Three is a War

by Pam Godwin

  And come face to face with Cole. Perspiration glistens his brow, his breaths labored and expression burning with hunger.

  I shimmy up against him and do a little chest bump. He joins in, bumping me back in time with the music. Bump, bump, bump, we’re caught in it. Contagious, suggestive, the bumps roll into waves that ripple down our bodies.

  My hand falls to his shoulder, and his arms hang loosely at his sides and slightly behind him, giving me full access to his ripped physique. I oblige, drifting my other hand down his torso, tracing the grooves of muscle through the shirt, and lingering on the button of his fly.

  He leans in, leans out, putting a sexy roll into it. With each slant forward and back, he grows closer, smoother, sliding up against me. Then we’re grinding, feeling the same rhythm and motion, and dancing as one. This is where it’s at. The sizzling burn. The fire and the thunder.

  Our hips undulate together. Our eyes connect, and I’m buzzing, lost in the molten brown of his gaze. He doesn’t just look at me. He eats me alive with his eyes. My pulse thrums. My blood pumps, hot and fast, beneath my skin. The rock of his pelvis controls the pace of my mine, and his hands wander, stroking my back, molding around my waist, and slipping down my bare thighs.

  Then there are four hands. My gaze flies to Cole’s, but I don’t need to see his relaxed expression to know who’s behind me. I’m intimately familiar with the touch of those fingers, the dominating pressure.

  The scent of scotch warms my senses as Trace slides up behind me, gripping my hips and taking control. He slows it down. Sets the pace. Pulls me closer. Grabs me a little tighter. And lets me feel his rhythm. And his hardness.

  I shiver and tremble, my breaths growing faster. What are they doing to me?

  Cole moves in, pressing his chest to mine and holding my face in his hands. His gaze is electric, sparking with blistering desire. As hard as I look, I don’t see jealousy or frustration. His smile’s too bright, too easy. But those dimples are deep pits of trouble. Doesn’t matter that I’m with both of them tonight. He’s going to tease me until I’m dripping, and it’ll run down my legs because dammit, I’m not wearing panties.

  He rocks against me, sandwiching my body between him and Trace. His tempo is faster than the hips crushed against my backside. Trace tightens his grip, tries to take back control. But Cole changes it up, drops it here, stops it right there, and returns to a slow grind.

  They go back and forth, fighting for the lead in our erotic dance. Pushing and pulling. Slowing down and speeding up. Until a remarkable thing happens. Their rhythm syncs, and their hips grind in unison, as if connected. They stop fighting and work together, falling into the thrall of the sensual music.

  I’m in heaven. Nothing is sexier than grooving between two gorgeous men who want me as much as I want them. Cole’s smile. The press of Trace’s hands. The heavy sounds of their breaths. The sexual way they move against me. I could do this forever.

  Trace maintains the connection by leaning around me to see my face. I angle back, keeping my hips pinned between theirs and holding his gaze. We dance like that through several songs before taking a break to catch our breaths and drink our beers. Then we dance some more.

  The longer I’m held between them, the bolder my hands become. Strong necks, chiseled pecs, muscled forearms, swollen cocks—I touch them everywhere, rubbing, caressing, stroking. I’m burning up, soaked between my legs, and shaking with the impossible need to jump them.

  The blatant arousal vibrating through their bodies doesn’t help. They seem to have forgotten each other, their mouths and hands aggressively focused on me.

  When Cole’s lips capture mine, I tense up and try to pull back. He grips my neck and deepens the kiss, chasing my tongue and going wild. Then Trace is there, wrenching my mouth from Cole and stealing his own kiss before Cole swoops back in. They pass me between them, over and over, controlled by a desire that grows greedier by the second.

  We continue to dance, three souls spiraling in a private world of kissing, neck licking, lip biting, and ass grabbing. Whatever this is, it’s reckless, carnal, dangerous. But we don’t seem capable of stopping. It’s too powerful, too deliciously tempting as it wraps around us and attempts to break every rule.

  The energy between us crackles across my skin, turning the longing inside me into a physical necessity. I’ve never experienced sexual tension like this. It seethes and growls like an eight-hundred-pound gorilla, as it follows us off the dance floor and stays with us during the ride home.

