Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rachel Billings

  You okay with this, baby? just wasn’t going to happen.

  And she’d taken it. Not just accepted, submitted. She’d fucking come. He hadn’t worked her clit, didn’t even have a hand on her tit.

  Nothing but that wicked ass-reaming with his cock. His sword of mighty proportions. His Vlad the Impaler.

  She’d come. Freaking hard.

  And he didn’t want her to take it back. Didn’t want her to bleat about it now.

  His mood might have gotten a little fierce as he waited. He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention.

  “Did you think it would be easy between us? Did you think it would be less?” Those pretty brown eyes took his in. He thought he could see into her soul.

  “No,” she said, calm as could be.

  He let out a breath, realizing he’d been holding it. “You’re okay, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Fucking woman. Like this sort of thing happened to her every day. He was dancing a little jig inside, but damned if he’d let her see it. He kissed her fingers again, thinking she was lucky he didn’t devour them. “Good. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready. I brought the food up.”

  * * * *

  Delilah did take her time.

  There was a lot of her that needed soothing. And while the warm water did wonderful things for all her tender, achy parts, it helped with the rest of it, too. She needed a little respite for her frazzled emotional self, too, her soul, maybe.

  Sex with Austin was amazingly powerful, wonderful and scary all at once.

  She wanted to say it was the most remarkable experience she’d ever had. And it was, really. Except that she’d had the very same thoughts in her head a few weeks ago, with Ben. And a few weeks before that, with Lincoln.

  What did that mean?

  She’d had sex before she came to California, of course she had. She’d been married, and had had a couple relationships even before that.

  She’d enjoyed it. It had been fine. Fine. Not fiiine.

  So, what? Had she just happened to run into three titans of sex, in the course of three months? Maybe California was just that full of them?

  But no. Appearances to the contrary, she wasn’t someone for whom blazing hot sex was a real draw. Not in and of itself.

  Blazing hot sex was, well, blazing hot. But what made it sweet, what made it disarming and irresistible, was the emotional aspect of it. It was the way that frantic, needy sharing of bodies came driven by the needs of the heart. The fact that it was the physical expression of a powerful union of, well, feelings, attachment, if not love. The urge to be joined.

  So then, what?

  Had she fallen in love with three men in three months? How unlikely was that, short of her being some sort of modern day Jezebel?

  She was Delilah, not Lolita. She was no manslayer.

  And given the evidence, she now had to accept she hadn’t loved Lincoln. Certainly, she’d had the hots for him, and feelings were developing that surely felt like…well.

  And Ben, too. Though she’d said it, and he’d said it, and it felt like it was meant, on both their parts.

  How could she have loved them and then have these feelings for Austin, so soon?

  But if she had to reassess her feelings for Lincoln and Ben, then how trustworthy could her response to Austin be? Would she be doubting herself, rewriting history again, in another month?

  No. She felt what she felt. Her heart wasn’t so fickle, so flighty.

  And then she knew. What had happened had happened. She’d been starting to love Lincoln. She’d loved Ben. And now she was in love with Aussie.

  No matter what it said about her, that was the truth of it. So she’d run into a perfect storm of hot men. A triumvirate of…titanosaurs. A Bermuda Triangle of… Hmm.

  “Time’s up.”

  He’d snuck up on her while she’d been lost in her mental meanderings. She looked up at him, that beautiful face looking at her with tenderness and a little caution. He was in boxers that hung below his waist, bare-chested, entirely irresistible.

  Still, a woman had her pride. “You said take my time.”

  “Yeah. And now I’m saying you’ve had enough.”

  He grabbed a towel and held it out, then gave it an impatient shake. She suspected he didn’t care for her raised brow.

  “Come on. You’re overthinking this.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s what women do.”

  She gave up and stood, indulging that automatic urge in him to steady her and help her out of the tub. She took the towel and wrapped herself in it, but kept an eye on him. She didn’t want to indulge the rest.

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s not wrong to consider what happened between us, to—”

  “Bull.”

  “What?”

  “I love you. You love me. Thinking about it doesn’t change that. Or even really help.”

  “I never said I—”

  “No. You didn’t, did you?”

  He put a hand on her cheek, gently, and took hold of the towel at her waist. His gaze took hers in as he waited.

  There was disappointment there, maybe hurt. And then, as he waited, frustration. “Are you going to deny it?”

  She shouldn’t, at the least, be a coward. “No.”

  “Then you should say it.”

  He was right.

  “I love you, Austin.” It wasn’t as hard as she’d thought.

  His eyes darkened in pleasure, and he took a breath, letting it settle in. “Good,” he said. “Come and eat with me.”

  Smiling at his back—business done, he got what he wanted, let’s eat—she switched the towel for a silk robe and followed him to the bedroom. He’d been busy, sweetly. The doors to the small upstairs deck were open, letting in the warm night air. He had candles lit, giving soft light around the room. And a tray with their dinner leftovers—and one red rose—on the bed.

