by Skye Warren
“You wanted to distract me, you bastard. Consider me distracted.”
I’m shifted so that Blue is sitting up against the wall and I’m reclined against his chest. He hooks both his feet under mine, leaving me spread open. I’m like a doll, moved around for their pleasure, made to be whatever they want me to be.
West moves to kneel at our feet. I can see the bulge in his boxers and feel Blue’s erection against my back. Both men are powerful, dangerous. They are predators, and I am prey. I can see my body spread open, the smooth mounds of my breasts and dark tips. And lower, where my pussy lips are still wet from when they made me come.
“You want this?” West asks.
“I say she does.”
West cocks his head, meeting Blue’s gaze. “Just checking.”
“I—” Before I can finish, a hand clamps over my mouth. I like it. Please. Touch me before I go crazy.
“I say she does,” Blue repeats. “She gets off on being used like this. On being used, period.”
West is silent a moment, studying me. “That so?”
“Check for yourself.”
“Am I going to find you wet, sweetheart?”
With Blue’s hand still over my mouth, I nod vigorously. That makes both men chuckle, and I feel a gush of wetness coat my sex. Blue is right about me, every dirty word. I love being used, being wanted.
West dips his head and kisses the inside of my thigh. It’s a sweet gesture, but it’s not enough. I thrust my hips against him. He isn’t swayed by me, moving to kiss the other thigh. “I’m taking my time.”
He’s true to his word, moving with painful slowness closer to my pussy, lips and tongue moving over my skin, making me wild. When he finally reaches my clit, I cry out—but the sound is muffled by Blue’s hand. I rock and twist in the bonds formed from their bodies, a butterfly held down by a pin, fluttering, trapped.
West plays with my clit until I’m on the verge of climax and then dips lower to lick the wetness he’s made. His tongue presses inside me, tasting me, not nearly deep enough, and I clench around him, bearing down. He moves back to my clit to start the game over again.
Blue murmurs in my ear, “We’re going to wear out this beautiful little body tonight, aren’t we?”
I make a pleading sound behind his hand.
“I know,” he says, almost sympathetic. “There’s no part of you we aren’t going to touch, to use. You’re going to be exhausted when we’re done with you.”
My sex clenches painfully, and I push my back against his erection, as if it will give me some mercy. I’m worshipping his cock, worshipping him, because they aren’t any different to me. It’s all about Blue and how he uses me, who he gives me to.
“And the thing you’ll understand,” he continues conversationally, “is how little control you have over the situation. None, in fact. And West, he loves to eat out a girl. He can go for a long, long time.”
Chapter Ten
I lose track of time with West’s mouth on my sex and Blue’s hands on my breasts. At some point he lets go of my mouth, saying he wants to hear me beg—and I don’t disappoint him. I can’t disappoint him. “Please let me come. Oh God. Oh God, let me come. I’ll do anything.”
“You’ll already do anything,” Blue says, and at the very least, he doesn’t sound calm anymore. His voice is rough with desire, his cock throbbing and slick with precum behind me.
West sits back on his heels. He pushes down his boxers enough to fist his cock, a look of intense relief on his face. “Jesus, that is one tasty pussy.”
“You ready to finish?” Blue asks.
“Fuck, yes. How do you want me?”
Even in my sex-dazed state, I tense. I don’t know exactly what finishing with two men will entail. Blue pushes his fingers into my hair and pulls. He studies me that way, my head tilted back. I’m not sure how I look to him. Sexy? Desperate? Some combination of the two? Whatever it is, he seems pleased.
“I think you’ll enjoy this. Her mouth is fucking amazing.” With that, Blue pushes me forward and arranges me on hands and knees.
West sits back so he’s reclined on the bed, and I’m faced with his thick cock. It’s intimidating up close. “You don’t gotta take it all,” he says softly, as if he understands. The Southern drawl in his voice is more pronounced now that he’s so close to coming. And it makes me want to take him all, that he’d need me this bad, need to come this bad, and still think of me.