  Cole drives the Range Rover with Trace in the passenger seat. I squirm and tremble behind them, clenching my thighs together and seeking relief. The only remedy for what ails me is in the form of two tense men in the front seat.

  Neither of them speak or make eye contact. The steering wheel creaks beneath Cole’s grip, and I’m not sure Trace is breathing.

  “Is it just me,” I ask, “or is there a lot of tension in here?”

  Silence. More tension. Then Cole’s eyes find mine in the review mirror, his lips pinned.

  “I call first dibs on the cold shower.” I arch my brow.

  He returns his attention to the road and tightens his grip on the wheel.

  I need one of those hugs that turns into a primal bang against the wall. I want their hands on me, pulling my hair and wrenching my legs open. I want them to fuck me like they hate me.

  It’s physically painful to just sit here, staring at their rigid profiles and breathing in the testosterone saturating the confined space. By the time Cole pulls into the garage, my face is flushed and my thighs are drenched.

  Leaping out of the SUV, I dart toward the interior door with thoughts of self-pleasure in a cold shower.

  When I step into the kitchen, an arm catches my waist. My feet lose contact with the floor, and I’m tossed over a hard, broad shoulder.

  “Cole!” I grip the back of his t-shirt and buck to get free. “What are you doing?”

  He carries me through the living room, caressing a hand up the back of my thigh. With my head hanging upside down, I watch his boots fly up the stairs to the hall. Then his fingers sink between my legs, sliding through my wet heat and racing my pulse.

  “Jesus, fuck,” he whispers. “You’re soaked.”

  I brace my hands on his back and lift, meeting ice blue eyes. “Trace?”

  His scowl is deep, but I can’t interpret its meaning. Cole’s fingering my pussy right in front of him, and he’s not stopping it. Instead, he slowly trails behind and unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt with methodical flicks of his fingers.

  I narrow my eyes at him, and he narrows his right back. Something shifts there, in the crystalline depths. Something carnal. Tameless.

  His expression darkens, and he quickens his gait. Then he strides past Cole and leads the way to the bedroom.

  I know things got out of hand on the dance floor. Wild and uncontrolled, we worked ourselves to a feverish pitch. As I hang upside down over Cole’s shoulder, my fingers tingle with the need to touch. A fluttering ache persists in my chest, and there’s another, more demanding heartbeat throbbing between my legs.

  But Cole and Trace can’t possibly intend to do anything about it. Not in the ways I fantasized during the ride home.

  They don’t share.

  Cole carries me into the bedroom and drops me on the bed. I land on my back, and he follows me down. His expression is pure wanton lust, his hands like supercharged static as he pulls on my dress and hikes it up my hips.

  I twist, seeking Trace, but he’s already here, falling on me with ferocious caresses and a starving mouth.

  “You’re not—” I gasp at the sharp scrape of Cole’s teeth against my butt. “We can’t—”

  Trace devours my words, plunging his tongue past my lips and swallowing my air.

  I squirm and writhe between them, sawing my legs together, desperate to be fucked while struggling to slam on the brakes.

  Cole works my dress over my chest, my head, and off, leaving me
completely bare. Then his hands are everywhere, stroking my hips, my thighs, and between my legs while Trace kisses me breathless. Their hot mouths and impatient fingers flood me with warmth and loosen my knees. I want…

  We can’t do this. They’ll resent me. They’ll hate each other.

  I try to break the kiss, but Trace presses closer, harder, tangling our tongues. I try to wriggle away, but I’m outmatched, overpowered.

  Four hands.

  Two mouths.

  One of me.

  Cole moves down my body, licking and nuzzling my hips as he caresses me from chest to toes. When Trace releases my lips to suckle my neck, I find my voice.

  “Why are you doing this? You’ll regret—”

  Trace grips my throat in an iron fist. “Shut the fuck up.”

  His tone, the gravelly heat in his growl, I’m a slave to it.

  I scratch at the collar of his hand, and he lightens the pressure just enough to allow breath.

  “Do something for me.” Cole climbs over me, his fingers sliding over the fly of his jeans to free the button.

