by Julia Kent
“Where’s my phone?” she shrieked, the moment ruined as Mike and Dylan deflated, Dylan’s disappointment registering in her mind briefly, while Mike appeared to be angry. She couldn’t think about them; something might be wrong at home. Heart racing, her chest suddenly chilled with a flush of sweat, she fumbled for her discarded skirt, dropped the phone, picked it back up and answered, running for the sanctuary of the bathroom.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” she shouted into the phone.
“Shhhhhh!” Josie hushed quietly. “You’ll wake Jillian. She’s right here and sound asleep.”
“THEN WHY ARE YOU CALLING? WHAT HAPPENED?” Laura bellowed.
“Did I interrupt you guys?” Josie said, the sly tone in her voice making Laura want to rip her ears off and wear them on a chain around her neck.
“Why are you calling?” Laura snapped. “And no, you didn’t interrupt anything,” she lied. “We’ve only been here for what? Half an hour?”
“Shit,” Josie said, “it sounds like things aren’t going well there.”
And with that, Laura burst into tears, sat on the toilet lid, and realized she was wearing nothing but panties.
“Aren’t going well is...oh, hell, I don’t know,” Laura whispered through a sob.
“Oh, honey,” Josie said, her voice so comforting it made Laura cry harder. “Are you guys having a hard time?”
“You told them to read my eReader?” Laura asked quietly, wiping her tears with a piece of lavender-scented tissue from the box built into the log-cabin wall.
“I...shit.” Josie blew out a long sigh that gave Laura a chance to blow her own nose. “Yes, I’ll own that. I did.”
“Why?”
“Because Mike and Dylan told me and Alex you have only had sex twice in six months.”
The hand holding the piece of tissue curled into a tight fist. “They WHAT?” she hissed. The distinct sound of a champagne cork popped in the distance, and Laura heard Dylan’s muffled voice say something with urgency.
“And they said the only thing you seemed interested in were your books, so...” Josie’s voice faded. A sharp inhale came through the phone. “I never realized how good a baby’s head can smell,” Josie said, as if naming an embarrassed confession.
Snorting, laughing, and fuming all at once, Laura felt like a vortex of too many emotions crammed into one body. What a mess. Her two amazing men were out in the living room of this gorgeous cabin, getting champagne ready, with hundreds of candles lit and an assortment of pleasure-driven sex toys purchased based on her deepest desires, and here she sat sniffling into the phone and berating her best friend, who was watching her precious baby.
Could she be any more screwed up?
“She’s really OK? No problems?” Please say yes.
“Laura,” Josie ventured, “don’t ever tell Alex I said this, but I think I like this whole baby thing. Jillian is adorable and even when she cries—”
“She cried? Why?”
“Because she’s a baby.” Josie snorted. “But don’t worry Alex just stripped his shirt off and latched her on.”
“Ha ha.” Even that cut through Laura’s malaise.
“I swear the man would lactate if he could,” Josie joked.
“You like the whole domestic thing?” Laura wasn’t surprised. She knew Josie had it in her.
“I like the baby thing more than I want Alex to know. Yet.”
“OK. Shhhh. I won’t spill your secrets.”
“Touché. I’m sorry.”
“So why did you call?” Now Laura was flushed and mussed, confused and overwhelmed.
“We couldn’t remember whether you said to use the butt cream on her rash or to just let it air out.”
“You called me for that?” Laura said through gritted teeth.
“The way you gave us instructions made it seem like we’d have nuclear bombs shoved up our asses and your foot would trigger the explosion if we didn’t do exactly what you said,” Josie replied in a sing-songy voice.
“Is Jillian awake?”
“No. But your angry voice made her stir.”
“Air first. Butt cream second.”
“M’kay.”
Silence. But Josie didn’t hang up.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.” Pause. A quiet, softer side of Josie came out in her words. “Laura, what are you doing to those guys? But most of all, to yourself, honey?” Josie didn’t use words like “honey.” That was the second time in one conversation. Either her niece, Darla, was rubbing off on her or Laura was in worse shape than she ever possibly realized.
