The Grass Is Greener [McQueen Was My Valley 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  Once he’d drained all over Perry, he settled himself lightly on his friend’s hips and chuckled. With his thumb he affectionately rubbed one of the blobs of semen into Perry’s nipple.

  But Perry gasped and shoved Rowan off of him. “Bastard!” he spat again, standing upright and wriggling into his trunks. “You forced me to come first because you knew it’d make me look like an immature moron!”

  Rowan was still stretched out on his ass when the warden took a dive into the clear pool. Understanding cleared Rowan’s head then. “Bastard,” he muttered, too. Bastard is right. That little nature boy has a big head start on me now, because I was too busy reveling in the afterglow of an outstanding orgasm.

  And it would look ridiculous if Rowan went scrambling up the opposite cliff face now, hot on Perry’s heels.

  Chapter Six

  Sasha was nearly insane with lust by the time Rowan manfully flipped Perry onto his back, straddled him, and began jacking off over him.

  “Bukkake,” she whispered, and tickled her clitoris with her long middle finger.

  She had dropped to her knees and crawled to the cliff’s edge almost immediately when she’d seen Rowan flop onto the red beach next to Perry. A tingling, naughty thrill fluttered her uterus when she’d first seen Rowan’s hand closing over Perry’s hard-on. It wasn’t so shocking in Rowan, a world-weary man who had seen much of the globe. He dealt with fringe people in marginal surroundings, and sometimes he probably didn’t have much choice of partners. Since meeting him, she had imagined him in glamorous but sometimes rigorous conditions. Sitting on a window ledge eavesdropping on terrorists during a snowstorm. Swaying from a rafter trying to get the lowdown on a safe cracker. And yes, lounging in a king-size bed with caviar, champagne, and women.

  And men. She could picture Rowan swinging both ways. She’d been excited enough to see him again, to know he’d responded to the message she’d left with the answering service. Her blood practically boiled to be standing next to him again, and she knew she could never hold out if he chose to pursue her. He’d thrown her for a loop when he’d suggested sleeping on her couch. But hell, she was a mature professional woman. If she needed protecting, who better than this diabolically handsome and gruff IRA operative? She wasn’t a slave to her own hormones! She could fall asleep with him slumbering not twenty feet away in the next room, right?

  Right! She could listen to him jacking off in the steamy shower while she stirred her coffee in the morning! She could push past him in the hallway, the only thing between her breasts and his naked chest the silk of her bathrobe! She could watch him reach for the conservation officer’s big prick and jack it as though he’d been used to—

  No, she couldn’t! Almost immediately, Sasha swooned, weak from shock and lust. Good thing she was lying on her stomach on the cliff’s edge, or she definitely would have collapsed. “What in God’s name?” she whispered. Her logical brain tried to process what she was seeing in a rational manner. Rowan hungrily pumped Perry’s big cock because…“Because he likes men. And I flattered myself to think he wanted me.”

  All right. Sasha would have to live with that. But Perry? Innocent, boy-next-door, clean-cut Perry? Rowan must have corrupted him. While Sasha knew from all of her behavioral psychology classes that no one ever truly “corrupted” anyone, she just did not see the all-American warden dying to get on his knees and lick dick. She just didn’t. She had great gaydar, for one thing. Perry just did not ring any of her gaydar chimes on any level at all. No. Something else was going on here.

  The inner walls of her pussy actually thrummed when both men began to frig each other in earnest. They were not kidding around. Their biceps shimmered and their pecs snapped to attention as they jerked each other off. She couldn’t hear a word they said to each other, of course, over the burbling of the freezing creek water. Sasha’s hand slid between her pubic bone and the warm sand. She told herself it was entirely natural for the stimulating scene to make her want to finger herself. Propping her chin on one fist, she diddled her slippery clitoris. She was amazed in a clinical way to find herself that wet already. She’d only been watching the men all of two minutes.

  Rowan was clearly the dominant one. He moved like a beautifully athletic stallion, all rippling muscle, chomping jaw, snarling upper lip. Sasha wasn’t surprised to see Perry shoot first, under the grip of Rowan’s expert fist.