I take his cock in my fist and stroke it a couple times. His breath shudders out of him. “I’m not gonna last.”
Blue slaps my ass, the sound more of a surprise than the pain. “Go easy, beautiful.”
Then he’s sliding into me from behind, his cock thick and incredibly hard. My mouth opens on a gasp, and I surge forward, cheek pressed against West’s cock as Blue thrusts. He pulls back, and I only have enough time to slip West’s cock into my mouth before I’m pushed forward again, the cock sliding deep. I’m impaled from both ends, being rocked back and forth, providing friction and heat and wetness to pleasure their cocks.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” West mutters. “You weren’t fucking kidding about her mouth.”
“Consider that your coming home present.”
I flush hot at those words, at the thought of being a present, my mouth something he can give as he pleases. And I know that he’s telling the truth. It’s not just a game to him, something to say that turns me on or a boost to his ego. He is giving his friend my mouth—and the relief of sex, the comfort of skin and touch and pleasure. Not with his own body but with mine.
West lets out an uneven laugh that turns into a groan. “You’re killing me.”
And then I want to be the one giving him a present, more than just my mouth, the heat and wet of it. I swirl my tongue around the crest of his cock, making him jerk. My hands cup his balls, kneading gently while he pants above me. I give him every part of me, all my skill and desire, an active participant in this perverse welcome home.
He gasps out, “I’m coming,” seconds before a hot spray hits my tongue. I swallow him down and keep sucking until he’s done. He collapses back on the bed, breathing hard.
Blue pulls me up by my hair and reaches around for my clit. His thumb is rough and merciless, pushing me until I’m coming around him, soaking him with my juices. His fist in my hair turns me toward him. His mouth closes over mine, a deep kiss, a claiming kiss. I wonder if he can taste the salty come of his friend. And then I don’t have time to wonder, because Blue pulls out of me. He sets me gently aside, and I wobble against the bed.
A soft slap to my thigh. “Say good night,” he tells me, his voice like gravel.
I eye his cock, still glistening with my arousal, still hard as iron. “Good night?”
He laughs. “To West, beautiful. I think you already know you and I have a long night ahead of us.”
“It’s too much,” I tell him. “I can’t.”
Dark eyes narrow. “Are you telling me no?”
He loves it when I fight him. And I love fighting him. No, I love being conquered.
I turn and run.
I dash through the hallway in the dark and make it into the bedroom, his footsteps coming after me. I barely have time to close the door before the handle is turning. I’m at the bed when he grabs me and tosses me in the middle.
Then his body is on top of mine, covering me completely, overpowering me. His cock is inside me, thrusting, forcing its way in. I moan and rock up to meet him, adrift in sensation, utterly at peace as he fucks deep inside.
True to his word, he keeps me in that space for a long time. We’re far out to sea, just the two of us, tasting the salt of each other, drinking the proof of each other’s pleasure.
Chapter Eleven
It’s the next night that I come awake to the muted clink of pots and pans. West spent most of the day at the Grand. All three of us ate an awkward, chaste dinner last night and went to our respective beds. Now it’s four o’clock in the morning, and I s
mell butter and bacon.
Blue is more of an early riser than I am, religious about his morning runs, but right now he is fast asleep, expression soft, mouth slightly open. There’s only one person who could be cooking now, and I find him in the kitchen.
West is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, standing in front of the stove. I’m not fully awake yet, my mind a fog, but I know this is strange.
“Nightmare?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t turn around. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Six months ago I would have only been going to sleep at this time, exhausted and sore after working the pole all night.
I eye the stack of pancakes. “You were going to eat those by yourself?”
“I was going to wait until you woke up. Couldn’t sit still though.”
His words filter through my sleepy brain, and I understand that cooking has been something to keep his hands busy, that he’d really gotten up and dressed for some other purpose. Then I see the duffel bag by the door. My heart drops. “You’re leaving.”
