Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I

by Akeroyd, Serena

Thank fuck, this man is mine.

  And God, I need to fuck.

  As a shudder rattles through me, I ignore the prospect of carpet burn; in fact, I revel in the idea of getting it and shuffle down so that my hips are flush with his. I grab his cock, pleased to note that the veined, bulky shaft is glistening with clear pre-cum. Loving how turned on he is, and the hiss whistling through his teeth as I grip him by the dick and jack him off for a second or two, I climb over him, press the wet glans against my pussy and slide it through my slick lips. Not for long, because my cunt is crying out for his cock and as I push it against the opening to my body and rock my hips back and forth until the thick shaft is inside me to the hilt, a faint whine echoes around the hall.

  It’s me.

  And God, it’s wonderful to be full again. The pressure, the tightness of the walls of my pussy has Jake’s face turning slightly red. For me, being able to feel nigh on every vein roping his dick is both heaven and hell.

  I just sit there, letting my sex absorb the size of him, letting myself adjust to the burning heat inside me and just as I’m on the brink of rocking, of steering us toward a climax to end all climaxes, Zane reappears, a bottle in his hand.

  Jake’s hands brush my back and he forces me down so that my face nestles into the nook between throat and shoulder. Suddenly, cold fluid drips down the crack of my ass, making me hiss as it floods and pools where Jake and I are joined. Zane’s fingers return to my nether regions and he begins to rub the tight, wrinkled pucker, making me shudder in reaction. I can feel more lube being squirted as he opens me up and coats me with the liquid.

  The moment I’ve been dreading and longing for is suddenly upon me. The head of Zane’s cock is where his fingers once were. And he’s nudging, pressing forward, demanding invitation.

  “Bear down, Mona,” Jake whispers.

  And I try my best, I really do. But it’s quite painful. Quite uncomfortable. In fact, it downright hurts. My arousal withers away at the idea of my ass being impaled by a cock. I wince, my pussy clamping down, and I jump as fingers flicker against my clit, and realize it’s Zane and that he’s managed to squeeze a hand between Jake and I.

  Like a sports car, my engines rev from naught to sixty in less than two seconds flat, especially as Jake’s hands are soothing along the length of my spine. Obviously to calm, but instead he only makes every inch of my flesh tingle with heat.

  And then, Zane’s there. Forging inwards, pushing deep, lodging himself inside me inch by inch until Jake and he are side by side, a thin sliver of flesh separating them.

  To say I feel full is like saying a person is full after eating an eighty-ounce steak.

  I don’t know how I’m not bursting with how stuffed I am. I could feel the veins of Jake’s dick before, but now, I can feel the shape of the glans, the pulsation of his shaft as it reacts to Zane’s presence. And the latter’s cock is the same. The pair of them are just hovering and I wonder if it’s for me, so I lift my head and study Jake’s face, the ecstasy written into the lines there is like nothing I’ve ever before seen.

  His eyes are glassy; his lips are forced into a weird, strained grin that makes him look nuts. His jaw is flexing and I know that even if I’ve flickered back down to turned off, someone’s getting their kicks.

  As it is, while I’m disappointed, I’m quite glad that my men are enjoying this.

  And that’s what they are, my men.

  I’m almost resigned to counting my times tables, as soreness and discomfort permeates the lower half of my body, something that is not in the least sexy.

  And then Zane moves.

  Whoa.

  The sound rasps out of me as the hard length of his shaft drags against deep, soft tissues. As he pulls out, Jake’s cock seems to pulsate all the more as though it’s been squeezed and has finally been released. He grunts and I do too, when Zane almost pulls out of me completely, before slowly sinking in again.

  He does this three more times and at this point, turned off is the least of my problems.

  But now, as he reaches the outer part of my ass, Jake grips me by the arms and helps me up. Dazed, I wonder what he’s doing, my eyes are out of focus as he whispers, his voice almost grim with need, “Ride me, sweetheart.”

