Three if by Sea: MMF Bisexual Romance

by Nicole Stewart

  He walked over to her, and Amelia cringed in her seat, certain he was going to call her out for staring. Instead, he held out one broad hand. “I’m very rude, I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m Adam.”

  Amelia took his hand. The palm was rough, the back lightly dusted with soft hair. She shook it firmly. “I’m Amelia. It’s nice to meet you, Adam.”

  “Nice to meet you as well. So, you just got in today? What made you decide to come here for dinner? No chance to get supplies yet?”

  It didn’t escape Amelia’s notice that he said “supplies”, and not “groceries”. She really was in the middle of nowhere.

  “Um,” she hesitated, blushing further. “No, the house was set up nicely for me. It was very kind. But, uh, I had some troubles with the stove.”

  To his credit, Adam didn’t laugh. “Trouble with the stove, eh? Is it gas?”

  “Yes, an old one. The problem was that the pilot light wouldn’t stay lit.”

  Adam grinned. “Nothing to worry about. It’s something to get used to, the way things are out here.”

  “By the time I get used to it, it will probably be time for me to go back,” Amelia said.

  “Ah, you might be right.” He shrugged. “Let me go check on that food for you.”

  He returned with a steaming dish, and set it in front of Amelia, taking her glass and bringing it back refilled. She dug in. It was lamb, and not ground beef like she’d had in faux “Irish” pubs at home. The meal came with Brussel sprouts. The mashed potato was rich and creamy. It was the best meal she’d had in what seemed like forever.

  “Tasty, eh?” Adam grinned at the expression on her face as he set down her beer. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  Amelia dug into the food, slowly starting to feel human again. All she needed now was a shower—and she wondered what kind of shower facilities there were at the house. She hadn’t gotten as far as inspecting the bathroom.

  When she’d finished eating and downed her third half pint of beer, Adam reappeared, whisking the dish and glass away. “So,” he said. “About that stove. How about I come and take a look at it for you?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Amelia protested. “I’m sure I can figure it out. I feel much better now.”

  “It’s dark outside,” he pointed out. “And you’re new here, you’ve got a flashlight I see, but it’s still easy to get lost. Let me walk you home, and I’ll take a look at your stove.”

  “But the pub,” Amelia protested. “You can’t leave it.”

  “Och!” He yelled, and all four of the men looked up. “There’s a lass here needs a walk home and her stove fixing. Make sure Grant pays for his beer while I’m gone, aye?”

  Amelia blinked, wide-eyed, as three of the men nodded solemnly. Grant—who appeared to be the one studying his now three quarter empty glass—looked perturbed.

  “Take the lassie home,” grunted one of the two chess players. “We’ll hold the fort while you’re gone, Adam.”

  “Aye,” chimed in the one with the newspaper and pipe, glancing up briefly. “Take your time.” He winked at Adam, and Amelia felt herself flush red all over again.

  Adam grinned. “Come on then,” he said, walking around the side of the bar. “Got your flashlight?”

  “Right here,” Amelia said.

  Chapter 6

  Amelia tried to shrink inside her parka, while clutching the flashlight with one mittened hand. Adam was bundled up, but he seemed more comfortable with the weather, bending forward slightly as they walked against the wind. Amelia tried to say something, but the wind ripped the words right out of her mouth, and after that they walked in silence until they reached the house where she was staying.

  She shoved the door open, and tried to keep it from slamming as they hurried inside. Amelia flicked the light switch on, eyeing the flickering bulb nervously. Adam shook his head. “Whew. It’s not much warmer in here than outside.”

  Amelia shook her head, shivering. She was already regretting taking off her coat.

  “Tell you what,” Adam said. “I’ll get a fire started, get this place warmed up, and then I’ll take a look at the stove.”

  “I can do it,” Amelia protested. “Really you don’t have to.”

  “I insist,” Adam flashed a smile, "but first I’ll go grab the wood.”

  He grabbed his coat and walked back out into the howling wind.