He flicks off the stove and turns around, expression somehow both hard and soft, determined and pained. “It’s time.”
“It couldn’t have been time in three hours?”
“Might change my mind in three hours.”
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and fold my hands. I’m suddenly aware of how naked I am in the slinky, short nightgown. He’s seen even more of me, but now he’s fully dressed—and he’s leaving.
“It’s that important that you go?”
He nods. “I stayed too long already.”
I swallow hard, because I recognize regret. And resolve. “Because of what we did?”
The chair creaks as he sits across from me, his long body folding into place, a temporary respite. “Because I want to do it again. And I shouldn’t want that. Not as much as I do.”
My heart squeezes. “Blue was telling you the truth. I wanted what we did.”
Something flickers behind his eyes. Longing. Anger. “How many times, Hannah? How many times will you have to suck my dick before I stop having nightmares?”
I manage not to flinch. “We could find out.”
That makes him laugh softly. “You are too generous.”
It’s not generosity that makes me this way. I want him to feel better, but I also know this is the only way I can help. Other people have kind words and homemade soup. I have tits and ass. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. This is the only way I’m useful.
“Blue would want you to stay.”
“He’ll understand.” Then he’s standing up, moving to leave.
I move too, matching his steps, blocking him. “Wait.”
I’m not sure why it bothers me that he’s going. I like him, but that’s not really why. It feels like he’s taking something with him. Maybe because if he leaves, if my body isn’t enough comfort, then I’m useless. Or maybe because he knows what it feels like to be useless in this world, to have skills you can’t use and nightmares you can’t share.
“Maybe it’s not a blowjob I need,” he says softly.
He stands as if to be judged, proud and forlorn. He’s strong in every way that counts, in every way I envy, but he’s afraid too. Afraid of what waits for him outside this door. Afraid of what’s inside the door too, wary as he watches me.
Does he think I’ll refuse?
I turn my face up to meet him, letting him capture me in a kiss. He’s gentle with me, one hand cupping my jaw, cradling me, the other at my waist. His tongue runs along the seam of my lips, and I open to him.
He’s softer than any man before him. Softer even than Blue.
When he flicks his tongue against mine, a gentle question.
I pull away. The answer is no.
“You don’t want to wait and say goodbye?” I whisper.
“This is goodbye,” he says, eyes searching mine. I know what he’ll see. The wistful salute to some future girl, one who’s made just for him. She’ll love every soft touch, every sweet word. I can enjoy them in the moment, but I’m made for something else. Someone else.
I was forged in fire, melted and re-formed. I need a man who knows I won’t break. A man who will test me just to prove the point. I need Blue, even if I’m not completely sure he needs me back.
Chapter Twelve
I lock the door behind West and make my way through the living room. Except I’m not alone.
Blue’s body is a large and silent shadow. He’s sitting in the armchair, watching. You can’t see the kitchen or the door from here, but I don’t know how much he heard. Does he know I let West kiss me? Just the night before, he pushed my mouth toward his friend’s cock, but that was sex. The kiss was something else.
Panic tightens my throat. Panic that he won’t understand. Or that he will.
“You’re awake,” I say, my voice small.
He doesn’t say anything.
“West left.”
Blue just watches me.
It makes my heart pound. I feel myself slipping, sliding into that familiar skin. I don’t have heels and lipstick, but that’s okay. I knew about sex long before I learned its trappings, and I show that to him now, fingering the hem of my silk nightgown. I let it catch the faint moonlight from the window, let him pant for the pussy he already knows so well.
He’s a monolith. I can’t see if he’s turned on, if his dick is hard. I can only feel my way around him, moving my body as I pull the silk over my head. Then I’m naked, and I drop to my knees.
It’s safer here.
