She didn’t sit, but wandered along the edge of the terrace, thinking about what was likely happening in the house. She imagined a flurry of activity as her father fetched her mother and Bill. It was both sweet and awkward that she suspected they’d been in Bill’s bed making love.
She thought of her father watching tennis alone while her mother and Bill were elsewhere. No doubt, as lovers in a ménage approached their sixties, there were more one-on-one sexual encounters and fewer gang bangs. Then she remembered the sex-party she’d had with Ro and Kevin the night before and reconsidered. Nothing satisfied them or her like having her body stuffed with two throbbing cocks.
She was going to be gone for a few days, they’d complained, practically pouting, the night before. She couldn’t expect them not to want to fuck her crazy, and repeatedly, before she left. She’d been warned to expect more of the same when she got back.
She wasn’t just expecting it. She was counting on it. And getting hot just thinking about it.
She pulled herself back as her father returned. He carried a tray with a California red, a French loaf, and small bowls of olives, roasted garlic, and Asiago. He busied himself opening and pouring the wine, telling her that her mother and Bill would be out shortly.
Annabelle and her father had toasted each other and sipped a fair share of wine before her mother came. It was clear she’d showered, anxious, Annabelle suspected, to not carry with her the scent of lovemaking.
The women hugged each other warmly, and Annabelle calmed the mother-worry that had assumed the worst.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to see you. To talk to you. And you, too, Bill.”
He’d stood at the glass door, watching the reunion of mother and daughter. He was a tall, handsome man. Virile, Annabelle thought, seeing him in a light she hadn’t discerned before. And, she saw, so clearly in love with her mother.
She hugged him, too, with a kiss that brought the roughness of his evening beard against her cheek. It was a sensation that produced another awkward thought, conjecture about whether her mother had whisker burns in some of the same places Annabelle did.
They spent a few minutes busy with passing around bread and wine and talking with Bill about his lovely home and grounds. But no one sat, and after a while conversation died.
The three older adults—all her parents, she should think—looked to her.
They knew she was there for something more than an impromptu visit.
She looked back at the three of them, knowing that they loved each other and that they loved her. What she had to say to them wasn’t wrong.
But still not all the way easy. She took a sip of wine for courage.
“I want to tell you, all of you, that I’m in love. Seriously in love. With two men.”
They all three looked at her, then at each other. Her mother lifted one hand, fingers to her lips. “Annie,” she whispered.
“I’m going to marry them. Well, one at a time. I’m going to have their babies. We’ll be a family.” She paused, looking at each of them. “Like you three.”
Her mother let out a wordless cry. Bill and her father gave Annie the same hard, searching look before, as one, they went to her mother. They hugged her between them just as Rowen and Kevin had hugged Annabelle a thousand times.
Tears streamed down her mother’s face. Bill turned her to look at him. Wiping at the tears, he touched his lips to hers. “I love you, Grace.” Then he kissed her again, long, deeply. When he let her go, she turned to Annabelle’s father.
“James,” she said. And he kissed her, too, just as Bill had.
In another moment her mother stood before Annabelle. “Honey,” she said and opened her arms.
Then the two women, both loved by two men, held each other.
* * * *
Two men, Annabelle thought as she stood outside another door, this one three hundred and fifty miles away. Should be enough for any woman.
So why was she here on the front porch of a small bungalow off Wilshire Boulevard?
She’d spent three days with her parents and Bill. After those first moments of awkwardness, the four of them had, indeed, felt like family. They’d laughed and chatted. Her mother, the focus of gazing and touching for two handsome men, glowed in that very way Annabelle remembered from the first night Bill had come to their home. Grace was a very happy woman—more so now, she said, that she didn’t have to live a deception with her only child.
Annabelle told them about Rowen and Kevin and the life they planned to make in New York. Rowen, master manipulator, was already hunting for a large house with plenty of rooms for a growing family and a yard with space for a playhouse and a dog.
She did not plan to tell them about Braeden. But her mother, sharp and perceptive as ever, broached it one early morning while they were alone having coffee on the terrace.
“You’re very happy, Annie,” she said. “I can see it, and I’m so glad for it. But you’re sad, too. What is it?”
“Oh, Mama.” The two women sat side by side on a glider, and Annabelle laid her head down on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother took her hand. “There’s a third man. Braeden. He and Ro and Kevin have been friends since college. I love him, too.” He’d been gone from her for two weeks, and every day had hurt.
“Oh, my.” Grace let out a low chuckle. “Leave it to my daughter to have a good thing and want more.”
“But I can’t have it,” she said, burrowing into that comforting shoulder. “Brae doesn’t want me. Or, rather, he doesn’t want—”
“To share you?”
“Um-hmm.”
“Well, it’s easy to understand that, isn’t it? Most men would have a hard time sharing a woman, if they loved her, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. It seems easy for Dad and Bill. And for Rowen and Kevin.”
“Agreed. But I think that’s unusual, yeah? I mean, would you be willing to share them?”
