by Cara McKenna
He drew her legs together, slid her boy shorts down her legs. She glanced to Vaughn. He was kneeling on the bed at a polite distance, attention on her body.
Come closer. Kiss me. Say something in that deep, smooth voice.
But he didn’t. He was their audience, just now. Rapt but controlled. Cautious.
Maybe they haven’t done this before. A part of her hoped not. A part of her hoped tonight was a first for all three of them.
No, not for Mica. That man had had three-ways before; she could just tell. But Vaughn . . . Maybe he was in this boat with her, tonight. A person lost their virginity not once but a thousand times throughout their life. The first time they touched themselves, made themselves come. The first time they had sex, the first time they went down. The first time they experienced any number of carnal milestones. Tonight, perhaps both she and Vaughn were surrendering the same scrap of innocence, sharing a lover for the first time in their lives.
Mica eased her legs wide, hunkering down. He took a deep, dirty breath, smelling her, and sighed with satisfaction. She fisted his hair, earning a gasp. Like last time, the little hit of control lit her up, made her bold.
“Show him,” she said. “Show him what I like.”
She got his lips first, in a soft and somehow nearly chaste kiss, a whisper against her clit. She shivered, squeezing his hair tighter. A firmer sweep of those lips across the same spot, then lower, his soft skin dragging against her folds.
She’d felt just this, not even a week ago, and told herself she’d never forget how amazing he’d been. And yet she had forgotten, somehow—his mouth shocked her, like she’d never felt this before. He was lapping at her deeply, feasting just as he had the first time, making her feel like prey and worship object at once. She held his head, let the sensations drive her crazy, then looked to Vaughn. His own mouth was open, and his gaze moved to her face when she turned. She smiled, feeling the strangest mix of shy and shameless. She’d never done this before, been watched this way, but the pleasure left her wanton. Wild.
Two men’s mouths. I want two men’s mouths.
“Would you kiss me?” she asked Vaughn.
He nodded, then moved with purpose. Had he been waiting all this time to be invited in? He kept his clothes on. Clare was all but naked, and as he lay beside her, his soft shirt brushing her bare belly, that preylike sensation deepened. He slipped an arm beneath the pillow under her head and lowered his mouth to hers.
Soft kisses, light, sensual, to contrast the ravenous ones working her pussy. She kept one hand on Mica’s head and brought her other palm to Vaughn’s face.
Who am I? Who is this woman? She was no one Clare could say she’d met before last week. No one who’d existed before Mica had conjured her from some dark, greedy, pure place deep in Clare’s body or brain.
I can’t say who she is. Only that I like her.
And being in this skin . . . She’d never be the same, ever again. She could never go back, and she knew she’d never want to.
Wreck me, she thought, feeling Mica’s tongue, lips, breath.
Ruin me, she thought, as Vaughn took their kiss deeper, bolder.
Already spoiled, she wanted more. More skin, more of that exciting male smell. She freed her mouth, spoke against Vaughn’s lips. “Take your shirt off.”
He backed off and peeled his tee away. Fuck, he looked exactly how he should. Like a man with a gym membership, plus a job that gave him a good reason to keep fit. Ready and strong.
As he returned to her, she whispered, “You look good.”
“You look fucking amazing.” His gaze moved down her body, and if the sight of his best friend hard at work between her legs gave him any pause, he didn’t show it. “Can I touch you?”
“Of course.”
He rested his weight on one forearm and let his other hand drift down her body, fingertips grazing her cheek, her throat, between her collarbone and her breasts, to her belly and navel, where she squirmed involuntarily. When he froze there, she smiled.
“It’s fine. I’m just ticklish.”
His touch drifted back upward, and even with everything Mica was doing to her, this subtler contact blazed. It was all about the contrast with these two men. Slow and curious, fast and hungry. One gentleman, one devil.
The next time Vaughn’s fingers met her chin, he asked, “Could you take your bra off?”
