ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories)

by Hawke, Jessa

  Sandrino looks down the length of Amy’s leg, knowing that he has kept it inside because it is almost more fun for him this way, not knowing if she feels the same way. There is an utter deliciousness to anticipation, to the covert looks he has been stealing at Amy over the years. She did not notice, but he did, when she got her first bra, the globes of her breasts perched in a delicate balance beneath her shirts, the way her long legs looked in the shorts she so carelessly donned every time they went hiking, or how terrifically firm her ass looked in a pair of simple jeans. The way he felt about her transcended the physical, though he would not admit this out loud for years to come. He loved her neuroticisms, her drive, and every female character he ever created had some Amy in her.

  He gives her leg a yank and with a startled gasp, Amy lands on the floor next to him. Their eyes meet and they laugh, and then stop suddenly. The air around them is so tense you could slice it with a knife, and for the first time, Amy feels shy around Sandrino, as if she cannot truly speak her mind. She feels, as his delightfully brown face comes closer and closer to her, as if she cannot, for anything, focus on something other than the pink perfection of his lips as they edge closer and closer to hers.

  The kiss is so full of hormones and affection and built-up longing that it startles them both. For just a few seconds, they clutch each other desperately; when Sandrino pulls Amy on top of him so she can straddle him, they know that if they go further, it will be a move that they will not be able to go back from. Amy pulls away.

  “Sandrino, we’re going to college…” she tries to say through her ragged gasps.

  “I know, I know,” he agrees with her, running a hand through his hair, looking over at her freshly kissed lips.

  “It’s just that—I want us to stay together during college, me, you, and Paul, and there’s no saying anything will work out between us.”

  “And our friendship is more important than anything,” Sandrino says, with only a hint of bile.

  They sit in silence for long moments, feeling their beating hearts slow to a more normal rhythm. The future looms ahead of them, a long forever that now seems fraught with emotional peril, and they ask themselves the same question, over and over again—

  Can they survive it together despite the odds?

  * * *

  “A priest? You’re going to become a priest?” Amy shrieks, stopping motion in the bar for a split second with the announcement.

  “In Wisconsin?” Sandrino says, accepting his beer from the bartender. “Man, why would you want to go into the middle of nowhere for a life of celibacy and destitution?”

  “I feel like I have a lot to offer the world and I want to help people,” Paul answers.

  “Should have just applied to med school like Amy, then,” Sandrino shoots back.

  The pub at McLaren’s is mercifully empty. Over the past four years, it became a regular favorite for the four childhood friends. Cake shop during the day and bar at night, McLaren’s features a small array of bookshelves towards the back lined with the old classics, which explains why Sandrino was drawn to it from their very first day, not to mention the terrific vegan pumpkin whoopee pies filled with enough cream to choke a horse. Or satisfy Paul’s sweet tooth. There are plenty of tables for Amy to get her studying done at, and McLaren’s was one of those open until four in the morning places that allowed for her long hours; over the years, the pub owner became so used to the trio that he started reserving the back table for them, over by the window overlooking the backyard area.

  They have just finished their last final, closed their last textbook, and now, the final summer of their college careers is upon them. Amy, Paul, and Sandrino sit perched on a new age in their lives, an age that is so bittersweet that they have avoided talking about it altogether for the past year, wanting to push it off to the side, to the last minute, to this minute, when their lives are laid out before them and there is nowhere left to run or hide, nowhere but the future to face.

  Novitiates are required to undergo a training period before applying to seminary school, something Paul found that he had no struggles with at all. Years of conversing with Father Andrew and helping out in the parish prepared him for this life of not having an overwhelming wealth, and he finds he is drawn to a more ascetic lifestyle in any case. His only problem, after all, has only ever been with Sandrino and Amy; he has learned to control the lustful thought everywhere but here. He has read about this, this demisexuality that leaves you attracted to a select number of people in the world, sometimes one or two for the entire lifespan, and he knows, he just knows, that this is his burden in life, and that he must make up for it and somehow manage to make peace with God.

