The Subject Was Rose [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  Now Jesse was allowing, even encouraging, Drake to impale him with his cock up his ass, and Drake was in heaven. He felt Jesse’s prick quiver inside Rose every time Drake lunged inside him. Drake knew there was a sensitive spot inside a man, the bulb of the prostate gland, that when stimulated brought him instantly to orgasm. Drake massaged where he thought this spot was with the bulging crown of his dick. When Jesse gasped and jumped in Drake’s arms, he knew he’d found the spot. Drake gripped the leather stricture of the cock ring just a tad tighter. He wouldn’t allow Jesse to come just yet. There was a lot to love about this cock-and-ball torture.

  “Do her, Jesse,” he murmured in his lover’s ear.

  “I…” Jesse seemed confused. “I am doing her, Drake.” He hissed in air when Drake squeezed the base of his bound balls.

  “I don’t mean that. I mean this.” To demonstrate, Drake released Jesse’s balls and touched his thumb to Rose’s clit.

  “Ah!” Rose twitched and leaped like a blob of cornstarch on a bass speaker. Drake could see and feel Jesse become entranced with the woman’s reaction, and Jesse quickly replaced Drake’s thumb with his own.

  “You can do it,” Drake urged, sucking on Jesse’s earlobe. “You’ve done it before. I want you to feel her cunt contract around your big dick. I want you to come inside her just as she’s coming around you.”

  “Just as you’re coming in my ass,” Jesse suggested flirtatiously.

  “God!” Rose erupted. “I hear a lot of talk but no action!”

  Drake whispered, “Are you going to let your pet talk to you like that?”

  “No, sir,” Jesse whispered back. Louder, he commanded down at Rose, “You let me manage you, woman, or you’re not going to get to come!”

  Rose’s tone changed, became almost pleading. Her shoulders jerked and thrashed, but the handcuffs wouldn’t let her do any more. “Oh, please, Jesse. Make me come. I want to come with your big fat cock plugging me.”

  Jesse sped up his diddling of Rose’s hot button while Drake jabbed Jesse with dozens of short little thrusts. Drake liked the feel of Jesse’s sweaty balls filling his hand, and he caressed them erotically. He wanted to speed up Jesse’s orgasm, not slow it down. If he played his lovemaking just right, it could all happen simultaneously.

  “You like this, don’t you?” he whispered obscenely in Jesse’s ear. “Your cock buried in that white-hot bombshell? My cock buried deep in your ass? You like being skewered by my dick, don’t you? You’ve been dreaming about it ever since you’ve met me.” Actually, Drake just assumed that. It was he who had been dreaming about mounting the decorator ever since setting eyes on him.

  “Of course,” Jesse said. “Ever since I busted in on you dripping wax on that woman. Your cock in that harness looked so delicious, and you’re built like a brick shithouse. I fantasized about you, Drake. I never believed you’d let me fuck Rose—ah!”

  Jesse didn’t seem prepared for the orgasm that washed over him now. Drake, too, was swept away when Jesse’s anus gripped the entire length of Drake’s cock, and in an instant Drake was shooting his urgent load inside his lover.

  He was hit by a wave of bliss so intense he became rigid like a statue. Grabbing Jesse’s hips in a death grip, Drake had no choice but to let the ecstasy make its painfully pleasurable chokehold on him. He threw his head back in a soundless cry, only his cock moving as it spurted inside Jesse. Jesse’s ass clenched and massaged Drake’s dick in long, continuous waves. On the fringes of Drake’s awareness he heard Rose crying out, too, and it was difficult to tell whether it was in pain or pleasure.

  “Ah! Jesse! Ah! Jesse!” Rose sounded as though on a prerecorded tape loop, uttering the same anguished cries as she bucked her hips against her lover. Drake peeked around Jesse’s shoulder to see Rose’s face, screwed up and agonized, and Drake was certain she was experiencing rapture. In his arrogance, Drake knew he’d seen hundreds of women with that face. Drake knew he’d given them that blissful gift—many times. But did many of them go on and on for so long?