  Amelia watched him go, and she felt that strange sensation again as he disappeared into the front yard.

  She pulled two beers from the fridge, and set them on the counter before letting Adam back into the house. He could barely see over the armful of logs that he was carrying.

  He set the logs down, kneeling in front of the fire to start the kindling. Amelia hung back, watching. She couldn’t help but admire the way he looked—the strong line of his back as he bent over, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he built the fire. She’d never thought of herself as someone who was turned on by the stereotypically “manly” thing, but there was something primal about the pony-tailed Scot kneeling in front of her fireplace, someone she’d met only hours ago, making sure she was safe. That she was taken care of.

  Once the fire was built and crackling, he straightened, turning around and flashing that wide grin at her. “Well, now we won’t freeze, at least.”

  “Thank you,” Amelia said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Always happy to help. Now where’s that stove?”

  She led the way to the kitchen, and handed him one of the beers from the counter. He took a large swig, replaced the bottle, then knelt down at the stove. She took a seat at the table, sipping absentmindedly at her own beer. There wasn’t much she could do to help.

  It had been years since she’d been alone with a man other than David. She had been too busy in school to have much of a social life, and while David had never told her she couldn’t have male friends, it had always seemed unnecessary to her. As she sat and watched Adam tinker with the stove, she gradually became more and more aware of their environment—the crackling fireplace in the next room, the warm sensation of the alcohol swirling in her blood, the inclement weather beyond the walls of the cottage. She was suddenly painfully, achingly aware of Adam, of his presence, and how little distance there was between them in the small room. Amelia was also achingly aware of how long it had been since she'd had been intimate with another human being.

  The flame in the stove came to life, and Adam shut the oven door. “There you go,” he said. “It needed to be cleaned, badly. I don’t think it will give you any problems now.” He stood and walked towards the table at the same moment that Amelia stood up.

  The words “thank you” died on her lips. Standing up had put her so close to him they were nearly touching. Her head tipped back and his eyes caught hers. He was looking at her intently, as if puzzling something out, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

  Time seemed to stop, and then Adam cleared his throat, taking a step back. “I should probably get going,” he said. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

  The sharp pang of disappointment startled Amelia. “You haven’t finished your beer yet,” she pointed out. “You worked so hard on fixing the stove for me, you should at least get to finish it.” She gestured to the living room. “Besides, there’s a perfectly good fire going to waste.”

  She saw uncertainty cross his face for just a second and then he shrugged. “Sure, why not,”

  She wondered what caused the slight hesitation as he followed her into the living room. She sat on the couch, pulling her feet up under her as she motioned to the space next to her. “Sit down,” she offered.

  Adam tossed another log on the fire, and it sparked and crackled, the flames flaring up briefly before settling down into a merry dance. Amelia glanced at him as he took a seat next to her, noting the way the shadows from the fire ran along his jaw, dancing over his cheek. She had a sudden urge to trace them with her fingertips. She wondered how it woul
d feel to touch his face, if the hint of stubble she saw there would be rough under her hand. Adam looked at her, and she looked away quickly, hoping he would dismiss the flush creeping up her neck as the result of the heat of the fire.

  “How long have you worked at the pub?” she asked, covering up for the sudden awkwardness she felt at having been caught staring.

  “A few years,” he said. “Something extra, you know. Farming isn’t exactly an all-season endeavor.”

  “So you’re a farmer here?”

  He nodded. “Aye, small scale. Nothing much to speak of.”

  “Do you have any family with you?”

  His face tensed. “No,” he said, and Amelia realized immediately she shouldn’t pry further.

  “Those guys at the pub. They looked like regulars.”

  He laughed at that, his face softening a little. “Aye, they are. Been coming to the Moose since long before I was serving them beers. They’ve known me since I was just a wee little one.”

  Amelia laughed, as the tension slipped away. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the patterns the fire made as they drank.

  “Bit odd,” he observed, glancing at Amelia.

  “What is?”

  “Them sending you here, all alone.”

