by Opal Carew
And both of them knew it.
How could they not when she moaned like that into Hartford’s mouth? When her body went limp in arms she hadn’t realized were around her? She was practically spreading her legs before Hartford has so much as lifted her skirt, her mouth hot and greedy on his. There was no way they could doubt—and they didn’t.
While Hartford kissed her, Abel started to unbutton and undo. He made short work of her blouse, her skirt, her bra, and once she was completely free, it was Hartford who went to touch her. He lifted a hand to her bare chest with just the slightest hint of hesitation. His eyes flicked to Abel briefly, his breath held just a little.
And then Abel nodded and he closed the gap. He cradled her breast in a way that made her moan. Softly, reverently, as if the feel of her was something incredible. It turned his gaze soft and his breath shaky—but best of all it urged him to do other things. After a second he actually dared to bend his head and lick, soft and sweet enough that it turned her moan into a sob. She almost brought her hands up, to push him into doing more.
But Abel got there before she could.
“A little wetter. A little more firmly,” he said.
And Hartford looked up. He answered in an insanely hoarse and desire-stuffed voice, “Show me. Show me how you touch her.”
So Abel did. His mouth joined Hartford’s at her breasts, sucking at that sharp little point just as she liked it. Then just to top it off, it was Hartford who finished that sweet pull with a swirl of his tongue. Hartford who licked and licked at her, until her clit was an aching bead between her legs and her legs could barely hold her up.
They were trembling already. Every part of her was trembling already.
And it only got worse from there.
Now they were doing it together, mouths so messy and slick that she couldn’t quite tell where one began and the other ended. She couldn’t even tell if they were kissing her or kissing each other. But that just made it sweeter. Hotter. Harder to take.
She was moaning now, almost constantly.
And her hands had taken on a mind of their own. One of them was somehow in Abel’s hair, and the other, oh god, the other was doing something very bad indeed. She didn’t know how she’d started doing it, or what gave her the daring. But it was happening.
She was touching that shape between Hartford’s legs.
More than touching, really.
She was pretty much fondling him. Stroking him. Making him groan. God, when she made him groan! It set her alight just knowing that she could do that to a man like him. All of his restraint was gone, all of his aloofness had disappeared, and she was responsible.
Or at least, partly responsible.
“Here, here, come taste this sweet pussy,” Abel said, and Hartford just about lost his mind. He was on his knees before she could get out her groan of eagerness, hands fumbling to help Abel with her panties. She barely had time to part her legs a little wider, and his mouth was on her. Rubbing into her slick slit, tongue stroking quick and firm through her folds. One hand already on her ass so he could pull her closer.
And then, oh yes, the flat of that tongue working over her clit.
Not softly, not hesitantly—firm and fast, back and forth and back and forth until she was gasping. Bursting. Until she started creaming all over that perfect, chiseled face, unable to stop and unable to care.
She wanted him to be a mess. Just the thought of it sent her spiraling. It made her jerk and push herself against his working mouth, one hand going to the back of his head so she could make it worse. And Abel only encouraged her.
“Oh yeah, cover him in your come,” he purred into her ear. “Make him taste you, make him feel it all over him, my little slut.”
It barely took her another thirty seconds to obey.
Hartford found the underside of her clit with his tongue, and that was it. Great wrenching spasms of pleasure burst through her, hard enough that she actually couldn’t stay on her feet. She couldn’t even keep contact with his mouth—though it didn’t matter. She was still shuddering and groaning when she sank to the floor. Her orgasm just kept on and on until she was boneless, mindless, and unable to do anything but lie there.
Though that didn’t stop either of them.
They joined her almost immediately, like starving men falling on a feast. Mouths fell on every too-sensitive part of her, hands explored every groove and swell. One of them was at her breast as the other found her swollen pussy, licking and kissing when she could take it, whispering words against her skin when she couldn’t.
“She’s more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined,” Tom said while Abel moaned over the way she gave themselves to them, the way her legs parted without a word, how she accepted their love like it wasn’t a strange thing at all.
Though the truth was, it never felt strange.
Not even to Hartford—to Tom—who seemed to have forgotten every reservation he might have once expressed. In fact, it was him who divested himself of his clothes first. And he didn’t stop to fold them, or check that they weren’t about to get dirty. He just tossed them over his shoulder, and once they were gone he didn’t hesitate.
He pressed his bare body to hers, as if he’d been waiting years to feel her against him. Hell, maybe he had. Maybe this was all he had ever thought about, during every meeting: his skin pressed to her skin. Her breasts against his chest. Her arms around him.
Abel’s hand on his surprisingly heavy and deliciously curved cock, rolling on the condom so he could take her.
Though she didn’t think he’d really do it just like that. She imagined Hartford asking for further permission, from both of them. Something like Is it okay if I do this now? in deference to the fact that they were two and he was still one. But when it came to it, he barely said a word. He just let Abel guide him into her wet and waiting pussy, as if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they weren’t two and one at all.
They were a perfect three, moving together in harmony.
