Szereto, Mellanie - Two from the Triangle [Bewitching Desires 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Mellanie Szereto

  Shaking his head, Heath sighed. “What the hell did I do wrong this time?”

  Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips. “You said ‘women.’”

  “If you knew what I said, why’d you ask?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her perky tits. “Did you mean it? Because you didn’t call me ‘doll’ or imply I’m just a child.”

  Ah, the crux of her issues with Heath. The question was whether or not the fool would mess up the progress he’d made by opening his big mouth and inserting his foot again.

  Heath raked his fingers through his hair. “Um, yeah?”

  A laugh escaped before Owen could censor his reaction to the response. “I think you won that round, Heléna. Why don’t have a seat and have some supper? You like fish, don’t you?”

  She nodded, but her eyebrows furrowed as she stared in Heath’s direction. “So you won’t treat me like a brainless little girl anymore?”

  Heath rolled his eyes. “I never said you were brainless.”

  “You also never said you wouldn’t treat me like a child anymore.”

  Owen had to give Heléna credit—when she cleared the air, she didn’t leave any unfinished business.

  “Okay, I won’t treat you like a kid, but I reserve the right to—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. No qualifications or conditions.” Settling on the ground, she grabbed her sweater and slid her arms in the sleeves. “I know perfectly well when I’ve made mistakes. I don’t need you to tell me.”

  Heath opened his mouth and then closed it, evidently thinking twice about offering a rebuttal. He gripped his hands together, squeezing the fingers of his right hand before alternating to the left. “That shark almost had you for lunch. You can give me some leeway on overreacting.”

  Her pretty bowed lips curved downward as she reached for the fish Owen passed to her. “All right.”

  “That’s it? A thank-you would’ve been nice.” Heath went back to eating his dinner.

  “Gads! Thank you. Are you happy now?” Shaking her head, Heléna tucked a bite of fish into her mouth.

  “Relatively speaking, yeah.” Heath’s chuckle and grin drew a glare from her. “I wouldn’t mind having a way off this pile of sand, though.”

  Owen tossed his own glare at Heath for bringing up their dire circumstances. Ignoring their predicament beat the hell out of dwelling on a problem that had no immediate solution—with possibilities beyond their control.

  She didn’t answer, seeming to concentrate on the barest of sustenance. When she’d eaten about half, she handed the remainder back to Owen. “I’m full. Do you want the rest?”

  He shared a look with Heath. She couldn’t have filled her stomach, even as tiny as she was. “Are you sure?”

  Her nod had to suffice for tonight.

  Tossing skin and bones into the fire, Heath set aside the roasting stick. “I’ll see if I can catch three fish tomorrow.”

  His avoidance of another sparring match with Heléna surprised Owen. Had Heath finally realized that getting along was to their advantage since they’d have to depend on each other a great deal over the next few days?

  Peeling the last bit of flaky flesh from the skeleton, Owen dropped the scaly remains into the flames. “Sounds like a good plan. I’ll check the other side of the island for palm trees in the morning. Maybe we’ll get lucky and I’ll find some coconuts.”

  “Good idea.” Heath stretched his arms over his head as he yawned. “God, I’m beat.”

  Exhaustion crept over Owen, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. “Me too. Heléna, you think you’ll be warm enough? After the storm today, the temperature’s probably going to be in the fifties overnight. You can borrow my jacket if you need it.”

  Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I’ll be fine in my sweater.”

  Certain she’d only refused the offer because she didn’t want to come across as weak, he debated making another suggestion. What the hell do I have to lose? “Another option is you can sleep between Heath and me to conserve body heat since we don’t have any way to make a tent or sleeping bags.”

  She blinked at him like she was considering the suggestion. “I guess. Do either of you snore? I’m a light sleeper.”

  Her flimsy excuse didn’t fly. He and Heath had a rather loud exchange while she slept, and she’d barely moved. The dream had been the culprit in her waking.

  Heath gave an indignant grunt. “Hell, no, I don’t snore.”

  She glanced at him and then at Owen.