  For a moment, I don’t think I can. I have this immense pressure at my ass and riding Jake would only make it worse, but his hands move down to my hips and Zane’s come around to grasp my tits and pull my nipples. As shivers quake down my spine, I rock my hips back and forth and as I do, my mouth pops open into a wide O. Eyelids floating down, I enjoy the pleasure slipping through my blood like an uncontrollable oil spill. My muscles are both tensed and relaxed. Every part of me is getting ready for the moment that all hell breaks loose, but I don’t notice. I just slip up and down. Up and down.

  Zane lets me get my rhythm and then, as I go up so that Jake isn’t as deeply embedded in me, he thrusts.

  I squeal. There’s no other word for it. And Jake’s hands grip my hips so hard that I know there will be two more bruises there tomorrow. With sheer strength, he forces me to continue in the same vein of movement and with my hands free, I slip them down to brush against my clit.

  Just once.

  And that’s it.

  I’m a goner.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The old cliché died and gone to heaven is pretty apt for what happened next.

  As I wavered in and out of focus, my body taking over as my head soared high in the clouds, I heard Jake and Zane grunting and groaning. Their noises were like another caress to my clit. I heard a low shout, then a loud cry. The sounds intermingled with the faint burst of cum as it slammed into both of my orifices and still, they rocked as though unable to stop, as though they never wanted the sensations to end.

  And I understood. Because as my blood, yes, my blood tingled with the after-effects, the chemicals, hormones exploding through my brain of an all-encompassing climax, I knew that I’d never been as close to anyone in my life as I was with these two men.

  Ha. Ha. Not in just the physical sense. I mean the emotional.

  From that moment, we were connected and that connection filled my heart to bursting, making the potent climax all the more powerful as it zipped its way through quivering muscles and overcome and overpowered flesh.

  The immediate connection I had with Zane made me feel safe with him. When I look back now, that was stupid, because within hours, he hurt me. But thereafter, he cared for me and, there’s no other word for it, cherished me. I didn’t feel that same sense of safety with Jake, simply because I didn’t trust him. But I had faith that he would never do me any physical harm. So a part of me has always felt some vague idea of security with them. The way I feel now makes that seem like danger.

  Now, I’m at peace.

  I slip down, sliding slowly so that once again, I return to Jake’s chest. I doze and within a few minutes, feel Zane’s cock slipping out of my ass and his hands grabbing me by the waist and lifting me off of Jake’s dick.

  A low moan escapes me. It isn’t of pain, although I can tell from the way Zane freezes, he believes that to be the case. It’s from loss.

  If we’d been in a bed, I’d have made them maneuver us so that we could go to sleep like that. I don’t care if an hour down the line I’d wake up with pins and needles attacking some part of my body and numbness another, that physical joining represented my hopes for this relationship.

  I never want to be parted from these two men.

  Ever.

  Call me a dreamer, but I’m sick of being a realist. It never got me anywhere, and now, I have hope. Delicious, delirious hope.

  When I make no other protest, Zane lifts me and turns me so that he’s carrying me like a groom hefts his bride over the threshold. The jolt of his steps resonates down my spine and after my pretzel position of only moments before, this time I do groan but it isn’t worth opening my eyes. I let my head fall loosely on to his chest and let him support me totally. Hearing Jake’s foots
teps padding behind me enables me to relax entirely throughout the next twenty minutes as I’m poked and prodded in intimate and embarrassing places and all in the name of being cleaned up.

  By the time I’m squeaky clean and deposited in the bed, I’ve awoken enough to ask, “What the hell was that about?”

  I can’t even find it in myself to be angry, not when they’ve just slotted another memory into the memory banks.

  Fuck me. That was incredible.

  Silence ensues in reaction to my question, but the bathroom light pops off and the faint flood of light around the perimeter of the room tells me we’re in Zane’s bedroom. Within no time at all, I’m surrounded. To my left is Jake and to my right, Zane and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

  Jake is a cuddler. Not in the normal sense, but in a way, that if you’re close to him in bed, he’ll plaster himself or some part against you. Case in point now, two minutes after lying down, he’s on his belly, one arm over my waist, our sides pressed together.

  And I’ll bet you thought I was the one squeezing into his armchair.

