Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance

by Chloe Lynn Ellis

  Their hot breath washes over me… strong hands hold me… the slick, sexy sound of our bodies moving together fills me… and I’m whimpering.

  Pleading.

  I’m consumed.

  Jack groans. Or maybe it’s Dylan. “Oh, Christ… oh… fucking God… can’t hold out much longer…”

  “Fucking amazing… fuck… fuck.” Their deep voices vibrate through me. “Yes. Oh fuck yes, so… damn… good…”

  And then Jack’s rhythm speeds up. His hips slap against mine and Dylan groans as Jack’s cock thrusts deep.

  I can’t… I can’t… I can’t hold on.

  “Oh, God… please… please…” I sob. “I’m going to sh-sh-shatter.”

  And then I do.

  I knew it was coming, but it’s so overwhelming that it still catches me unaware, my body coming apart into a million perfect pieces with no warning.

  A long, wailing cry escapes my throat, and the birds in the bird bath go silent.

  I don’t care.

  Can’t.

  The rolling waves of my orgasm pour through me, blotting out everything else. I’m shaking. Shuddering. I’m pure bliss.

  It’s endless.

  It’s everything.

  My body clenches tight around my men’s cocks, and I’m so full with the two of them that every wave rocking through me spikes my climax even higher. It’s a never-ending loop that has me trembling… panting… totally lost to everything but this.

  And then Dylan cries out sharply, the sound almost drowned out by Jack’s hoarse shout. A hot rush of liquid heat fills me as they come together, filling me with everything they’ve got, until I’m overflowing.

  And it’s perfect.

  It’s exactly what they’ve done to my heart. I’m theirs, body, mind, and soul.

  And Jack and Dylan… these two beautiful, amazing, incredible men… they’re mine.

  29

  Jack

  “I really appreciate you both sitting down for this tonight,” I say, nervous as Cate and Dylan join me at the dining room table.

  “No worries, babe,” Dylan says. “But I haven’t prepped dinner yet, sorry, I didn’t expect my shift to run so late.”

  “Oh, no,” Cate jokes. “You mean the perfect chef didn’t make us another perfect dinner, one night out of… months now?”

  “What can I say,” Dylan says, smiling at Cate. “I’m a sucker for the faces you two make when you eat my food.”

  I don’t know about me, but he’s right when it comes to Cate. Christ, half the time just watching her enjoy Dylan’s food makes me hard. But right now, even that thought can’t distract me.

  I hope I’m hiding it well, but inside, I’m terrified.

  It’s July 31st, one day before our decision on the townhouse is due. Once we all agreed to go in equally on the house, the two of them put their faith in me to handle the legalese. I’ve been digging through that contract every single day for the last two weeks, ever since Gary dropped his bomb about the transfer requirements on me. I’ve been trying to figure out some sort of solution to the stipulation that it can only transfer to a single owner, and—thank fuck—I think I finally have one.

  It was so simple that I’m just amazed that I didn’t think of it sooner, although I’m still not a hundred percent they’ll see it the way I do. Cate’s right, though, I put myself through so much damn stress that it’s easy to miss the small things. Gotta work on that still. That said, I still haven’t told them about my conversation with Gary.

  That’s a big one, a huge lie of omission.

  I could get off on a technicality, but what if the way I handled it—kept it from them for a bit—hurts them? They’ve both said they love me, together and separately, a whole bunch of times now, and I’ve said it back to both of them just the same. I know we all mean it, but there’s no denying that this is still a new thing for all of us.

  What if my lie—my delay, let’s say—breaks us apart? Will that just prove that I didn’t deserve this all along?

  Christ, I’m spinning myself up so much. I swear, if I can just get through this, I’ll never lie about anything again to either of them, so help me. I can’t lose them now.

  I can’t.

  They’re both looking at me, and the teasing light has faded from their eyes, telling me they see right through me… as always.

  “What is it, Jack?” Cate finally asks, looking downright concerned.

  Do they even know how much they mean to me? I try to say it. Try to show it. But it’s so big… I don’t know if they can possibly understand that they’re everything to me.

