I breathe out. Breathe in. Throb for him.
“Please,” I whisper, more breath than word.
Dylan groans, and begins to move.
My head lolls back as he pulls back and thrusts into me again, my eyes fluttering closed from the sheer overload of pleasure. I can feel my body already beginning to tighten around him with his first few strokes, the ache in me twisting like hot wire wound taut almost to breaking. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I feel like I’m going to explode, and I know when I do, it’s going to undo me.
Dylan is still panting hot, sweet, soft things into my ears, but I’m up in the clouds, up in the stars, far away from anywhere where words have meaning. I’m made entirely out of pure sensation, all nerves and energy and sweet, sharp impact, rocking together with this man in waves that have me feeling like I’m flying. It’s unbearable, it’s divine, it’s everything I’ve ever needed and been unable to ask for.
And for the first time, for the first time ever, it’s perfect.
I’m shaking in Dylan’s arms, my bucking hips meeting his every driving thrust; it’s too much, he’s too much, but at the same time I can’t get enough.
I moan, clutching him even tighter as it hits me: I’ll never have enough of what Dylan’s doing to me, of what he’s making me feel.
My nails are clawing into his back as I desperately try to hold on, but I might as well try and stop the tide with my hands. There’s no withstanding this, even if I wanted to. And oh God, I don’t. As good as it is, as much as I want it to last forever, I need a release.
I need to let go.
I need exactly what he’s giving me.
“Cate,” he groans, everything in his voice.
I cry out, a wordless sound of pure bliss as it pushes me over the edge. My nerves explode in a riot of fireworks, pleasure blindingly intense, and I feel like I’m shattering into a billion glittering fragments. I seem to come forever, my body quaking around him, over and over until there’s nothing left of me but slick, aching muscles and the echo of that wailing scream I can barely believe came from me.
Perfect ecstasy.
“Cate,” Dylan says again, raw and desperate. His hips snap forward, driving into me with hard, fast strokes that send aftershocks rolling through my body.
It’s so good.
So… good.
His movements grow wild, his breath ragged, and then his arms tighten around me like a vise. I feel him go tense, his muscles flexing against me as his entire body shudders. He groans my name again through gritted teeth as he comes, and then—finally—he presses a kiss to my hair, his arms loosening a bit without letting me go.
I lean against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as it starts to slow. I don’t want to think yet. I just want this.
I feel perfect.
Dylan rests his head on top of mine. “Cate…” he says after a minute, his huge hands stroking lightly up and down my back.
Heaven.
I feel him swallow hard, and I smile against the warm skin of his hard chest, realizing it’s the only word I’ve heard from him in a while.
“Cate,” he repeats, and my name sounds like an answer to something he’s been asking for a long time.
Maybe to something I have, too.
Dylan holds me like this for a while—gentle and close—and our racing heartbeats seem to mingle together as we float back down to Earth.
I feel liquid, boneless, truly satisfied for the first time in my life. I’ve never come twice in one day, didn’t even know that it was physically possible for me, let alone that I could orgasm back-to-back like this. And so… intensely.
My lips curve up.
First, from the erotic shock of Jack walking in on me, and now, from what has been hands-down the most incredible, mind-blowingly perfect sex I’ve ever had in my life.
Warm drowsiness spreads through my aching muscles, and my mind feels pleasantly foggy. This must be what it feels like to have no stress, I realize. All the tension, all the worry has been utterly wiped away.
Wow.
Dylan’s saying something—I more feel the rumble of his voice through his chest than hear it—and I force myself out of my hazy reverie.
“What?” I ask, yawning.
Not moving ever again would be a nice option.
He laughs softly. “I said, it seems like you really needed that.” He kisses me gently, adding, “... as badly as I did.”
Dylan steps away and my eyes drift shut. I hear the rustle of latex being shed, tied off, then the lid of the garbage opening and closing. There’s the soft noise of him putting his jeans back on, of the kitchen faucet, and then Dylan is back.