  Sandrino developed into the type of young man who disappeared for weeks and months at a time. Ever since Amy rejected him at the end of high school, there were women, and sometimes men, since Sandrino believed in a healthy experimentation, but he always kept near her, hoping, waiting, knowing the whole while that it was in vain, that Amy’s one-track mind would never let her focus on anything other than her work. He was wrong, but he would not know until just a little bit later that night, when the suppression of the last four years would come out in an explosion that would rival the world wars in the lives of the three friends.

  They knew, sitting there around their drinks—non-alcoholic for Paul—that their lives as they knew them were changing. Nobody was truly surprised that Paul was going to become a priest, or that Amy had fulfilled her lifelong dream of going to medical school, or even that Sandrino was getting his master’s degree in fine arts, with a book deal in the making as soon as he was accepted into the program. But somewhere along the way, they had forgotten that sometimes life throws you an odd curve or two, that somewhere, reality must kick in, and reality never wears a pretty mask, it’s just as blunt as can be.

  “Guys, we always knew we were a bit delusional about the whole deal,” Amy finally says into the tense silence. “I mean, how could we expect that we would all end up in grad school in the same area?”

  “Yeah, I knew you had applied to New York, and my program’s in Washington,” Sandrino says, sadly.

  “We became obsessed with Friends somewhere in sophomore year and it never really eased up its hold. I think we all sort of became obsessed with the idea that we would always have McLaren’s, that we would always have the time to drink coffee and eat cake, and that we would be together forever,” finishes Paul.

  “Those relationships are all so incestuous anyway,” Sandrino butts in, and the other two laugh.

  “Don’t you start,” Amy and Paul chime in.

  “It’s true, though! You spend so much time around people that it’s impossible not to be attracted to them, and then they’re also your best friends? Phew, does that spell trouble,” Sandrino says, and in the silence that follows Paul catches a look that he throws Amy that seems to be so full of meaning that for a moment, the blond man is filled with a pain that knows no bounds, a pain that signifies that not only is his secret unanswered, but that there is another dimension to the story, one that he had not ever anticipated. In a moment, that odd premonition is gone because they’re all drinking again, washing away the memories of a childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood past, trying to make a future apart seem brighter.

  Amy, however, does not miss the look that Sandrino has just given her. It is a question that she knows he has been asking again and again in his head, and she knows that now that she has accomplished her goals, she finally has an answer. Four years of watching Sandrino retreat into himself. Four years of many lost months where Sandrino ended up crashed on her couch and she would find herself settling a blanket over him and feeding him coffee and hot greasy things in the morning to ward off a hangover. Four years of trials and tribulations and she knows that now is the time when she can no longer stave off a hunger that has been growing inside of her ever since that shared kiss on the floor of her living room, a kiss that has seared its imprint onto her mind in a way she can no
longer deny. Sandrino, beautiful Sandrino, in his worn jeans and his smell of books and cigarettes.

  Tonight she tells him. Tonight, Sandrino knows.

  * * *

  There is nothing like waking up in a house that is far removed from the big city in its essence, if not its actual location. The two-story house that Amy shared for the duration of college with three other roommates is now empty, save for herself, Paul, and Sandrino. Morning light shines inside of the windows like a bright and merry intruder, showcasing the paintings on the walls and warming Paul’s bed. He stretches and then snuggles deep under the dark blue covers. The day is beginning, the day is begun; he is used to waking up far before anybody else, and relishes this time of day. It is when the birds sing their songs and are not drowned out by the honks of cars on the roads, when the smell of wisteria is so strong you can do nothing but stand under it and drink in the full glory of its scent.

  Paul swings his legs out of bed, feeling foolish for his strange wonderings of the previous night. Amy and Paul were clearly feeling the pre-effects of missing each other; they had been an integral part of each other’s lives since they were practically tots, and going away would feel like chopping off another limb. Buoyed by the start of a new day, Paul pads down the stairs quietly, loving the plush feeling of the carpeting between his toes. The floor below him has two other bedrooms; Amy has a free-standing tub all of her own in an adjoining washroom, one of the larger draws of the house, but to the right is the guest bathroom, the old-fashioned hook-and-eye lock on it a testament to the age of the house, and also, to its charm. Paul twists the marbled handle of the door and freezes in his tracks.

