Covington, Cara - Love Under Two Strong Men [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  Tracy moved her head up and down on his cock, her motions languid yet thorough, her tongue bordering on the poetic as she stroked his shaft. Adding to those two tantalizing effects, she applied a subtle little suction so deep and rhythmic that his eyes damn near crossed.

  “Damn, woman, no one has to teach you a thing.” Jordan couldn’t help but gasp the words. “Baby, you are a natural.”

  Her little throaty sounds told him his words pleased her, and oh God, the vibration of those sounds against his wet shaft just increased the thrill factor tenfold. Jordan couldn’t recall when he’d received such bliss from a woman.

  “Can you feel my cock getting hard beneath you, Tracy? Watching you with Jordan’s cock in your mouth is getting me hot as hell.” Peter leaned forward and rested his chin on Tracy’s shoulder. “He tastes good, doesn’t he?”

  Peter spread her legs so that they draped his, exposing her slit. Then he slid his left arm around her waist, maneuvering his hand lower until his fingers teased her slit.

  Reaching out with his right hand he cupped Jordan’s balls.

  “Holy fuck.” The twin sensations of delicate female attention and the firm, experienced grasp of a man sent tiny electrifying shocks all over his body. Jordan shivered, and groaned, and felt his arousal nearing critical mass.

  He wanted to control it, to stave it off so he could hang in this wondrous realm of preorgasmic paradise. Amazing, thrilling, this plane of existence nearly eclipsed actual orgasm for sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

  If heaven existed, it had to be a world that felt just like this.

  “Our lover is being greedy, sweetheart, fighting us and clinging to nirvana for all he’s worth. I think we should make him come.” Peter’s words did something incredibly good to his emotions and his state of arousal.

  Tracy’s hand joined her mouth so that as she moved her head up and down, her graceful feminine fist pumped his shaft. A different feel from Peter’s touch, it still increased the pleasure, almost beyond bearing.

  Jordan groaned and threw his head back, battling to stave off completion, and at the same time reveling in this unique and very sexy tug-of-war.

  “Will you swallow his seed, sweet Tracy? I promise you he tastes delicious, but it’s an acquired taste.”

  Peter’s low tone and Tracy’s hummed, erotic response shattered his control. The orgasmic eruption stirred, gathered, growing stronger and stronger as it rose and expanded and swelled, so that all he could do was surrender—surrender to the will of his lovers, and to the rapture that filled and spilled and captured his soul.

  His lovers soothed and stroked him as his climax ebbed. Strength deserted his knees, and he leaned forward, nearly collapsing but confident they’d catch him. Strong feminine arms surrounded his waist, and capable male hands caressed up and down his arms. An aftershock wracked him, and he sighed. Belatedly he realized his hands still gripped Tracy’s head, his fingers tangled in her hair as if he needed to hold on to keep from drowning. Relaxing his fingers he smoothed them over her hair, a silent caress of gratitude.

  “That was amazing.” Her words bathed his belly with soft moist air.

  He just enjoyed one of the best orgasms of his life, and yet that delicate touch had his cock twitching.

  “That’s my line.” He straightened then cupped her face. He kept his kiss chaste. “Thank you. That was amazing.”

  “For me, too,” Peter said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard.”

  “Well, we can take care of that.” Jordan reached for a condom from the box he’d placed on the shelf over the tub. “Come here, Tracy.”

  He helped her off Peter’s lap, and then they both drew that man to his feet. Jordan gave her the protection, which she very thoroughly smoothed over the rigid flesh, causing Peter to hiss in obvious appreciation of the soft, feminine touch.

  Tracy gave him a cheeky grin. Peter returned it, and then sat down and drew her closer. “Straddle me, sweetheart, and take my cock inside that hot little pussy of yours. But if you’re too sore, say so, and we’ll find another—”

  “I’m not too sore, G-man. I’m empty. I need your cock in my cunt. Now fill me up.”

  “You,” Peter said as he settled her on his lap facing him, “are one cheeky wench.”

