by Sam Mariano
I try to catch my breath. Sebastian pulls out of me and crawls on the bed beside us. My heart is still pounding. My husband grabs me around the waist and drags me off Griff, pulling me snugly back against his chest and kissing my shoulder.
This is his way of making sure I’m okay. He rarely asks, doesn’t feel the need to, but he holds me now and that’s all I need.
Griff rolls over on his side and scoots closer to me. I smile softly and reach out my hand to run it across his jaw. It’s about all the strength I can muster right now. My body feels like Jell-o. Every ounce of strength has been fucked out of me. I want Griff closer, I want to be held close to both of them, but I can’t move.
“Come closer. I want you both to cuddle me.”
Griff glances past me at Sebastian, perhaps for permission. Probably that. We’re always looking to Sebastian to tell us what to do. I’m sure he likes that; I just hope Griff doesn’t mind it.
That reminds me of all the work I need to do and I don’t have the mental capacity for all that right now. I just want the simple pleasure of having my two men hold me close. Griff must get whatever permission he needs because he slides closer and drapes his arm across my waist. His massive, muscular chest is so warm and comforting in front of me, while my husband’s strong arms are locked around me from behind.
I close my eyes, feeling so safe and loved here between them. I should probably feel filthy, filled with their cum, my body held between them. I don’t, though. I feel treasured. I know how much each of these men cares for me, I know how much they care for each other, and I love being the glue that holds them together.
16
Griff
I can feel a difference in Moira tonight. I don’t know if it’s because she had some time with Seb to recharge or because of what we just did to her, but she feels more open.
Even though she has granted me full access by all outward appearances, I couldn’t shake the feeling I got on occasion that something was missing. Like I’ve spent my whole life longing for a home, and someone gave me the keys to a heartless model house, lovely to look at, but lacking in sincerity. It’s a pretty set-up to show other people what can be theirs, but no one makes a home there.
I felt like an ungrateful bastard for feeling that way, though. Moira’s been amazing. She’s given me everything I asked for; she’s there for me when I need her. She says all the right things at just the right time, but I didn’t always feel like she meant them. I thought maybe it was me. Maybe it was because I was new to her, or maybe I just couldn’t accept that she wants me. Maybe it’s not enough that she wants me—I want more, but since she has to give to Seb too, I don’t know how much more she has to give.
Right now I have what I didn’t know I needed. There are no limits right now. No one is careful or tentative, no one worries about stepping on anyone else’s toes. Seb holds her, I hold her, and Moira nuzzles her face against me like a contented kitten. Her beautiful face is so peaceful. I can’t quite contain all the affection I feel for her and I can’t keep from touching her. I don’t have to, because she’s mine.
She opens her eyes and looks up at me, looks through me, looks inside me. Her hand moves naturally to my face and she pulls me even closer, so my chest presses against her breasts. I can feel her needing me—and strangely I can feel just what she needs, so I dip my head and kiss her perfect lips. It’s a soft kiss, gentle and undemanding. We’re all satisfied, no one’s chasing anything, we just need to be close.
“Tell me something,” Moira says softly, still so close I can feel her breath on my face.
Anything.
I don’t know if she’s aware of how completely she owns me, so I don’t say that. “Like what?” I question.
“Something about your past. Something I don’t know. Tell me about how you guys met.”
“A cheerful story, then,” Seb remarks, lightly.
“You’ve each told me scraps, but I don’t have the full picture. I want to know everything. Did you get along right away?”
I scoff, recalling the day I walked into that house. Seb was already placed there and it was mayhem when I showed up. A four-year-old screamed at the top of her lungs; the dog had escaped out the front door. An overweight woman ran after the dog, calling out its name—Jasper, which I thought was an odd name for a dog—and glancing back at me. I stood slouched next to the worker with a trash bag full of my belongings slung over my shoulder. I decided in that moment to hate the placement. It was already a madhouse, but I felt annoyance more than disappointment. I’d given up hope for most of my placements a long time ago. No one wanted a 15-year-old boy who may or may not have mild to severe behavioral problems to complete their family. No one wanted them, but there were some houses that would tolerate us. I kept to myself so I was a little easier to place, but you could still feel the distrust upon meeting the new people whose house you had to live in.
