I pull my hand from her jeans and tilt her head up to me. Her eyes are a darker blue after orgasm—something closer to an ocean than a sky—and I can see uncountable thoughts and questions swimming in there.
“Open your mouth,” I say in a low voice, and she opens for me. I slide my wet fingers into her mouth, and she closes around them, sucking without me having to tell her to.
Oh yes, she and I are going to get along very well.
“Do you taste yourself?” I ask softly. “Do you taste how much you needed someone to fuck you?”
Her eyes dart over to Caleb, and whatever she seems to see there reassures her.
“Answer me with a nod,” I say. “And no lies, remember? Can you taste how badly you needed to be fucked?”
Eyes huge on mine, my fingers in her mouth, she nods, and I remove them, satisfied. “That’s right,” I say. “And you still need to be fucked, don’t you? You need to be between Caleb and me so badly. You need to feel two big cocks hard and leaking for you and you alone.”
She looks like her breath is caught in her throat, like all those thoughts swimming in her eyes are just trapped, trapped, trapped, waiting to break free, so I coax her by leaning down and brushing my lips against hers for the very first time. She tastes like mint and lipstick, and her mouth is as soft as her cunt. I lick inside and then pull back to breathe against her lips.
“Be brave, Ireland. Say yes.”
“Say yes?” she murmurs.
“Say yes to taking what you want. To taking us.”
A little smile crooks her mouth. “You wouldn’t be taking me?”
I nip at her jaw and then at that irresistible little smile. “Dirty girl. You know you’ll be ours once you say it. So say it. Say yes.”
Chapter Seven
Ireland
It feels like Ben is asking me about something bigger than a roll in the hay.
I blink up at him and then over to Caleb, my heart racing along with my mind, trying to sift through Ben’s words.
Be brave, Ireland.
You know you’ll be ours.
Ours. He must mean that within the context of tonight. That if I go to bed with them, they’ll be at my sexual service—not…not what my heart keeps tripping over itself imagining.
That there’s more. That there could be so much more.
That these men not only want to fuck me but love me.
You’re being silly, I scold myself. And you’re overly romanticizing sex. They must do this all the time, and you’re just the latest one.
It makes sense though now, what Mrs. Parry said. Complicated. Feeling the two of them touching me and kissing me, feeling their awareness of each other—it was completely different than kissing Caleb against the barn or watching Ben goad Caleb into coming all over his fist. Once the three of us touched, something new sizzled into existence. Something bright and searing. Something that took more than two people.
Yes, that’s complicated. Different.
But however electric this thing between us is, however magical, I’m also realistic about what it actually means. I barely even know Caleb and Ben, so how could it mean anything more than just fucking? Besides, I’m very used to the idea that girls who look like me don’t get swept into torrid love affairs with hunky country boys. That stuff happens to pretty girls. Skinny girls.
No, this will be sex, plain and simple, no matter what intense words Ben lobs my way.
I still want it.
Why not? Being invited to a threesome with the two handsomest men I’ve ever laid eyes on? Hell yes, I want that.
When I was a girl, I wanted to climb mountains and sail boats and go places no one else had ever been. I wanted adventures! I wanted fun! And right now, adventure and fun personified are staring me in the face, albeit in a way I never could have imagined as a girl.
Be brave, Ireland.
“Yes,” I blurt out, taking Ben’s advice and being brave. Being the woman that girl wanted to grow up to be before people started telling her she wasn’t the right size for adventures and didn’t have the right kind of body for fun. Being who I was before I started being the one to tell myself no—no, I can’t do that; no, people will think you’re desperate or trying too hard or too eager to please.
I’ve spent too long caging myself in, and it feels good to beam up at the men hulking over me with hungry eyes and big hands and emphatically repeat, “Yes.”
It’s easy to keep feeling brave as we dart across the grass, the rain coming down in cool silver streaks around us, the wind gusting past in huge buffets that nearly knock us off our feet.