More tears. “You’re the one who called,” she sniffed.
“And you’re—what? Sitting in the bathroom talking to me?”
“How could you tell?”
“The echo.”
Laura looked around the bathroom and laughed. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Josie. It’s not that I don’t want Mike and Dylan. It’s just that—” she choked on her next words, but forced them out anyhow—“what if they don’t want me?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Josie whispered. “According to both of them, they’re slobbering all over themselves to get you in bed, but you’re not interested.”
Gah. Even more tears. “Because...” Her mind rushed with excuses and reasons why she wasn’t interested, and then—like a wrist flicking away a gnat—she shooed her own flimsy rationalizations away. “Because I don’t know. Because I don’t feel desirable.”
“Maybe you should just fake it.”
“Fake it?” Fake what? An orgasm? No need to do that—they were plentiful when the mood struck and she was really into sex.
“Make it ’til you fake it. Wait. No—got that backwards,” Josie chuckled. “Basically, be willing to start having sex and see whether your interest catches up.”
“You mean pretend I want something I don’t?” Laura could hear her own voice go flat.
“I mean be willing. Show up for your own sex life. The guys are there with a fucking 20-foot billboard that says “Make Love to Us” and hard-ons the size of tree trunks, all pointed at you! Be willing to touch them and let them touch you, Laura. Just start with that. Don’t overthink it.”
Don’t overthink it. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You have the libido of a seventeen year old boy.”
Josie didn’t argue. “I had to get over myself, though, to let Alex love me and to love him back,” Josie reminded her.
“You think I’m the same way with sex? Because I am so not as fucked up in my sex life as you are in your emotional life.”
“Nothing has to be ‘fair and balanced,’ here,” Josie huffed. “This isn’t Fox News.”
They both laughed. “Now get off the phone and go get into a mess of six arms and legs and tongues—”
“Six tongues?”
“You know what I meant. Go get dirty, Laura. Have raunchy, awesome, mind-blowing sex with the fathers of your baby. Enjoy yourself. Alex and I have Jillian and we sure as hell won’t be having any sex tonight, so go be the ones getting some for once.” Click. Josie ended the call, leaving Laura no choice. Only a best friend could do that.
Leave you to your own devices at the exact moment when you just want to be an ostrich and pretend you don’t need to deal with real life.
Laura loved her and hated her for it.
“Laura?” Mike called out from the living room.
Josie was right. It was time to show up. Catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, she gasped—and then stopped. The mental torture dissipated. This was silly.
And the whole mascara-raccoon look really didn’t do it for her. Giggling (and enjoying the sound from her), she wiped her eyes, splashed some cold water on her face, and used the magic of the lavender-infused tissues to clean herself up. A deep, shaky breath or two and she opened the door, walking toward the bed, and looked up to find:
Dylan and
Mike, completely naked, stretched out on the bed. Mike dangled a pair of handcuffs from one finger, while Dylan held a large champagne flute in his hand, stretched out for her to take.
“Subtle,” she said, taking the drink. She downed it in one huge gulp.
“That’s Taittinger—” Mike protested as Dylan interrupted him with a dark look.
Laura couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the scene. Mike’s long, tan, taut legs didn’t even come to the end of the enormous bed, his erection standing proud, making Laura feel a prickly heat flow through her as her eyes took him in greedily. As if that weren’t enough, Dylan lounged on the bed like a model in the middle of a shoot, one knee up, the other stretched out, his own massive cock at attention, as if it were the focal piece for a photograph.
In her mind, it was.
And between them, a space just right for her. Instead of climbing into the bed and over one of the guys, she started from the base and crawled up, her eyes shifting from one man to the other, their bodies and coloring so starkly different yet blazingly rich. Tall, blonde Mike and thick, muscled Dylan, with his swarthy complexion and riveting eyes. Both made her smolder, and both made her see that all her fears were baseless, her insecurities an old relic left over from a time when she hadn’t felt loved enough.