  “Let us in on that secret,” Dylan says, his tone calm and reassuring even though I can see the same concern in his eyes, too. His lips quirk up a bit, and he adds a teasing, “I promise it’ll be okay.”

  Here goes nothing.

  “Alright, so,” I start briskly, pressing my palms against the table and going for a confidence I don’t feel. “Got an update on the house for you.”

  They both look excited. I really hope I don’t burn it out of them. I mean, my solution is pretty fucking perfect, if you ask me, but it’s also sort of… a commitment. One I’m not sure they’d want to make, given that it’s only been, what, three months? Insane. ’Course, we’ve all known each other half our lives, but crazy to think that all of this—us—has only been brewing since Cate came back to Boston in the spring.

  I don’t want it to end… did I come up with this answer just to try to tie them to me? Will they want it?

  “Stop overthinking,” Dylan says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Spill, Jack.”

  Right. Okay. I’ve got this.

  “So, I spoke to Gary a couple weeks back,” I start, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “And, uh, I let him know that we all decided to go in on the house in equal shares, joint tenancy. You know, like we talked about.”

  “Right,” Cate says, the upward lilt she gives the word prompting me to continue.

  “So, yeah. Uh, the thing is… there was a problem with that.” The flash of apprehension that goes across both their faces just about kills me, but I rush on before they can interrupt. “The terms of the will state that only one entity can own the property. Gary’s prohibited from transferring the title any other way, so joint tenancy is not an option for us. Given those parameters, we’ve got to decide how we want to handle this by tomorrow, or else the deed will be transferred back to the estate. And if we let that happen, well, Gary’s gonna have no choice but to follow through with Sully’s directive and put the house up for sale.”

  “What?” Cate looks horrified. “When were you going to tell us this, Jack?”

  Oh, I’ve fucked it up now, haven’t I? A heavy weight settles on my chest, and it’s only when Dylan squeezes my hand again—didn’t realize he was still holding it, but glad he hasn’t dropped me yet—that I start breathing again.

  He reaches across the table and grabs Cate’s hand, too.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he says to her, even though I can see the worry in his eyes, too. “Let’s hear the rest of this, okay? Jack, please go on. We have to have alternatives, right?”

  I nod, exhaling. “I’ve been digging into this for the past two weeks on my own, trying to find a solution. Didn’t want to worry you guys, and figured there had to be something, right?” Isn’t that what we attorneys did? Found ways to make the shit we wanted work? “I think… I think I finally found one.”

  “Well, what is it?” Cate presses me, leaning forward eagerly. “I can’t lose this house, Jack. We can’t. It’s ours now. If we have to put it under one name, I don’t care. I just want this, and I just want both of you.”

  “I agree,” Dylan chimes in. “I know it’s not what we talked about, but if we need to put just one of us on the title, we might as well just draw straws and get it done with. I know it’s scary, but we’ll learn how to adapt to it, just like we’ve been learning this relationship along the way.”

  “Well, I think we
can avoid doing that,” I say, suddenly feeling emboldened, feeling full and warm inside from their commitment to me, to us. I can do this. I can fix this. “That’s why,” I start, pulling a manila folder out of my briefcase and throwing it on the table, “I’m proposing this.”

  Cate reaches for it first, opening it up. Inside is a small pile of documentation, a good solid day’s worth of write-up on my end. “Transfer of Title from the Estate of Hendricks Sullivan, Esquire…” Cate reads aloud. “To the Smith Family Trust.”

  Dylan looks confused. “So, we’re putting it under my name?”

  “Not exactly,” I say, pulling out another folder, setting it in front of Cate. “This is paperwork that would allow Cate and me to legally change our last names. If it’s alright by you…” I pause, feeling my face flush. Christ, I’m blushing like a schoolboy, but I mean, I’m kinda asking him—them—to, well, let’s just say it’s probably the closest the three of us will get to a proposal. I clear my throat, powering on. “We could both become Smiths as well. You know, all of us. If you… if you’ll have us, Dylan. Cate, if you want—”

  “Yes,” she cuts me off, her whole face lighting up like the sun. “Oh my God, yes. Please. Can I just kill the MacMillan name forever?”