  Austin had been right. Dealing with that sexual tension had renewed their appetites. They lounged on the bed, the tray between them, and ate ravenously. They grinned as they made eye contact, acknowledging the physical exertions that had built their hunger.

  Delilah finished before Austin did. She went downstairs to fetch him another beer. When she came back, she handed him the bottle and took the empty tray away.

  She sat down on the bed then, at his feet.

  She put her hand on his right leg, a finger tracing the scars. She looked up at him, his eyes watching her solemnly in the candlelight.

  “It was devastating for you, wasn’t it, Auss? The injury, the loss of your future in football.”

  “It was. For four days. Until I heard about Nick. Then it didn’t matter anymore.”

  “Of course it did.”

  He shook his head. “Really, no. Once I knew Nick had died, there just wasn’t room for more grief.”

  “There was.”

  “No. It was the same for my parents. They loved Nick, too. They thought about your parents’ loss. How could they grieve that their son couldn’t play football, when I was alive and essentially healthy?”

  She leaned down and kissed his scars, running her lips from one to another—small surgical scars and the large, ugly ones from the injury itself. “There was room in my heart, Austin. Grief for you, too.”

  He leaned forward, lifting her up to face him. His eyes were dark, his expression intense. He touched his lips to hers. “Thank you, Delilah Jane.”

  Pulling her against him, he lay back with her in his arms. She put a hand to his face, the other on his chest. There might have been tears, those four days in that hospital bed, before an even more devastating blow had overshadowed the incredibly painful loss he faced. But there were none now. Just a single shuddering breath, and strong arms tightening more firmly around her.

  * * * *

  Austin took his month. He didn’t waste any time stressing over whether his breakup with her would be less painful if it happened after that first week or
at the end of the month. He had to do it. He would have to speak the words, “It’s over.”

  That was the devil’s pact he’d made. And since his partners had apparently kept to the pact, he’d have to as well. There just wasn’t an honorable way around it.

  But he’d say the words, then he’d go tell Linc and Ben that she was his. He’d have her back in his arms within an hour. So whenever it came, soon or late, her pain would be short-lived. And he could take the month to bind her to him. He’d take the insurance, bank as much commitment as he could draw from her.

  So she’d forgive him, forgive them. Forgive him for the sharp knife of that momentary rejection. And forgive all three of them the rash, careless plan they’d found in a bottle of whiskey.

  He wanted to keep working with Linc and Ben. He wanted to stay friends with them. He’d need Delilah to be able to look at them without hurting.

  It was asking a freaking lot, and he knew it. Just as he knew, sad to his soul, that he’d give up his friendships if Delilah needed him to.

  He just couldn’t give up her.

  So he suppressed his feelings of guilt, fought his conscience, and took the month.

  She sent him away that first Sunday morning. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, after those incredibly touching moments when she’d kissed his scars and told him there’d been room in her heart for grief for him. It had been a near thing—she’d practically had him bawling like a baby. She’d had her fingers on his cheek, like she’d known the hurt was there, and the remarkable release her support brought. Like her touch would be there to wipe away any tears that fell.

  He’d realized after a bit what an idiot he was. He could cry if he wanted to. Like he’d wanted to—like he had—twelve years before. She would be there for him, not caring if tears fell, fully aware of the loss he’d suffered. She knew him. She understood.

  She wouldn’t think less of him.

  So maybe a tear had escaped that night, but he held out long enough that she was asleep. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t awake to brush the tear away. He had her in his arms, and that was all he needed.

  But she’d wanted to work on her baskets that next day. He’d seen her peddle them—they’d captured the interest of the hip tourists and locals who hung around the village. In fact, he thought her creations were cool, too—they involved some very interesting engineering he was going to figure out eventually.

  So, just like his grandpa Jaja used to do, when Austin had pestered him just that much, she sent him away. She’d been kind enough to feed him again first. And she let him feed her, when he came back that evening and walked her into the village to have dinner at a nice restaurant with a great outdoor deck.

  They made love that night, not wild, over-the-top fucking this time but intoxicating, sweet lovemaking.

  They had plenty of both over the course of the month. They fell into a pattern of meeting after work, either at his place or hers. He lived not too far from her, in one of those condos they’d built right up the cliff just off the beach on the west side of the village.

  By the end of the week they were essentially living together. They were at her place most often—it was just a bit closer to both their jobs, and she had her basket shit there. He always had his laptop, so he could work at either place when she was busy. He harassed her some about the construction of her baskets until she finally caved and explained her technique—again, much like his days learning woodworking in his Jaja’s basement.

  One of them would cook dinner or—more in his case—bring home take-out. Then she’d weave and he’d do some work, or they’d take a walk or a ride. At night they’d make love—wild or sweet, or wild and sweet—and then sleep. After a few days she got it that they’d be making love in the morning, too. It took a little finessing to get her to program that into her morning routine. It annoyed her if he made her late for work.

