Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance

by Chloe Lynn Ellis

  Hope it is, if I’m being honest.

  Jack glances up, then his eyes dart to the empty chair. Probably smart to keep Dylan in the middle. If things go south, he’s the perfect one to make sure Jack and I don’t go for each other’s throats. And if we’re going to get any of the serious business we’re here to discuss handled, he can also act as a buffer between our lips.

  I press mine together tightly, stifling a giggle. God, who am I? Being this shameless—even in the privacy of my own mind—isn’t like me. I need to stop this. We do have serious business to discuss, and it’s why Jack came. Not for a repeat of the week before.

  At least… I don’t think so.

  He glances up again, and I clear my throat, flipping my hair behind me and pouring myself a generous glass of wine.

  “Week was that good, huh?” Jack asks, his lips quirking up on one side as he nods toward my glass.

  “It’s not an escape,” I tell him. “It’s an indulgence.”

  “A celebration, maybe?” Dylan offers from across the kitchen, winking at the two of us.

  I grin, nodding, and bring the glass of wine up to my nose. Swirling it, taking in the aroma, I remind myself of what Dylan has taught me. It’s okay to enjoy the pleasures in life.

  “My week was very relaxing, actually,” I tell Jack, pretending I didn’t hear the hint of sarcasm in his earlier question. “Very low-key. Dylan and I got a lot of work around the house taken care of. It was… nice.”

  “I see that,” Jack says, looking away from me and glancing around. He frowns, though, instead of smiling. “It’s pretty bright now, isn’t it? You lose that feeling of comfort when things are tampered with.”

  Really?

  Is he trying to be an asshole?

  I can’t say my libido minds, if I’m honest, but I still find myself getting a little ticked. I’d hoped the two of us had turned over a new leaf, but he’s treating me the way he always has. I don’t know if I can bear it… but I also know I’m not going to just roll over and take it.

  He doesn’t want to explore new territory? Fine. I take a deep breath in and prepare to fence with him.

  “Sometimes you need to let a little light in to breathe. You know, disinfect. Get all the old air out, and bring some fresh air in.” I smile tightly, taking a drink from my glass.

  I didn’t want it to be this way.

  I take another drink in the silence—a little deeper than I should—but at least I’m not the only one. Jack does the same.

  “You can never dig all of it out,” he says, setting down both his glass and his phone and spearing me with his eyes. It’s unexpected and intense.

  Hot.

  “You must be an excellent lawyer with that insight,” I respond, shifting in my seat as all that intensity starts to rev me up again.

  “I am,” he says, matter-of-factly. “No matter how expensive my suits get, I’ll never get the grit out. It’s who I am.”

  He says it belligerently, as if he thinks it’s something he has to defend.

  It reminds me of Grandpa Sully. Not that Sully was as rough as Jack, but just like Jack, he was unapologetic about who he was and staying true to it… no matter how successful he got.

  Jack’s staring me down as if he’s waiting for me to fight him on it, and I bite back a smile, arching one eyebrow as I go for a cool look, just to see more of his “grit” come out. Okay, fine, I’m goading him. For once, though, I’m enjoying it, not feeling torn up inside about it.

  “Is that so?” I ask him, taking another casual sip of my wine. “Proud of your… grit?”

  “Yeah, that is so,” he snaps back, right on cue. “Wouldn’t want it any other way. Some of us like to remember our roots, Duchess.”

  I clench my jaw at that. My roots are Sully, as far as I’m concerned, and Jack should know me well enough to know that. This isn’t fun anymore if he’s trying to tell me I’ve lost touch with that. He doesn’t know me. Not the real me.

  “Some of us recognize that we can shape our destiny without changing the core,” I say tightly.

  “Yeah,” he says, raking me over with a look that’s not complimentary. “I always figured you for one of those onward-and-upward types.”

  “What are you doing, Jack?” Dylan asks softly, pausing behind Jack’s chair with three plates expertly balanced in his incredibly strong, incredibly dexterous fingers.

  Jack starts, then flushes.

  Interesting.