I didn’t blame them. I wasn’t any more eager to stay there than they were to open the doors, but at least they got a pittance for it. I didn’t like anyone paying for anything for me so I tried to scrape up enough to take care of myself. Understandably, most of the families were fine with that.
Seb was the only calm one in the house that day. The mom was overwhelmed and embarrassed by the scene we walked into; an older teenage boy shot me an unfriendly look as he rummaged through the cupboards for a snack. Then there was this dark-haired guy around my age with intense blue eyes, sitting at the table, reading a well-worn paperback copy of Franny and Zooey. I knew that book wasn’t on the summer reading list, so I assumed he must have been reading for pleasure.
For all the chaos going on around him, Seb was unaffected. For all the intensity you could see brewing in his oceanic eyes, he was completely composed. I think I envied him that control right away—I ran a little hotter than that, myself.
“You must be our new brother,” he remarked, practiced disregard rolling off him in waves.
The feeling of being vaguely interested in him drained right out of me and I flicked him a mean look. Before I could respond, though, the house mom willfully misinterpreted his sarcasm and went on to tell me of course, they were all family there and they were so happy to meet me.
That damn sure hadn’t been true, but she always cranked up the niceness when social workers came around; I picked up on that over the course of my time there.
Since I’m lost in my thoughts, I guess, Seb answers for me. “No, we did not.”
I shake my head, floating between the past and presence. “No. It was hectic when I arrived. A big, green farm house. They had a kid of their own, but they took in teens. There were three of us—me, Seb, and this vicious asshole named Arnie.”
“Poor Arnie,” she remarks. “That’s not a great name.”
“It fit. He was a belligerent douche. Liked to scare people.”
“Strangely enough, had a hard time finding a house that wanted to keep him,” Seb remarks lightly.
“He pulled a knife on Seb, that’s how he got kicked out of ours.”
Even though we’re clearly here and fine, alarm fills Moira’s face and she turns back to look at Seb. “What?”
He runs a calming hand down the curve of her side. “I was fine. Barely a scratch.”
“Six stitches,” I state, lifting an eyebrow.
“Any less than ten is just a scratch,” he argues.
“Oh, my God,” she murmurs, grabbing Seb’s hand and holding it steady on her side. “I hate Arnie.”
“So did we,” I tell her. “He’s sort of what brought us together, though. He hated Seb. Hated how inscrutable he always was. He’s grown into himself, obviously, and now even though he keeps a firm hand on everything, he’s mostly healthy. Back then, though, he was still learning. He had all the emotional transparency of a brick wall. You couldn’t get anything out of him. Nothing could shake him. For a certain kind of bully, he seemed like a challenge.”
“Bully,” Seb says dismissively, the word clearly dis
tasteful on his tongue. “He was nothing. I had it under control. I was not bullied.”
“Well, not for his lack of trying. You two were dangerous together. He kept pushing you; you refused to give him a response, so he pushed harder. I swear to God, he would’ve killed you, and with your last breath you would’ve laughed at him.”
“I hate everything about this,” Moira states. “I don’t ever want either of you to have been in dangerous situations, even in the past. I’m going to find a way to time travel back and protect you both.”
Seb shakes his head, smiling down at her fondly. “That’s a sweet gesture, but having you there would have just been a headache for us.” He glances up at me, lifting a dark eyebrow. “Imagine both of us trying to protect her while I’m trying to come off as unaffected and you’re the gruff badass, both of us living every day fucking terrified she’d get hurt? No. That would’ve been terrible.”
