by Cara McKenna
And what must it feel like to be in Mica’s position now? To have brought your lovers here, made lovers of them in turn? Being part of the spectacle was erotic enough; she couldn’t guess how hot his body must be burning, being both the audience and the ringmaster.
Then she imagined it was Mica’s fist on Vaughn’s cock.
The excitement shot from a spark to a blaze, a shallow heat growing deeper, deeper, until her entire being was hot and humming. She was just beginning to think she might come from this—from her fingers, and two men’s eyes—when Mica gave the next order.
To Vaughn he said, “Taste her.”
The hand on that thick cock stilled. Vaughn’s expression was lust glazed, and she couldn’t guess how bad it must ache to suddenly abandon the act. But he obeyed. And she mourned the loss of Mica’s hand as it left her sex to rest along the crease at the top of her thigh.
Clare welcomed Vaughn when he stretched out, his face between her legs and his hands snaking under her thighs to cup her hips. After the relatively dry friction of Mica’s fingers, his lips were velvet, his tongue slick and explicit—heaven. She stroked his head with one hand, squeezed his shoulder with the other. Mica shifted behind her, slipping away, and she lay back against the pillows. Vaughn sampled her in deep, sensuous laps, making her legs tense and her toes curl.
In her periphery, Mica was at the edge of the bed, and moving. Undressing, she saw when she stole a glance. The soft light fell across the lean, taut muscles of his torso, the swell of his sculpted hips in his low-slung jeans. He left the bed to strip fully naked, his dick hard and ready, and he stood up straight. He surveyed the scene for a long moment, then his eyes snapped to Clare’s. They told her a hundred things in a breath, none of which she could translate. Whatever came next, there was no guessing.
“You ready for more?” he asked her, and his hand slid across and down his abs to fist his cock.
More? Fuck, that could mean anything, when promised by this man. But she knew her answer. “Yeah.”
Against her sex, Vaughn’s mouth had slowed, distracted by Mica’s promise, but now he started up again, his laps feeling hungrier than ever. She rewarded him with the soft rake of her nails across his scalp. In reply, his own hands squeezed the flesh of her uppermost thighs, just below her butt.
Mica joined them on the bed, then made his way to Clare. His smile was wicked when he leaned down and kissed her. Those lips and tongue seemed to double everything Vaughn was giving her, and his palm grazed her breast, drawing her nipple tight, sending a bolt of pleasure down her body. She gasped against his mouth and he pulled away, looking entirely full of himself.
“You like what he’s giving you?” he asked her.
“Yeah.”
“You want to give me some of the same?”
She hesitated, unsure what he meant, but he moved before she could ask. So often, this happened with him. A vague threat of pleasure, never enough for her to anticipate what was coming. He rode that sharp edge bordering consent, but every time, she liked what she found on the other side.
What he wanted now thrilled her—he moved, straddling her ribs, leaning forward, bracing himself above her with a hand on the windowsill and the other on his erection. She helped him, guiding him to her mouth. She finessed the tilt of her chin until she found the right angle to take him deeper. Not all the way, but more than enough to earn herself a nasty moan and feel the taboo of this act sink way down inside her body, darkening and charging every cell. Two men: one serving, one taking. And she felt like two women, indulged and used at the same time.
That’s what makes this magic, she thought. The duality of being two lovers at once. You weren’t just with two people, you could be two people, doing this. You could give and receive, spoil and be spoiled.
A fantasy hatched in the space between Vaughn’s lapping mouth and Mica’s softly thrusting cock. Fuck me, she imagined telling Vaughn. He’d rise to his knees, sink deep, and his hands would seek Mica’s back or sides for balance. Dark fingers digging into tan skin, and two cocks giving and taking pleasure. Two men, two voices, two clenched and needy bodies, all for her.
I could tell him to.
She could do as Mica would and simply give the order, and she very nearly did, until suddenly Mica slid from between her lips. He leaned back, belly and chest rising and falling with panting breaths, mouth open. His eyes were locked on hers, heavy-lidded and burning like coals.
