The Subject Was Rose [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)
Page 18
“Wow,” Jesse agreed, gasping for breath. He looked up at the palms, fronds intertwined overhead to create a sort of bower. Jesse had switched it up before, mostly to spank and tantalize Rose. He had gotten away with a few paddles or floggings to Drake’s ass here and there, but never had he been allowed to dominate the proceedings so thoroughly.
Rose realized that, for the first time, it was Drake who would require the aftercare. So she shoved Jesse by the hip, indicating he should dismount. For the second time that day, Jesse tumbled to the sand, but this time his mood was entirely different. He looked so exhausted when he flopped on his back, his hand draped across his shivering abdomen. His enormous cock nearly touched his navel and beat with a life of its own.
Still dovetailed with Drake inside her, Rose scooted to the edge of the rock. Drake could cradle her there while she engulfed him with her thighs. “Dear Drake. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Or been a party to.”
“I wasn’t exactly expecting that.” Drake chuckled almost shyly. He must have read her mind, because he said, “Now it’s Jesse’s turn to get me something sugary to drink.”
Jesse weakly raised himself up, leaning on his palms in the sand. “There’s a Sprite in the cooler in the truck. But I don’t want to move.”
“Me either,” said Rose. “Here’s to alone time.”
“Here’s to Sly Bly,” Drake agreed, and kissed Rose.
That had been their catchphrase of late. “Thanks to Sly Bly.” “Leave it up to Sly Bly.” Richard Bly, a supreme court justice appointed by Nixon, had been blamed or thanked for a myriad of things ever since they’d discovered his unpublished diaries on that five-inch floppy disk hidden in Kitty Chandler’s jewelry box. At first, they hadn’t known what to do with some five hundred thousand words of musings and confessions. Some items Richard talked about were quite risqué and would be scandalous if published. It was obvious that Burt Macklin had known about the disk hidden in the box, maybe from pillow talk between his father and Kitty.
Then they realized the box really belonged to Kitty. Although it had been found in Drake’s house, it belonged to the heirs of Kitty, or whoever she’d willed it to, if mentioned in her will. Rose opined that the disk really belonged to the heirs of Richard Bly. Since the words were his, they would own any publication of it.
It was a rather tricky question, and they pondered on it for months. “We don’t own it any more than Burt Macklin does,” Rose had said. Finally they’d given it to Bly’s estate, who were so grateful for it—so they could bury it again once and for all—they had given Drake a generous finder’s fee. Drake had given the money to Rose since she’d been the one to first spy the box. So that was their brush with greatness. Rose had barely noticed the transactions as she’d been preparing for her wedding to Drake.
The slam of a car door jolted Rose and Drake from their kiss. The sound was muted, as though it came from the other side of the dunes, but the three automatically leaped to their feet, yanking on clothes.
“Fuck!” whispered Rose, angry that their sojourn had been interrupted. “Sometimes I wish you’d kept this land for our use and not let the nature lovers in.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jesse, struggling to arrange his still-hard cock in his pants. “Put up big signs. ‘Nothing to see here. Just keep moving.’”
Drake laughed, surprisingly relaxed for a guy who had to stuff his hose of a cock into his jeans while tiny heads bobbed above the sand dune’s crest. “I don’t mind nature lovers. They’re the ones who do the least harm.”
Drake was the first to emerge from the palm grove. “Omar!” he yelled. “Over here!”
Rose was still smoothing down her skirt when the eleven-year-old boy, his friend, and their scoutmaster jogged toward the pond where she had just fucked her husband. “Wow,” she said to Jesse with wide eyes. “That was a close one.”
Jesse was respectable now, and he strode toward the boy, too. He shrugged. “What could we do? We weren’t expecting them until tomorrow.”
Outside the grove, Omar was accepting Drake’s big bear hug. It had been a trial—and would be an ongoing series of adjustments—fostering the unwanted boy. The Shining Lands ranch house was large enough that Omar could roam and amuse himself in his wing—and of course they always locked their doors when playing. So this was really the closest they’d come to being busted.
The biggest trial was that Omar was from the worst area of Desert Hot Springs where his mother was a crack addict. Omar had only been with Drake, Rose, and Jesse for a month now, but he’d already earned his “Citizenship in the Nation” scout badge after the trio had taken him to Joshua Tree National Park and the state capitol in Sacramento. Omar was very jazzed on getting as many badges as he could. He was now hepped up on getting his Reptile and Amphibian badge out at the Fringe-Toed Lizard Preserve.
“Rose!” Omar hugged Rose. She didn’t expect him to call her “Mom,” but they were going to fight to keep Omar as long as possible. She’d heard horror stories of these unwanted children bouncing back to their bio parents who still hadn’t kicked the drug habit.
“You’re so excited you came here a day early?” Rose asked.
The scoutmaster explained, “I had an event come up tomorrow, so I thought I’d take them here today. I already read those documents you gave me, but I’d like to see some of this stuff firsthand so I look like I know what I’m telling the boys the day of the lecture.”
Jesse waved an arm. “Sure. We figured the best spot would be down here. Follow me.”
“This is Jesse!” Omar proudly told his friend. Rose’s heart nearly broke when Omar actually took Jesse’s hand, practically dragging him down to the palm grove. She wasn’t insulted that Omar seemed to have bonded most with Jesse. After all, Jesse was part African-American, too, and more like an older brother than a father to Omar. Drake was the father figure, with his stern manner and salt and pepper hair. Jesse was the nice one, the one Omar always asked permission from first. Drake was the “wait until your father gets home” guy.
Drake was experienced in being the bad guy. Right now he held Rose back when she began to follow her son down the dune. “Wait,” he said gruffly. “I just wanted to say thanks.”
“Thanks for what?”
Rose knew it was something personal and meaningful by the sheepish way Drake gestured. He still wasn’t the most expert at displaying the softer emotions. “Thanks for being more than my pet for life. You’re my wife, I know, but you feel like more than that, too. Just now…” He waved an arm at the palm grove.
“Jesse doing you up the ass,” Rose reminded him coquettishly.
“Yeah, that. I wanted to say I’ve never allowed myself to be so vulnerable to two other people, and I…I want to learn more about it.”
“You want to be a switch.” Rose had the lingo down pat now, between her friend Willow Paige and her two men.
Drake grinned with relief that she’d guessed it. “Something like that, yeah. Not all the time, you know? I’d just like to be able to mix it up once in a while.”
“I get it. I like that, too. I like to mix it up depending on my mood. I don’t always want to be the center of attraction, the main subject at hand.”
“You’re always the main subject with me.”
“I mean I would like to kick back sometimes and just watch. Mixing it up is what keeps us going, keeps us moving ahead.”
Drake drew her near but made no attempt to follow Omar and Jesse downhill. “Somehow, Rose, all I ever want to do is move forward with you.”
And Rose believed Drake, because she felt the same. It was effortless to move forward with Drake and Jesse. Every day was a joy and a pleasure, and she eagerly leaped out of bed to greet the day now. Everything had changed for the better in her life, and all because she had allowed herself to open up to these two men. Drake was just learning the joys of being vulnerable, and it would be an exciting path for him, too.
“Never a dull moment,” Rose agreed.
THE END
WWW.KARENMERCURYAUTHOR.BLOGSPOT.COM
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Karen’s first three novels were historical fiction involving pre-colonial African explorers. Since she was always either accused or praised (depending on how you look at it) for writing overly steamy sex scenes, erotic romance was the natural next step. She lives near Napa, California, where she shoots archery, collects minerals, and plays with her not-so-little Newfoundland pup, Princess Myshkin.
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com