4 Men Of The House with correct Also By page

by Knight, Natalie

“What is it?” she asks in a breathy voice when my eyes are on her face for a long time.

  I shake my head and swallow.

  “I’m just looking at you,” I say.

  She smiles and closes her eyes.

  I can feel her body pulsating, the urge to release growing. I don’t want to give it to her, not yet. As always, I’m not done yet, and I don’t want to his to be over if I can draw it out longer. When she’s this close, I feel like anything is possible, and I don’t want that feeling to fade into nothing.

  She kisses me again, and the sensuality slips away, making way for lust once more. An urge deep inside me resurfaces, and it wants as much of her as I can get. I move my hands on her hips, holding her still, so I can pound into her again. She whimpers, making little moaning sounds, but I want more.

  I wrap my arms around her lower waist and brace my legs. I stand up, holding her against me, still sitting on my dick. Her face is surprised.

  I start bouncing her up and down on me and she cries out, the rhythm releasing little screams from her lungs. I don’t ask her to be quiet. I concentrate on keeping my rhythm, bouncing her so she lifts off my dick almost completely and lands on it again.

  When I lean forward, I realize the angle is better. I can get in deeper and fuck her harder without having to fight gravity so much. She tips her head back and gasps back. Her breasts roll back and forth as I fuck her, and she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.

  I can’t keep her up forever. My arms get tired, but my cock is insatiable. I turn around, face the bed, and lift one knee onto it. I manage to lift her so she doesn’t lie on the edge, and I have room to stand on my knees.

  I plunge into her again, hammering her hard. She cries out. Her body moves up toward the pillows and headboard. I lay down, my chest mashing her breasts, her body pinned beneath mine. I fuck her harder and harder, driving deeper and deeper, and I find a rhythm that becomes so instinctive I don’t have to think.

  My body takes over.

  Dana

  Lust consumes me. Keagan is lying on top of me, and all I can think about is his cock inside of me, and the way he pins me with his body. We’re pressed against each other, skin on skin. Our bodies are slick where we touch, and the yearning for Keagan is so thick in the air, it pushes down my throat and makes it hard for me to breathe.

  As if he knows that he’s torturing me with his body, Keagan slides in and out of me slowly, taking his time. When he’s buried deep inside me, he pauses and I shudder. My pussy tightens around him before he slowly pulls out again, until only the tip is still inside my body.

  He repeats the achingly slow strokes again and again. All the while, his blue eyes are on mine. He looks at me as if he hasn’t seen me in ages, and he doesn’t want to forget what he’s seeing right now. Not ever.

  I study his face. His hair is slick with sweat, and beads of it drip down his forehead from the exertion. His skin is perfect, his nose straight like an arrow, and his eyebrows are the same sandy color as his hair. He’s a true, natural blond.

  Keagan dips his head and brushes his lips against mine. He smiles at me, and his eyes glint, mischief creeping in.

  I don’t have time to ask before he picks up his pace. My legs are spread, and he’s between them. He starts pounding into me, picking up speed until we’re back to him nailing me hard and fast. I cry out and give myself over to the sensations.

  I am reduced to the perfect mix of pleasure and desperate hunger. He fucks me so hard that all I can focus on is the here and now, what goes on in my body, what is happening with him on top of me. Everything else falls away.

  I close my eyes, and he is everywhere. On me, and in me. I smell his soap, strands of his cologne that still cling to his skin, and the glorious smell of sex that makes me want more and more of him. Every time.

  As if he’s changed channels again, Keagan slows down. A part of me rejoices in the break. The intensity is more than I can handle, and I appreciate the opportunity to catch my breath. Another part of me protests and I sigh. It sounds like frustration and pleasure combined.

  Keagan chuckles and presses his lips against mine again.

  “You’re kissing me a lot more, lately,” I say when he breaks the kiss.

  “It’s because you taste so good,” he says and kisses me again.