“Maybe I could have brokered peace,” Moira suggests. “Failing that, I could have been sneaky. I could have recorded the asshole being an asshole and shown it to your caseworker or whoever.”
Seb shakes his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it wouldn’t have worked.”
“Do you think you would’ve liked me back then?” she asks.
“Probably not,” he answers, earning him a scowl. “You would’ve tried to peel back all the armor I had just equipped myself with and infect me with your love. I wasn’t open to it back then. It took quite a few years before I leveled out. Learning to protect yourself against everything—there’s a learning curve. There’s no manual on how to do it right, so there’s a lot of trial and error.”
She drags his arm around her chest and snuggles it between us. “That makes me sad. I hate that you had hard lives. I hate that you ever felt the need to protect yourself. I hate everyone who has ever hurt either one of you. I’m glad you had each other, at least.”
“We turned out all right,” Seb assures her.
“I don’t care,” she insists. “I still want to wrap you both up in warm hugs and protect you forever.”
Seb looks at me and rolls his eyes, but he’s not fooling anyone—he loves it. Who wouldn’t love someone being so nurturing and protective after a lifetime of having to look out for yourself?
“I’m so glad you walked into that coffee shop that day,” she tells him. “I may have never met either one of you otherwise.”
Seb nods his agreement, kissing the side of her face. “Then you’d have to settle for some basic asshole who wouldn’t even fuck you with his best friend.”
She shakes her head, as if disgusted. “What a disappointing life I might have led. You’re my hero.”
He grins and she turns her head to kiss him. His hand is already snuggled up against her chest and wedged between us, but now he shifts it to cover her breast. He squeezes her smooth flesh and a soft moan slips out of her.
I love her body. Even after we both just fucked her into oblivion, I bet it would only take a light warm-up to get her going again.
Sebastian’s thoughts must be in line with mine because he rolls her over on her back and roughly kisses her breasts. Her eyes drift closed and she arches off the bed, tangling her fingers in his hair.
He pulls back, watching her writhe beneath him. Flicking a glance my way, he says, “You up for fucking her again, or should I take this round on my own?”
“Oh, I’m up for it.”
He grins with approval. “Good.”
After a night in heaven, I have to spend the next day in hell.
When I decided to file for divorce, I went in with the naïve assumption that the prenuptial agreement I had drawn up would make the process fairly simple. Especially because—while I had drawn up a generous agreement in the case of a faultless divorce—I included an infidelity clause that specified what would happen in the event of cheating. Of course I would have to be able to prove she cheated, but since she’s a moron who cheated in my club and there’s footage, I can. Easily.
What makes it more difficult is that Ashley’s a fucking lunatic and she’s fighting back, hard. Since I wasn’t a greedy asshole, I made certain provisions for Ashley when we got married so she knew I wasn’t trying to railroad her. I’ve never liked the idea of an airtight prenup to begin with. I don’t think a man should be able to steal years of a woman’s life and then abandon her without any kind of reparations—unless it’s warranted, like this. If she cheats, she doesn’t get reparations. Had I just fallen out of love with her, that would have been another thing entirely.
So now she’s claiming I did. Now she’s trying to get the prenup thrown out, crying alienation of affection, saying I cheated first, that I drove her to cheat and she felt abandoned in our marriage. She’s appealing to the courts for counseling, claiming our marriage can be saved and she’s willing to do the work.
Obviously I told my lawyer to tell her to fuck off, but now they’re investigating the external factors surrounding the prenup and I’m ready to lose my fucking mind.
Ashley texts me little fucking hearts and “I miss you” messages.
I want to text back and tell her where to shove her stupid fucking messages, but my lawyer has strictly forbidden me to engage. Since I seem to have made it all worse by meeting with her yesterday, I listen this time.
Then the fun part. Moira sent me a text while I was in the meeting. Given Carrie is also Seb’s lawyer and Moira isn’t the most common name, she connects the dots.