Caleb grabs my hand, his fingers so warm and strong around my own, and then he’s pulling me impatiently to the back door as Ben follows behind us. When I look back at Ben through the rain, the wind whips his T-shirt around the tight muscles of his stomach and chest, lifting the hem high enough to reveal glimpses of taut, olive-colored abs and a line of dark hair that disappears into his jeans.
Unf.
We stumble inside in a rain-wet and eager mess, and then I’m pulled up the stairs by Caleb while Ben stalks behind us, his eyes glittering with dark promises I hope to God he keeps.
Caleb leads me into the first room off the upstairs landing, and I know immediately it’s his. There’s something so basic about it, so honest, with the antique lamp on a wooden end table by the big, sturdy bed and a framed aerial picture of the farm on the opposite wall. A Carhartt jacket hangs off the doorknob of the small closet, and a paperback mystery sits facedown on the top of his dresser, the corners curling up slightly, like it got wet at some point. Like he took it with him one day out in the fields and got caught in the rain, or maybe he left it in the truck with the windows down.
For some reason, this little display of carelessness seals it for me. I’ve definitely got it bad for Caleb Carpenter. He spins me around so I’m trapped in his arms with my back to his chest, and I see Ben kick the bedroom door shut and prowl toward us.
I think it’s only a matter of moments before I have it just as bad for Ben too.
It’s deep evening now, and with the rain lashing outside, the room is almost completely dark—save for a nightlight glowing dimly in the corner, which is a rather endearing addition to a grown man’s room. The light gives a faint burnish to Ben’s cheekbones and a deep gleam to his eyes as he walks toward us, stopping a mere inch away from me. I could arch my back and my breasts would press against his chest, and the realization goes through me like a bullet. Suddenly it’s all I want to do, to feel my nipples raking against his hard body. To feel one man solid and warm behind me as I rub myself against another. God, even just the thought of it makes me shiver. Talk about being spoiled.
But it’s like Ben knows what I’m going to do before I do it; with deliberate slowness and care, he wraps his hands around my wrists and raises them to my chest, and it’s less about restraining me than it is keeping me exactly where I am. Keeping me from rubbing against him like a cat.
“You want us to fuck you,” Ben says, and he says it like a statement, not a question.
I answer him anyway. “Yes.”
Lightning flashes outside, sending his beautiful face into sharp relief and showing me the primal hunger stamped onto his every feature. “Have you ever fucked two men at the same time?” he asks in a low voice, and God, those words in that voice go straight to my core.
Dirty, delicious words.
Dirty, delicious man.
“No,” I whisper.
Caleb makes a noise behind me, his restless hands squeezing at me.
“What won’t you do, Ireland?”
My brain struggles with a reply—partly because Caleb’s hands are busy kneading my ass and hips and I can feel my body responding with fierce, wet need—but partly because I’m not sure I understand. “What won’t I do?”
Ben may strike me as a hard man, but when he speaks, his words are patient, if cool. “You say you want to fuck, but fucking is an entire menu of things, sweetheart.
It’s always better to know your own menu before you start ordering.”
I think about this. “Like hard limits?”
“Like hard limits. But also soft limits or preferences. You can do as little or as much as you like with us, and we’ll be happy however we get to have you.”
No one has ever talked to me about sex like this before. I’ve had boys ask if it’s okay to move forward, if it’s okay to do more, but forward and more always meant some vague notion of everything, like if you’re agreeing to sex, then of course you’d also do oral and everything else in between. Like the only real boundary is between everything else and intercourse, and after intercourse, even that boundary goes away.
It’s the first time I’ve thought about sex the way Ben describes it, as an array of things I can pick or not pick, and the freedom it allows me is almost giddying.
But then I genuinely can’t think of much. Until Brian, I’d never gotten past some fumbling attempts at oral, and with him, our bed play was painfully tame. I almost wish we’d found some boundaries, because that would have meant some degree of exploration, of trying new things. Of being brave.