  Believe me, I can relate to that feeling. I’ve carried the Kelly name for my whole life, and all it meant is that I just keep getting shit on for it, over and over. I’m the first one to make a name for myself out of all my family, and they just don’t deserve it. This name doesn’t deserve it. It hangs around my neck every day like a lead weight, and I’m just so tired of it. I know Cate being a MacMillan is kind of different—from the outside, probably looks worlds different—but now that I really know her? I can see that it’s also the same.

  Exactly the same.

  “Yeah, Duchess,” I say, “No more MacMillans under this roof.”

  She snort-laughs, and I’m grinning so hard it hurts, relief almost making me feel drunk.

  “We do this,” I go on, “And I’d be Jack Smith, you’d be Cate Smith, and, well…” I look at Dylan. “We can’t legally marry into a triad, obviously, but that’s where the trust comes in. Making the Smith Family Trust would tie us all together, equally, as partners, and we’d put the home in the name of the trust.”

  “Ours,” Cate says, and she’s fucking glowing.

  “You know names have never meant as much to me as they do to your families,” Dylan says, grinning from ear to ear. “But will I have you? You two are already mine. Sharing my name with you…”

  He gets choked up, and that has me blinking hard. I fucking love this man. And Cate, God, Cate, too. I love her like I didn’t know I could. Both of them. Forever.

  And they want this. I’m on cloud fucking nine. They ain’t just humoring me; I can see it. Hear it in their voices. Feel it. They really want it, too. The three of us, we’re a forever thing, and never having rings—I mean, not unless the laws change a hell of a lot more than I expect them to in our lifetimes—that don’t mean shit.

  They’re mine, and I’m theirs. And from now on?

  We’ll be the Smiths. The Smith Family.

  Epilogue

  Dylan—One Year Later

  I’ve got the breakfast tray loaded up with eggs, bacon, toast—the staples—plus a carafe of orange juice and three glasses. I carefully make my way up the stairs, not spilling a drop, and I can’t help the surge of satisfaction I get every time I walk through this house—this home we’ve made. It’s everything we all wanted it to be; a memorial to Sully, the one who brought all of us together in the first place, but also uniquely our own, a new style, something that belongs to the three of us and no one else.

  I push the bedroom door open with my hip, and a warmth fills my chest at the sight that greets me. It’s early yet, and Cate and Jack are still in the early stages of being awake, still in a light doze, spooning with each other. It’s adorable. I know it sounds like it belongs on a cereal box or a cat poster or something, but I really am truly blessed to have these two wonderful people in my life.

  “Mmm,” Cate moans, the first to stir. “Dylan? Is that you being perfect again?”

  “Depends on if you want breakfast in bed or not,” I toss back, winking at her.

  She’s gorgeous.

  Jack stretches and grumbles, then scratches his chest, and my cock twitches at the sight of them, rumpled and warm and so damn inviting I’d consider skipping breakfast if I didn’t know how much they both enjoyed me pampering them.

  How much I enjoy it, too.

  “You’re gonna spoil us completely rotten,” Jack says, giving me a lazy, loving smile.

  “Been doing it for a year already, right?” I ask. “The two of you are already ruined. Besides, I’m guessing I’m the only one who remembers what today is.”

  “Oh, shit,” Cate says, bolting upright in the bed. “Brownstone Living? Is that today?”

  I laugh, can’t help it. It means so much to her, and Jack and I are so proud of her. Brownstone Living is a home and garden magazine that’s coming to do a professional photo shoot of the house and to interview Cate about her design choices. Not today, though, something that seems to click in her brain as that rush of adrenaline wears off.