  Jordan found his arousal stirring at the sight of Tracy riding Peter’s cock. He leaned over the pair, inhaling the scent that rose on the steam from churning jets. He understood Tracy’s need to connect with them both. Watching his lovers having each other, he felt a similar need.

  Jordan ran his hand up and down her spine and trailed his fingers over the crack of her ass as she levered herself up and down on Peter’s shaft, fucking him with what appeared to be great relish. “I’m going to play with your sweet little asshole.” He whispered the words into her ear and followed them with a teasing taste of her skin. “We want you to take our cocks there, but you need to be prepared for it first.”

  “Mm, yes, I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have two cocks at the same time. Will you feel each other’s cocks when you’re both buried deep, deep inside me, fucking me?”

  “Provocative words in a provocative tone. My, my, Ms. Jessop, I do believe you’re turning into quite the voluptuary.” Jordan couldn’t keep the smile out of his teasing words.

  “Ah, Mr. Kendall, I do sincerely hope so.” Tracy tossed her head back and sent him the sexiest siren-smile he’d ever seen.

  He bent over, kissed her, stabbing his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, then easing away.

  He gave Peter the same salute, reveling in the difference in flavors and textures between his lovers, marveling that the two, combined, filled him to overflowing, meeting every one of his physical, spiritual, and emotional needs.

  “Kiss him, sweetheart.” The commanding tone seemed to thrill her. She blinked owlishly then turned her gaze to Peter, and, with that same fuck-me grin, lowered her mouth to his.

  Was there anything sexier than watching his lovers move with such sensuous abandon, completely absorbed in each other?

  Jordan didn’t take his eyes off them as he reached toward the shelf and the dispenser of lube.

  Peter grunted, his body breaking into a sweat, his eyes closing as if to savor the build toward bliss. Tracy moaned, and her hitched breathing told him she was close to climax, too.

  He brought his gel-covered fingers to her, caressing up and down over her anus. She shivered, and he knew she liked it.

  She moaned again, and he leaned closer to them, his head dipping down to complete the three points of their personal triangle. And all the while he caressed her tiny rosebud, pushing slightly on each pass, increasing the bombardment of stimuli so that their woman’s ardor climbed, and climbed and climbed some more.

  “Oh, baby, you like having your ass played with.” Jordan breathed the words so that both his lovers soaked them in. “I can hardly wait until our cocks are inside you, one of us fucking your ass, the other fucking your cunt. We’ll brush against each other as we become one flesh.”

  Tracy whined, abandoning Peter’s lips. She cried out, “Oh, God, I’m going to come!”

  Peter’s eyes snapped open, his gaze glittering with need, greed, and just a little bit of madness. Jordan met that gaze and drowned in it.

  “Yeah, now,” Peter said to them both.

  Jordan’s cock swelled as he centered his finger over Tracy’s anus and pressed, pressed, until he felt her sphincter loosen, and then open. He pressed until his finger slipped into her, sliding deep. Then he swore with sexual appreciation when Peter fisted him in a hard, sure, milking grip.

  He gave, and he took, and he reveled in the ecstasy of joining his lovers as they crested the top as together, they shared the free fall into rapture.

  Chapter 9

  “What we have here is one giant cluster fuck.”

  Mac Dwyer leaned forward, his beefy arms folded together, resting on the conference table, looking exactly like what he was—one very pissed-o
ff Special Agent in Charge of the Dallas Divisional office of the DEA.

  Peter sat back, his own arms folded across his chest, doing his damndest to keep his promise to his boss, which was to keep his mouth shut. This management-level meeting was something which he normally would never have attended. Of course, the limited agenda of this particular meeting warranted his inclusion.

  Mac had just verified from another source that Miguel Ramos had not only identified Peter as the agent who’d intercepted his diamonds the month before, but he’d also put out a contract on Peter’s life—and that contract had been picked up by some as-yet-unknown person.