“Sure.” It was easy enough, a front closure. She twisted the clasp free and let the cups fall aside to join the jumble of her half-shed blouse. Hers were neither big nor small, as breasts went, but she knew he liked what he saw. A taste of Mica’s hunger burned in Vaughn’s eyes now, and she felt its heat smoldering in her own body. He cupped her, one breast and then the other, let his palm brush across her nipple, sensation blooming bright. She caught her breath, blew it out slow. Flashed another smile to tell him, It’s good. Keep going.
He dropped his head and shoulders low, seeking her mouth. As they kissed, she covered his hand cupping her breast with hers, coaxing firm squeezes to the rhythm of Mica’s flickering tongue. She’d never felt so indulged, and it roused something fierce, filled her with visions of returning the favor, pleasing these two men. Nearly anything they asked for, she’d give. Anything they asked for, she’d try. Hell, she might make some requests herself. Maybe Vaughn taking her from behind, Mica kneeling before her, filling her mouth. The thought flushed her cheeks.
Mica would want something filthy, she knew that much, but with Vaughn here—the picture of respect, the type to solicit consent—she trusted the scene itself on a far deeper level. She held his head with her free hand as they kissed, and she imagined him inside her. Taking her. She imagined how he’d be. To start—slow, sensual, erotic. Then she let herself imagine how he might get, once his turn came. Would she catch a little glimpse of his friend, as the urgency took over? Would she get to see this steady and respectful man grow wild as the pleasure mounted?
Will he even get a say? she had to wonder. Or would Mica conduct the whole thing? That bossy mouth of his would soon be free once again, free to issue orders . . . What might he say to Vaughn, as he watched the other man with her?
Faster, deeper, harder. Those were the obvious instructions, yet Mica was far from obvious.
Guess I’ll just have to wait and find out.
The pleasure was strung taut between her nipples and clit like a current, a pulsing heat snaking down her arms and legs, warming her everywhere at once. Warm—then all at once cool. Mica’s mouth abandoned her, his fingers taking over, sliding deep. She bucked.
“Show her,” he said, his voice darkening the room. “Stroke for her.”
She shivered and felt Vaughn tense in turn. For her it was a frisson of excitement, because nothing she’d ever known thrilled her quite the way Mica’s dirty talk did. For Vaughn . . . she couldn’t guess what he was feeling, being issued orders by his friend. But whatever might be going through his head, it didn’t stall his body. He obeyed.
He left the bed, unbuckled his belt, and pushed his jeans and boxer shorts together to the floor. He was just as promised—big. Bigger than Mica. Long and thick, curving upward at a graceful angle. He clasped himself as he climbed back on the bed, kneeling, then began to stroke—as slow and light and reverent as those fingertips had looked, skating softly up and down her body.
“You like him?” Mica asked.
She swallowed. “Yes.” She spoke to Mica but sought Vaughn’s eyes. “He’s just as you said.”
Mica moved, also getting to his knees, his own thighs spreading her wider. He leaned in close, kissed her once on lips still damp and tender from another man’s mouth, then reached for the table, for the box. She listened to the rustle of cardboard, then plastic, to the heavy, hungry breath of all three of them in the quiet room, all the while transfixed by Vaughn.
This was what porn ought to look like, sh
e thought. A gorgeous, strong, naked man, just doing this. It gave him pleasure, no doubt, but there was more to the way he held himself. It was more than a show. It was a presentation. As if he was offering himself to her, seeking her approval, maybe. This is for you, each steady tug of his fist was telling her. All of this is for you, ready the second you ask for it. Or perhaps, the second he was told to give it to her. There was a sternness to his expression now, unlike the greedy, smug gleam she knew she’d find on Mica’s face, were their roles reversed.
He was in control, and that excited him, she bet.
It excited her, in turn. She’d found Vaughn’s self-possession attractive from the start. It was who he was, professionally; now sexually, too, it seemed. It’d make watching him fall to pieces all the more obscene.
Her attention shifted to Mica—naked and hard and sheathed, kneeling before her. She tugged at his ribs with her heels. “Show him what you can do to me.”