  I whimper, flicking my gaze between him and Trace.

  “Get out of your goddamn head and enjoy this.” Cole yanks off his shirt and attacks my breast with tongue and teeth.

  Trace releases my throat and moves to my chest, licking and sucking my other breast. My hands fly to their heads, holding them to me and pushing them away as my entire world comes undone in a crashing wave of need.

  Enjoy this.

  That isn’t the problem. What freaks me out is the regret I’ll see in their eyes tomorrow morning. There are so many conflicting thoughts pounding in my head, but I need to remember we’re all adults. No one is here against his will. They’re controlling this, and whether or not they thought through it, they’re committed to it.

  Inching down my body, Cole palms my ass, squeezes my thighs, and slides his hand between my legs, spreading the moisture. Trace tears off his shirt and returns to my mouth, kneading my breasts with strong fingers. Then he lifts on his knees, and I watch with ragged breaths as he unzips his pants and strips the last of the clothes from his body.

  His erection jerks inches from my face, and my mouth waters with a rush of saliva. He’s beautifully endowed, swollen and long with a flared head beading with pre-come.

  Kneeling beside my head, he angles over me and rests the tip against my lips. I dart out my tongue, savoring his salty taste as Cole grips my thighs and hooks them around his shoulders. Then he lowers his head and buries his tongue, licking me aggressively.

  “Fuck!” My back bows, and my heart slams out of control.

  The instant my mouth opens on a choked gasp, Trace shoves in his cock.

  OhmyGod, OhmyGod. This is happening.

  I suck hungrily, slurping along his shaft and gripping the base in my fist. Then we’re rocking, grinding, licking, and groping. They are muscle and flesh, passion and sin, flexing and burning beneath my greedy fingers. They surround me, consume me, twisting us into a tangle of sweaty limbs and shameless self-indulgence.

  There are so many hands on my body I’m delirious beneath the sensations. I’ve never seen them this worked up, this desperate to fuck. They don’t look at each other, yet somehow, they avoid each other’s touches.

  As I swallow and suck Trace’s cock, Cole’s head moves between my legs. He closes his eyes and groans, his jaw grinding against me and tongue plunging with wicked strokes.

  Trace shoves a hand in my hair, gripping my head. Then he rolls to his back and takes me with him. I fall to my side, curled around Trace’s leg with my cheek on his abs as he drives himself into my mouth.

  My legs tangle around Cole’s shoulders, and he repositions, running his hands up and down my thighs and lifting my ass toward his face. Restraining me in his unbending grip, he spreads me open and sinks his fingers deep inside.

  I buck against the penetration, moaning around the cock in my mouth. Trace growls and reaches for my chest, pinching the ever-loving hell out of my nipple. With an anguished moan, I lick up and down his shaft. Suck hard on the head. Clamp a fist around him. Jerk him off. Make him grunt and grind against me.

  The heaving of their breaths reverberates through the room. Their hands are rough and ruthless, their bodies hard and demanding. They can seduce my mind, make love to my flesh, and enslave my soul. I’m already theirs.

  Affectionate fingers stroke through my hair, tangling and straightening. Trace. A nimble thumb finds my clit, circling and pinching without apology. Cole. Together, they surge a trail of tingles from my head to my toes, making me restless, fevered, and insanely turned on.

  Cole leans up and removes his jeans. I watch him over my shoulder as he kneels behind me, his thick cock jutting from between powerful thighs, engorged and ready.

  I meet his smoldering eyes and shiver. He’s going to fuck me. Right now, while I’m sucking off Trace.

  Trace lifts me, adjusting my body on hands and knees between his legs. Then he cradles my face and holds me with his gaze in the space of a breathless moment.

  Seduction isn’t a kiss or a touch. It’s this. The mystery and intelligence in his eyes. The connection they reinforce. The intoxication of feeling the depth of his emotions. He undresses our skin and strips us down to our souls until we’re bared to each other in every way, until his love fills my ribcage so completely it becomes the life force that pumps my heart.

  Then he blinks, breaking the spell and lowering his attention to my lips.

  “Open up, my tiny dancer.” With an unyielding hand on my head, he guides my mouth onto his waiting cock.