I look up at Ben, dangerous and sexy as hell in the darkness, and I feel Caleb breathing hard behind me, his thick cock brushing against my ass every time he exhales, and I seize on the impulse, on the adventure of the moment.
“I want to try everything,” I say boldly. “All of it. Any of it.”
Ben’s hands tighten ever so slightly around my wrists. “All is a big word, Ireland. A very big one.”
It is a big word. That’s why it excites me so much. “You’ll stop something if I ask you to stop?”
Caleb growls behind me, and I think I’ve maybe insulted his gentlemanly honor. But I have to know, and in order to know, I have to ask. “Yes, peach,” Caleb says. “We’ll stop.”
I stare at Ben as he inclines his head in a polite nod. “Of course,” he replies. “The very moment you ask. Or before the moment you ask, if I’m not certain you’re into it.”
“Then all of it is fair game,” I say decisively. “There’s so much I haven’t done—so much I want to try. How will I ever know I don’t like something if I don’t try it?”
Ben’s lips twitch. “How indeed.”
He steps forward right as Caleb steps back, and he pushes on my wrists as Caleb pulls on my belt loops, and I’m walked backward toward the bed. And then suddenly both men are in front of me and I’m being pushed onto my back on the quilted mattress, and then Ben is crawling over me with predatory grace as Caleb settles next to my side. Ben’s hair is long enough to hang around his bladed jaw and equally sharp cheekbones as he does, sending dancing shadows across his sinfully curved lips before he leans down and kisses me.
Hard.
I gasp up into his mouth, not prepared for the onslaught of his kiss after the rather gentle one he gave me in the barn. But I can tell by the way he settles over me, by the way Caleb groans at my side, that this is how Ben likes to kiss, with cruel pressure and deep, possessive strokes of his tongue, giving me no quarter. I can barely breathe, but I don’t want to breathe, not if it means turning away from this kiss, a kiss that says this mouth is mine now.
You are mine now.
Ben breaks off the kiss to turn my face to Caleb, who kisses me just as deeply but more gently. More sweetly, though the subtle scratch of his short beard keeps it from feeling tame. It’s like a reward for enduring Ben’s punishing mouth, but if Ben’s the punishment, then sign me up for a lifetime of being punished. I’m practically writhing underneath them in need, my body aching to be filled after Ben’s claiming touch and then aching even more at Caleb’s worshipping mouth.
Ben wedges his thigh between my legs as he lowers himself to his forearms to kiss me even harder, a look of dark pleasure moving across his face as my hips lift of their own accord to chase the friction. “Poor peach,” Ben murmurs. “Isn’t she a poor girl, Caleb, reduced to fucking my thigh because she’s so hard up for it?”
“It’s too bad,” agrees Caleb. His hand drifts down to my chest, fingers circling one erect nipple, and even through the fabric of my shirt and my bra, it’s excruciatingly good. “Wonder if we can help her with that.”
Ben leans down for another kiss, and this one has biting. He nips at my lips and sucks my tongue and bites along my jaw. He sinks his white teeth hard into my lower lip, and I arch up into him with a cry, and then he turns my head for Caleb to soothe it better, which Caleb does with attentive licks and strokes and sucks.
On and on it goes—a kiss of darkness and near-pain from Ben and then a rewarding kiss of earnest passion from Caleb—one man leaving me wrung out and shaking and then the other man putting me back together again. Until I think I can’t stand it anymore, until I think I might perish with the emptiness low inside me. Until I’m begging them shamelessly, with my pelvis rocking up against Ben’s thigh and my hands clutching blindly at arms and shoulders and my voice quietly pleading against the rain, “More, more, more.”
Ben lifts himself, and with some kind of wordless communication, he and Caleb both shift to peel my clothes off my skin. Ben is efficient, clinical even, but Caleb can’t stop his hands from wandering over each new naked inch, and I’m grateful for the darkness. I catch his hand before he can move it from my sternum to my belly, a flush now burning my cheeks at even the idea of him touching me there. His caresses have been so worshipful, so eager, but will they change when he touches that part of me? Without the semi-smoothing barrier of a shirt or jeans, without anything between his fingers and my skin? My breasts and my ass and even my hips… They’re the parts of me that are easiest to like for a man, I’m sure. The parts that could almost be like a Kardashian’s body—sleek and flat-tummied, a two-dimensional hourglass.