“Mm.” I smile up at him, my eyelids heavy. “Did I ever.” He grins as he gently runs a warm, wet towel along my dripping thighs, between them, cleaning me up with delicate care. “And now I need—” I yawn again, interrupting myself.
“Naptime?” Dylan teases as he tucks the towel into his belt loop, and I nod. “Got you covered, gorgeous.”
He effortlessly gathers me up into his arms, and I’m nearly purring. It all feels a bit surreal—this isn’t my life—but for once, all the anxieties in my head are quiet, and I’m more than happy to go with it.
Dylan carries me gently up the stairs, nestled against the hard planes of his chest, and I must doze, because the next thing I feel is the sense of floating downward as he places me gently onto a soft surface.
I open my eyes to see I’m in Grandpa Sully’s old room, resting on the massive, burled walnut bed with its towering carved posts. The sheets are new—a soft cotton, like t-shirt material—and I can’t resist nuzzling against the pillow. I reach for one of the thick, plush blankets, but instead Dylan catches my hand, running his thumb lightly over my knuckles before placing my hand back down on the pillow.
To my delighted surprise, he proceeds to tuck me in, folding me into the kind of blanket burrow I always loved as a kid growing up. Still do. The layers of blankets are a comforting weight, a safe haven, and of course Dylan would remember that.
He’s almost too good to be true, but I’m too satisfied and dreamy right now for even my legendary anxiety to gain even the slightest foothold.
I smile at him sleepily, my heart almost overflowing with peace and contentment. I’ve always despised it when someone takes charge of my life, making decisions for me without a single care for what I actually want. But this is different. It’s not anything like that, not by a long shot.
Dylan isn’t taking over, deciding what’s best for me without consulting me. He’s paying attention, listening to all my needs, and truly—the echo of pleasure rolls through me—fulfilling them.
“How are you real?” I murmur, my eyelids heavy.
Dylan leans down, brushing my hair from my face before placing a gentle, warm kiss on my lips. It’s a sweet kiss, a satisfied kiss that still somehow carries the promise of a world of pleasure in the future. I groan, languid as a cat in a sunbeam, and Dylan laughs softly.
“You get some rest, Wildcat,” he says. The warmth and desire in his eyes makes me feel safe.
Cherished.
I let myself float off into sleep, content not to worry about any of the events of this dizzying day, despite the fact that I haven’t been acting like myself… at all.
There will be time to sort everything out tomorrow, and besides, I think I like this Cate.
I really, really do.
5
Jack
I shove a hand through my hair, glancing around my well-furnished office as I take a breather from the pile of work that was waiting for me. Truth is, though, I’m relieved to have it. Never thought I’d be thinking anything like that, but can’t deny it. Helps take the focus of… other shit.
Yesterday had been a flat-out nightmare, both at the townhouse and everything after. I don’t know why I’d thought getting friendly with Dylan again would work out. If I’d been smart, I really should have just buried myself in a hole firs
t thing in the morning, the temptation of Dillon’s dinner invitation notwithstanding, and waited for today to dig back out.
First off, what had all of that garbage with Cate been about? I can’t even think about the crazy hot scene I’d walked in on when I’m still so steamed about what came after. How dare she talk to me like I’m still some sort of townie street trash? It had been one thing when we were kids—none of us knew any better back then, and sure, maybe I’d still been a little rough around the edges but I’ve had plenty of time to buff it out since. We’re grown-ass adults now, and I know I present one hell of a package these days.
Her sheer lack of regard, all of that entitlement, it just blows my mind. Not that Cate and I were ever really friends, but Sully’s dead and I think I deserve just a little bit more courtesy.
I lost him, too, and I swallow hard, staring blindly at the file open on my desk as I try not to think too hard about that.
After I’d gotten out of the townhouse yesterday, the train ride home had been a nightmare. I got nothing against kids for the most part, and maybe I’d even like to be a daddy one day myself, but I’m definitely going to be the kind of daddy who makes sure his kid’s hands are clean so they won’t get a stranger’s very expensive slacks all sticky when they grab hold and rub their grubby, sticky mess into them.