  I smile against his mouth. He’s still moving his hips, but it’s slow enough for me to think, and I have a feeling that the kissing has a lot less to do with how I taste than what emotions pass between us.

  I don’t want to think about emotions. I want to think about sex. I want to feel Keagan and think about only him. I need to go back to the bubble he created only a few minutes ago and let him take me away.

  I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him tightly against me. He gets the hint and picks up his pace. His hips buck against mine, and the sexual bliss that carried me away earlier returns in full force. I let out a sigh of satisfaction, but with his pounding into me, it comes out as a series of gasps.

  He fucks me like this, with my legs around his hips and my ass lifted just a bit off the mattress. Then he stops.

  I want to ask him if he is set on torturing me, if this is going to be the trend of the night. Then he reaches for my pillows. He lifts my hips with one hand, as if I weigh nothing. His cock is still inside me, and I’m surprised at how easy he makes it look.

  Keagan tucks the pillows beneath my hips so that I’m lying at an angle. My legs are still loosely wrapped around his hips, and my ass is elevated. Keagan bends over me again, his hands braced on either side of my head. I look at him. His eyes slide hungrily over my body, and I can feel his stare like a physical touch. I shiver, and my nipples tighten.

  Keagan grins and starts pumping into me again. At this angle, he pushes deeper than he has before, fucking me harder, and his cock hits my cervical wall. It’s a good pain that licks through my body, and I close my eyes and focus on the sensation. I’m aware of my jiggling breasts, of my hands on his shoulders, and the way his muscles ripple beneath my fingertips.

  I cry out, my voice a loud echo of the pleasure he’s building inside me.

  “Shh, baby girl,” he says in a breathy voice. “Not too loud.”

  I know he’s referring to the neighbors. It’s rude to make this much noise at night, but he’s fucking me hard. The pleasure is almost unbearable, and I don’t know how to keep myself quiet. Our bodies have melded together, and I don’t know where my body ends and his starts. I’m lost in the sensations, and I don’t want to be found.

  At this angle, he’s rubbing against my G-spot, working me up into a frenzy. I want the orgasm, want to lose control, and want to fall apart.

  Keagan leans his weight to the side so he’s holding himself up with one arm. He puts his free hand on my shoulder and thumbs my collar bone. The sensation is strangely erotic. During sex, though, I don’t know any other sensation it could be.

  His hand moves to my breast and he kneads the mound, his fingers sure despite his fucking. Who says a man can’t multitask? His fingers find my nipple, and he tweaks it, turning the nub like it’s a button, and it’s a direct line to my pussy and the pending orgasm. I buck my hips, and my body spasms.

  He tugs on my nipple, squeezing and pulling, hard enough to make me shudder, but not so hard that it hurts. Keagan knows exactly what he’s doing, knows the fine line between pleasure and pain, and he’s with it always so that I don’t have to be. After a while, he lets go of my nipple, kneads my breast once or twice more, and continues to roam my body. His hand on my ribs is large enough to wrap around my side and make me feel delicate. He holds my body in place like that while he pushes into me, pulls out again, and keeps up the process.

  I follow the line of my body with my eyes. My breasts are high up on my chest, due to the angle. My stomach looks flatter than flat, and my hip bones protrude in a way that’s sexier than when I’m standing. This angle is flattering. I watch Keagan’s cock as it disappears inside me, then reappears, slick
with our fluids, white with the foam of his exertion. I can smell our sex, my scent mingled with his, and it smells of primal urges and pleasure.

  His balls slap against my ass every time he enters me, and the sound makes a strange harmony with the squelching and sucking sounds that his cock makes when he enters and exits my body. Our grunts and moans lace the sounds of sex, and I close my eyes, listening to what it sounds like when we’re together.

  Keagan’s hand makes its way down my body. His fingers flutter over my pubic mound, and then the tips slip into my slit. My legs are wide open, my body is at an angle, and he’s pushed up so that’s he’s standing on his knees, not leaning over me, now. My clit is on display, and his fingers probe it.