I crawl to him, shoulders high, ass tilted up. I find his legs bare, coarse hair over hard muscle. I find his cock hard, straining against the fabric of his briefs. The material catches underneath his weight, and for a second I think he’s not going to help me. He’s not going to let me take his cock out. Not going to let me do the only thing I know how to do.
Then he shifts, and I pull his briefs to his thighs. His cock springs up, hard and damp at the top. I grasp him in my hands, sliding both fists up and down before kissing the tip. I’m determined to please him, as determined as West was to leave. I’m not even sure why I’m so desperate for this. What battle am I fighting? It’s like I’m apologizing for his friend leaving.
Like I’m begging Blue not to do the same.
“So much guilt,” he murmurs, voice low and expansive in the dark. “So much shame.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, because he’s right. Guilt and shame and a deep, unrelenting dread. I don’t know how to keep a man. I’m almost afraid to try. The only thing I had going for me was the sex, and now that I’m no longer a stripper, it feels like I’m losing that too.
“I don’t know what to be,” I whisper.
If he could just tell me, if I could just follow his orders, it would be okay. He tells me what to do in the bedroom, but not anywhere else. And I’m floundering. I’m failing, everywhere else.
“I never asked you to change,” he says, stroking my cheek, trailing after a tear.
That’s true. He never did. But how could he want me? I have nothing to offer him. Nothing but a striptease and a hard fuck. Maybe it’s not a blowjob I need.
God, even West knows I’m not enough.
He pushes his hand into my hair and tightens his fist. “You still think I’m going to let you go?” he asks, his voice ominous. “You still think you’ll…what? Do something wrong and I’ll throw you out? Is that what you think?”
It’s what happened at every foster home. They’d use me for the small monthly support payments—or use me for something worse. And when they got tired of me, they’d kick me out again. Why wouldn’t that happen again? “No,” I whisper.
His cock stands hard and proud in front of me. I can almost feel it throbbing. I could make it so good, but he holds me still, my mouth an inch away. I lick my lips, and he groans.
“I’d kill them,” he mutters. “Every single fucker who ever touched you and made you think that’s all you were good for
. I did that too, didn’t I?”
I try to shake my head no, but he’s got me tight in his grip. I only succeed in pulling my hair. A small sound of pain escapes me. It makes him hold me harder—he gives me a little shake.
“I’m still doing it,” he murmurs.
Then he’s lifting me, pushing me toward our bedroom with the leash of my hair.
This room is the darkest, the curtains drawn tight, leaving no light at all. The fronts of my thighs hit the bed, and he bends me over, leaving my ass in the air, exposed and vulnerable. The first hit is a surprise, his palm on my sensitive skin. I yelp, and the burn spreads over my ass and between my legs.
“You want someone gentle?” he asks, breath warm against my temple. He’s leaning over me, the ridge of his cock against my back. “Like West? Someone to bring you flowers and worship you?”
“No, no. I need you.”
He laughs shortly. “You need me to mark your beautiful ass? To make you black-and-blue?”
My pussy clenches. “God, yes. Please.”
“Why?” he asks, softer now. Menacing. “Because you deserve to be hurt?”
Yes. But if I tell him that, he’ll stop. It’s not the complete answer though. I deserve what he does to me, but it’s not only pain. It’s pleasure too. It’s the only language of caring I understand, bodies slamming together, flesh on flesh.
The whoosh of air is my only warning. Smack.
“The thing is,” he says, conversational despite the ache in my ass, “I’m not with you because you were a stripper, and I’m sure as hell not with you because you stopped. I’m not with you because you suck my cock like a goddamned dream. I’m not with you because of a damn thing you do.”
Then why? I won’t ask him though. I can’t, especially when he hits me again, stealing my breath. I can only fist the covers and try not to cry.
It doesn’t matter. He hears my unspoken words. He hears everything.
“I’m with you because of what you are.” Smack. “Because you’re beautiful and submissive and kind.” Smack. “And so fucking good.”