“No,” she moaned. “I need—”
But she didn’t. It was happening Keeg’s way instead. He kissed her and tugged at her nipple. Rubbed her clit and finger-fucked her pussy. From behind, Tag worked her ass, his other hand holding her hip and his thumb massaging hard into the round swell of her butt. At her shoulder, his lips and teeth grazed.
Everything they did was so much. Everything was rough, overwhelming.
She knew it should come as no surprise that Keeg got what he wanted. Liberty was lost in it, too far gone to begrudge his power. Her body shuddered and shook under the men’s relentless assault. Every breath came as a moan, and her body rocked between their penetrating fingers.
It happened then exactly as Keeg had predicted.
Her orgasm gathered like a summer storm, hot and violent. Her body wracked, thrusting her pelvis toward one man and then the other. Her torso pitched, too, so Keegan tightened his grip on her nipple to maintain his hold and Tag did the same thing at her shoulder. With his teeth.
She screamed. Her mind shattered as her climax rolled over her. She was lost to it, nearly ranting as she cried out—prayers, curses she rarely used aloud, and their names. Over and over. She was aware of nothing but the pleasure, acute and prolonged, they drove into her.
Except for one thing. Well, two things.
Just as Keegan had told her, the two men replaced their fingers with their cocks.
That was something that didn’t get by her, even in the throes of a devastating come. Keegan lifted her leg further up over his hip and thrust in—his whole length in one hard stroke. His hand reached for her ass, taking hold so he could shove in all the further.
From behind, Liberty felt it as Tag used his hand to feed himself into her. He was hard and huge, and her body was already so stretched that this new penetration didn’t happen easily. He worked himself into her sphincter first, adding an extra convulsion to what she was already experiencing. Even as she rode the orgasm, she understood just how much she was being stretched.
It was too much to ignore, too much to bypass her consciousness even in the midst of the storm they rained down on her.
“All of me,” Tag grunted, and she felt him thrust deeper. “You’ll take all of me.”
She would, because he insisted on it. Because he pushed further, thrust deeper, making room for himself in her body that was already so very occupied. His penetration distended her, made her tissues scream in objection, in…undeniable fascination.
“Wait,” she said. She put her hand on her hip and encountered both of those big Harper hands, Tag’s and Keegan’s. “I need…”
She wasn’t sure what she needed.
Keegan seemed to think he knew. “You need to get fucked.”
She meant to shake her head, to deny that ridiculous statement.
But maybe Keegan was right. He did it anyway, exactly what he threatened. He fucked her, long slow strokes in and out, adding to that exquisite distention Tag had dealt her. Unexpectedly, it both soothed and enticed her.
And drew Tag’s attention. “I can fucking feel that. Jesus. Do it again.”
Keegan did as he was bade. It interested Tag enough that he thrust back in response.
That had Keegan cursing too, and then it was on.
They both thrust and cursed, thrust and cursed. They gripped her harder everywhere they had hold, and Liberty knew there’d be bruises later. But she forgot to worry about it. She forgot about everything except how endlessly good they made her feel. Their double loving. Their words.
Every part of her was afire as they drove into her—taking turns at first, pushing hard into her pussy and then ass. But their excitement rose along with hers, their bodies tensing and the tempo of their thrusts increasing. After long, wicked minutes of it, they worked in tandem, both of them filling her at once.
“Liberty. Lib. That’s so good. So fucking good.” Their voices were gruff, edgy. The words interchangeable, because they both grunted them out. “You’re so tight.” Well, she knew why that was, and it was on them. “So hot.”
That, too.
Her bed, large and sturdy at it was, shook with the power of their bodies, the force of their thrusts. She could feel the depression in the mattress as each man dug a knee in for purchase—in order to fuck her harder. She was crying out, scrabbling with her hands for any hold she could reach, a desperate bid for grounding. Sliding a hand along Keegan’s shoulder, she found his hair and gripped hard. She tossed her head wildly, possibly dangerously, until Tag pressed his head over hers and corralled her.
“Baby. Baby.” That was Keeg, his lips at her forehead. “Come. Come with us.”
It might have been a sweet invitation, but it wasn’t. It was a rough command, driven home by even harder thrusts, rougher pinches at her nipple than he was already giving her.
“Fuck her. Fuck her, Tag.”
Like his brother needed the encouragement.
Like she needed it to come.
She didn’t, and Tag didn’t either.
But Tag shared Keegan’s enthusiasm anyway. “Fuck, yeah. Fuck. Fuck!”
His mouth was there now, where she knew it would end. “Sweetheart. Libby. Baby. I’m going to come.”
His teeth then, just as she anticipated. A graze, then a grip. He was past words, just groaning as his body pistoned, pummeling into her.
Keegan did the same, his thrusts fast now, the stretch maximal, the stimulation to her clit irresistible.
It should have been impossible that their wild, self-gratifying loving should be so powerfully erotic to her. That her body could not just accept so much, but revel in it.
That she could not only bring them to their knees with the pleasure her body gave them, but find her own, too.
It happened just like that, though. Those two powerful men drove themselves into ecstasy and took her with them.