  Sasha masturbated a lot. At least, she thought it was “a lot” after having studied the frequency with which women admitted to masturbating. She did it maybe two, three times a week. The average was slightly over once, in women who admitted to it. What was so shameful about admitting it? She had often wondered. Men admitted it freely, in jokes, on TV, in pop culture. It was just a commonly held fact that men did it several times a week. Why not women?

  The double standard burned her again as she watched Perry splatter his semen against Rowan’s beautiful chest. Now that it looked like she wouldn’t be frolicking with either one of these men—their sole goal seemed to be to rile her to her greatest heights of sexual frustration—she fingered herself in earnest. She even raised herself on one elbow to give herself more room to diddle around—she humped her hand, putting faith in the idea that she would definitely hear if another car’s engine came roaring into their parking area.

  She knew she had a healthy libido. She just didn’t care to express it with every Tom, Dick, or Jorge who came down the line. It would ruin the romance if it was a common occurrence. And she didn’t derive any of this sense of propriety from religion or her upbringing which, to be honest, was sort of hit and miss. With a single parent already showing signs of dementia in the late twentieth century—her mother had died when Sasha was eighteen—she had not been overwhelmed with role models. That was why Brooke and Xandra had lost their way in life for awhile. Sasha, forced to be the nominal head of the family, had forged her way through med school.

  So when Sasha watched as Rowan discharged on Perry’s upturned face, she found her release, too. It was as though she could taste Rowan’s salty semen—as though he came for her, on her. Her inner pussy clenched and unclenched as ecstatic waves rocked her female organs. At home she had her trusty vibrator and didn’t often have to resort to the manual method, so now it was difficult to remember to stroke, stroke while her brain was being wrenched from its foundation. Bigfoot could have come and snatched her from the cliff’s edge and she wouldn’t have noticed. Every conscious thought, in fact, was banished from her mind as her uterus was grabbed and twisted by a giant hand. Her spine undulated as she humped her own hand. She gasped and sucked in fine, red sand.

  She had no idea how long she was “out.” She must have had more than forty contractions—a record. By the time she breathed pure, fresh air and looked up at the sky, she was flopping around like a beached fish. She shook her head and looked down at the swimming hole. Had they seen her? She doubted it. No one had glanced her way—or maybe she was just concerned with her own carnal satisfaction and hadn’t noticed. “Bukkake,” she whispered.

  Oh, dear. Do I have masochistic tendencies? The idea of that buff Rowan McInerney ejaculating all over me just excited me to unheard-of levels. Oh, dear. Oh, why can’t I swear? Shit! Fuck! There, that’s better. I never noticed that being submissive turned me on before. Well, it’s a non-issue since Rowan is chasing after Perry. And Perry’s obviously reciprocating.

  She had barely dragged herself to a sitting position when Perry came crashing to his knees next to her. He still dripped from having swum back across the creek, and the tiny droplets of icy water stung on her shoulders and thighs like pleasant needles, further waking Sasha from her sex-induced coma. “Sasha!” He clapped his freezing hands to her shoulders. “How much did you…Ah, what were you doing just now?”

  She knew she looked drunk as she smiled languidly up at him. “Everything. I saw everything.” She even sounded drunk. God, I wish I was drunk.

  “Oh, God.” Perry looked down to the river briefly, then back to
her. “Listen, Sasha. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

  “What’s so wrong about it? Turned me on.”

  A smile flitted across Perry’s mouth for a fraction of a second. He became serious again. “Sasha. I want you to know. I barely know that guy. I’m not gay, not at all, not in the slightest. I’ve never touched another guy before. I just met that guy in the middle of the desert, just yesterday.”

  Maybe to shut him up, or because she was basking in the sensual aura of an outstanding orgasm, Sasha kissed the game warden then. She was tired of analyzing her feelings, and for once, just acted upon them.

  She hadn’t kissed a man since her ex-husband Colin, and it was strange and foreign at first. Perry was so young and fresh, still moist from his swim, it was fitting that he be the first other man she kissed after her divorce.