  “Me neither. We’ve camped out together plenty of times, and I can vouch for Heath.”

  Her shoulders slumped in what was most likely defeat. “Okay.”

  The second she agreed, a very important fact occurred to Owen. Lying next to her while she slept was a surefire trigger for a hard-on. Would she notice his cock standing at attention if she happened to wake with her cute backside cuddled up to his crotch?

  He shoveled sand over the low fire with his foot, taking care to put out the flames. Heath had already moved to the area near the trees, running his palm over the ground. The slowly rising moon lit up a rock, and he pitched toward the beach.

  Within a couple minutes, the three of them lay side by side. Staying just out of touching range of Heléna, Owen willed his body to relax. Her breathing was deep and even, but he didn’t dare open his eyes to see if she was awake. Her sweet face cast in moonlight would set him on a course to sexual frustration.

  The soft shush of the waves on the shore lulled him into unconsciousness.

  * * * *

  Staring up the breathtaking view of countless stars and the huge glowing moon, Heléna rethought her doubts. From this highest point on the cay, she’d spotted Pegasus and Cygnus on the northwestern horizon moments before she, Owen, and Heath had retired for the night. Draco peeked at her now from the same direction. Was the trio of flying constellations a sign? An omen to guide her?

  Jupiter—Lord of the Sky, Rain god, and Cloud-gatherer—watched her from above, his bright presence giving her goose bumps. Had the ancient shifter, Kazmer, cloaked his shape to spy on her? His legendary control over natural disasters could’ve caused the storm that had downed the plane flown by her pilot companions. Had he tried to cause their demise because he suspected Heath and Owen were the men she sought?

  The elder of the Black Triad had made many attempts to prevent the matings of Macska witches over the past year or so. Helena’s own sister, Rebeka, had been a victim of his meddling, as well as two cousins that the evil shifter had almost killed. Rebeka’s sister-in-law and her Protectors had only survived a pirate shipwreck by a miracle.

  What if Heléna hadn’t made a mistake in sending herself aboard the failing aircraft? The Bermuda Triangle, the night sky, and a threesome of castaways could all be indications that she’d found her destiny—her triangle. The Fates worked in mysterious and seldom-erroneous ways.

  Are Owen and Heath my mates?

  If she hadn’t spelled herself to them, they wouldn’t have a chance of getting back to civilization unless someone had heard their calls for help on the radio. Was she meant to take them with her when she returned home? If she managed a proper charm to get herself there.

  Heath rolled from his side to his back, letting out a muffled groan. Sand beat sleeping on rocks, but it didn’t begin to compare to a mattress. She held in a sigh, resisting the urge to rest her head on his shoulder.

  An arm looped over her side, pulling her against the outline of a swollen cock. Sweeping desire almost had her arching into Owen’s wonderfully hard form. Her racing heart echoed in her ears as the hormones that had nearly driven her mad yesterday struck again. Heat spread through her limbs, and moisture gathered between her thighs, readying her to mate.

  Drowning in the need to take pleasure from these men, she moaned.

  Owen’s palm slid upward along her ribs to cup her breast, adding to the surge of desire. As she closed her eyes to savor his touch, his palm brushed over her nipple,
sending adrenaline to every cell in her body. Her eyes flew wide at the rush.

  Heath shifted to face her, his fingers tracing her thigh to her hip, plowing her skirt higher and higher. Slipping beneath the fabric, he dipped low enough to cradle the curve of her bottom. A sense of rightness swam through her veins. If she didn’t belong here between them, the Fates had abandoned her.

  Giving in to her passion, she pressed the crease of her ass to Owen’s erection and hooked her hand behind Heath’s neck, drawing him close enough to mold her lips to his. The moon reflected off his pale gray irises when his eyes blinked open. His tongue came out to tease the seam of her mouth, ratcheting her need up another notch.

  The palm on her breast changed to fingers plucking at her nipple. The hardening of the tip sent a spasm to her pussy. Warm breath caressed the side of her neck a second before a nibble intensified the flames racing to her clit.

  Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.