  Unless I cuddle up to him, Zane is freer in bed. Takes up a ton of space. Yet, there’s always some connection. Small or little. It can even be just his fingers brushing against my elbow.

  At the moment, he’s sprawled on his back, staring up at the sky, his foot nudging mine.

  Is it any wonder I loved being the stuffing in a Jake and Zane sandwich?

  I grin at the lewd thought but it’s a prompt reminder of what just happened. I’m still pretty confused as to the why? What the hell set the pair of them off?

  “And I don’t mean the most spectacular bit of sex America has ever known. Why the panic?” I’m too replete, too damned satisfied to even raise my voice. I probably should. I should shout at them and rail and scream. After all, I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want to go out all afternoon, then I can do it and no one is going to stop me.

  I’ve been alone for far too long to have to pay heed to anyone else.

  As always, before I can get into a good bitch, Jake says something that makes my heart melt.

  “We thought you’d left.”

  Not only have we just consummated the three-way part of this relationship, but we’ve also broached the emotional side of it. From Jake’s earlier reaction, the almost sheepish answer in no way conveys what my supposed leaving did to the pair of them. And Zane was just as bad. Seconds after Jake had shouted at me, demanding to know where I’d been, he’d been there too. Devouring my mouth and turning me into a molten pile of mush.

  “Oh.” Not the most articulate of replies, but what else can I say? There’s no way to describe the way my heart flip-flops in my chest. The butterflies in my belly. The sheer happiness uncoiling through my veins. Instead, I murmur, “I tried to call, a few times, but there was no reply. Then, I didn’t have time, and when I did, I was on my way home. I didn’t think you’d really worry. Sorry.” Guilt has me nibbling my bottom lip. “If I have a problem with our relationship, any part of it, I’ll tell you. I would never just leave without letting you know. You never have to worry about that.”

  “We’re all new to this. When you didn’t come back, we thought we’d scared you off, somehow.”

  Pressing myself into Jake’s hold, I shake my head. “No. I’d never leave without saying goodbye.”

  “Let’s not talk about goodbyes. You’re here now and you’re not going anywhere.” Zane grabs my hand before it can hit him in the chest. His next words are imbued with laughter. “What were you doing, then?” He repositions himself so that our feet are touching once more. My move into Jake’s embrace had dislodged our earlier connection.

  “I got a job.”

  “A job?” Zane asks in a careful tone, like he’s completely aware he’s standing in a minefield. His amusement has gone AWOL.

  “Yeah. A job.”

  “Where?”

  “Down at The Pike with Meg.”

  Silence simmers between us all. It’s rather amusing in its own small way. I’m sandwiched between two men, who are both trying to concoct a response to my statement.

  Instinct tells me they disapprove. But their cautiousness is appreciated. They don’t want to hurt or offend me.

  After what seems like a good five minutes of silence, that had the pair of them lying there as still as dummies, Jake clears his throat. “Okay, then.”

  It’s not like I need his approval, but it’s valued all the same.

  “When do you start?”

  “I have to be up at four AM.”

  While a pained look crosses his face, Zane grunts, “Okay, I’ll set the alarm.”

  Touched by the tenterhooks they’re standing on —tenterhooks that only exist because they want me to be happy—I grip both men’s hands and tell them, “I just need a bit of independence. That’s all.”

  In the darkness, I see their reluctant nods. With mutual murmurings of good night, and little else said, we drift off to sleep. The first night of, hopefully, many more.

  * * *

  “Order up. Two eggs sunny side up, and two eggs scrambled on three slices of rye toast with one tomato slice grilled.” Pinning the order to the board, I grumble at Meg, “Who has breakfast for lunch and who has two fried and two scrambled eggs together?”

  With her hands stuck in soapy water, Meg blows out a breath that has her frizzy red fringe fluttering a few inches away from her flushed face. “Let me guess. Is he wearing an ironed, red flannel shirt with pin-creased jeans and boots so black and shiny you can see your nose in them?”

  “You guessed it.” It goes without saying, that apart from the man’s pristine appearance, he stinks. As a fisherman, you’d think fish. Oh, no. Bleach.