They were all crying out at the end, deep, guttural roars from them and edgy, high-pitched squeals from her. Sounds that seemed to come from a woman on the brink of insanity. Beyond the edge of reason.
She felt them both. Felt their final, hard, deep thrusts all the way into her, cunt and ass. Felt the hot ejections of their cum, delivering the final consequences of this fuck into her body. Felt the jarring, juddering spasms of their bodies, and let her own go with them.
Heard the last groans, the ending utterances. Felt their grips fall weak but not let go. Their arms went heavily around her, holding her by their weight as much as their strength.
“Jesus God. Jesus, baby. Holy fuck.”
She wasn’t sure who spoke, or even if it was limited to just one of them.
Her ears were still ringing.
* * * *
Tag took her back. They’d ended with Liberty facing Keeg, and that had been all right because nothing had ever felt better than shoving his cock into her ass in the midst of a three-way orgasm. Nothing. Ever.
But she was his, and it had been three weeks since he’d really held her. He’d let her go because he’d had to, but she was back in his arms and fucking his.
So, when his cock softened enough to slip out of her, he scooted back and brought her with him. He went to his back and tucked her into his side. If Keeg’s arm—and his groan that indicated a certain objection—came along with her, well, he guessed that was a thing he could accept.
She looked up at him before she tucked her head on his chest. Her eyes showed him exactly what he needed—her love, her trust. He nodded once and savored the feel of it as she burrowed in.
He hadn’t been wrong. Crazy, maybe, but not wrong. This was going to work, and his heart filled with the satisfaction of it. Over Lib’s head, he exchanged a contented look with Keegan, too.
Yeah, they had a brother who was in a bad way in the hospital. Yeah, that one would likely resist what Liberty was offering the brothers. But Lib was who she was, and he trusted Orion would see that eventually.
Tag didn’t see how Ry could stand against her.
Chapter Fifteen
Orion was a grumpy pain in the ass, and Liberty had about had it.
He’d been living with her for three weeks.
Tag and Keegan had brought him home from the hospital—to her home. Then they’d left him, because “they had a ranch to run.” Finger quotes there, because that wasn’t their only—or main—purpose for leaving her alone with him, and she knew it.
Ry was scheduled for rehab—physical and occupational therapy—and the expertise he needed was in Denver. Tag had arranged a driver for him, getting him to and from his appointments. And she went to work, finishing out the school year.
That was a fine arrangement, wasn’t it? For him to live with her? Only sensible.
Right.
The man had been sour from the first moment that Keeg and Tag had closed the door behind themselves and driven away.
“I’m not going to do what Tag wants,” Orion said at exactly that moment. He was walking with a cane, and his brothers had gotten him only as far as the recliner they’d purchased for him and placed in her living room across from the TV they’d also bought. They’d hooked up a game system, too, though she really knew nothing about that. “What he’s got in his head is crazy, and I’m not getting on board. I’m surprised you are.”
Liberty had little to say in response.
“He doesn’t like me,” she’d said again, when she and Tag and Keegan had discussed it the morning after the three of them had…well, the morning after.
Tag had laid out his plan, his concept. The three brothers—and her. He’d apparently done some reading, too, because he used the word ménage. Keegan had raised his brows and looked at her. She’d shrugged. “It’s a thing.”
“Isn’t that like…bigamy? And, against the law?”
Liberty had shared with Keegan some of what she’d learned. “Polyamory,” she’d told him, “has been socially acceptable in some places and some times. Including, apparently, during pioneer days on the prairie.”
“It makes sense for us,” Tag had said—more than once—enumerating the reasons. The three brothers lived a fairly isolated life. Not many women had the nature to tolerate it—as had already been demonstrated by two failed marriages. Tag thought Liberty did. Thought the idea of quiet time and space to compose—whether she wanted to continue to teach or not—made the ranch an ideal spot for her.
Pointed out that both he and Keeg were already in love with her, and she with them. “Right?” he’d asked.
Right.
But Orion was different. When Liberty had tried to point out that Orion didn’t like her, both of the other brothers spoke at exactly the same second—“Oh, he likes you.”
“He doesn’t like himself at the moment,” Tag had gone on. “He doesn’t think he deserves to be happy, and he doesn’t trust women.” The three of them—Keeg, Tag, and Liberty—were out on her porch, after they’d made and eaten a brunch. Brunch rather than breakfast, because she’d spent a couple hours learning what happened when a woman woke up in bed between two lusty men. A lusty woman, it appeared she had to admit.
Tag had claimed the chaise and had brought Liberty down with him. Keeg had pulled up another chair, close enough to rest his feet, cast and all, next to hers. His left toes stroked along the arch of her foot periodically. He nodded now, agreeing with his brother.
They’d told her to have patience. They were confident, they said, that the only thing needed was for Ry to spend some time with her. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. He’d fall in love with her just as they had.
Liberty hadn’t been so sure—not from the beginning and not three weeks later, either. She didn’t know whether it mattered that much, either. She felt crazy enough loving two men, thinking there could be any kind of reasonable future for them as a threesome. Contemplating a foursome didn’t seem all that necessary to her.