She whispered, “That was so fucking hot,” and grinned up at him.
He smiled in turn, the expression a touch stoned and infinitely wicked.
“What’s next?” she asked.
He answered with his actions, leaning away to open a drawer in the bedside table and produce a strip of condoms. He detached one and tossed it onto the covers near Vaughn. “You on top,” he told his friend, then added, “Kneeling. She likes to look at you.”
Yes, she sure does. Clare was rapt as Vaughn moved to take the order. He pushed his bottoms off and sat up on his heels, thighs spread wide beneath hers. She admired his chest and abs as she had during the drinking game and when he’d been stroking for them, and drank him in. Bigger than Mica, though each man was beautiful in his own way. Vaughn’s masculinity was more obvious, his build thicker, shoulders and hips wider, frame broader. His body was blunt and gorgeous, whereas Mica’s was raw, lean, elegant, like a dancer’s.
She held Vaughn’s hip, squeezing the hard crest of muscle as he angled himself and slid in, deep, filling her with more than his flesh—with excitement, and just the thinnest streak of pleasurable misgiving, not knowing what came next.
Only one person did.
She looked to Mica, finding a half smile tensing his mouth and fire in his eyes. What did he see, exactly? A woman he wanted, she hoped, but more than that. A fantasy come to life—but hers or his?
Does it matter? With one stunning man working hard between her legs and another mesmerized by the sight, the distinction was moot.
“What do you need?” Vaughn asked.
“Just show me what you like.” And in turn she’d show him what she liked. She moved her fingertips to her clit, circling slowly, enough to tease and excite but not enough to have her rushing toward the edge. She wanted to savor everything she had coming to her tonight. Wanted to keep this ache burning for as long as she could, and relish the sweet torture of it.
Mica, however, seemed to have other plans. He knelt beside her, stroking his palm from her cheek down her throat, between her breasts and over her belly. She submitted when he nudged her hand aside to take over its task. She thrilled to think how close his fingers were to his friend’s cock. Close enough to touch him each time those taunting fingertips dipped low.
And then he did so much more. Encircled the spot where Vaughn’s cock surged between her lips. Clare just about gasped.
You’re touching him.
Finally. Not his back, not his neck or his hip. His dick.
Vaughn huffed a strangled grunt but didn’t stop. He had to be feeling Mica’s rough fingers around him, his thick silver rings.
Have you felt this before? Have you felt more? Mica’s mouth, maybe?
She still couldn’t guess, and she also couldn’t deny that the thoughts excited her.
“He’s big, isn’t he?” Mica asked her, and she felt him squeezing from the way the edge of his hand tensed along her labia.
She swallowed, throat thick. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, he is.”
Okay, that settled it. If Mica hadn’t fucked his friend, it was now abundantly clear that he wanted to.
Vaughn kept on working. Mica’s touch had changed him, though—tendons stood along his throat and his chest muscles were tight. His teeth were clenched. He was hard as sin inside her—and inside Mica’s fist—but he was edgy, too. Maybe he’d never felt this before. Maybe he had but had never planned for an
yone to witness it.
As for Clare, it took everything hot about the sex and multiplied it tenfold. It was a taste of the truth she craved, a little sample of her burgeoning fantasy made real. Excitement had been simmering inside her before that brash move, but now it was at a rolling boil.
She spoke without meaning to. “Don’t stop.” It could’ve been meant for either man, and both obeyed. Mica’s hand stayed right where it was—right where she wanted to see it—while Vaughn’s hips only sped more quickly. He kept his eyes shut but his lips parted, and there was no mistaking how he had to be burning up inside his skin.
From me or from Mica? From both, she hoped. From every taboo being explored in this bed tonight.
Mica’s attention moved from Clare’s face to what was happening between her and Vaughn and back again, his gaze hungry and sharp.
“That’s what she likes,” he told his friend. “Fast like that.”