  It didn’t take many seconds for her to get back into the swing of things. Tickling Perry’s lower lip with the tip of her tongue, he quickly parted his lips and let her snake her way into his mouth. She breathed deeply of his clean, sandy smell. The sensation of his tongue in her mouth, lapping at her lips, intertwining with her tongue, made her even hotter. She swiftly began again that ascent up the sexual mountain, the climb that would lead to another orgasm.

  In a flash she found herself sitting lightly in Perry’s lap, smacking away at his mouth, his face cupped in her hands. Now she remembered the power of sex, the sway of a woman’s gifts of sensuality, the ability to drive a man over the edge with just a wiggle or a kiss. It all came back to Sasha in a twinkling. How easy men were! How simple it was to turn them on.

  She reveled in this new sense of power as Perry snorted against the side of her face. He’d just come and already he was raring to go again, and just because a woman sat in his lap and kissed him! This is fun. He claims to be straight, and I’ll pretend to believe him. I could have a nice romp with him.

  Perry was wild-eyed when he pulled away. How long had it been since he had kissed a woman? “Listen, Sasha,” he panted. “I’m not kidding. You do believe me, don’t you? I really want to–to–to date you, and I’d hate it if you thought I was gay just because you saw…you saw…”

  “You know, the more you try to explain it away, the worse it sounds.”

  Sasha and Perry both gasped and whipped their heads to view Rowan. Leaning against a dead cottonwood trunk, he looked cool and collected. With his fingers sunk in the front pockets of his jeans, he crossed his feet casually and grinned with amusement at them. It struck Sasha then—Rowan had never worn mirrored shades, and he didn’t look the epitome of the oafish goon with the little earpiece like the bodyguards who worked for John Maliano.

  Sasha was having a very hard time categorizing him. Confusion washed over her when she began to suspect Rowan was the one she really wanted to be making out with. But why did feelings, lusts and cravings always have to be stacked up and numbered like that? Maybe both men were bisexual. What did it matter?

  Perry obviously thought it mattered. He practically dumped Sasha on the ground in his zest to leap to his feet and defend himself against Rowan. “Listen, you colossal asswad! You put me into a compromising position just so you could make me look bad in front of her!”

  Rowan grinned lazily. “I didn’t see anyone holding a gun to your head—not now, or yesterday.”

  Every inch of Sasha’s skin tingled with curiosity. She took a few steps toward Rowan. “Yesterday?”

  “Bastard!” Perry swiped a fist through the air, having apparently come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t end well if he actually punched Rowan.

  Disregarding Perry, Rowan turned casually toward Sasha. “So it turned you on, watching us go hard at it?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes.” Sasha found herself standing so close to the dazzling thug she was nearly stepping on his bare toes. “And I’m sorry, Rowan, for giving in to the game warden just now. I was merely carried away by lust. And a sudden surge of testosterone and estrogen.”

  Rowan stroked her under the chin as though she were a cat. “Sasha, Sasha. What did you feel, watching me stroke this young game warden’s cock?”

  Sasha’s legs liquefied. If Rowan hadn’t been there for her to cling to, she would have fallen. His bicep was damp from his swim, and she pressed her breasts to his forearm. “I felt…curious. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.”

  Rowan slid a hot hand down over her hip. “Did it make you wet, to watch us?”

  If Rowan was gay, there was no harm in telling him the truth. “Yes. Very wet.”

  His fingertips toyed with the elastic at her bathing suit’s leg. “Did you masturbate, too?”

  “That’s no fucking fair!” yelled Perry, practically sticking his face between theirs. The two looked mildly at him.

  “What’s no fair?” Sasha asked, blankly.

  “This toolbag purposefully manipulated me to turn you on, Sasha. What we were doing down there was all for show. I’m not gay. He said it to me just now. ‘Women like to watch men enjoying each other’s bodies.’ It was all for show, knowing you were looking over the side.”

  Rowan cocked one eyebrow. “Did it work?” he asked Sasha, slipping two fingers under the elastic of her bathing suit and going right for her slippery pussy. An all-knowing look came over his outrageously handsome face, and he licked his lips. “Ah. I’d say it worked. You’re wet as an oyster, miss. Ooh. And your clit feels like a big, fat oyster.” He drew her close and spoke against her lips. “Blue Point. Delicious.”