  There is a moaning and squeaking coming from Amy’s room and he does not know its source. He edges towards the door, the noise blanketed by the carpet; what if Amy is being attacked? The door is closed, but he turns the knob by degrees until the slightest squeak is emitted as he pushes the door open, hoping to catch whoever is inside by surprise.

  Except that the surprise is his.

  In the years to come, Paul will remember this moment; it is seared across his memory the way grill marks, once imprinted, cannot ever be erased.

  The first thing that hits him is that Amy’s nipples are pink. He somehow did not expect them to be pink. The next thing is that she and Sandrino are completely naked, and the position they are in is often referred to in those magazines he likes in high school as the backwards cowgirl. Sandrino’s face is scrunched in ecstasy and concentration as Amy undulates her hips over him, and quite suddenly, all the little details, combined with the way the waves of Amy’s hair are cascading down her snowy back, gel together in one awful, terrible realization. Paul’s premonition was true. He should have trusted it.

  Because Amy and Sandrino are now consummating their relationship.

  Paul knows. Of course he knows. Anyone who ever saw the three of them together knew how terribly uneven the whole thing was; Sandrino was clearly head over heels for Amy, and Paul always knew, somewhere deep inside, deeper than the place where he hid his own feelings for Sandrino, that as soon as Amy was able to put aside her five year plan, she’d return his emotions. Hearing the two of them moan in tandem now makes Paul realize, finally, that he has no place in this room, in this house, in this relationship.

  Overcome by his jealousy, overcome by his shame, Paul tries to back out of the room, tries to close it quietly. He can feel and see his hands shaking, and suddenly, there is a squeak from the door that freezes the action on the bed.

  “Who’s there?” Amy asks, shock stilling her body, a queen upon her splendid throne. “Oh my God, is someone there? Paul, is that you?”

  Who else would it be? Paul wonders, and tries to decide between running away and stepping forward. Amy is fast climbing off of Sandrino, who has also just realized there is another person in their midst and is pulling on his pants, but not before Paul catches a glimpse of his fully engorged penis, glistening with Amy’s juices.

  Paul lingers near the door, too embarrassed to run, too enraged to step forward. He does not want to feel this way, but he does, because the question that burned in him all those years ago with Father Andrew burns in him now.

  Why me? Why me, why me, why not me?

  Amy has wrapped herself in a light pink bathrobe and is pulling Paul forward so that he is standing before her and Sandrino. “Paul, I’m so sorry that this is the super-awkward way you had to find out, but I guess you should know.” She beams happily. “Sandrino and I are in love.”

  “I figured as much,” Paul answers acidly, hating himself for it.

  Sandrino’s forehead wrinkles as he catches Paul’s tone. “What’s wrong, man? I figured you of all people would be happy for us. This has been a long time in the making.”

  “A lot of things have been.”

  “What does that mean?” Amy asks, incredulous. Except for that brief stint in high school, Paul has never been anything but selfless. Why does that particular word pop into her head now, she wonders. She could have thought of Paul as generous, as kind, but when she looks at the way he is glaring so fiercely at Sandrino that his look could fell a village, selfless is the word that comes to mind.

  “Why are you looking at Sandrino that way?” she demands. As Paul looks away, clicking his tongue, it hits her, all of it, the full force of twenty four years of the shame Paul must have felt, especially given his chosen profession. She walks up to him, not noticing the way her bathrobe falls open. “Paul? Is there something you want to tell us?”

  Paul looks defeated. He does not whose eyes to meet, and his gaze slides over first Sandrino’s, then Amy’s questioning eyes. He sinks down to the floor, and his two best friends join him.

  “It didn’t start at the very beginning,” Paul says, heavily, dully. “I didn’t feel any differently towards him than I did towards you. We were friends.”

