.”
Clint looked between his partner and Jambrea three times before Matt made up his mind for him. “You can’t come. We’re not going to leave her alone. And all three of us out in the open is too much of a risk.”
“Then let me go.” Clint presented his arguments. “You’re more conspicuous than me. Even random people remember someone as big as you strutting past.”
“I do not strut.” He crossed his arms, doing nothing to invalidate Clint’s concerns.
Matt impressed her, especially now that she knew more of the man behind the muscles. Broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist and his tight ass filled his jeans to perfection. The gun strapped to his hip added just the right hint of no-nonsense.
Jambrea remembered the first time she’d seen him, dwarfing one of the waiting room chairs in the ER as he hung around for a suspect who’d gotten knifed a couple times in a drug deal gone bad. It hadn’t taken her more than five minutes to find Lacey and ferret out his and his partner’s identities, though they hadn’t known she existed for another couple of months at least.
Once the shit hit the fan with Razor and he’d been assigned to her ward, they’d gradually taken notice of her too. At first she hadn’t believed either of the pair could possibly be as interested in her as their mutual friends believed. Finally, she was starting to think Lacey, Lily and the rest might not be totally insane.
Still, yeah, her guys would stand out anywhere.
“Hate to break it to you, but neither of you are wallflower material.” She shrugged. “If you wanted to be smartest, you’d send me.”
“Hell no.” They shut her down as one.
Clint gained his feet. “No fucking way. Are you nuts? You already got shot once. Did you forget about the stairway incident too? Whoever we pissed off knows how much you mean to us. They know you’re special. I refuse to give them another opportunity to steal you. Not happening.”
They were saved from a full out argument—one where she would try to get it through their thick skulls that she would rather die than be left behind again—by an odd knock on the door. One tap, a pause, then two more quick bangs.
The pattern repeated a second time, followed by a familiar voice. Lucas. “Hey kids, put some pants on and let me in.”
Jambrea couldn’t help it—she blushed. Because despite the regular teasing of their friends, this time the sly insinuations were true. And the whole group of Men in Blue knew it. Nothing was kept secret in their pack. Even if she hadn’t scored her bullet wound running from Gunther’s Playground—scantily clad, with the pair of cops hot on her heels—they would have somehow known by now.
At least the hotel staff had left their clean and dry clothes outside the door at some point.
Matt checked the peephole. Then he slid the chain off the door and flipped the lock. When he admitted their ex-military pal, Jambrea was surprised to see he wasn’t alone. Though it took several seconds for him to hobble all the way into the room—as he’d switched from his cane back to his crutch—he eventually revealed the woman following close behind him, as if to catch him in case he fell.
Ellie’s wavy gold hair didn’t do much to brighten her expression. Jambrea hated the taut lines at the corners of her blue eyes. So she got up and circled around the guys, who all started to talk at once, to give the woman a hug.
“Thanks,” Ellie whispered. “It’s his leg. It’s worse. Killing him. But he won’t let anyone help. He keeps taking more pain pills, though they’re not helping anymore.”
“I’ll try to talk to him.” She squeezed Ellie, then moved away before Lucas could catch on. Their concern would be mistaken for pity. His pride would rebel, she was sure of it. After all, she’d treated a shitload of patients with the same mentality. The only ones worse were the dirty old men who thought they were entitled to a dozen sponge baths a day.
“Have a seat.” Matt didn�
��t give Lucas an option. He clapped the guy on the shoulder hard enough to unbalance him. His choices were sit or fall on his ass.
Jambrea flashed her lover a thumbs-up from behind Ellie’s back.
The skittish young woman waited for Clint to slide all the way to the other end of the couch before she took a place near Lucas, giving them a glimpse of her own battle scars. Despite the closeness they all shared, she never allowed herself to be penned in or get too close to a man. Other than the one she now held hands with.
That Lucas didn’t shake her off shocked Jambrea.
“You two might want to do the same.” Lucas looked tired when he glanced between Matt and Clint. “I have some info for you. None of the other guys wanted to jeopardize your cover by meeting in person. But Ellie and I don’t have any ties, really, to your bunch of cops.”
“So spit it out.” Matt’s patience had worn thin. It had to be important or the Men in Blue would have emailed, sticking to their plan.
“Seriously, get your girl a chair. It’s not good news.” Lucas rubbed his forehead.
In a flash, Matt whipped a leather seat on wheels from the desk on the side of the room. Jambrea lowered herself when her jellified knees wouldn’t support her anyway. Matt laid his hands on her shoulders, never leaving her side.
“We’ve ruled out a lot of suspects on our initial list.” Lucas began.
“That’s great. A narrow field should help.” A sigh of relief came from Clint, who never took his gaze off her face.
“Actually, we think we’re going at it wrong.” Lucas paused when he caught Jambrea’s riveted stare. Intuition, or something else, stirred in her gut. He couldn’t be about to say what she thought. “After investigating the scene at Jambrea’s apartment, JRad and Razor went back for some more pictures. Someone’s been through every inch of her place. They upended the furniture, tore out the carpet, hacked her mattress to shreds, and ripped everything out of the kitchen cabinets. No stone was left unturned.”
“What?” Jambrea swallowed hard. There went her deposit. Who would do this to her? Why? “I don’t have anything valuable. No real jewelry or fancy electronics, and I don’t keep money in my apartment. Hell, I use my credit card for everything so I can get fuel perks and cash back and crap.”