But I’m not sleek. Not in my arms or thighs and definitely not in my belly, which is not two dimensional in the least. And it’s stupid, given that Caleb has already pressed against me, given that nothing about my clothes earlier hid my body, but something about my naked belly feels more real and intimate than anything else we’re doing.
I don’t know if I’m ready to share it with these men. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to share it with any lover, come to that, but especially these two? As fit and tight and hard as their bodies are, how could they still want me if they know how soft and loose I am?
I guide Caleb’s hand back to my breast, which is still covered by my bra, hoping to distract him from my belly, and he palms it with the awed happiness of a teenage boy, but I should have known Ben wouldn’t miss it. I should have known Ben would see, even in the dark, the things I try to hide. He seems like the kind of man who’s very good at seeing what people hide.
He also seems like the kind of man who’s good at hiding himself.
Ben finishes tugging off my jeans and panties and then climbs back over me with glittering eyes. “All,” he drawls. “Any. Those were your words, peach.”
“Yes,” I say with a dry throat, because I think I know what’s about to happen. And it does.
Ben puts his hand over Caleb’s and slowly pushes it down from my breast. Down to my belly.
I suck in a breath.
“You can say stop,” Ben says in a voice that almost sounds indifferent, but in the haze of the nightlight, I can see the rapid pound of his pulse in his neck. He’s aroused. He’s edgy.
He likes this, I realize, and I realize also that it’s not just the obvious—making out and now having me nearly undressed—but also him moving Caleb’s hand. Him nudging me toward something that feels awfully like a boundary. Something scary.
He likes the thrill.
And…I like thrills too. Or I used to, and now I’m relearning how, and this is my first adventure. I can be brave.
I swallow and wet my lips. “I’m not saying stop.”
“Good. Because Caleb wants to touch you here. Don’t you, Caleb?”
“I do,” Caleb groans, his hand flexing over my stomach, running alon
g the curve of it until he reaches my navel. He even caresses the part where my stomach meets my hips and there’s this crease I don’t think a single other human has ever touched on purpose.
He touches it. Traces it. Follows it across my stomach while he bends down to kiss me.
“Caleb, I think you should take off your clothes now,” Ben says in that bossy way of his, which isn’t bossy at all. More like matter-of-fact. More like commanding. “Show off that big, strong body of yours and all the parts of you that want to feel her.”
Caleb gives me a final kiss and then grins down at me, an irrepressible grin that I can’t help but return.
“What about you?” I ask Ben, turning to look up at him. “Any parts of you that want to feel me?”
There’s a flash of something like surprise, maybe even pride, across his face, and his mouth curls up at the corners. “There are some indeed,” he murmurs, lifting himself off me. And while Caleb undresses, Ben pops open the button of his fly and works his jeans open enough to free the head of his erection, which even in the dim light looks florid-dark and swollen. The sight of him in his black T-shirt and jeans, with just the tip of his cock exposed, is the lewdest thing I think I’ve ever seen.
I’m panting for it.
Caleb is disrobing now too, fully, tugging off his T-shirt to expose a body unfairly masculine and perfect. His shoulders and chest and back are layered with swathes of swelling muscle, and when he unbuckles his belt and kicks off his jeans and boxer briefs, I see hard thighs that invite salacious squeezing and a tight, firm ass that does the same. Narrow hips, a lightly furred belly, and a heavy erection that bobs as he climbs back onto the bed. He wastes no time in helping me remove my bra, and then he and I are both completely naked. And then there’s Ben, who somehow seems filthier than the both of us, more obscene, fully clothed with his rigid cock pushing through the fly of his jeans.
Misadventures of a Curvy Girl Page 6