  “I can handle myself,” she said, her voice tightening.

  “Oh, I know you can. Even if you are shite at figuring out a gas stove.” He winked at her, and Amelia felt her breath catch in her throat again. “Just seems lonely, that’s all. Six weeks out here with no company. Just you and your work. Suppose they think it improves your focus?”

  Amelia shrugged. “I could use the quiet to be honest,” she said. “Some time away from the city. Not that it’s all that quiet tonight.” The wind howled as if on command, and the lightbulb in the kitchen flicked off. This made the shadows from the fire all the more pronounced. The walls suddenly felt closer, and she was now acutely aware of how small the small space between herself and Adam was. It would take only the slightest shift to close it.

  “You must get lonely,” she ventured. His face was blank as he looked at the fire, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of the label on the bottle. He took another sip of his beer, and the silence stretched out between them.

  “No,” he said finally, but Amelia knew that it was a lie. His jaw tightened when he said it, and he didn’t look at her. “No, I’m fine.” He stared into the fire, his lips pressing together. “I’m used to it, though. The being alone.”

  “You’re not alone now,” Amelia said softly, and the moment she said it she wondered why she had. It was a strangely intimate thing to say to this man, someone she’d known only a few hours.

  “Aye,” he said, and he turned then, looking directly at her. “I’m not.” He held her gaze for a long moment, and Amelia was suddenly even more acutely aware of him, of every inch of his body. The space between them seemed to shrink even more.

  The wind howled again, louder this time, and the lightbulb in the kitchen briefly came back to life before dying again. They were left with nothing but the firelight.

  Amelia felt her face heat up as he looked at her, felt the warmth spread through her body, warming her from her head to her toes. She knew that the fire was not responsible for her current condition.

  He reached out, his fingers stroking along her cheek, pushing a lock of hair away from her face. She didn’t move, just breathed in, a soft gasp, and she felt his fingers thread into her hair.

  She knew he would kiss her a moment before he did it. His head bent, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his lips pressed against hers.

  They were warm and soft and full, the kiss gentle, demanding nothing from her. She was stunned for a moment—this gorgeous man is kissing me—and then she put her hand on his upper arm to steady herself, and her lips parted, surrendering to the press of his mouth. She heard him groan, softly, the vibration skimming along her lips, and his other hand skimmed down her side, fingers curling around her waist and pulling her against him. She felt all of him then, hard muscle and bone. His skin was warm, nearly hot, and she imagined for a moment that she could feel the pulse of his heartbeat just below his skin. She felt the tip of his tongue skim along the edge of her lower lip, and she let her mouth open under his, let him explore.

  Everything about the way he touched her was slow, careful, intended to seduce and arouse, as if he had all the time in the world. He leaned forward slowly, his hand going to her waist, and she slid towards him, raising up on her knees so that she was at a level with his face.

  “What about the pub, Adam?” she whispered against his mouth, her heart hammering in her throat. She hated herself for a moment for even suggesting it, for giving him an excuse to leave. She was aching for him to keep touching her, but she felt guilty for keeping him away for so long.

  “Ed will close up,” he murmured, his lips moving a fraction away from hers. “It’s nothing to worry about.” He leaned forward again, his hands urging her to lay back, and she did, shivering at the sweep of his fingers over her shoulders and collarbone. He sat next to her, pausing for a moment, and then his hands continued downward, passing over the swell of her breasts. She gasped softly as his fingers brushed across her nipples, hard and pressing against the confines of her bra. He squeezed, softly, his thumbs circling over the faint outline of her nipples, and she arched her back, pressing herself into his hands. She found herself wishing all her clothing away, wanting to feel the sensation of his bare skin against hers. He teased her for a moment more, his eyes sweeping over her face, taking in her reactions as he touched her, and then he kept going, down to the hem of her sweater, and slipping beneath and pushing the fabric up so that the soft pale flesh of her stomach was exposed. He bent his head then, brushing his lips against her skin, his breath warm and teasing, inches away from the edge of her jeans. Her hips arched involuntarily, her legs parting in a wordless plea, but he ignored it for now.