  Rose whimpered as her eyes pleaded with Jesse—for what, Drake wanted to find out. Jesse’s fingers against her clit had slowed, but Rose still jumped and twitched like a bird on a live wire. Drake could feel by the contractions around his cock that Jesse’s orgasm was ebbing, but he still held his bull’s prick deep inside the woman. Now her pleas were quieter, as if she’d given up trying to control Jesse.

  “Jesse. Please. Jesse. Ah!”

  Drake dismounted, smacking Jesse loudly on the ass in an effort to break the spell he held over rose. Of course she’s entranced by Jesse. He’s giving her a mind-blowing orgasm. From the looks of it, the most mind-blowingest of all time. Drake sat on the garden pathway to unlock the cuffs between Rose’s wrists. She would need some good aftercare after a scene like this, and if he was there to provide it for her, they would bond even closer.

  He had to spank Jesse’s rump once more, and that had to have stung. But Jesse didn’t break his mesmeric hold over Rose. All he did was whisper, “She’s still coming.” Indeed, when Drake peeked between Jesse’s thighs to admire his heavy ball sac, he saw that Rose’s pussy still convulsed around Jesse’s massive member. Drake had never seen a woman come for so long, and more than just a twinge of jealousy stabbed his gut. Drake’s dominant side wouldn’t allow him to accept this. Now that he knew the secret to making Rose orgasm he’d be sure to use that trick next time, but for now, Drake grabbed the first implement he saw, which turned out to be a garden trowel.

  Smack! The crack of metal hitting Jesse’s ass was hugely satisfying. Jesse lifted his torso and twisted around to glare at Drake. “Hey! What’s the big fucking deal?”

  Drake snorted at his lover who now seemed to be his rival. “Hm. I am a Dom, you know. And I’m insisting you get off my pet this instant!” Drake aided his command with a giant shove to Jesse’s shoulder, and Jesse tumbled to his ass on some moss. Tenderly, Drake tore off the Velcro that held the spreader bar to one of her knees, and he helped Rose lower her leg until her toes touched the ground.

  She was covering her eyes with the back of one hand, still panting almost to the point of hyperventilation. “Oh. God. Oh. God.”

  Drake massaged the tightness she would no doubt feel in her inner thighs from being held in that submissive position for so long. He tossed the spreader bar aside and assisted her to sit up. He realized he had ordered Jesse to finger Rose, so he had no right to be jealous in the slightest. Jealousy had no place in a ménage such as theirs, he knew. It was just easier to preach than to practice. He sat next to Rose on the bench and held her close, petting her hair.

  “There. There. You’ll be fine. Trust in me, Rose. Trust in me to always know the right thing to do.”

  Abruptly Rose sat upright, flinging a curtain of hair from her eyes. “Oh, I do trust you!” she declared brightly. “Look what you automatically knew what to do just now. You knew that I’ve never come without clitoral stimulation, so you got Jesse to give me a hand.”

  “A Hand Relief Party,” Jesse chuckled from his seat in the moss.

  Drake said, “It’s in my best interests to keep you happy, isn’t it? I need to allow you to orgasm once in a while or you’ll just leave me for a better Master.”

  “Is that what you are?” Rose asked softly. “A Master? That sounds so…restrictive to me.”

  “Oh, that’s high protocol,” said Drake. “I don’t insist on being called Master or any of that crap. Do you mind being called ‘pet’?”

  “Not at all. I think it’s sort of…” Rose looked up at the Mayan pyramid, trying to think of the word. She grinned when she had it. “Cute. That’s what it is. Cute. Makes me feel loved and accepted.”

  Drake was relieved she used the word “love” in that manner, so he could casually brush it off. “Of course you’re loved. Now, I want you to drink something sugary. Let’s wash up then meet in the kitchen. Do you like champagne?” He helped Rose to stand as though she were an invalid.

&nb
sp; “Of course. Who doesn’t?” Rose bent to swipe up the rest of her clothing. The items had been flung with abandon and were draped across several different plants.

  “You’re spending the night tonight,” Drake said. It was a statement, not a question. He had rarely actually slept in a bed with his play partners, and he was finding he really enjoyed doing it with Rose and Jesse. They didn’t snore or toss and turn, and Jesse in particular was smoothly warm to snuggle against. Drake never thought he’d see the day a macho Dom like him would wake with his head on another man’s chest.