  “I can understand your concerns, Special Agent Dwyer. None of us enjoys the fact that our men are sometimes put in harm’s way. But I’m certain that Special Agent Alvarez has been aware of the risks involved in the career he’s chosen since the day he took his oath.” Templeton Marsh, United States Attorney, was the man coordinating this task force, code-named Counterstrike.

  It was the second time Peter had had the dubious honor of meeting the man, and his first impression didn’t change. Marsh, in Peter’s estimation, was nothing more or less than a pompous political ass.

  It forever irked Peter that those making the decisions at the highest levels of the Justice Department were never the ones with the experience of being in the line of fire. Field agents very rarely made it all the way to the top in any of the agencies. Instead, the men and women who served the United States as cops—local, state or federal—often found their lives in the hands of the ubereducated and uberconnected, who were not necessarily also the ubermission-savvy.

  “I’m quite certain that Peter didn’t expect to become the target of an assassination plot.” Mac kept his tone level, but Peter could tell by the expression on his face he was getting even more pissed. Mac Dwyer didn’t suffer fools gladly.

  “Be that as it may—” Marsh looked as if he was getting ready to give a dissertation on the gallantry of falling on one’s sword. God, I hope not. Men like Marsh irked him because while they called for the ultimate sacrifice from others, they rarely had the courage to stand and be counted, themselves.

  Peter felt himself begin to tune out whatever the lawyer-in-charge was about say. He’d been hearing variations of spin-talk since he’d first pinned on a badge so many years before, and it hadn’t changed one bit.

  “What I’d like to know,” a deep, gravelly voice cut in, “is how Ramos discovered who Special Agent Alvarez is in the first place. How did that bastard identify him as an agent assigned in this area? And how did he know Alvarez was the one who copped his diamonds?” Christopher Smith, the FBI field office SAC, sent a scathing look Marsh’s way. “The potential implications of the answers to those questions worry the hell out of me. Sir.”

  “That is the real problem,” James Kerrigan, the assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Dallas office of the ATF, agreed. “We have a leak on the task force, and that, I don’t like. It not only threatens the efficacy of the task force’s goal, it has the potential of tainting all of our arrests and it puts all of our agents at undue risk.”

  “You’re all overreacting.” Marsh adjusted the cuffs of his white shirt, as if the matter under discussion was of no importance. He spared each of the division chiefs a dismissive look. “I assure you, there is no leak. The general public has only to conduct a search online to discover whatever it is they want to know about any of the Department of Justice’s investigative agencies. It’s the new transparency in this modern computer age, and it’s something we all have to live with, like it or not. Ramos probably simply picked out Special Agent Alvarez for the most obvious reason of all. He’s Mexican.”

  Into the sudden, shocked silence, Peter said, “No, sir. I’m not Mexican. I’m Virginian.” He knew his promise to his boss hadn’t made it to a full half hour, but he figured he was really doing the man a huge favor. By the look on Mac’s face, he’d been about to say something that could very well have ended his career.

  As it was, Mac Dwyer looked like he wanted to throttle the US Attorney with his bare hands.

  Marsh obviously didn’t think that Peter’s response warranted any kind of acknowledgement, as he gave him none. In fact, the man never even looked at him. Instead, he rose to his feet and once more swept the room with a disapproving glare. Peter had been told Marsh had flown in to Dallas just that morning, supposedly in response to this crisis situation. A hell of a long distance to come if he wasn’t even going to remain for the entire meeting. “I can see no reason for this task force to change its tactics now. We’ve already conducted two successful operations, netting well over two million dollars in contraband and assets. We have over sixty charges laid, and it appears as if most of them will earn convictions. Carry on as you have been, gentlemen. Proceed with the next target. Keep up the good work. It’s those kinds of numbers, after all, that matter the most. By showing the Congress that we get results, we guarantee the health of our department.” He gave them a final nod and then left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Peter waited a moment, wondering if anyone would say anything. Finally, into the silence, he said, “I choose to believe that asshole did not just blame my ethnicity for the fact that I’ve been targeted for death.”