  “We are friends,” says Sandrino firmly. Paul looks up at him, then continues.

  “And then one day, he was everywhere. All my dreams, all my thoughts.”

  “Who?” Sandrino asks, and Paul lets out a hoarse, shaky laugh.

  “Jesus, thank God you’re pretty.”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Amy says, and the trio bursts out into laughter, a laughter that rings loudly in the tenseness of the room, that breaks it and heals.

  Amy looks at Sandrino. Sandrino looks at Amy. A silence pact is made and sealed.

  Sandrino sidles over to Paul and runs his hand up his arm. Paul glances up at him through his tears. He is numb from shock, so numb he almost does not feel Sandrino’s hand slide down his leg over his pajama bottoms.

  “What are you doing?”

  Amy lays crosswise to the two men and opens her robe just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts and the fine triangle of hair between her legs, which are pale and long and lean, perfectly curved, toned, and tight. “We are giving you a farewell.”

  “You mean...” Paul swallows hard. “You mean we’re not friends anymore?”

  Sandrino swats at him, then places a kiss on Paul’s neck so intense that it’s all Paul can do to keep from passing out. “No, stupid,” Sandrino says, his voice thick with desire. “We are giving you a fond farewell before you go off and become a celibate for life. This is something special only the three of us are ever going to have.”

  “Yeah,” says Amy, fully aware that Paul’s gaze has now slid over her body and his pupils are wide with arousal. “So shut up and let it happen.”

  What happens next is something that will forever replace all of Paul’s adolescent fantasies of Sandrino. Because now Sandrino is running his brown hand over his leg, over the top of his cock, as if by accident, and then over again, just to assure Paul that there is nothing accidental about his motions at all. He is pressing his mouth against Paul’s neck, opening the blonde man’s mouth with his thumb, and suddenly, everything that has built up in Paul over the past decade and a half is spilling out. He clutches Sandrino so hard that he leav
es finger marks on his arm. When he kisses his neck and chest, he bruises him, he marks him as his forever. The only noise Sandrino makes in response is a deep grunt, a welcoming noise that urges Paul on.

  Watching this, Amy lets her hand slip down to the small forest of hair between her legs. As she rubs her clit, she watches Paul finally unleash the beast within. She would have never suspected that her gentle friend was such a forceful lover, but there is a part of her that understands that this has never happened to him before, and this will never happen to him again. There has only ever been her and Sandrino, and this means the world to Paul. And then she pushes the sentiment aside as Paul rises and Sandrino kneels before him. Every inch of Paul that Sandrino takes into his mouth is another cue for Amy to rub herself faster, or in a new direction. When she sees that Paul is directing the show and that Sandrino keeps his arms locked behind his back, it is almost too much for her, and then it is just enough, just enough to push her over that edge, beyond reason and beyond reckoning.

  As she gasps, Paul releases his cock from Sandrino’s mouth and Sandrino gasps with her, little rivulets of drool and pre-cum around his lips. He looks up at Paul with those dark flashing eyes, and sees that Paul is ready, but unwilling to expect more with the last final doubt that all of this is truly happening.

  The three friends reconfigure themselves. Sandrino gets down on all fours, baring his ass to the world, and Amy positions herself until she lays beneath his splayed legs, his cock directly pointing to its source of entry, her mouth. Paul grasps Sandrino by the hips and licks his fingers a few times to slick saliva on his cock. The scene is set.

  Slowly and hesitantly at first, then faster and faster, Amy begins to suck on Sandrino. Paul enters Sandrino carefully and Sandrino closes his eyes shut against the fury of the sensations coursing through him. What a wonderful thing it is, he is discovering, to be entered and entering all at the same time. Paul slides in and out of Sandrino, feeling the muscle walls of him close and open to accommodate him, and he can hardly believe this is happening; he hears Sandrino moan once, twice, then leans over instinctively and nips him sharply on the ear. Sandrino shudders and spills into Amy’s mouth, letting out a groan that is animal and lost, and soon after, Paul joins him, reaching the brink of orgasm seconds after.