  The guy reeks of bleach.

  “Raymond Cutler. Never call him, Ray. Not if you want a tip. Has the same order every day, same time, same table.”

  “Does he bathe in bleach?”

  “God knows.”

  “Maybe he uses it as aftershave?”

  Meg chuckles. “Potent, isn’t it?”

  Snorting at the understatement, I nod and return to the counter to remove some of the dirty cups that have gathered there in the time it took me to take Raymond-not-Ray’s order.

  Within the first hour of my shift, dealing with anything from raucous to sleepy fishermen, I realized I’m a natural for this job. Okay, I can’t say if I could live my life again this would be at the top of my career preferences. I’d still choose to be a doctor any damn time. But over cleaning? Hell, waiting tables rocks.

  It had been harder than usual to drag myself out of bed this morning. Ordinarily, I’ve nothing to keep me there. Early starts meant municipal, office or state buildings with endless miles of floor to clean and vacuum, hundreds of dirty toilets to mop up, and thousands of garbage cans to empty.

  Sound like fun to you?

  Well, it wasn’t.

  Here, however, I can chat to the guys and the few gals coming in for coffee after coming into port. They order hearty breakfasts, heavy on the protein, but some hardened souls eat dinner.

  The short order cook is a guy called Lennie. I’ve never met him before, but he seems a nice enough guy. Doesn’t speak much and does his job, but the front of house is more my scene anyway. I’d been welcomed into the bosom of the diner before the late-breakfast crowd came in and then, slowly but surely, the lunch.

  Raymond is my last table and the instant he calls for the check and pays, that’s me done. As fussy and pernickety as the bleach-wearing man is, he’s a damned good tipper.

  As I leave the diner with a bounce in my step, I can’t deny I’m feeling a little worse for wear. My wrists ache from hefting plates and gallons of coffee over tens of dozens of cups, but I’ve earned an honest buck. After last night’s gymnastics, I’m more tired than I would ordinarily have been, but still, it feels good to return to what is slowly becoming my home and know that I’m there of my own accord, and not because I’m financially dependent.

&n
bsp; It also feels good that the men are consciously aware of the fact I’m not here for their money.

  I guess a lot of women might have had their heads turned, and I can’t deny it’s lovely to be showered with gifts, and a real luxury to walk into a house that belongs in a magazine, but it’s the men I want. It’s the men I’m greedy for.

  This time last year, I was going through the motions of living. Working, worrying over bills, trying to keep my head above water. My enjoyment came from the books I slaved over, the poems I wrote, and the times Marina, Eddie and I all got together. Now, I’ve someone waiting for me when I get home, and my pace speeds up to match the need I have to see Jake and Zane. Even if they’re busy, I’ll just pop in with a cup of coffee and give them a kiss hello.

  The imagined domestic scene makes my step even bouncier. My hair, in a high ponytail, taps against my ass as I move but I don’t feel it thanks to the thick jeans I’m wearing, even at this time of the year, the early mornings are damn cold. My sweater is no longer necessary and the instant I get through those doors, I’ll shuck it off. It’s easier to wear it than it is to carry. Even if the hill is steep and the exertion from climbing it makes my cheeks flush.

  By the time my feet are crunching on the gravel of the drive, I come to a stop. An expensive SUV, gleaming with newness, is parked right outside the front door. On further inspection, I note that it’s a hire car and from the local airport.

  Wondering who Jake and Zane’s guests are, I step through the door and let it click softly to a close. Pricking my ears up for sound, I wander toward Zane’s sitting room and through the open door, spot my guys. Opposite them is a skinny woman dressed to kill in an outfit that wouldn’t fit my right thigh and a man in a sharp, tailored suit who loves himself, by the looks of it.

  The woman is a bag of bones and the dress is the only thing keeping her together, or at least, it appears that way and I’m not being bitchy. I’ve long since come to terms with the fact I’ll never be a size zero and having friends in the size four and six region, I actually feel pity for anyone sinking down to a naught. Especially Marina who has to consciously eat to maintain her weight.