Mica grinned, clearly happy to share the role of dirty talker. He steadied his cock and flexed his hips, his head sinking in slow and easy. She was wet from his mouth, and from every other thing happening in this room. The sight of both men, the smells, the sounds.
The need intensified, feeling darker, the deeper he pushed. Deeper than those gifted fingers could get, and smoother. Mica fit like they’d been made for each other. She nearly hoped Vaughn wouldn’t feel quite this right—that he’d feel blunter, cruder. That he’d be a little too big, maybe, just a little too much. He was the man who said everything right, Mica the one who said everything so exquisitely wrong. If Mica’s cock was this precisely perfect, inside her as it was now, let Vaughn’s provide the friction, the tension. Let his body take her to that edge abutting pleasure and misgiving, just as Mica’s intentions so often did.
“You want him.”
Her gaze had gone to Vaughn’s hand, but at the sound of that voice, she sought Mica’s unearthly face. “I was wondering how different he’d feel.”
“Were you?” He dropped down, fisting the covers at her sides, hips pumping quicker.
“Yeah.”
“How do I feel?”
“Amazing. Like you’ve been doing this with me for ages.”
“And him—how will he feel? Like a stranger?”
Exactly. She nodded.
“But this,” he said, taking her harder, rougher. “This isn’t so strange.”
“No. I’ve been thinking about this every day since we fucked.”
Oh, that smile. “Me, too. You like it like this?” he demanded, voice now stilted by the effort.
“You feel amazing.”
“You like that big cock?”
She jolted and stammered another “Yeah.”
“You’ll love his even more, then. He’s real big, isn’t he? You want to feel him, right here? Just like this?” he asked, hips slowing.
She’d been panting, lost in his punishing motions, and worked to catch her breath. “I think so.”
“I know you do. So you be a good girl and come for me, and maybe I’ll let you have my friend.”
She reeled, shocked and fevered by those words, by the look in his eyes. By the lust tensing Vaughn’s face and body and hand. That same tension coiled tight in her own belly from Mica’s promise, Vaughn’s face, from the notion of the invitation.
Mica lowered, nipping at her jaw and throat. “Be a good girl,” he said again. “Come on my cock, and maybe I’ll let you have his.”
Fuck, he was a maestro. The dirtiest, nastiest, most gifted conductor. His words affected not just Clare, but Vaughn as well. She could see it on his face, see it in the way his arm muscles locked, working hard not to do anything more than hold his erection. Such a steady-seeming man, yet this taboo, kinky talk had him excited, maybe against his better judgment.
That’s what makes sex hot. It was the conflict, the danger. The thrill of being with someone new and unknown, and of bumping up against that wall that separated safe and scary. Mica had brought all of that home for her. That edge. He could draw her deeper into the woods than she ever planned to go, then show her that only wonders awaited her in the shadows.
“Maybe you need a little more,” Mica said, shattering her thoughts. He turned to Vaughn and said, “Touch her.”
Vaughn let his dick go, licked his lips. He was about to get closer to his friend, sexually, than perhaps he ever had. His fingers might glance Mica’s driving cock. Did it scare him? Excite him? All she saw on that face was determination.
He moved to her side, knees planted wide, one touching Mica’s. He touched her hip first, traced the sensitive skin where her thigh met her trunk, tickled the hair on her mound before dipping lower.
She gasped as those fingertips found her clitoris, her own fingers curling into fists around the sheets. Mica gave it to her, deep and relentless. Vaughn teased her, soft and exploratory. She told him with her moans when he was hitting the right spot, the right speed.
“Just like that,” she gasped. Short up-and-down motions with his first two fingers, the exact right amount of pressure and the perfect pace to complement Mica’s thrusts. “Don’t stop.”
Two men, two deep voices choked by grunts, two hard bodies working to please hers. One man’s cock, one man’s hand. She palmed her breasts, closing the loop.
“Good,” Mica said. “Good girl. Come on my cock. Come on my cock and I’ll let you have his.”
Yes. Christ, but he knew how to pluck every last kinky string she had. The way he spoke, in these nasty, patronizing threats . . . You’re magic, she wanted to tell him.