No need for those thoughts any more.
Dylan’s warm palm slipped under her panties, cupping her ass, and then Mike’s nimble fingers made quick work of the wisp of cotton and silken cloth, leaving the three of them completely nude on the huge bed, the room hushed and warm, the candles lending an eerie, contemplative glow as Laura relaxed—really relaxed—for the first time in ages.
“What do you have planned for me?” she asked Mike, eyes flitting from him to the handcuffs he held over her as Dylan teased one nipple, the shock making her shiver.
A crooked half-smile teased his lips, making her wet and, suddenly, very wanting. “We had more than enough planned for you, but we thought we would have to pry whatever’s wrong out of you.” He gently set the handcuffs down on the end table, twisting his torso in that maddening way that made muscles pop out from his waistline, the effect artistic and graceful and hot.
“Pry?” Now Dylan peppered her shoulders with tiny kisses that made it hard to think. Ah, that wet, warm mouth. What he could do elsewhere...
“We know you’ve been so quiet, honey,” Mike said, cupping her chin, as Dylan’s kisses continued. “We just want you to be happy. We both feel so complete when we’re with you. You light us on fire. We want to do the same for you.”
She swallowed, hard, as Dylan stopped the butterfly touch and curled around her, legs pulled up, glorious cock ready for its own set of kisses—from her.
“This is when I feel most connected to the entire world, Laura. Right here. Right now. With you,” Dylan added, brushing the hair off her face with little touches of love.
What should have happened next didn’t. Laura expected to cry, to make a bunch of excuses, to apologize, to cringe—to deflect. But it didn’t happen.
“I could sit here,” she said, fingers lightly stroking Mike’s shaft as he gasped, jaw tightening, struggling to listen to her, “and tell you all about why I’ve been so miserable.” In fairness, she took her other hand as she stretched out on her back, and gave Dylan a set of finger strokes that made him inhale sharply. “Right now, though, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to tie myself in knots trying to unravel the past six months and ruin what we have right here, right now.”
“So,” she said, letting go of Mike and turning to Dylan, the press of her lips against the tight, warm skin of his pecs so luxurious and so sensual she wished she could do it—and nothing but—forever, “let’s read and talk later. We have six months of catching up to do.”
Strong hands pinned her to the bed with such speed she couldn’t think, her wrists pressed deeply into the mattress. “Six months, huh?” Mike asked, now looming over her, body folded on his knees, the thick thigh muscles bulging along with another very bulging muscle that glistened with need. “Which fantasy is your favorite, Laura? Because Dylan went shopping and we can do anything you want right now.”
Whatever control she thought she had over both of them with her taunting touches dissipated in seconds. Holy shit. They were serious. A deep, shaking sense of profound joy filled her.
“If you’re the one who is dominating, you’re the one who calls all the shots,” she rasped.
“No. Wrong,” Dylan said, his voice hoarse with desire. “You decide everything. We have only one thing we control.”
“What’s that?”
“Your orgasm.”
She groaned involuntarily, already squirming with a white-hot need that she’d assumed could be quelled with a mouth or a cock within a few minutes. They were going to draw this out amidst the splendor of the room, the greatest gift before them handed to the three by their friends: time. Oh, the grand joyful prospect of an entire night stretched out in infinite glory for nothing but this—pleasure and sensual pain and whatever these men did to her as the three of them explored uncharted territory in bed.
Her clit swelled with a craving to be touched and nibbled and licked and loved, the emotion so buried and unfamiliar it claimed her in full. This is what it felt like, to be in a state of wanting all the time. She’d hardly recognized it, having repressed it for so long, and yet here it was, laid bare just as she was, her eyes being covered by that red, silk scarf Mike had just played with minutes ago in his hands.
“You need to pick a safeword,” Dylan whispered.
“Safeword?”
“It’s something you say to stop us if—”
The giggle bubbled up inside her as someone—Mike?—adjusted the scarf. Unable to see them, her senses sharpened as she worked to know where they were in space. Dylan’s voice sounded like brandy.