It changed Vaughn’s expression, intensifying it to something resembling pain, nearly. But if what was happening was too much for him, his hips contradicted the hesitance—if anything, they moved faster, gliding his cock in and out of Mica’s grip as surely as it claimed Clare’s pussy.
“Oh God.” Clare heard her words, spoken without thought. The pleasure was building, intensifying deep in her belly, burning bright in her clit from nothing more than the incidental glance of Mica’s knuckle. What she could see right now was as erotic as anything being done to her body. She still had one hand on Vaughn’s shoulder, the other at the juncture of her hip and thigh. She brought the latter up to settle over her breast, palming first, then brushing softly across her nipple. Mica watched her hungrily, his tongue worrying the corner of his lips.
What pushed her over, she couldn’t say—his eyes, his brazen hand, Vaughn’s cock, her own teasing palm. But in a breath she was beyond chasing the pleasure. It was chasing her now, running her down, inevitable. She nailed her gaze to the scene between her legs and let it catch her, let it drag her into the orgasm moaning, back arching, hands shaking.
It was deep—deeper than she knew a climax could run, and it burned slow and hot and blinding. Not just a flash in her clit, but a roiling, clenching sensation that bloomed through her entire belly and up her spine, so intense it nearly frightened her. As it began to fade, she felt her back relax flat against the covers and her arms tremble. She heard her voice in the otherwise quiet room, awash with racing, panting breaths, sounding disbelieving.
When she stilled utterly, Mica finally let Vaughn’s throbbing cock go, and Vaughn withdrew. He had to be hurting, she thought hazily, eyeing that hard cock, thick and gleaming in the glow of the Christmas lights. His chest was working, his breathing quick and steady. There was fire in those dark eyes, made as much of desperation as lust.
Mica moved to lie at her side, grinning, and kissed her temple. There was something deliciously condescending in the gesture that made her smile in return.
“That was hot,” she whispered to Mica, but loud enough for both of them to hear. “What you did. How you touched him.”
“To answer your question, he and I are more than just friends,” Mica said.
Clare glanced to Vaughn, still kneeling between her legs. His expression had gone sharp at Mica’s confession. Maybe nervous, maybe angry. Edgy, either way.
Cautious, Clare nodded and told Mica, “I figured, maybe.” Now that it was confirmed, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.
“Does that bother you?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Good.”
She looked to Vaughn again. “Does it bother you,” she asked, “that I know?”
He made a face, the equivalent of a shrug. “I guess not. I mean, it feels naive to think there could be any secrets between the three of us, after everything that’s happened.”
“It’ll stay between us,” she told him. “I promise.”
He nodded tightly. “Appreciated.”
She glanced between him and Mica. “Can I ask now? What exactly you’ve done? What you . . . You know, what you are to each other, exactly?”
“Friends,” Mica said simply. “Friends only, who’ve crossed a few lines on a few drunken occasions.”
She turned to Vaughn and he nodded, looking calmer now. “That about sums it up.”
“And can I ask what you guys have done with each other?”
Vaughn immediately looked cagey. Mica spoke for him. “Not nearly as much as I’d like,” he said, smirking, and this reply seemed like a relief to Vaughn. He didn’t want her to know exactly what their history looked like, she realized, and Mica had kept it cryptic. She could respect that, even if the curiosity was chewing at her. She bet if Mica considered himself fifty-fifty, bisexually, Vaughn might identify himself as far more dominantly straight. Or at least be in denial about it all. Totally his prerogative.
“Good to know,” she told them, then turned to Mica, the ringmaster. “So, what’s next?” Please, let it involve both the men, now that the truth had come out. She knew they were intimate. Now let her see it.
“I think he’s earned some relief,” Mica said, eyes darting to Vaughn. The man looked like a poor imitation of patience, kneeling, pressing his erection to his belly with a flat palm. Though his face was stoic, his breathing gave him away, pumping his chest in taut, quick swells. His gaze moved between Mica and Clare. He spoke so little when the three of them were messing around, Clare thought. All at once she craved the sound of his voice—words, grunts, moans. Surely whatever came next would give her those things.