  Chapter 5

  Kissing was an experience beyond Heléna’s comprehension. Her sex manual had given instructions, but without actual practice, she’d been caught completely unaware. She hadn’t expected the meeting of mouths to stoke an inferno inside her. Experiencing orgasms brought satisfaction. Exploration of a man’s lips brought a new kind of want, a stronger sense of passion.

  Caught up in the joy of sexual haze, she thrust her tongue past Heath’s teeth, delighting in the taste of his masculinity. He met her strokes with forceful glides of his own as he took the kiss from his mouth to hers. Sparring with him sent a rush of moisture to her cunt, soaking her panties. Anticipation rolled along her nerve endings. His low moans vibrating along her jaw assured her she wasn’t alone in her desire.

  Reaching behind her, she grasped the back of Owen’s pants-clad thigh to pull him closer. He ground his cock into her ass, seeming as out of control as her spiraling need. His fingers still teased her sensitive nipple, and the intense ache spread from her inner muscles to her clit to her lower belly. Pressure built as he rolled her tight bud back and forth. She sucked Heath’s tongue as the pleasure swelled, and finally, she had to come up for air.

  “So close.” Would they make her come this way?

  Owen’s hand crept along her stomach, abruptly ending the rise. She groaned in protest.

  Heath levered up on his elbow and frowned, his palm still resting on her hip. “What the hell is going on?”

  Jerking away, Owen sat up behind her. “Heléna?”

  She closed her eyes, withdrawal crashing over her. Heath’s touch slipped away, and she shivered from the lack of contact. Why had they stopped? Tears seeped from behind her eyelids to wet her cheeks.

  “You let both of us...” Owen’s words trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish for her to guess what he was thinking or to interpret his disgust at those thoughts.

  She immediately recognized the unwanted emotion smothering the erotic fire that had threatened to burn her alive only moments before. Disappointment. How many times had that suffocating feeling beaten her down in the last few months?

  Too many to count. She’d dealt with the knowledge that her craft was failing on more and more occasions, that she couldn’t go in search of her mates, that her family didn’t think she was capable of taking care of herself. She had no need of rejection.

  Gathering the scant remains of her dignity, she scooted out from between Owen and Heath to stand. Without looking back, she strode to the beach, focusing on the gentle shush of the waves and the rippling reflection of the moon on the water. A chilly breeze lifted her hair and blew wisps in her face as the wind carried the scent of pine to the ocean.

  Her stupid hormones had led her down the wrong path. Common sense had left her in the lurch, deserting her when she’d needed it most. In the hours until daylight, she’d have to figure out a transportation spell to send the men someplace safe—without harming them. Then she’d incant herself home to her room where she belonged and never leave. In seven years, the memories of her humiliation would remind her that a fertility cycle held no guarantees or promises—only the distinct possibility of disappointment.

  A chill shuddered through her, and she lowered herself to the dry sand at the tide line to wait out the rest of the horrible lonely night.

  You win, Kazmer.

  * * * *

  Willing his cock into submission, Heath glanced at Owen and then back at Heléna. Last summer he’d turned down a proposition from two women interested in a kinky threesome, but sharing a woman with another man hadn’t crossed his mind. Not even once. Had Heléna known he and Owen had both been touching her?

  She instigated that damn kiss. Of course, she knew. What a kiss it had been.

  “You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you?” The tone in Owen’s hissed whisper sparked Heath’s anger.

  “I wasn’t the one feeling her up, you bastard.”

  Owen snorted. “Semantics, my friend. You think I couldn’t tell you’d about sucked her face off? Her lips were swollen, and her eyes were glassy. Wouldn’t surprise me if you were trying to get inside her underpants.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Pushing to his feet, Heath paced to the dead fire and back to their sandy bed. Imprints of his and her body still marred the surface. “Your hand was creeping from her tit to her pussy, not mine, you lousy son of a bitch.”

  “I see how it is. You’re allowed to touch her, but I’m not. She sure as hell wasn’t telling me to stop.”

  That was the problem nagging at Heath’s brain—Heléna hadn’t asked either of them to quit kissing or touching her. In fact, she seemed to like having both of them vying for her attention. Her moans hadn’t been from pain or discomfort.