  “I can do that,” Rose agreed.

  “Hm.” Drake’s phone said he had four text messages. That wasn’t unusual, but a push of a button showed him that three were from his sister Violet in France. The fourth was from his father’s assistant Carolyn in New York. He would have to be rude to Rose and Jesse and read them, since neither one of those women ever tried to contact him.

  Violet’s message read simply,

  Dad’s sick. I’m flying to New York immediately.

  The second one a half an hour later read,

  He had a heart attack. It would be nice if you’d fly to NY too.

  Carolyn’s text read,

  Drake, just wanted to let you know your father suffered a mild heart attack this morning. No need to come to New York, but he’ll be unavailable for business conferences for a week or so.

  Drake stared at a palm tree, stunned. It had never occurred to him his father might ever get ill. His mother Grace had lingered in the final stages of ovarian cancer for the last five years of her life while Drake partied to ignore his grief and pain. The idea of his father doing the same thing had never entered his brain. For one, he’d imagined that he wouldn’t care if anything ever happened to Sam. But right now, standing staring at the Mexican fan palm, he wasn’t so sure he felt nothing.

  It was Jesse who first noticed Drake staring into thin air. “What’s wrong?”

  Drake surprised himself by being open about it. “Messages from my sister and my father’s assistant, telling me he just had a heart attack.”

  Rose perked up from where she sat on the bench slipping on her heeled pumps. “That’s horrible! Is he all right?”

  Drake shrugged. More of his old devil-may-care self came back to him. “Who knows. Who cares. I presume he’s alive or they would’ve told me. Carolyn called it a ‘mild’ attack.”

  Jesse frowned. “You’re not close to your father, are you? I get that impression.”

  “Your impression would be right. He’s a scheming, cheating bastard.”

  Rose was at his side. “Literally? You know he cheated on your mother?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately. I saw it with my own eyes, in my own library, when I was fifteen. When I threatened to tell my mother, he sent me off to boarding school. I’m sure it wasn’t the only time he’d done it. My sister saw a couple of incidents, too, but without my father knowing she saw.”

  Jesse grimaced. “Talk about being scarred for life.”

  Surprisingly, Rose shrugged. “Not really. I mean, it’s upsetting, but it goes away with time.”

  Drake said, “You sound like you’ve had experience.”

  “Yes. Only recently my mother told me that my father had an affair, an actual, serious fling with some bimbo, when I was ten. She took my father back on the condition it never happen again, and it didn’t.” Rose paused, and looked at the same palm tree. “As far as we know. They’ve always seemed quite happy together.”

  Drake admitted, “Maybe it’s possible to patch things up after such a betrayal, I don’t know.”

  “Then again, I only found out about it recently. I’m sure I would’ve been massively scarred if I would’ve known when it first happened, when I was ten.”

  “But it doesn’t affect the way you view your father now?”

  “I don’t think it does. But I had twenty years’ worth of forgiveness to process all in one day.”

  Drake snorted. “Using that formula, I should’ve forgiven my dad a long time ago. But he didn’t have just one fling. He kept going, and going. That fucking Burt Macklin just rubbed my face in the fact that they used to frequent the Sunset Palomino Ranch together to enjoy a few Cream Pies or Doctor’s Orders.” Of course Drake was still disgusted with his father’s past behavior, but the shock of the texts seemed to have prompted a new resolve in Drake. “I’m going to go meet that asshat Macklin tomorrow, but not on his terms. I’ll get that painting of you back, Rose. But I’m not letting him on my property again. I’m going to meet him in some public place where he can’t pull anything.”

  Rose said, “I want to come with you. That guy has—let’s just say he’s pissed me off one time too many. I want to tell him there’s no way I’d betray you.”

  “What? No way, Rose. I don’t want you near him. I’m bringing my goddamned forty caliber to this meeting. I’m not going to be his fall guy anymore. He can have his fucking jewelry box, but I want that painting and the contract. And I’m going to go over his head to extend that lease so I don’t need to mess with the oil company. A lease extension minus the bribe money. Might not turn out so lucrative for me, but whatever works.”