  He goes for more wine instead of answering Dylan or throwing any more verbal jabs at me, and as Dylan arranges the food and takes his seat, I’m staring at his hands again. I press my thighs together, vividly aware of how bare I am as I remember exactly how dexterous those hands are.

  God, I’m a hot mess tonight. Horny one second, insecure the next. Confident, then angry. Getting my feathers ruffled when what I really want is—

  “I hope you two are hungry,” Dylan says, grinning as he looks between the two of us. Unlike Jack, he’s all smiles… but I can read the steel underneath that exterior. Dylan is nice… kind… but never a pushover.

  Jack mumbles something under his breath, and I stiffen at the tone, even though I couldn’t make out the words.

  “We’re not doing this tonight, you two,” Dylan says simply, proving my point. “You know Sully’s rule.”

  Jack smirks, but softens just a hint. I can see it in the corners of his eyes. “Not at the dinner table,” he says, quoting Grandpa.

  “Never at the dinner table,” I say, my own lips tipping up at the corners.

  Jack and I lock eyes again for a moment. Now, without an argument growing between us, the look on his face is still fierce… but it’s cut with a little bit of softness, too. And—no, I’m not mistaken—underneath it, that hot, melting desire I experienced firsthand the week before.

  Desire for me.

  I’m suddenly keenly aware of my body again… my dress… the fact that I’ve been intimate with both of these men at the table. Oh hell, “intimate” sounds so mild compared to what we’ve done.

  Both of them have made me explode.

  “That’s right,” Dylan says, the words sending a hot flush through me before I realize he’s not responding to my actual thoughts. He’s just agreeing that we’ve both remembered Sully’s rule, and—by his tone—he’s planning on enforcing it.

  This townhouse may belong to all of us, but the kitchen is Dylan’s.

  I’m okay with that.

  Very okay with that.

  It’s actually a relief to know that he’s going to be in charge, no matter how gently he wants to couch his control over the situation.

  “Thank you,” Dylan says, his lips twitching with humor as he looks between the two of us again. “Now, Jack, you pour me a glass, and don’t be shy with it. Cate, you’re gonna try my meatballs, and you’re gonna love them.”

  Bossy Dylan. I bite back another smile, trying and failing not to get turned on. What, a few mind-blowing orgasms and now I can’t even last a week without my libido going into the red zone?

  I guess this is the real me.

  The free me.

  “No argument on the meatballs,” I say, grinning as I eye the plate he prepared for me and not thinking about calories.

  Not in Dylan’s kitchen.

  “Agreed,” Jack says, taking the wine bottle and filling Dylan’s glass, as directed. He tops off his own glass, too, then looks at mine. “Fast worker, Duchess?”

  He’s smirking again, and I look down. Shit. I honestly hadn’t realized I’d finished it off. Guess I needed it, and… no. Nope. I am not going to go back to letting him get to me.

  As if Dylan would even allow it.

  I square my shoulders and feel another rush of confidence. Huh. Confidence really makes me feel sexy, and I look Jack directly in the eye with my own special brand of fire, and smile at him with every bit of what we’d done on the stairs together showing on my face.

  “Jack, shut up and get me drunk.”

&nbs
p; He jerks as if I’d slapped him, and his face is a gorgeous mix of surprise, reassessment, and… yes. He’s thinking of it, too. Of me.

  “I can do that,” he says, his voice dropping low and sexy as he freshens up my glass. His eyes stay locked on mine, and ohhhhhhh—delicious, delicious heat. It moves through me again, and again, I find myself squirming in my chair.

  “Mmmm,” Dylan says, smiling as he looks between us.

  He has to see it. He really doesn’t mind? He’d said so, but… I guess I’m surprised.

  Definitely in a good way.

  “Tonight, we’re going to eat a little, drink a little, and get the contract business out of the way so we can stop thinking about it so much,” Dylan says, laying it out for us. He leaves it at that, and we dutifully start in on the eating and drinking, but I can’t help thinking that something in his tone conveyed that that’s not all we’d be doing.

  The meatballs are delicious, and accompanied by thin slices of lemon and a bit of white wine, I finally get my mind onto something other than the low hum of desire these men inspire in me and enjoy the heaven Dylan’s whipped up for us.