  He pushed her sweater up, pulling it over her head, and Amelia instinctively braced for the cold, but all she felt was the heat of the fire flickering over her skin, and the broad warmth of his palms as he skimmed them over her body again. He bent his head to kiss her, and she met him eagerly this time, her hand going to the back of his head and tugging the band holding his hair free, her fingers sinking into the silky mass of it as it fell around his face, tickling her cheeks. He reached behind her, undoing her bra easily, and tossing it aside. He smoothed his hands over her breasts, toying with her nipples, and Amelia gasped. He pinched them, gently, tugging slightly, and then he lowered his mouth to her breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple as he rolled the other one between his fingers, his free hand running down her hip, tracing the edge of her thigh. She squirmed under him, her body aching for more, although he seemed determined to draw it out.

  “Take off your shirt,” she finally said, breathless. “I want to see you, too.”

  He obliged, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside, and Amelia breathed in. He had the body of a man who did manual labor—no carefully chiseled slabs of pecs—but instead a hard, broad chest, covered in thick, curling dark hair, and deep cuts of muscle on either side of his flat stomach that disappeared into his jeans. Amelia reached out, her fingers catching on the waist of his jeans, and she pulled him towards her, her hand running over the hard, thick bulge that pressed against the material, straining to get out. She curled her fingers around it and squeezed, and Adam groaned aloud. She rubbed her palm against it, wickedly enjoying the expression on his face, and then she reached for the zipper, undoing it quickly and pushing his jeans and boxers to the floor.

  She reached for him the moment he sprang free, her fingers wrapping around the thick length of him. She stroked her fingers along the length of it, once, and then twice, her fingers brushing over the tip, and when they came away damp she touched one finger lightly to her lips, licking the end of it. Adam’s eyes widened, and he was on the couch in a flash, undoing h
er jeans and tossing them aside, and then he leaned over her, his thick cock pressing between her legs, the heat of it searing through the damp lace of her panties. He arched his hips, rubbing against her, staring down at her with a mischievous smile, and Amelia groaned.

  “You’re making it very hard for me to take this slow,” he murmured, pressing against her again, and Amelia wrapped her legs around his waist, arching against him. He slipped his hand between them, his fingers dipping under the edge of her panties, and he groaned when he felt how wet she was, hot and slick, so that the tip of one finger slipped into her almost immediately, and she raised her hips, feeling him sink deeper into her. She pressed against him, needing more. “Then don’t,” she said, gasping against his mouth. “Don’t wait.”

  Adam paused for a moment, seeming to consider this, and then with a sound that was something like a faint growl, he pressed his mouth against hers, hard. Amelia gasped, her lips parting for him, and then his hands were on her waist and with one swift movement he’d picked her up and he was sitting upright with her straddling his lap. His cock pressed against her stomach, trapped between them, hot and pulsing, and Amelia couldn’t help but arch her back and press against him, rubbing against his shaft.

  Adam shook his head. “You’re a devil, woman,” he growled, reaching for her panties and pulling them off. He buried his hands in her hair then, kissing her hard, and Amelia rose up on her knees, reaching between them and guiding him into her. She slid down onto him in one swift motion, her hips rocking as she pulled him into her, and Adam groaned aloud as her knees sank down on either side of him, her hands on his shoulders as she began to ride him, slowly rising up and sinking back down. His hands gripped her waist, one sliding further down to her ass, and he bent his face to her neck, his lips running along her throat. Amelia was moaning now, gasping as she felt herself coming closer and closer to the edge, as his thick cock stroked in and out of her, pressing against her most sensitive spots. He moved one hand between them, his fingers searching out her clit, and when he rubbed his index finger there, directly between her legs, she cried out and pitched forward, her hips moving erratically and her fingers digging into the muscles of his arms as her orgasm washed over her, every inch of her body tightening.