  She wanted us both.

  He bent to pick up a rock he’d missed earlier. Suppressing the urge to heave the thing as far as could, he tossed it in the air and caught it before dropping it back on the ground. “I won’t share her.”

  “Neither will I.” Grabbing his boots, cap and goggles, and scarf, Owen headed south toward the dogleg bend of the cay.

  Heath’s gut twisted. Almost twenty years of friendship in the toilet because of a dame. She wasn’t just any woman, though—evidently not for either of them. How had that happened?

  Staying out of reach of the outgoing tide, Heléna sat down as he kept a close watch to make sure she didn’t go in the water. The moon’s light cast an eerie glow around her, as if to gauge her mood. Pale blue-green mist encircled her. Would she choose him over Owen? Would she choose at all?

  Her stiff posture suggested choosing wasn’t in her plans. She’d walked away from them both, after all. Had she viewed their reactions as a blanket rejection, with no exceptions?

  Rubbing at his tight chest, Heath shook his head. They were trapped on their own little piece of hell in paradise with no more than a few days to live, and instead of working together to survive, they’d already gone their separate ways.

  Owen possessed the only dry matches to light a fire, but he knew nothing about catching fish. Although he was a good hunter, Heath wouldn’t be able to cook whatever he caught. Heléna's skills included seducing men in their sleep, trying their patience, and triggering their need to protect her.

  He yawned, the dilemma too complicated for his tired mind and body. Based on the moon’s position, dawn was still several hours from now. Not that he’d be able to sleep with his dick drooling like the hound dog it was. What kind of spell had Heléna cast over him?

  Facing south, he caught a glimpse of Owen stomping toward the spot they’d come ashore after the miracle landing. Without his superior ability to fly, the plane would’ve become a sinking ship in deep water. He’d stretched every inch out of their altitude and speed, staying calm when the experimental engine had sputtered out. Luck had been on their side.

  If I live through this, that penny-pincher Kilpatrick is getting an eyeful of my fist.

  The design had been flawless, the labor meticulous. The parts, on the other hand,
had been made from secondhand junk. Then again, the prick most likely hadn’t given a damn since he wasn’t risking his own life. He also wouldn’t make a plug nickel off a sale to the U.S. government, especially with the plane at the bottom of the Atlantic and the plans nowhere but in Heath’s head.

  Owen disappeared behind a scrubby pine. He didn’t so much as sneak a backward look toward Heléna or Heath. In all the years that they’d been friends, Owen hadn’t once lost his temper with Heath, and they’d never shown interest in the same girl. What about Heléna had changed that?

  She now sat hunched forward with her forehead on the crossed arms resting on her knees. Did she regret allowing them both to touch her? If he and Owen could share an attraction to her, maybe she was genuinely attracted to each of them. But why would she encourage them both? Together?

  Maybe with mortality staring her down, she saw no reason to choose. No one beyond the three of them would ever know what happened during their exile on Hawksbill Cays.

  Her obvious innocence defies logic.

  An inexperienced woman wouldn’t go in for kink. Would she? The sexual possibilities of two men and one woman offered more variety than two girls and one guy. Eat a pussy or suck a tit and fuck a pussy.

  Had he and Owen continued with Heléna, the list grew exponentially. Suck a cock and fuck a cock. Eat cock and get eaten. Fucked in the pussy and fucked in the ass. Ass-fucking and mouth-fucking. The list went on and on. It also invoked images that made his dick twitch.

  Perhaps sharing her wasn’t such a distasteful idea. He and his friend could give her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined—times two—for as long as they managed to stay alive. At least they’d all die happy. His erection threatened to bust his zipper.

  I’m a damn pervert for considering it.

  After his and Owen’s outright denial to share her, Heléna would probably tell them to take a one-way trip to hell. They’d deserve that slap in the face if they didn’t apologize first. Could he convince Owen to go along with the plan, though? A few hours ought to cool his anger. He didn’t get pissed often, and he didn’t hold a grudge.