  A long, drawn-out moan escaped Sasha’s lips when she pressed them to Rowan’s. It was everything she’d imagined it would be, kissing the tough, dashing man. First she’d been brazen enough to kiss the warden—now she was French-kissing this awful, mysterious black ops commando! But when he tickled the nubbin of her clit, all swollen and slick from her own ministrations, he growled back. She slid her hands up his satiny bare chest, reveling in the feel of the salt-and-pepper hair there, feeling naughty that her fingers touched his erect nipple, his tattoo of a female pirate captain.

  “Oh, I see what game you’re playing now,” Perry fumed, but made no attempt to storm off in a huff. “You got her all steamed up. You’re using unfair tactics.”

  “Mm,” Sasha sighed into Rowan’s delectable mouth. He fiddled with her swollen clit with the expertise of a man who knew she had already had an explosive orgasm. She’d never dared to attempt another orgasm so close behind the last one, but she was so incredibly hot being this near to an almost-naked Rowan, and having just seen his talented hand bring off another built man’s prick till it squirted all over his abdomen. So Sasha felt no compunction about flinging her arms around Rowan’s neck. His finger was bringing her so close to a new, different kind of edge, all she could do was press the tip of her nose to his and pant.

  “What do you feel?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “Horny. My uterus is fluttering. My ovaries are aching.”

  “Can you come again? I want to feel you come for me.”

  “I can,” Sasha gasped. “I think I can.” She licked Rowan’s lower lip. Boldly, she added, “Kiss Perry.”

  Rowan didn’t ask for any elaborate instruction. He grabbed the younger man by the bicep and yanked him close, then planted one on him, all without missing a beat fingering Sasha. The way his lower jaw worked against Perry’s, the slurping, the sloppy way men kissed raised Sasha to the brink of a colossal orgasm. She felt blood and hormones pool in her uterus, the dam ready to burst. Perry, contrary to his protestations, made no effort to peel Rowan from his person, and even allowed Rowan’s free arm to wind around his waist, crushing him to him.

  It was a manly, slurping kiss, and Sasha could not resist lifting a hand to squeeze Perry’s erection beneath the damp cotton. Rowan’s finger coaxed ecstasy from a particularly sensitive spot, and Sasha exploded all over again.

  She flung herself limply against Rowan’s macho torso, biting into his satiny shoulder. He broke away from sucking face with Perry to murmur encouragingly i
n her ear, “That’s it, my sweet. Come. Come for me. Come all over my hand. It’s dripping down my wrist. Pour your delicious sweet juice all over me. That’s right. Keep coming. You’re a nasty girl, aren’t you? You like to come. You like to watch two men pleasuring each other. Makes you hot.”

  This orgasm wasn’t as intense or as drawn-out as the first, and Sasha just dug her nails into poor Rowan’s shoulder as she bit down. “Ah. Stop!” she gasped, and noticed she’d left teeth marks in his shoulder.

  She shooed his hand away from her pussy and yanked at her bathing suit bottom to cover herself up, but Rowan brought his fingers to his mouth to suck on the longest one salaciously. “Mm.” He murmured as though tasting expensive cognac. “Sweet.”

  “A hint of orange,” Perry goofed, but sucked when Rowan offered him the finger.

  Sasha was enrapt with the way Perry rolled his tongue around the finger, turning Rowan on in the process. When she slid her hand down his taut abdomen, she felt his hard-on packing the crotch of his jeans nicely. She felt safe leaning against Rowan’s sturdy, lean body.

  “I’m not gay, but if it makes you feel safer to think I am…” Rowan told Sasha, shrugging. “Whatever to make our relationship work, to catch this asshat.”

  Perry smacked his lips. “Think he’s gay, please, Sasha. Think he’s gay. But I’m not.”

  Sasha giggled, running her hand affectionately over the forest of wiry hair that peppered Rowan’s developed pecs. “I feel safer with two men who each have guns, period.”

  Rowan’s phone must have buzzed, for he stepped away to look at a text. He told Sasha, “My computer guy found Sean Hinton. As of ten minutes ago he was…well, here are the coordinates. He bounced off a cell tower in a place called Bloody Run.”