  After we’ve all relaxed a bit, there’s pasta primavera. My eyes meet Jack’s when Dylan places it in front of us, and I know we both remember that it’s one of the first dishes Dylan’s mother taught him to make as a kid.

  Dylan is so sweet, I almost can’t believe it.

  By the time we finish up with our plates, we’re all sitting way more comfortably in our chairs than when we started. Jack’s loosened up enough to regale us with oddball legal stories for most of the night, and Dylan’s chimed in with a series of memories of our childhood that the other two of us had somehow forgotten. My libido has finally calmed down, sated by the fantastic food and, yeah, the fantastic company, too, and despite my earlier fears, the whole evening has somehow turned out to be really, really pleasant.

  This is what Grandpa Sully would have wanted under his roof after he died. Had he really known the three of us could achieve it?

  “Christ,” Jack says, laughing as he uncorks a fresh bottle. “I can’t believe we’ve already killed two of these.”

  “There’s plenty more where that came from,” Dylan says, winking. “Cate did ask you to get her drunk, yeah? And the cellar is so chock-full of that stuff, I’m convinced Sully must have bought the whole damn vineyard.”

  “He would, too,” I say, giggling. That’s right. I’m a bit of a lightweight. “Even if the wine wasn’t any good, he’d do it to help out some poor bastard who’d just lost his kid’s tuition at the horse track or something.”

  “Yep, that was Sully,” Jack agrees, smiling as he pours fresh glasses for all of us. “It’s like he specialized in that. He had a nose for people with a lot to offer, who just needed a little bit of help.”

  “I wouldn’t be even a little surprised,” Dylan starts, reaching for his wine glass, “if one day, a truck backs up to our door with crates of the stuff.”

  I laugh. “See? We can’t sell this house. Who knows what surprises are going to show up on the doorstep for the rest of our lives? We shouldn’t want to miss out, right?”

  Jack grins, throwing me a sexy wink. “Trying to get us back into business talk again, is that right, Duchess?”

  The name doesn’t sting. Not in that tone.

  “It is why you came, isn’t it, Jack?” I remind him, mesmerized by the play of the light on my wine as I swirl it in my glass. I look up, catching that heat in his eyes that does things to me, and give an unladylike snort. “It’s not my fault you keep refilling my glass and trying to distract me with all… that.”

  I wave my hand at him, indicating his… everything. Body. Face. Strength. Passion. Damn, the man is sexy.

  Jack’s eyebrows shoot up and Dylan hoots with laughter, and I flush hotly—no doubt turning as red as my dress. I can’t take it back, though. Not just because it’s true, but because… well, I don’t want to say I’ve thrown down a gauntlet, exactly, but I’ve definitely opened the door to see where we stand.

  Jack’s frozen—deer in the headlights—but then he grins. A wicked, wicked one that makes me clench my thighs again. He darts a glance at Dylan, but I guess Jack’s had enough wine that he’s comfortable flirting in front of Dylan, unlike the week before.

  Although, sure, we’d been doing more than flirting in front of Dylan, that time.

  “All of this?” Jack asks, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar. He raises an eyebrow at me in challenge, then looks at Dylan and backs down with a self-conscious laugh. “I think I fed the Duchess too much wine. She’s talking crazy.”

  Dylan just grins, shaking his head. “She’s talking like you two need a room.”

  One of those telltale moans escapes me before I can bite it back, and Dylan’s smile grows even wider. He leans back in his chair a little—like he might want to watch the show, or maybe he’s giving me his tacit blessing, I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m mortified again, because that sound gave me away.

  I’m not just flirting. Not teasing. I want him. The blush that still hasn’t left my face spreads. I can feel the warmth traveling down my body, beneath my chest, through my belly, coursing between my legs.

  “I wouldn’t mind a room,” Jack says, his voice rough again as his eyes bore into me. He looks at Dylan again, uncertainty flashing across his face for a second, then forges ahead. “I would’ve done that last week, if, you know, someone hadn’t interrupted us.”