“You haven’t tasted him yet,” Mica said, stroking the nape of her neck.
“No.” She spoke to Mica but held Vaughn’s gaze. “Have you?”
She heard a smile in that wicked man’s voice. “I have.”
Vaughn swallowed. “He has.”
She wondered how much of a leap those two little words were for him. Had anyone ever known about these things? Had he told anyone before? He hadn’t even told Clare tonight. Mica had. Perhaps these quiet words were his way of retaining some control of his own secrets, if that’s what their sexual history was—a secret.
Mica’s hand grazed down and up her arm, raising goose bumps. “I’ll show you what he likes,” he murmured. “You want to see that?”
“If he’ll let me,” Clare said, her eyes still locked with Vaughn’s. His shut then. In surrender, she thought. He both feared and wanted this, but Clare wanted more—his blessing.
“Could I?” she asked him, leaning forward, touching his calf.
He swallowed, nodded. Whispered, “Yeah. You can see.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With that proclamation, Vaughn’s eyes opened once more.
He didn’t look at Clare, not right away. Not when Mica moved to kneel at his feet, not when he clasped his erection. Vaughn kept those eyes closed for the most part, save for the odd peek he seemed to allow himself—tiny glimpses at his friend, stroking his cock. When Mica slid his lips over his crown, Vaughn’s head dropped back, mouth falling open. Clare felt her own lips part. When Vaughn lowered his chin, his eyes were open. They sought Clare’s for only a second before glancing away. But when he next looked to her, the gaze lingered, seeming edgy, nervous, reckless. She held that stare for a few breaths, mesmerized as much by the connection as the sex. This is big for him. Let him know you like it. She turned her attention to the show being offered to her. For her.
She’d seen gay porn clips before, and found them arousing, if not quite her thing. Not a ton of pornography appealed to her, and the stuff that did usually featured a man with a great body and big hands, strong fingers digging into the ample flesh of a woman’s hips or back or butt. Nothing too kinky, just a little rough.
What was happening before her now looked nothing like that narrow-focus fare, but it had her panting all the same. Panting as Vau
ghn was, as his dick disappeared an inch more, an inch more, inside his best friend’s mouth.
It was because she knew them, she realized. She’d slept with both of them, and they meant something to her. Now she got to see what they truly meant to each other . . . and it was molten.
She moved to sit beside them, seeking a better view, and stroked Mica’s back between his shoulder blades as he worked.
Mica always looked good—behind a coffee shop counter, above Clare in bed, walking down the street, asleep with those arresting eyes shut and his face placid. But this . . . that stunning face, those lids closed, those sharp cheeks sharpened further with the effort . . . those hands on Vaughn’s thighs, fingertips digging, just as Clare liked. He’d never looked half this hot before.
He gave head like he ate pussy. Like it was a greedy, hungry act. She shivered when Vaughn touched him, holding his head, fingers slipping into his dreads, thumbs at his temples. When had this all started? On those trips, surely. Out in the desert. Who’d approached whom?
Like I can’t guess. Her gaydar was usually pretty sharp, and Vaughn had never given off the vibe. Mica was the only man that Clare could imagine enticing her into a three-way. How strong were his powers of persuasion, exactly? Enough to rewrite a straight man’s identity?
After two minutes or more, Mica eased off his friend’s cock slowly, with a long, humming moan like he’d just sampled the most delicious delicacy. His smile bloomed wide and filthy and his eyes sought Clare’s as they opened.
She released a long breath, overheated. “Wow.”
“You want to do the same? Taste him? Suck him?”
Clare nodded. “I would.”
“I’ll tell you what to do. What he likes.”
“Okay.” Christ, that would be as hot as the feel of Vaughn’s cock in her mouth, hearing Mica’s filthy orders in that voice.