Though Tag wanted it. Keegan, too, but it was Tag’s master plan. He wanted all three of the brothers to be happy. He wanted all of them on the ranch. He didn’t think they’d have a better chance at it than this.
Orion didn’t agree, and he didn’t hold back from saying so. He was stubborn about it, determined, from the beginning and hadn’t changed over time.
He’d stayed prickly. And he bristled whenever she got too close, like brushing against his arm as she reached for the coffee was an offense.
She’d offered him her bed the first night. He was a big man, obviously uncomfortable from his wounds, and her spare bedroom really did contain only two small bunks. Liberty thought it was ridiculous for him to try to sleep there.
But he wouldn’t hear of taking her bed, no matter how she cajoled or, later, fumed at his bullheadedness. Little had improved in their relationship in the many days since. They’d just found a way to limp along together—in his case, literally.
Ry was pushing hard at his rehab. He had two sessions each day—one early in the morning, about the same time she left for work. He went back to the house midday for a break and then left again later for the second round. Usually he was back home by the time she returned after her workout.
She smiled the first time she’d noticed that he took his midday rest on her bed. She realized he tried to hide it, tightening the covers again and re-tucking them around the pillows. But the glass of water he’d likely used to swallow his pain pills was still on the bedside table, and the dent made by his head on the pillow was faintly visible.
Liberty didn’t mention it then or ever, and, over time, he’d become a bit more obvious about it—at least, not appearing to try so hard to hide his presence there. Still, neither spoke of it.
They ate dinners together and, after a while, that became more comfortable. He talked a bit about his rehab—the better he was doing in his recovery, it seemed, the harder he worked at it. He still appeared exhausted by the end of the day, often dozing off in his recliner as Liberty worked at her keyboard in the evening.
She’d done all the cooking initially. But early in the second week, he’d handed her a grocery list and offered to cook if she shopped. She tended to hang out in the kitchen during that time—it was easier for him if she did the reaching, stretching, and bending for the supplies he needed.
That turned out to be their easiest, most engaged time together. Liberty thought maybe he relaxed into the undemanding routine of cooking and forgot sometimes to be resentful and watchful. He seemed to enjoy hearing about her workday and came to know, secondhand, some of her students as though he had a real interest. Occasionally—rarely at first, more frequently over time—she drew a smile from him.
Often, though—way too often for her comfort—he carried an angry edge. She tried to give him a break as much as she could—he’d survived a horrific experience, a trauma that had inflicted more than just physical wounds, she was sure. A little post-trauma difficulty was only to be expected. Sometimes, though, she felt it was getting worse instead of better with time. He seemed to want to jump out of his skin if even the most casual touch happened between them.
On a Friday evening, she came home still in her yoga clothes. The next week would mark the end of the school year, and Ry had said that his therapists were getting ready to transition him to home rehab. Maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.
She heard him in the kitchen and went there to give him a hand. He was at the stove, wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts, and looking hot in them the way only Harper men could do. His bandages were all gone now and the cane, too. He’d taken to shaving only about every third day, and he managed to make a scruff of beard look fine, too.
He was working on chicken parm, it looked like. A pot of water had come to a boil, and his hands were busy over the frying pan, so she picked up the package of pasta that he’d set out. “All of this?” she asked.
He ignored her, and she realized he had music playing in earbuds, so she elbowed him for attention.
Orion startled. The tongs flipped out of his hand, clattered on the counter, and then
fell to the floor. He looked at her like it was all her fault and cursed as he raised a hand to tug his buds out. “Why’d you do that?”
Trying to look innocent—she was, she thought—she lifted the pasta. “I was going to put this in the water. Do you want it all?” she asked again.
“Do I want…” He turned so they were facing each other, and she felt his gaze wander hotly down her body. Then, angrily, he turned back to the stove. With a clatter, he shoved the frying pan to the back of the stovetop and turned both burners off.
“Yes,” he said, looking at her again, hands on his hips. “I want it all.”
He moved closer—close—and Liberty took a step back.
“I was talking about pasta,” she said. “What are you talking about?”
“Not. Pasta,” he answered.
She understood that. His shorts really weren’t up to the task of hiding the bulge that was tenting out.
“Orion.”
“Liberty.”
“You don’t even like me, remember?”
“Oh, I like you.”
She almost laughed—exactly the same words and quick reply she’d heard from his brothers. “You don’t want to do this. That’s what you said.”
“For three weeks, I’ve been watching you prance around—”
“I don’t prance—”
“In your tiny little yoga clothes—”
“They’re not ti—”
“Like you think, just because I’m injured, I’m a eunuch.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m not.”
“I know—”
He’d backed her across the kitchen now, had her against the refrigerator. “I’m not a eunuch.” He thrust the part of his anatomy into her that verified his claim. “That bitch bear didn’t take my balls, Lib.”
“I…see that.”
He was pressed against her from knees to chest, and he lifted his hands now to secure her head. “So,” he went on defiantly, his gaze on her lips now, “I’ve decided I like you a little bit.”
Big of him, she thought. After she’d opened her house to him and tolerated three weeks of his crankiness.
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