  “Then you’re a far more generous man than I am,” Kerrigan said. “Fuck, I hate it when politically ambitious lawyers are in charge. Especially if they’re aiming to be at the top of my fucking chain of command.”

  Peter hadn’t heard any gossip about Marsh before this, but what Kerrigan said made sense. If Marsh was angling to be the next assistant attorney general, then of course his success rate—or rather, the success rate of the task forces he directed—would be of paramount importance to him, and the safety of the men be damned.

  “Fuck.” Mac looked even more unhappy than he had before Marsh had opened his big mouth. “That was a complete waste of time. And the opinion of the esteemed United States Attorney aside, we do have a leak.”

  “Of course we do. Any fool could see that,” Smith said. “I propose that we each conduct a quiet audit of our units, and then the three of us touch base after. Maybe there’s a way we can arrange things so that the guilty party is implicated. Set some kind of trap”

  “I don’t see that we have any choice,” Mac said. “And I suggest we keep any further discussion about this problem just between the three of us.”

  “Agreed. We’ll let you decide what to do about the threat directed toward Special Agent Alvarez.” Smith met Kerrigan’s gaze for one moment. When that man nodded, he turned back to face both Mac and Peter. “The less we know about that end of things, the better for Agent Alvarez. No one of us can swear, with absolute certainty, that the leak isn’t in our own agency.” His expression turned grim, and Peter didn’t have to ask why.

  Whoever had rolled over and played snitch for Ramos had betrayed a sacred trust. Only agents and cops who put it all on the line fully understood the magnitude of that sin.

  * * * *

  For every great achievement, some sacrifice was required. That had been one of the first lessons Templeton Marsh’s father had taught him. To this day, it remained a lesson that he not only embraced, but one he had proven, time and time again.

  His climb up the ladder of the Justice Department he owed in part to his almost uncanny ability to understand this principle and apply it judiciously.

  Special Agent Alvarez’s purpose in life was simple, and clear. He would be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice. It was, Marsh believed, the only possible destiny for the man.

  Marsh wove his way through the streets of Dallas, enjoying the way the Ferrari 599 GTO responded to his touch. Someday, when his service to his country was done, and it was time to finally reap his due rewards for his long and exemplary career, Templeton Marsh fully planned to treat himself to toys like this car.

  It was very savvy and forward thinking of Reginald Calderon to loan him the vehicle for his brief stay in Dallas. Cald
eron had been gaining in influence within the party, becoming one of the most respected and sought-after backers in the Southwest.

  Marsh had already secured the patronage of two important and influential men in New York and Florida, respectively. Add Calderon to his list of “references,” and Marsh could very nearly write his own ticket.

  He didn’t want to be the attorney general of the United States. That position brought with it a certain level of power, yes, but the spotlight shining down on the man in that post could be downright unforgiving. However, the position of assistant AG held many of the perks with few of the drawbacks of being the man up front.

  Come the next election cycle, Marsh planned to be assistant AG.

  The vibration of power under his hands drew his attention back to the present. The Ferrari had as an added feature a state-of-the-art GPS device, and he’d found it a simple matter to key in his destination and let the device do the work of plotting his course. The park he was heading to, located in an upscale neighborhood, would likely be filled with families enjoying the sun on this Saturday afternoon. No one would necessarily take notice of two men sitting and chatting on a park bench in the shade. Off in the distance the modern city skyline seemed a world away from the carefully engineered bucolic setting of the streets he drove through.

  As he drew closer to his destination, his surroundings changed. Now on the horizon he could see the tony condos of the ultra rich as they rose above the urban landscape. Marsh identified the distinctive shape of the Kendall Plaza, a monument to familial wealth and resiliency. The Kendalls had long been an honored presence in the company of Texas movers and shakers.

  If only that wealthy family lent itself to political endeavors, Marsh felt certain he would have had no trouble securing their support. He shook his head as he often did, thinking about people like the Kendalls, and their close cousins the Benedicts and the Jessops of central Texas. Oh, power and wealth they had in abundance, but they seemed strangely reluctant to use it in any blatantly public way.