“You mean with some tall, thin blonde, a bleached, augmented, and Brazilianed cu—uh, strumpet, who lusts after my men?”
Her mom chuckled. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“No way.”
“Well, then.”
“But we all love each other. I know it’s true.”
“So he’ll have to decide which he can live with better—sharing you, or not having you at all. Those are his choices, aren’t they? You wouldn’t be with him outside your—”
“There’s a word for it. Ménage.”
“Yes, okay. Ménage.”
“No. I guess I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.” And that was maybe what she’d needed to learn. That was what she’d needed her mom for.
“Then Braeden has to decide for himself. He’s the only one who can.”
So what was she to say here at Braeden’s door? I was in the neighborhood? From home, she could be in twelve different states and not have traveled so far.
Maybe, when she’d flown to California, it had been in the back of her mind that she could still love Braeden, still be with him even if he wouldn’t live with the three of them in New York. But her mother was right. It could only be one way. And he had to choose.
So she knocked. Only the screen door was closed, and she could see through to the back of the house where another open door led to a screened porch. It was a house built before air-conditioning was common, taking advantage of circulating air and enveloping shade trees to cool.
She knocked harder, louder, when there was no answer.
After the third time, she got a response. “Go away!”
She smiled. He was out on that back porch, writing. And no more tolerant of interruptions than he’d been when he was in New York.
She didn’t keep the laugh out of her voice. “Braeden, it’s Annabelle.”
There was another very long pause. Finally, silently, he appeared in that far doorway. She could just see his outline, his large body filling that space.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was in
San Jose. I came to see my parents.”
“San Jose is three hundred and fifty miles away.”
“So it is. Are you going to let me in?”
“Are you here to stay with me?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then probably not.” He walked a little closer, still the distance of two rooms away.
She touched her hand to the screen. “Braeden.”
“Are you going to let me fuck you?”
“No.”
“Well, then,” he said. “The answer is definitely no, I’m not letting you in.”
Her heart twisted a bit. Here was the nasty beast Braeden. Well, she knew he had it in him. She’d seen hints of him their first night together.
She turned away a little, inspecting his dusty front porch and untended yard. She was still looking away when she spoke again. “Rowen and I are going to marry next month.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his body flinch. Then he walked closer, close enough to put his hand on the inside door. She looked up at him, meeting his hard gaze.
“Let me know where you’re registered. I’ll send you a nice blender or something.”
He pushed the door shut. She heard the lock snick before he turned and walked away.
* * * *
Kevin met her train from the airport and took charge of getting her luggage home. He splurged on a cab, giving them the opportunity to get reacquainted in the backseat, quite to the enjoyment of the cabbie.
But she felt truly at home again when Rowen did his traditional greet and fuck at the door. He was there waiting and pulled her in while Kevin was still juggling her bags. By the time Kev got the door closed, Ro was already thrust inside her.
“Jesus, dude, let her get through the door at least.”
“Why?” Ro grunted. “You got her in the cab. I can tell you were fingering her. She’s already hot.” He thrust harder. “Wet.”
He was right. She’d already had one hopefully discreet orgasm in the cab.
He halted conversation to kiss her, sinking his tongue down her throat. “Besides, she missed me, didn’t you, babe?”
Yes, she had. She’d missed them both, and it was a blessed relief to be back with them. And specifically, to be wrapped around Rowen and his cock.
Ro had apparently got the edge off his need and slowed his rhythm. Still kissing her, still pressed deep into her cunt, he walked her over and sat with her on the couch. “Anyway, I’ll share.”
He settled so she was straddling him. He began undressing her, kissing and sucking every bit of skin he bared. He held her face, locking her gaze with his. “I’m so glad you’re back. I was a little afraid you’d want to stay.”
Annabelle was surprised and more than a little touched. “Never,” she said, kissing his mouth. “I could never leave you and Kev.”
“That’s right, puss.” Kevin came up behind her and leaned over for his own kiss. “You’re our girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, and held him to the next kiss. Yes, she repeated to herself. And that would be enough. More than she could have ever imagined to hope for.
Ro had her breasts bare now, and Kev covered her with his hands. He massaged them and then rolled her nipples. She turned her head, pressing her cheek into his groin, feeling his hard cock there. She rubbed against him until he let go of her breasts to free himself.
She took him in her mouth, the tip of him already moist, his long shaft hard and velvet smooth. She licked and then sucked him, sliding him deep.
Kevin moaned his pleasure, caressing her head and chafing his palm over one breast. Ro encouraged her, instructing her to suck Kev in hard, to stroke him with her hands. At the same time, he grasped her hips and steadied her as he started thrusting again.
It didn’t take long for any of them. Her absence for these few days had made them all needy. Annabelle knew there was still a long evening of lovemaking ahead, but this would be a quick fuck.
And she was happy for it, ready and eager. Soon Kev’s hand on her head wasn’t caressing so much as controlling and his cock was fucking her mouth. His hand got rough on her breast, squeezing and tugging her nipple.