  If he’s waiting for Dylan to get uncomfortable, or chastise him, or pretend it’s all a joke, he’s going to be disappointed. I can tell. I know it. Dylan body is still relaxed, but his face is starting to flush, too. His pupils are dilating. Breath coming faster.

  I had this man inside me. I recognize his signs. And I remember… God. I remember what he said. About me. About Jack. This erotic tease is turning him on as much as it is Jack and me.

  “Can’t apologize for that,” Dylan says to Jack, letting his own brand of heat flare in his eyes. “I wish you two hadn’t stopped.”

  Something crackles in the air between the two of them, some deep current of energy that makes my mouth go dry, and Jack’s mouth opens and closes without anything coming out.

  Dylan leans back in his chair, his eyes hooded as he holds Jack’s gaze. “I would have loved to watch.”

  Jack sucks in a sharp breath. Or maybe it’s me. Jack starts turning red, and when he jerks his eyes away from Dylan, his gaze landing on his wine glass, I know he’s about to blame this whole conversation on too much alcohol.

  Dylan doesn’t let him, though.

  Dylan’s kitchen, Dylan’s rules.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asks when Dylan stands abruptly and starts clearing the table.

  Dylan gives him a smile that’s pure sex, and Jack mutters a sharp oath under his breath.

  “I still would,” Dylan answers, and it takes me just as long as Jack to figure that one out.

  He still would… still would… still would love to watch.

  Us.

  Together.

  Oh my God. A decadent, curling heat unfurls inside me as I get it, and when Jack turns his head and looks directly at me, I almost gasp at the heat in his gaze. He heard Dylan, too. Loud and clear.

  “Cate?”

  I’m not sure which one of them said my name, but it doesn’t matter. I nod. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  I want this.

  God, do I ever.

  11

  Jack

  Dear Penthouse — I never thought it would happen to me…

  The night’s taken a sudden turn for the surreal. Came over for dinner, prepared for a fight despite my recent realization about Cate, and for a while there, it looked like I was going to get one. Then Dylan stepped in, and the wine started flowing, and things got… well, “good” doesn’t even begin to describe it.

  These two.

  Fuck.

  They’re… they mean something to me.

  Maybe
everything.

  And this? What’s about to happen?

  I honestly don’t know how the fuck we got here—does Dylan actually know me well enough to read my mind?—but this moment is too much of a good thing for me to jinx it by looking too hard at the why or the how… or even the whether I should.

  I am. I’m doing this. Oh, fuck yeah, I am.

  “She wants you, Jack.”

  Dylan’s voice rips through me like pure sex, jolting me out of my panting incredulity and into action.

  He’s really okay with this? But… again, not gonna jinx it. Plus, can’t even question it, really. Not when Dylan sounds like that.

  Not gonna lie, other than rubbing one out the other night, I’ve never let myself go there about guys, but that voice? His voice? Like that?

  I’m just about wound up enough that that alone might be enough to get me off.

  For once, the thought doesn’t shut me down. Like I said, I’m too fucking wound up. Energy crackles between us—between all three of us, just like in my own private fantasy—and it’s a raw, sexual hunger that makes me feel like my blood’s been replaced with liquid fire.

  I don’t remember moving, but I’m out of my seat, Cate looking at me like I’m water in the desert. Dylan whispers something else, but I don’t hear what it is even though my body shudders at the tone.

  Can’t look away from Cate, though.

  Not now.

  Her sexy lips are parted, just a little, and their plump, wet invitation has got my cock straining at my slacks.

  She’s not looking at me, though.

  “Dylan,” she says, sounding sort of broken.

  Not… not bad broken. Raw. Hungry. And you know what? I’m about to fuck her, and she said another guy’s name, and I’m okay with that.

  No. Not okay. I’m turned on by that.

  Who would have thought?

  But Dylan… fuck. I kinda get why she’s looking at him. Don’t get me wrong, I know how to fuck, and I sure as hell don’t need his permission. But that’s not what this is. It’s not his blessing, either. He said “watch,” but damn if it doesn’t feel like he’s just as much a part of this as the two of us are.