  “Cate Smith, the chic interior decorator of this season,” Jack intones, going for an upper-crust accent and cracking us up. It’s what they’ve been calling her, though, and it all started with this doctor she met in her kickboxing class and did some design work for last year. Turns out, he holds some kind of big annual soiree, and all sorts of power players just had to know who handled the remodel. Now she’s writing her own ticket on her own name, and MacMillan Design is old news, so four seasons ago, as Cate might say.

  Cate picks up a pillow like she’s going to hit Jack with it, but then remembers the tray I’m still holding and seems to think better of it.

  None of us want food spilled in the bed… at least, not by accident.

  “Right, next week,” she says, putting the pillow back down and fluffing it innocently, like she wasn’t going to go after Jack for his incessant teasing.

  It’s so good to see her carefree. She works her own schedule now and keeps it light; money isn’t a problem for her anymore, not with her choice of design clients, so why stress? She still makes time to teach her kickboxing class at the gym, and she’s even roped the two of us into attending now and then.

  No joke: our Wildcat is a bit of a badass.

  “So what’s today, then?” Jack asks, scooting back against the headboard and eyeing the bacon eagerly. He’s just come off a big case, and now that he’s a partner at his law firm—the youngest one in the firm’s history, thank you very much—they work him too hard, in my opinion. He loves it, though, and even if his suits may have gotten more expensive, he’s still the same old Jack that I know and love. Still rough around the edges, still dropping his streetwise wisdom wherever he can.

  He frowns. “I told Marcus to keep me—”

  Jack’s mouth snaps closed as his face goes red, and I grin, seeing that he remembers. He actually got himself a driver a while ago, some townie kid named Marcus, who also doubles as Jack’s memory and errand boy at times. Jack told me Marcus was the driver who took him to his old condo, back when it went up in smoke. Seems like Jack is turning more and more into Sully as time goes on, and it’s been a beautiful sight to behold.

  “Can’t blame this one on Marcus,” I say, winking. I don’t care that it slipped their minds; that’s kind of my place in the family, as I think of it. Holding us together with traditions, important dates, all the little things that weave through our daily lives and bind us tight.

  And family… well, Cate’s mother still isn’t part of our lives, and good riddance, and with Jack’s newfound level of wealth, he ended up setting up a trust for his former family—the Kellys—on the condition that they never contact him again. Far as I know, it’s been months without a peep, and he looks like there’s less weight on his shoulders than there
ever has been before. He no longer has to carry around the burden of a name he didn’t choose or want, just like Cate, and he still gets to feel like he’s taking care of them.

  I’ll never quite understand it on the same level that the two of them do, but I’m just glad they’re happy. The three of us—the Smith family—really seem to be enough for them. My own mother doesn’t fully understand our triad, but that doesn’t stop her from loving the both of them and accepting that we’re happy. Which, in the end, is all that matters, right?

  “Are you two going to keep me in suspense?” Cate asks, scooting over so she can tug me down on the bed and steal a piece of bacon. Then her eyes go wide. “Oh! Did Boston Magazine publish that review on you, Dylan?”

  I shake my head, grinning. I’m not even entirely sure that the picky customer who was in my restaurant last week was a reviewer, but Cate and Jack are convinced she must have been. And yeah, that’s right. My restaurant. After graduating, I paid my dues as quickly as I could. The kitchen can be a nightmare, but after everything that happened last year, it was a cakewalk by comparison. I got through it with no problem, no burnouts, not so much as a single bad egg.

  After a while, I was getting noticed, and after a little bit more, I was getting my dishes featured on the menu. The head chef, my boss, knew I was ready for more, so she arranged a meeting between me and a good friend of hers in the restaurant business. That was a few months ago, and now I’m the head chef at one of the hottest restaurants down by the pier. It’s a lot of work, and it’s a little different than I expected it to be, but nothing makes me happier. It’s what I was meant to do with my life, and I’ll hold onto it forever.

  Kind of like I plan on holding on to these two.

  “Let’s just say I’m not just trying to spoil you with breakfast in bed,” I say, arranging the tray between us all. “But I wanted to make sure we started our anniversary off right.”

  “Oh my God,” Cate says, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “How did I forget?”