In the meantime, Ro was working her harder, grinding into her, splaying her legs out to get deeper. He arched up, pounding into her with his thrusts.
Then they were all coming, Kev spurting into her mouth and Ro filling her cunt with hot cum. They both let out loud, feral groans, grasping her possessively as they took her, making her theirs again. Annabelle spasmed, her body convulsing as she took them in, accepting their semen as if it were their essence. She was overcome with the joy of being with them again, the thrill of their hard desire, their craving for her. And her body celebrated, home again, helpless as always against their overwhelming assault on her sexual being.
When he was spent, Kevin flopped down onto the sofa beside Rowen. Annabelle collapsed over them, her head nestled on their shoulders, her arms around them both. Still not having had enough of each other, they stroked and soothed.
Ro ran his fingers through her hair, twining as if to keep hold on her, to keep her. “Brae’s not coming back,” he said, more statement than question.
She shook her head. “No.”
“You can be happy with us, babe, can’t you? With just the two of us?”
“Yes,” she said and lifted to look at them, to kiss them both. “I can be very happy. I will be.”
And she was. Annabelle remembered the conversation she’d had with Braeden about a mother’s love. She decided that she would think of him as a mother would for a child grown, off living his own life as he should, always loved and a part of her, but in a more distant way. Connected, but apart.
So she worked and loved her two men and made plans for a small wedding. They’d agreed, for the sake of Rowen’s elderly parents, to treat it publicly as a traditional marriage. Later, after a baby or two, they’d legally dissolve the marriage so Annabelle could marry Kevin. They thought their families might never need to know the full truth about their ménage relationship.
It was a compromise they were all willing to make. What was most important to them was that they could have each other in the kind of relationship they wanted. If friends or family or coworkers speculated about it, the three of them were okay with that. Anyone who asked would be told the truth. They were pretty sure that folks who didn’t want to hear the answers wouldn’t ask.
They wouldn’t flaunt their chosen lifestyle, but they wouldn’t hide it, either.
Rowen and Kevin were working hard on the new theater. For a while, neither of them had a show to deal with, so they lived a more regular life, with the two men home most evenings. Annabelle loved that time. She was very happy to have her days to paint and pursue her own work. And every bit as well, she loved the moment in the afternoon when she put her brushes down and got ready for their return.
Most days, she made dinner for them. It was bit of housewifely-ness that she enjoyed, taking pleasure in providing good, healthy food for her men.
Also, she enjoyed readying herself. She usually bathed, a long, bubbly soak that relaxed her body and scented her skin. Then she dressed for them. A demi-bra and a small top, so her breasts would be displayed, all set for their first, welcome-home kisses and caresses. A short skirt just barely covering her bare pussy, facilitating those eager finger-fucks at the door and later, while she put food on the table. On especially frisky days, it was cocks rather than fingers doing the fucking.
If their lovemaking didn’t start at the door or the table, or even if it did, they took it to the couch or a bed after dinner. It was everything she wanted. Gentle, tender loving interspersed with wild, physical fucking in every combination. They used her in every way men could use a woman, often together, filling her with two big, hard cocks.
She was happy. More than happy. And just a little bit sad.
* * * *
Annabelle lay on the couch between Rowen and Kevin. The guys were intently watc
hing the new big-screen interpretation of a multi-Tony winner.
Not so intently that they didn’t have time to diddle their woman, though. Her head was in Kevin’s lap while he played with her breasts. She could feel his cock rising against her cheek, so she figured there would soon be an intermission. Rowen had his fingers in his favorite place, getting her nice and wet. Periodically he’d slide out and stroke her clit.
She’d need that intermission herself before very long.
Their petting was getting to be too much to bear. Her body arched, a shudder of arousal slithering through her. She moaned a little, drawing Kevin’s attention.
He looked down at her, smiling at the same time he nudged around a little to bring more cock-to-cheek contact. “You need something, puss?”
That got Rowen’s attention, too, and he reached for the remote and flicked off the TV.
“Just as well. It’s crap, anyway. The director must have his head up his ass.”
Annabelle knew that voice, and it wasn’t either Ro or Kev. All three of them on the couch turned to see Braeden standing just inside the door, slipping his keys into his trouser pocket. He’d dropped three bags at his feet.
He walked closer, his hand in his pocket not disguising the lengthening of his cock as he looked down at Annabelle. Rowen and Kev kept stroking and finger-fucking her, even putting a little more heat into it.
He continued to watch, then took a moment to glance from one man to the other. “I miss you guys. I never did like living so far away.”
Then he looked at Annabelle. “And I can’t fucking live without her.”
Rowen slid a possessive hand along her thigh, owning. “Are you going to stay?”
Braeden nodded. “If you’re willing.”
“What changed your mind?” Kevin’s question was just a bit hostile.
He spoke to Annabelle. “Grace sent Bill. He said he’d lived half a life. He said he’d have given anything to be a husband to Grace, a father to you. He lived for the four weeks a year that he got to be with the love of his life.
Three Men and a Woman: Annabelle (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 13