The hits had just kept on coming, too.
Got off the train and ran smack into some fridge-sized Bruins fan. He body-checked me without looking, which ended up with his fresh, hot coffee landing all over my shirt. Worst part? He looks at me like I’m the asshole.
I can’t believe this city sometimes.
Tried to drop by the market after that, and of course nothing I wanted was in stock. Insult to injury after giving up on whatever slice of heaven I could have had in Dylan’s kitchen. I don’t know what kind of crazy shopping bug had hit the city, but for whatever reason, the shelves had been just about bare. I couldn’t even pick up a loaf of decent bread, and they were out of my favorite coffee beans, too.
Fucking ridiculous.
And the best part, of course, was when I got home. I tried to fix myself some early dinner and ended up dropping a chicken bone down the garbage disposal. Went ahead and rolled up my sleeves to take care of it myself, but at that point I was just sweaty, exhausted, and more than ready for bed. I ended up skipping a decent meal and just chowing down on two-day-old takeout.
The hell that was yesterday should have been over after that, and good riddance, but of course, the moment I’d started drifting off, Ma calls me up. Nothing new, no emergencies other than her entire life. She went on and on about the bills, and I had to sit there and “uh-huh” and “oh, really,” both of us pretending I couldn’t hear Pop in the background, whispering for her to ask me for money.
My old man always went on about the family name this, family name that, like he was doing such a bang-up job at bringing us any pride. I always get an earful from him about how I’m not living up to the Kelly name… right up until he gets someone to ask me for a handout. Guess that must mean I’ve done something right, huh?
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always tried to do right by my family even when they never did anything right by me, but it wears on a guy, you know? And no, not that I’d say it to my old man, I don’t give two shits about being a Kelly. Doesn’t seem to me that it’s a hell of a lot to live up to, if you want the truth.
Sometimes, no matter what name I carry, it feels like Sully was the only real family I ever had. Of course, my people couldn’t stand him, but it was his standards that pulled me up. Him that I wanted to make proud.
I swallow, glancing at the clock. Sully’s dying is like a hole, and even being here—smack-dab in the middle of the good life he helped me make for myself—doesn’t really help. And sure, today is still a wet dream in comparison to yesterday’s crapfest, but gotta admit, some days, it feels like maybe I should have just gone and worked construction with my brother. It would have been a hell of a lot easier than being a high-octane criminal lawyer in the city, and even with the perks of the “better life,” it’s not always all it’s cracked up to be. Nicer clothes, some spending cash, but even if my digs are better, they’re still empty when I go home and get stuck eating takeout by myself with no one to unload about the day to.
I look at the clock again. It’s already creeping into the early afternoon and I’m not making much headway here. Every time I dive in, I keep finding my thoughts drifting to Cate and Dylan and this mess the three of us are tangled up in with the townhouse.
Screw this. Can’t focus, not doing any good here. Maybe it’s time for a real break. The kind I actually leave my desk for.
I stand up and grab my suit coat, pulling it on as I stride for the office doors.
“Hey, Jack.” It’s Tom, the second attorney on one of my cases. “You okay, bud?”
Guess it is a little early for a break. Not to mention it’s not really like me. Work is kind of all I’ve got, and just like Sully taught me, I give it my all.
“Yeah,” I reply, doing my best to push my jumble of screwed-up feelings out of the way and put my business voice on as I offer Tom a smile. “All’s well, I’m just a little claustrophobic today, know what I mean?”
“Ha, I can guess why,” he says, grinning back. “Saw that stack on your desk.”
“Yeah,” I agree absently, even though that had been more of a saving grace than a burden—today, at least. “Listen, mind covering for me for a bit? I ain’t all here today, got some family business to take care of.”
I’ll shoot some money over to Ma, so that it doesn’t turn into a lie. I take care of the finances for my parents, not that I’ll ever hear a thank you.