  “I’m coming, though,” Jesse insisted as they started down the path. “I want to be there to personally take possession of my painting. We can meet at the Racquet Club. They have a coffee shop area where plain vanilla lookie-loos go to rubberneck. Seems like Macklin’s kind of place.”

  Drake felt smugly satisfied after his manly declaration of power. This pilgrim has got his head back in the game. Only he wasn’t such a mail-order cowboy anymore. Drake Stinson felt like one experienced saddle stiff now. And he wasn’t going to let any greasy juicer get the upper hand.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “All right, Dad. I get it. You don’t want anyone coming out right now, but you can’t stop me from coming out next month.” Drake felt weird calling Sam Stinson “Dad,” but he had to start somewhere. After hearing Rose’s story of betrayal and forgiveness, and after Sam’s recent health scare, Drake knew he had to step up to the plate. He remembered something as a child about forgiveness being divine. If Rose’s mother could forgive her husband, maybe Drake could take steps toward forgiving his father. “I’ll be coming out between Christmas and New Year’s, and I’ll be bringing a couple friends. Are there still enough spare bedrooms in the apartment?”

  Sam spoke heartily, but Drake could tell he was still weak. He’d only had the oxygen tube removed from his throat earlier that morning, and his voice was scratchy. “That’s fine, son. That’d please me very much. Who are the friends? Please don’t tell me it’s that Troy Placker. Those Plackers just won’t stop talking about their stupid dental floss, as though anyone cares, and last time I saw Vince Placker he was doing this horrible ‘Gangnam Style’ dance.”

  Troy did that dance, too, so Drake knew what his father talked about. “No, not Troy. There’s a gal I’ve been dating”—it sounded so strange to say “dating,” as though he was still a teenager, but what else could he say?—“and another guy, the guy who’s redoing the interior here.”

  “Oh.” Sam attempted a chuckle. “The decorator, eh? Is he a little light in the loafers?” Drake felt the anger rising, and he was a split second away from yelling again when his dad said, “Never mind. It’s been ages since you’ve been to the townhouse here, son. I still own it though, don’t forget that. My house, my rules.”

  “Yeah, no problem, about that. That Burt Macklin asshole tried informing me that he’s going through me because I’m suddenly the owner of Shining Lands? Do you know what he’s talking about?”

  Sam paused briefly before speaking, always a sign of something important to come. “I told Macklin that because it’s true. The papers are all drawn up, ready to go. This way we largely avoid inheritance tax. You’re the logical heir, son. And you’ve been doing an impressive job running the ranch since you got there.”

  Drake was stunned. It had never entered his mind that one day
he’d own Shining Lands, and up until recently he wouldn’t have even wanted that. Let someone else do the dirty work. That was his motto. “I see,” he said, timidly for the first time in ages. “Well. That’s very generous of you.”

  Sam continued, “I won’t be around forever, and Violet has no interest in the ranch. I’m giving her the house in Gstaad. That’s more her style. You can sign the papers when you come here during Christmas.”

  “Well. Thank you.” In a new confidential tone, Drake asked, “What should I do about this Macklin asshole, anyway? It’s obvious you gave him a huge bribe to get that contract and now he wants another bigger one from me. Now he’s become obsessed with my girlfriend and frankly it’s creepy.”

  “You do what you think is right, son. You’ve always got the only copy of the contract. Just make an identical one with new dates and keep the ‘tip’ money out of it, if you feel better that way. Macklin got his money fifteen years ago. There’s no reason he should be asking for more. You should extend the contract with the exact same terms.”

  Drake didn’t want to tell his father that Macklin was in possession of the contract. He already felt like a bumbling fool letting that toolbag Macklin break into his house in the first place. Drake was surprised it meant so much to him that his father was telling him to do what he felt was right. Sam had never respected Drake’s opinion or ability before. Feebly, he said, “Well, we found that stupid Kitty Chandler jewelry box, so maybe that’s some leverage.”

  “There you go, son! Leverage. That’s what it’s all about. Find out what he’s willing to do for the box. Why, you’ll be a lone star yet if you keep up the good work.”