He knew it, too. You could see in those eyes, he knew he had her. Probably knew she’d give him any goddamn thing he wanted, and he deserved it. He delivered.
She’d never wished she could put off an orgasm so badly in her life. The building of it was too delicious, the tension too hot, and she didn’t want it to end. The wanting and the hunger felt better than any climax ever could, and she’d be fantasizing about this moment for the rest of her life.
“Fuck.” She barely registered that she’d been the one who’d said it, but once that word slipped free, others rushed out on its heels. “You feel so fucking good. Both of you.”
Mica leaned forward, his body casting a shadow across hers in the dim light. He was crowding Vaughn’s arm, his side touching his friend’s wrist, but neither stopped or slowed or showed any sign of disturbance.
As for Clare, it excited her. Zapped her. They’re touching. And she wanted more of that. Wanted to watch them kiss, or more. Mica, she could imagine going there. Something in his energy made her think him capable of it. But Vaughn didn’t give off that vibe at all, and beyond being another man, Mica was also his best friend, and his roommate. The things they might do would probably have to live in her head, and there she let the ideas roam free. Imagined Mica kissing his friend, those lips still tasting of her. Imagined that mouth dropping lower, lower, worshipping that cock he was only too eager to praise in the name of exciting Clare.
That did it. That tipped it. Before she could reel herself back, the orgasm was closing in, too fast and bright and quick to stall. It was a burst of heat and sensation in her clit, so close to pain. Vaughn didn’t slow or still his touch—he rubbed her lighter, quicker, and the climax kept rolling. It sucked her under, pleasure chasing up her spine to heat her breasts, her face, tingle in her feet. He drew it out, out, out, waves seeming to crash in time with Mica’s driving cock, until at long last, she felt it subsiding, felt her spine softening, her arched back finding the soft mess of the covers. The longest orgasm she’d ever felt. Probably not even ten seconds, yet she could swear she’d lived another life, suspended there.
“Holy whoa.” She huffed, finding her breath. Laughed. Both men had gone still, and both sets of dark eyes were locked on her face. Two chests working hard, two sets of parted lips.
Mica dropped
low, his cock seated deep and throbbing softly, out of sync with her own frenetic pulse. He kissed her lightly, smiling as he pulled back.
“I do good?” she asked.
“You did real good. You want your reward now?” Come on my cock and I’ll let you have his.
Funny, given how hard she’d just come, but yes, she wanted that. She needed that, so badly it hurt. She nodded.
“Good. Let’s give you what you deserve.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vaughn watched Mica pull out. He felt disconnected and completely plugged in to his body at the same time.
How is this even happening?
He knew exactly how, though—Mica. His best friend always got what he wanted, when it came to sex.
That’s a cop-out. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this, too. Yet he did want Clare, as badly as he’d wanted any woman in recent memory. The lust was lava running through his veins, thick and molten. Without the task of getting Clare off to keep him focused, he felt about ready to go crazy. It was sexual need like he hadn’t experienced it in years, not since . . . Not in ages, anyhow. So strong it felt almost like rage—out of control, powerful, intoxicating. He wanted her so bad it felt like he’d die if he couldn’t have her.
Before tonight, he’d been attracted to her, a little jealous of Mica, but nothing unbearable. But now, having helped get her off, having felt her gaze on him . . . If he didn’t get inside her he was going to rip his own fevered skin off.
And Mica . . . Mica didn’t help matters. He’d never seen his friend with a woman. He’d seen him naked, seen him be sexual. That same mouth he’d watched pleasuring Clare . . . He’d felt that mouth, himself. He’d tasted that mouth. Whiskey and a touch of salt, a hint of sweat on those lips, and the acrid tinge of the desert. That mouth had taken him to dark places he’d never expected to go, never wanted to go before, and, just thinking about it, he could feel the dry chill of the Southwest dusk closing over him, cooling his skin even as a fire caught inside his body. Every star in the universe overhead, and his best friend’s hungry mouth on his cock.