  They were more adventuresome on the weekends. A couple Saturdays she played Ultimate. He eventually figured out that she and Ben were on the same team and that they were showing up at alternate games. Austin watched her play and thoroughly enjoyed it. She was a better athlete than he’d given her credit for as a kid, and she looked hot as hell running around in those short shorts. The Sugar Daddies were nearly undefeated—they’d lost one of Ben’s games, hah!—and were headed to the regional championships. Austin’s month with Delilah would be over by then, and he hoped he’d have it worked out so the two teammates could both play.

  On Sundays they usually took a ride. They drove up or down Highway One and went back to the redwoods once as well. On the third Sunday, the last before he’d have to say those words he’d been dreading, he took her back to the beach at Natural Bridges. They’d started something there he wanted to finish.

  * * * *

  Delilah was a bit late coming home from the market. She’d manned the booth while Melvern and Muriel had gone for their early bird dinner, and the two had been a little slow coming back.

  Austin was already at her place when she got there. He’d had a Pee Wee coaches meeting, but had told her he wanted to watch the sunset again at the beach. He’d let himself in—he’d had a key for a couple weeks—and was reading on the deck when she got there.

  He stood like he always did—all power and athletic grace—to take her in his arms for a kiss. He was sweetly affectionate, almost always touching her in some way when they were together. She was aware it wasn’t motivated by just sweetness—there was a healthy amount of possession in it, a blatant proclamation of ownership.

  She liked both, the sweetness and that male need to flag her as his. She didn’t mind at all belonging to him and was happy that he liked to show it.

  He made a little something of the kiss, also like he was prone to do, then patted her ass. “Get changed, and we’ll go. We can get something to eat on the way.”

  She nodded, still a bit spaced by that kiss. “You’ll need to change, too.”

  He was wearing a polo with board shorts and had sandals on his feet. Not his Harley gear. “Let’s take your car.”

  She raised a brow in question. He hated her “girly little” car. Oh, he drove it, when they took it somewhere together. That would be the manly thing to do. But it gave him no pleasure, he was sure to let her know. He was almost embarrassed to be seen behind the wheel, he made a point of saying. More than once.

  “Wear a skirt,” he said to her unspoken inquiry. His gaze was hot on her. “And don’t bother with panties.”

  Oh.

  Not that her little thongs had ever really held him back from anything he wanted.

  But it was wickedly erotic, riding next to him, bare under her loose gauze skirt. She’d paired it with a knit bandeau top that didn’t require a bra, and she’d seen that he’d immediately detected that.

  He drove with his left hand.

  His right was under her top, covering her naked breast, working her nipple, almost before they were out of her lot. Then it was on her pussy, after he’d lifted the skirt up to leave her bare, entirely exposed. She pressed back into her seat, closing her eyes behind her sunglasses, in a hot tizzy as they were surrounded by heavy, Sunday afternoon traffic. He’d let the windows down, and she could hear the conversations of other drivers and passengers, some almost near enough to touch, as they waited to inch along.

  He made her come, right there among the tourists and the surfers in their cars, the bikers and skateboarders who wove in and out of traffic. He fingered her cunt and rubbed her clit until she was gripping the armrest and biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.

  And again, as they got further out of town where the traffic cleared some. He started with her breast again, this time pulling her top down so she was fully exposed there as well. He’d left her pussy uncovered, stopping her when she’d made a move to lower her skirt after that first orgasm.

  He switched driving hands for a moment to reach into a cubby in his door. Then he handed something to her. “Put these on.”


  It was a pair of nipple clamps, similar to what Linc the idiot asshole had used. They were strung together with a long satin ribbon. It was long enough that when the clamps were applied—he instructed her on that, telling her to pull her nipples out further, make the clamp tighter—the ribbon fell to her pussy.

  He used it then, wrapping it around his hand, so that every movement he made—stroking her clit, fucking into her cunt—caused a tug on the clamps.

  She moaned. “Austin,” she begged. “You can’t—I can’t—”

  “Spread your legs, pretty girl.”

  “Austin.”

  “Delilah.” The word was hard, directive. Domineering.

  Moaning again, she pressed back into the seat and did as he instructed.

  He pushed his fingers hard into her then, thrusting in, jerking the clamps. He came out to rub her clit, his fingers wet with her desire. She cried out as he worked her hard, going from rubbing her to fucking her until she rocked up, riding his fingers and pleasuring herself against his hard palm.

  “Austin, Austin.”

  “That’s it, baby. Scream with it.”

  She did. She knew others could hear brief snatches of her screams as they passed by. But she couldn’t hold it back. His hand worked her so hard, and the clamps yanked at her nipples, and she was wild with it. She humped his hand and pitched back and forth in the seat. And screamed. Screamed.

  She was barely aware when he pulled into the restaurant lot. He might have taken her to a far corner, given her a moment to repair herself.

  But no, he took her right to the center of the lot where others were coming and going. He opened his door immediately and started out. “Cover yourself,” he told her. “Leave the clamps on.”

  He was at her side, had opened her door, before she’d done more than cover one overstimulated breast with her hand. He lifted his sunglasses and took her in, waiting as she recovered herself.

  Even the heat of his gaze was too much, making her moan again. He waited, not hurrying her, appearing entirely content with the hot mess she was in.