  I jerk and moan. He chuckles as if it’s amusing and puts his finger against my clit again. He moves his fingers in circles, rubbing gentle spirals around my clit, bringing me to the brink of an orgasm and keeping me there.

  I’m torn between the two sensations, the cock inside me and the fingers on my clit. The constant shift in focus draws the orgasm out so that it’s delicious torture. If I want to orgasm from his attention to my clit, Keagan will have to stop fucking me, and I don’t want that.

  The feeling consumes me, and I’m balanced between his hand and his cock, hanging in a sort of orgasmic limbo.

  The feeling builds more and more, the orgasm refusing to be kept at a certain level, and I feel like I will spontaneously combust. My skin is on fire, and my nerve endings sizzle with sensation. My limbs go numb, and I withdraw into a deep, dark part of myself.

  Keagan’s pace picks up, and he fucks me harder, faster. The strokes shorten, and I know that he’s close, now. This is the grand finale. He’s building me up, and he’s pushing himself to the edge, too.

  His finger assaults my clit, and I cry out, the heat that he’d been coaxing finally washing over me as the orgasm finally releases. I fall apart on the bed, his hand pressed against my clit, and it’s like my orgasm pushes him over the edge.

  He jerks and spasms inside me, and with a sharp cry, he falls forward, catching himself on his hands on either side of my body. He shudders as he empties himself inside me. I gasp, my walls clamping down on him, and I’m hyperaware of his cock twitching inside me. My body does what it’s created to do and milks him dry, spasming in rhythm with him, until, finally, the orgasm releases me.

  He collapses on top of me, breathing hard, and my heart hammers against his ribs. His chest rises and falls in time with mine.

  Keagan lifts his head. His face is wet with sweat, and he regards me through hooded eyes. He pulls his hips backward and slips out of me, already softening. When he lies next to me, I have a wonderful sensation of complete satisfaction. I look at him, and I know I don’t have to ask him the way I did before.

  I get off the bed and walk to the bathroom to clean up. When I return to the bedroom, he’s already under the covers, lying back on the pillow, eyes closed. I climb in bed with him, and he stretches out his arm so I can lie on his chest. He curls his arm around me and kisses my hair.

  Exhaustion pulls over me like a blanket, and I let it draw me under, my body spent, my mind blissfully blank, and the sound of Keagan’s heartbeat right next to my ear.

  Keagan

  Going public with Dana was something I stressed about all week, just for it to not happen. I’m worried about the world knowing, but not to the point that I’ll cancel my plans. The only reason it didn’t happen is because of Dana’s new job. I don’t want to jeopardize her career for something that doesn’t have to be so dramatic right now.

  It makes me think about my priorities. Dana is a lot more important to me than a lot of other things. I don’t care what the world thinks, even if what they think is negative.

  Why, then, am I avoiding my dad over our relationship?

  What he thinks of me means a lot more than what the rest of the world thinks. I don’t want to disappoint him. At the same time, I realize he needs to hear it straight from me. Even if he already has his suspicions, if we went public and he heard it over the news, I would feel like I’ve betrayed him somehow.

  I’m glad we’re waiting a little, even if it is just long enough for me to talk to my dad about it. I don’t necessarily want his blessing, but I want him to know what’s going on in my life so that he doesn’t hear about it on the news like the rest of the world.

  A meeting that was set up on Monday morning is canceled. I decide to drive to the studio. Susan invites me in with a smile and hugs me.

  “How are you?” she asks, and I know what she means.

  “Good, thank you,” I say tightly. I don’t want to talk to her about anything. I’m not here for some hippie love advice.

  “Is my dad here?” I ask.

  She nods. “He’s in the storage room, sorting through some new pieces we just got in and putting them into the system.”

  I nod and thank her. I make my way to the storage room and knock on the half open door before stepping into the room. My dad looks up at me from a clipboard, and he looks happy to see me.

  “Come on in,” he says and removes a file from a stool, pushing it toward me. “Sit down. I’m just tagging this stuff.”