Our lawyer is discreet, but after seeing the warm look on my face when I open the message, she stops talking and stares at me.
I don’t think about it until I put the phone down.
Her humorless gaze holds mine and she adds, “Not that I have to tell you this, obviously, but if you are seeing anyone right now, stop.”
I frown at her. “Excuse me?”
“You aren’t divorced yet. If Ashley can catch you with someone—especially someone you knew and spent time with while you were married—you are fucked.”
“I’m fucked?” I reiterate, pointing at myself. “She cheats and if I start seeing someone while we’re separated, I’m fucked?”
“You put an infidelity clause in your prenup, Griffin. Against my advisement, you decided to be a hero and make things equal. You’re the one who fucked yourself in the event you ever cheated. Some kind of self-loathing bullshit? Misplaced chivalry? Whatever it was, I told you it was a bad idea, but you wanted things to be fair. Yes, Ashley cheating means she gets the shaft, but if you cheated first and she can prove it? You are fucked. Fucked hard, no lube.”
My jaw locks and anger roils in my gut. “I didn’t cheat. I never cheated.”
“If it looks like you did, that doesn’t really matter.”
“This is bullshit. She cheated on me years ago.”
Her eyebrows rise with interest. “Can you prove that?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.”
“Are you kidding me with this shit?”
Carrie crosses her arms, shaking her head. “I wish. I’m not. Adultery isn’t enough to get an ordinary prenup thrown out, but you made yourself a perfect target. Personally, I don’t see Ashley letting up. Seriously, your personal life is your own, but please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t give her ammunition. You’re a nice guy, you don’t deserve to be taken for a ride by some money-grabbing opportunist, but you will. She’ll take you for half of everything you’ve got—and considering you have a business partner in your ventures, I don’t think you’re the only one who’s going to be pissed off about that.”
I sigh, massaging my temples. This is the biggest load of shit I’ve heard thus far. All these hoops to jump through just because I make a good living. If I lived in a fucking trailer with $10 in the bank, Ashley would be history already. “I fucking hate money.”
“Well,” she says brightly, “ignore my advice and you’ll have a lot less of it. I guess that’s your silver lining?”
“
This was all Seb’s dream, not mine. I never wanted this shit.”
“We’ll get this all taken care of as quickly as we can. If her lawyers can’t turn up anything soon, then we’re good. But I’m telling you now, she’s hired a shark. He can find dirt on anybody and I have a worrisome hunch you’ve been rolling around in the mud.”
I shoot her a look of annoyance. I like Carrie because she’s not a formal stick in the mud, but this isn’t her business.
Well, I guess it could be. I obviously have not cheated on Ashley, but if she catches wind of anything between me and Moira…
Christ, I can’t even think about that.
So, that’s my fucking day.
I work late into the night, but when I leave, I don’t go to Seb’s house. For the first night since we got together, I go back to my cold, empty house. It’s too fucking big. A lot of Ashley’s shit is still here. The house is another complication in the divorce. The prenup protects all the assets I had when we got married, but I bought the house afterward.
I feel like a fucking idiot. I don’t even give a fuck about the house. I’m ready to give it to her if it means she’ll go the fuck away.
Seb texts me about an hour after I get home to see where I’m at. I tell him I’m not coming over tonight, that Carrie had nothing good to say and I’m just going to stay home.
“Want some company?” he asks.
I don’t answer. I go up to the master suite I fucking hate and take a shower. I lie in the bed I shared with Ashley and drink alone, scrolling through every text message she’s sent me and glaring at them like she’ll be able to feel it.
Seb shows up with a bottle of liquor, just in case I didn’t have any on hand.
“What’d Carrie say?” he asks, without preamble.
“That I’m a fucking idiot.”
Seb’s eyebrows rise and he shrugs. “That does sound like Carrie.”
I drop into a chair in my living room and watch as Seb takes a seat, leaning forward and pouring alcohol into a glass for himself. “What can we do?”