  Pressing past my lips, he sinks slowly, hot and heavy on my tongue. He pushes deep, deeper, and holds me on him as my throat relaxes around the invasion. I breathe through it, my thoughts drifting to Cole right before he cups my breast and squeezes the tight nipple. I groan for more and lift my ass, spreading wider in invitation.

  On his knees behind me, he fits himself against my opening and rams, hard and mercilessly, inside me.

  Goddamn, I feel that—the stretch, the savage burn. It’s been months. Three months? Four? I don’t even know, but it’s been just as long for Cole. Longer for Trace. He hasn’t come in me since the night before Cole returned from the grave.

  Cole gives me a few seconds to adjust. I hover my mouth over Trace’s cock, afraid I might bite him as I brace for the brutish way Cole fucks.

  With a sharp exhale, Cole lets go, pounding deep, hammering hard, gripping my ass, smacking it, panting, and grunting something fierce. Trace sits up and shifts to his knees, mirroring Cole’s position behind me. With a hand collaring my throat, he shoves himself into my mouth, thrusting slower than Cole but no less hard.

  I suck him with everything I have while reaching up his chest toward his face. He clamps his fingers around mine, holding our hands against his heart.

  Then they fuck me, tugging at my hair and pinning my body between the force of their need. It’s depraved. Filthy. Perfect. Everything I imagined it would be.

  Cole picks up the pace, holding tight to my hips as he stabs into me, over and over. Licking up and down Trace’s length, I stare up into fathomless eyes and melt beneath their scorching heat.

  “Be right back.” Cole pulls out and leaves the bed.

  I turn my neck to watch him prowl gloriously nude toward the bathroom, but Trace jerks me back and drags me up his chest.

  “Show me how perfectly we fit together.” His timbre scratches as he arranges my legs to straddle his hips.

  I move without hesitation, positioning his cock and sliding down slowly, relishing every long inch. His mouth falls open, and his chin lifts, the cords in his neck stretching against his skin. I roll my hips, and he groans, eyes closed as pleasure sweeps across his expression. Fucking gorgeous.

  Cole returns from the bathroom with a tube of lube and pauses beside the bed, watching Trace move inside me.

  Nerves creep in, coiling my stomach. I can’t imagine what it must be like
for him, seeing his ex-best friend balls-deep in the woman he wants to spend his life with. I press a hand against Trace’s hip, stalling his movements.

  “Cole?” I sit up, and my inner muscles clench around Trace’s cock. “We can stop. We don’t have to—”

  “Lie back down.” Cole grips his erection and strokes from root to tip. “Ass in the air.”

  That’s what the lube’s for, of course. But is he going to take me there while Trace is still inside me? We should have a conversation about this, but as Cole moves in behind me, he seems to be more interested in the conversation between his finger and my rear entrance.

  His touch presses in, and I gulp down a breath, writhing on Trace.

  “You’re so fucking wet.” Cole slides his thumb toward my pussy, gathering my arousal and smearing it over my anus. “I don’t even need lube.”

  “Yes, you do.” I glare at him over my shoulder and soften my voice. “I’ve never done this…” Double-penetration. My cheeks burn. I can’t even say it out loud. “Have you?”

  He shakes his head, eyes on the finger working past my ring of muscle. What else can he see down there? The base of Trace’s cock stretching me open? His balls slapping against me?

  “What about you?” I turn back to Trace.

  “You’re my first and last.” He cradles my face with both hands, searching my eyes.

  My chest squeezes. If I could have one wish, it would be to wake up tomorrow to the sound of their hearts beating happily against mine.

  “Please, don’t regret this.” My breaths quicken as the lubed crown of Cole’s cock nudges against me, seeking entry.

  “I would never regret being inside of you,” Trace says.

  “Breathe, baby.” Cole leans over my back and trails kisses up my spine, his voice gruff. “Push against me.”

  I let my lungs do what they’re supposed to do and crane my neck to check out the positioning. Trace’s legs are together behind me with Cole and me straddling his hips. They look comfortable…considering the circumstances. I turn back and press against Cole, without taking my eyes off Trace.