“Hey bud, no worries,” Tom says, and I sigh inwardly, relieved. “You owe me one, though.”
“I’ll catch you on the flip,” I say, then turn and get the hell out of there as inconspicuously as possible. No guilt, though, since it’s not like I don’t put in the hours and then some.
There’s a real nice brewpub down the road called Hamilton’s Wake; I go there every once in a while after work, real nice spot. Never been in before 6 p.m., though. When I head over, it’s chock-full of tourists and a bunch of other folks I don’t know.
I grab a stool at the bar. I know it’s early, but I don’t drink much as it is, so why not treat myself?
“You’re here early, sugar,” the bartender says. She’s a sassy little thing, a little bit punk, dyed hair, amazing breasts.
“Yeah, Tina, what can I say?” I rub my forehead for just a second. “Had a rough day.”
And fine, the rough shit was yesterday, but still holds true.
She smirks and cocks her head. “Want a drink to put those flames out?”
“Yes, please,” I say, finally feeling like I can exhale a little. “Macallan 18?”
“You got it, sugar,” Tina says, and flounces off with that fantastic ass of hers.
I set my hands on the bartop and let my head drop on top of them. Finally, some peace.
My mind drifts, and I start getting a mishmash of feelings and thoughts as I let myself process. Dylan, and how excited he’d looked when I’d stormed into the kitchen after Cate’s little show. I yank my thoughts offa that, but even focusing on Dylan… something hot stirs low in my gut.
Damn, but his smile always kills me.
I jerk my head up, making sure to ogle Tina’s rack as she gets my drink, getting my head back where it needs to be before I can think too hard about any weird feelings about Dylan. Still, just looking at a nicely put together woman makes my thoughts go straight back to Cate. How delicious her skin looked, all beaded up with water droplets over her spectacular breasts.
Nope.
Shouldn’t go there, either.
But… damn, even keeping my mind off all that, my mouth is still watering. Those sausages I missed out on. They smelled effing amazing.
I’m still staring at Tina, but I’m kind of out of it, too. Truth is, even thoug
h I’m still upset with Cate and Dylan, thinking about all the fun they must be having without me there to ruin the party, I have to admit that for a split second, even with all the bullshit, just being there in the kitchen with the two of them felt a little like family again.
The real kind; Sully’s kind, not the fucked-up version with my own people.
“If you don’t take this, I’m going to drink it for you,” Tina says, her voice snapping me out of my reverie. “Too beautiful a scotch to let it go to waste.”
She winks, and I laugh, but apparently it doesn’t hide shit, ’cause I see a look in her eyes that I can read like a book. Kind of the way it looks like she’s reading me.
Tina’s always been perceptive, but I guess all bartenders are. It’s like a job requirement.
“Thank you, Tina, you’re a lifesaver,” I say, picking up the glass and taking a sip as I wonder if she’s going to push or let my inner turmoil slide.
The lovely, smooth burn of the scotch goes down my throat, and even though I’m not a big drinker, I could get used to that. It’s a good alternative to wallowing, at least.
Tina bites her lip and smiles at me. Not really flirty, just… nice.
“Listen, I’m actually off work as of a few minutes ago. I swapped out with Bobby for the afternoon shift. You wanna buy me a drink, tell me what’s all over that face of yours?”
She’s sweet. And sure, maybe it’d be nice to vent a little.
“Pour yourself whatever you like,” I say, not worried about what she’ll choose. I can afford it, and the truth is, I’m not averse to the company or the offer of an ear.
Classic Tina, though. Offered an open slate, she goes right for a beer.
She pops open an IPA and leans over the bar. “Hit me,” she offers, smiling as she downs the first sip.
I turn the glass around in my hand, realizing I’m not really up to whining. But still, yesterday sucked.
“A friend of mine is in a real bad spot right now,” I start. Still feels good to say it, even if I’m not gonna admit how shitty my good life feels, some days.
Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance Page 6