When Tom held back—stopping short of a harder thrust or a more intimate touch—Abel urged him on. She urged him on, at first with soft words of pleasure and encouragement, and then with her hands. She wanted to feel the smooth sinewy lines of his body—so different from the heavy, hard solidity of Abel’s, and yet just as gorgeous in its own way. He had great knots of bone for shoulders instead of muscular curves, and a high and tight ass rather than one that filled her hands.
But all of it was good. All of it made her shiver and moan, her hands constantly searching for more. And not just of him. More of this, too. She needed him deeper, she needed him faster—and she wasn’t the only one who knew it.
Abel did, too.
It was Abel who eventually pushed Tom into going harder, though Amy couldn’t quite tell how he’d done it. All she knew for sure was Tom above her, suddenly rutting into her far more wildly. His hips were practically churning, that curve to his cock hitting just the right places over and over and over until she was almost sobbing because of it.
She was going to come again, and soon.
Though it wasn’t the feel of him fucking her that did it.
It wasn’t even his expression: Utterly lost to pleasure, eyes closed and lips parted, cheeks flushed with pleasure so extreme he couldn’t even stop himself moaning.
No, it was Abel that really sent her there.
Or more specifically, it was what Abel had done to get Tom to give in.
He was licking between the cheeks of Tom’s ass.
And not just licking, either.
He was using his fingers.
He was . . . she suspected he had actually penetrated Tom, in between licks and hot presses of his mouth. And it was this that sent her over. It was the sight of Abel over Tom’s shoulder, bending to lick and suck and then using that wetness to ease the way. All the muscles in his arm tensed as he fucked into Tom with his fingers—so insistently, so firmly that she couldn’t have held onto her orgasm if she had tried.
And she didn’t want to try.
She just gave into that surge of pleasure, body stuttering beneath Tom’s, back arching to chase it. Every moan was louder than she had ever let herself be—though of course it didn’t matter. Abel grinned at the sound of it, and Tom . . .
Oh, Tom.
He looked like he’d never heard anything so glorious. His gaze was actually full of something like wonder, of the kind she’d always longed to get from him. It was higher praise than he’d ever been previously able to offer. It was better than anything she could have ever imagined herself getting from him.
The only catch was this:
He still hadn’t come.
And she wasn’t entirely sure he could. Something was still holding him back, quite clearly. Not from giving her pleasure—or from giving it to Abel.
No, it was taking it for himself that was the issue.
Once she was done he couldn’t seem to move, and when he did, he didn’t do it in a way that gave him anything.
He didn’t push back against Abel’s still working fingers.
Or stroke into her with singular purpose.
He was stymied. Blocked, like before.
So really, it was up to her.
“Fuck him,” she said without even thinking about it. And once she gave some thought to it, no part of her protested. She wanted Abel to take him, just as Tom took her. She wanted it for all of them—not just so Tom could get to wherever he needed to be.
Though, god, his reaction when she said the words aloud.
His breath hitched. His eyes stuttered closed.
He couldn’t even stop himself groaning out, “Yes. Now.”
Then: “Fuck. Do it.”
The words just spilled out of him, as harsh and commanding as an order to sit up straighter, say things more clearly, or be more professional. And Abel didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he already had everything ready to do just that, as if he’d been waiting for the word and now could finally use the lube he’d brought from somewhere and the condom he’d already rolled over his cock.
All it took was a feverish slicking of himself and that already-prepared hole, and he was there. He was sliding into the man above her in a way that made all three of them shudder and groan. Abel, most likely because of the clench of that tight muscle around his cock—or maybe the surrender of it, from so uptight a man. Tom, from the feel of something that solid spreading him, she suspected.
And her, because of all of the above.
Just watching them was its own bliss.
She didn’t even need the heavier press of Tom’s cock in her pussy, or the incredibly intensified jolt of each thrust. It was the expression on Abel’s face that got her going. The way his eyes locked with hers over Tom’s shoulder, hazy with desire and delirious with pleasure. It was Tom himself, and the wavery sighs and groans he let out.
Not to mention the words.
God, the words he came out with.
“Fuck me harder,” he said after a second. “Make me feel it.”
And Abel did. He pounded into the man beneath him, until his skin was glossed with perspiration and his breath was coming in short gasps. He thrust until Tom was shaking so hard his teeth were rattling and his arms could barely hold him up. She could see him slipping. Soon the pair of them was going to crush her.
But if they did she was going to die happy.
A third orgasm was welling up inside her, and this one promised to be the most intense yet. It uncoiled slowly in the pit of her stomach, spurred on by every thrust and groan and sigh. By the smell of them both, musky and sex-soaked, but still sharp with the delicious cologne both of them favored. And by their expressions, slack with lust and the seven thousand sensations that had to be pouring through them.
In fact, she knew they were pouring through them, because just as her own climax crested, so did Tom’s. In fact, her stuttering, shaking body and her choked moans seemed to trigger it in a way she didn’t know was possible from someone like him. He cursed—something she had never known him do—and then seemed to go rigid all over, as if his orgasm had seized hold of him and squeezed tight enough to steal his breath. It turned him the color of ripe tomatoes as he strained through the intensity of his pleasure.