“I know what a safeword is. Do we really need one? You guys aren’t going to—”
Bzzzzz. Except that wasn’t her phone. What was that? It sounded loud.
And big. She felt the covers shift slightly, and then the bed began to vibrate a bit. Good hell.
“OK, OK, a safeword,” she gasped. How big was that vibrator? Racing through the set of books she had on her eReader, she wondered which sex scenes the guys had read. The possibilities were endless. Stifling a moan of ecstasy at the thought of reliving some of what she’d read, she tried to gather herself.
“Um, Madge is my safeword.”
“Madge?” She almost laughed at the incredulity in Dylan’s voice.
“Yes, Madge.”
“That will halt everything permanently,” he mumbled. “And—yep. There went my erection. Good choice.”
Mike’s laugh erupted to her right as someone—she guessed him—turned the buzzing off.
“I can take care of that for you,” she murmured, fumbling with her hand for him. He was just there a moment ago, and now that he wasn’t talking, she could only go by touch and sound. The shuffle of skin on cloth as someone moved beside her tickled her ears; the muffled sound of lit candle wicks flickering as air moved, and the rasp of muscle against the sheets again all filled her with anticipation. Without vision she was acutely and frustratingly tensed for whatever came next.
Hopefully, it would be her.
Strong hands slid up her calves, to her thighs, and then a gentle push apart as her breath flowed in with an increased rush at the end, clit ready for the expected sensation of a finger, a mouth, of attention lovingly delivered the way she most wanted and needed it.
The warmth of a body—Mike’s, she could tell, from the way his leg brushed against her knee, the pattern of skin and hair somehow ingrained in her, her mind marveling that she could know that, blindfolded—was between her now and a heated ache spread from her belly on down, body awakening. To her surprise, Dylan’s lips were at her ear, teeth nipping her lobe, and he whispered, “I want your mouth.”
Biting her lower lip, her core swollen with need, this was almos
t too much. “Of course,” she said, and as her eyes rolled and she felt her body relax, layer by layer, at the same time the feel of Dylan as he moved to put his erection close to her face made a keen wave of pulses pour through her, nearly pushing her to climax by the mere thought, the hint, of what was next.
Wet, eager, and wanting, she was hardly the same woman from thirty minutes ago. And she loved it that way as the tip of Dylan’s taut cock touched her mouth. Fumbling, unable to see, she pulled one hand to his shaft, but a strong palm wrapped around her wrist and stopped her.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Dylan, we forgot to tie her wrists,” Mike said, his body catlike and stretched out, half on her and off, the massive heat from his body now covering two thirds of her as he’d stretched up from between her legs to grab her.
“Guys, you don’t have to do this,” she said in a sheepish tone. “It’s not like I need thi—”
“You have a safeword,” Mike hissed, her wrist encased in a soft coating around something metal. Click. Her shoulder adjusted, then Mike did the second arm. She was spread out on the bed and felt somewhat silly and yet more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. “Feel free to use it whenever you need. But until then, Laura, your pleasure is completely in our hands.”
A wall of pure lust pounded through her veins as Mike’s words sank in. Dylan’s hot, pulsing cock came to her mouth at the same split second Mike’s warm lips descended on her clit, the twinned tactile treasures shoving her out of her own head and back into her body, where all that mattered was her lips wrapped around Dylan’s erection, the push of Mike’s fingers on her wet folds, the heat of all three bodies working in concert with no interruptions, no plans, and nothing to do but this.
Hips bucking up, she found her orgasm standing ripe and ready, the tease of Mike’s little laps bringing her there as she tightened, his finger sliding inside to find a wall of muscle searching for some welcome visitor to embrace.
And then...he stopped.
Dylan’s gentle gliding in and out of her mouth, balanced above her chest, slowed down as she moaned from frustration, wanting more of what Mike had to offer. He wasn’t kidding—he was going to draw this out and bring her to the edge, then pull back, over and over until she begged.