  I nod and sit down. For a while, I watch him go through his little system, processing the paintings. They’re a little abstract for my taste, but the room is filled with works that have emotions on canvas, and it’s not a bad place to be in. I feel a little out of place in my suit pants and collared shirt and tie.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” my dad finally says, putting his clipboard down and picking up a painting to study it closer.

  “A meeting was canceled, and they have it covered at the office. I thought I’d drop by.”

  “Very nice,” my dad says, still looking at the painting, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about my visit or the art.

  “I want to talk to you about Dana.” There’s no reason to make small talk. I don’t have that much time, and I feel like making small talk will only postpone the inevitable hostility.

  My dad glances at me.

  “What about your sister?” he asks. I know he’s saying it like that on purpose.

  “Stepsister, Dad. And we’re not related. That’s what I want to talk to you about. We’re thinking about going public. We were actually considering it this Friday.”

  My dad looks at me, the painting finally forgotten.

  “And why didn’t you?” he asks.

  I shrug. “It’s not always that easy to swim against the current.”

  He sighs. “Well, that’s true.”

  A moment of silence hangs between us, and I wait for him to fill it. Eventually, he does.

  “You know I’m not going to be okay with it. I’m not going to tell you it’s okay with me if you’re with her. It’s taboo, for God’s sake, and for a reason.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not here to ask your blessing or anything. I just thought you had a right to know, to hear it from me, instead of on the news when it does come out.”

  My dad frowns at me. “You’re serious about this?”

  I nod. “Didn’t you think I was?”

  He shakes his head. “We all have fantasies. We all enjoy the idea of something dangerous. But these things pass. It’s a phase.”

  “Dana is not a phase,” I say.

  My dad sighs. “So, you’re serious about her, huh?”

  I nod. I don’t have to hide it, I’m sure he can tell that I’m serious enough if I’m here to talk to him about it. My dad pulls up another stool and sits down. We’re both balanced on stools that are too small for our bodies, one leg on the floor, one leg hitched on the bar between the legs, facing each other.

  “So, you’re going to do this, no matter what I say.”

  I nod again.

  “Then tell me how you feel about her. Tell me what it is about her that makes you want to risk your reputation and all the relationships in your life. Because not everyone is going to be okay with it.”


  I take a deep breath.

  “I can’t tell you everything about her that makes me happy. There’s too much for that. But you know her. You know how she can make even the small things come to life through her excitement. She’s creative and kind and gentle, and she reaches out to people just because. She has her flaws, but they pale in comparison to all the good things I can name about her.”

  My dad nods, slowly.

  “Do you love her?” he asks.

  I hesitate. Love is a strong word, and the label is quite permanent.

  “I love her in a lot of ways,” I say. “After all, we’ve lived in the same house for years. But I think I’m in love with her, too. It’s not just platonic. It’s never been. It’s more than that, and it keeps growing.”

  My dad scrutinizes my face, his eyes searching mine for a clue, an answer, something. I’m not sure what he’s hoping to find.

  “Look, I can’t say I’m happy about it. It still makes me uncomfortable. I don’t think it’s natural.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but he holds up his hand.

  “I know you’re going to tell me you’re not related, and you’re right. You’re not. In theory, there’s nothing wrong with it. You deserve to be happy, and love is rare so I’m not going to give you hell about it. I just can’t wrap my head around it right away, okay?”

  I nod. It’s fair enough. I’m being honest with him, and he’s being honest with me in return. My dad and I have always had a relationship based on mutual respect. It’s what happens when you must face the world together for as long as we did before Susan and Dana appeared in our lives.

  “Do you want coffee?” my dad asks, climbing from his stool.

  I nod and follow him out into the studio. Susan is busy with a customer, discussing paintings. We walk to the small kitchen they’ve set up, and my dad puts on a pot of coffee. He leans his hip against the counter and folds his arms over his chest while we wait.

  “Going public is a big deal,” my dad says. “You said it’s hard swimming against the stream. What happened?”