And it didn’t let go easily.
Tom was still shuddering with it a minute later when Abel gave a hoarse cry and almost fell forward on top of them both. In fact, it only seemed to push him higher. For a long moment it was both of them over her, grunting and gasping and taking their pleasure, hips bucking and cocks swelling and spurting.
Until finally, finally, it was over.
Abel rolled away first, sprawling on his back to her right. Then slowly, almost awkwardly, Tom slid over to her left. Both of them breathing hard, both of them looking as dazed as she felt, both of them quiet for a long, long time.
She suspected it was an hour before anyone spoke.
It might even have been twice that. It was hard to say while drifting in a Bermuda Triangle of total bliss. Her pussy was still pulsing faintly and her muscles were still twitching and trembling. She tried to think of something to say, and nothing came. Every thought in her head had flown out and was replaced by delicious, dark delight.
It was an issue that didn’t seem to be coming to an end any time soon.
When Abel finally spoke, it wasn’t to dampen down what she was feeling. What all of them were most likely feeling in that aftermath.
No, it was to push things higher, further.
“So,” he said. “When can we do that again?”
Chapter Six
It was strange, to work with him after that. Different, in all kinds of ways. He didn’t enforce so many of the rules anymore—but it was more than just that. Sometimes he seemed almost awkward around her, as if the sexual component of their relationship had poked a thousand holes in him. Now he didn’t quite know how to be or what to do without jostling that delicate arrangement. Or rubbing up against it while they were in a meeting with clients or discussing some proposal or at lunch with someone important.
His knee would brush hers during a presentation or an interview, and something would happen when it did. A kind of frisson usually passed between them, in a way that always filled her with joy.
But she didn’t know if it did the same for him.
Sometimes it seemed like an inconvenience.
A line between business and pleasure that had become too blurred.
And though it should have been a comfort when he pushed her into his private bathroom and took her hard against the sinks, it wasn’t. It felt more like something he had to do, so he could carry on functioning. Not something he wanted, or desired. Not pleasure, for pleasure’s sake. She wasn’t even sure if he was the kind of man who could feel pleasure for pleasure’s sake, and she didn’t get surer as things progressed.
When he told Abel that he had fucked her from behind during work hours, there was no delight in his voice. He moaned over Abel’s reply—Did you leave your come inside that sweet pussy for me to lick away?—but that seemed more like something he simply couldn’t help. Abel said a dirty thing, and he reacted.
Tom stroked his cock as Abel tasted the come that still lingered between her legs. He even slid over to her as she bucked and gasped, and urged her to suck him as Abel licked and kissed her to climax.
Yet still, she couldn’t tell how he really felt about all of this.
Beyond hair-trigger lust, what drove him?
With Abel it was easy. He said he loved her like it took barely any effort at all. Once or twice she had even heard him say it to Tom. And true, it had happened as Tom fucked his ass and she sucked his cock, but it had held true in the light of day, too. Both of you, I do, he had said, as they lay tangled up in each other on Tom’s bed.
And that almost made things good enough.
But not quite. Not until she knew for sure how Tom felt.
What if it’s hurting him in some way? she found herself
thinking. What if it’s too much of a rule break for him to stand? She even tried, on a number of occasions, when he seemed the most open to talking about it.
“Are you okay with this?” she asked, as he lay beside her in the early light of dawn. And in return he always nodded and kissed her.
He said yes.
It was just that she couldn’t quite trust his word.
He was an unreliable narrator in his own life, wanting her without whispering a word, unable to act until someone else pointed out that he could.
So she had to come at things another way.
And she had a good idea how to do just that.
It was on the way to the airport that she decided it was best to ask Abel. Partly because they were alone together in the quiet calm of his chauffeur-driven car with no time for any of the usual passion to get in the way. But mostly because he was going away for a week, and she simply couldn’t wait that long for answer.
She needed to know now. The question was important.
Yet she had to look away when she asked.
Out of the window, at nothing in particular.
“Do you think he’s happy?”
“Who is happy? Tom?”
“Yeah. Tom.”
The name felt less odd on her tongue, now.
But she still savored it. Reveled in it.
She hoped that it meant something, that she used it now.
“Well, I suppose that depends on what you mean by happy,” he said, lightly enough that she shouldn’t have felt suddenly tense. But she did. And not even the rest of his words could soothe her, not completely. “He spent all day yesterday furious that Robert Brisdon backed out of the Lederman deal. In fact, he was so busy pounding his desk and stalking around and looking at everyone with ice-dagger eyes that I had to remind him he hadn’t eaten dinner. And then he ate it, angrily.”
“Oh, I hate it when he eats angrily.”
“It sounds like he’s grinding nails between his teeth.”
“Exactly. It makes me cringe all over. I had to stop him when he did it at that lunch meeting with the guys from that trumped-up little IT company.”