No Limits

by Nicki Bennett

  “I’ve been… doing some reading,” Jonathan began hesitantly. He’d thought a lot about how to broach his request to Devon, but even in his imagination, it hadn’t felt this uncomfortable. “You and Kit are both a lot more—knowledgeable, experienced, than I am—hell, you know that. You both had to show me what I’d been missing….” Rolling to his side, he leaned on an elbow, grimacing at the pinch of hardening wax.

  “It’s not about how much experience you have,” Devon broke in, reaching forward to cup Jonathan’s chin and search his eyes. The hint of insecurity he found there sobered him. Had he been so caught up working through his own past that he’d ignored his lover’s needs? He kissed Jonathan gently, trying to find the words to reassure him. “You know by now there are experiences I’d as soon forget. There’s not a damn thing you’re missing, Jon. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  Jonathan returned the kiss avidly, threading his fingers into Devon’s hair to hold him still as their tongues danced. Pulling back only enough to draw a breath, he quirked his lips in a crooked smile. “And there’s no one I want to get experience with but you and Kit,” Jonathan replied. “But I thought it might help to find out a little more about—well, about what we’ve been doing.” Devon tensed beneath his fingers, and he stroked his locks soothingly. “Because I love everything we’ve done, everything you’ve taught me. I thought maybe I could find a way to give you back some of the joy you’ve given me.”

  “You do,” Devon insisted, his voice thick with emotion he wished he had the words to express.

  The love shining in Devon’s eyes gave Jonathan the assurance to continue. “I found some sites online, did some reading. Some of it we’ve already tried, some of it I’m hoping we’ll try together sometime, all three of us. But this—” He exhaled, then swallowed hard, gathering his nerve. In his head, he’d composed so many ways to ask for what he wanted, but they all sounded stilted to him now. The only way to say it was to just say it. “I want you to fist me.”

  If either man had been looking Kit’s way, they would have seen shock, then confusion cross his face. He took a step back, then another one, until he could no longer see them for the kitchen wall. He leaned against the door of the refrigerator, the metal cold against his heated skin. He couldn’t get his mind around what Jonathan was asking for. Yes, he liked having his lovers’ fingers inside him. He loved having either one of them fucking him, but as his gaze fell to his hand, clenched convulsively into a fist, he shuddered. There was no way in hell having that shoved up his arse could be anything short of abuse! He wanted to go in the living room and protest, insist that Devon refuse such a ridiculous request. Except Jonathan wanted it, had asked for it. If Devon had suggested it, it would have been different, been a case of protecting Jonathan from something he couldn’t possibly understand or want. But Jonathan had asked for it. Forcing his feet to move, Kit walked slowly back to the door between the two rooms. He didn’t want to watch, but this way he could interrupt if it got to be too much. His stomach churned uncomfortably, all traces of his earlier arousal gone.

  Whatever Devon had expected Jonathan to ask, it wasn’t that. Stunned into momentary silence, he ran his tongue over his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “Why?” he asked, pleased that the question sounded calmer than he felt. He didn’t want his own feelings to color Jonathan’s response.

  Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Jonathan considered his answer. Devon hadn’t been shocked or rejected him out of hand—Jonathan might have grinned at the unintentional pun if he weren’t still so tightly wound with desire and nerves. “I’m not sure I can explain it,” he said honestly. “When you’re prepping me, it always feels like it isn’t enough. Not that you aren’t thorough,” he was quick to clarify, “but I love feeling your fingers inside me, stretching me, filling me. Even when I know you’re going to fuck me, I hate that moment when you pull your fingers out. I want more, want it all—to feel you inside me, all of you, to be connected to you that intimately….” He shook his head, frustrated at the inadequacy of words to convey how strongly he wanted this.

  Despite the painful memories of his own experience, Devon did understand what Jonathan was trying to say. Still…. “You have to know it’s going to hurt,” he responded, squeezing Jonathan’s shoulder. “M’hands are so big—maybe Kit—” A quiet snort of laughter from Jonathan cut his objection short, and they shared a wry smile. “Yeah, okay, bad idea. But still….”

  “I’d love to share the same connection with Kit, but you know he’d freak at the idea,” Jonathan answered. “That’s one reason I haven’t brought it up until now. The other….” He paused, sliding his hand from Devon’s hair into a matching grip of his shoulder. “I know it will hurt. I also know you would never hurt me without my consent, or more than I can stand. I trust you.” He met Devon’s troubled eyes with a smile that wasn’t returned. “You have done this before, haven’t you?”

  The curt nod of Devon’s head was answer enough to set Jonathan to cursing Robert’s legacy once again. “Forget whatever happened before,” he insisted, determined not to reinforce Devon’s memories by asking for details. He cupped Devon’s cheek in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the soft bristles of Lancelot’s beard. “There’s no one here but you and me, and you’ll be doing this because I want you to—because I love you.”

  The intensity in their voices kept Kit still as he listened to them talk through Jonathan’s request. Kit could understand the need to be powerfully, intimately connected to his lovers, but he couldn’t understand the means Jonathan was choosing to fulfill that need. Devon said it himself—it was going to hurt. Sure, he was coming to appreciate the little smacks on the arse Devon gave him occasionally, but that was child’s play compared to what Jonathan was asking.

  He froze when Devon mentioned his name, wondering if he had heard him come in. He hoped not. He didn’t know if he could say no to Jonathan, but he knew he couldn’t do what he wanted. Kit glanced down at his fist. His hands weren’t small either, even if Devon’s were bigger. It wouldn’t be any better, any easier, coming from him. He sagged in relief when they discarded that idea, frowning a little when he realized how much they were holding back when he was with them. Did he need to leave them alone more often so they could indulge themselves without his fears limiting their choices?

  His frown deepened when he realized, probably at the same time Jonathan did, that Robert’s ghost had returned to haunt them. He almost stepped forward at that point, but he couldn’t help put this particular fear to rest, not as uncomfortable as he was with the subject at hand.

  Devon’s continued silence had nearly convinced Jonathan he was going to refuse when he crushed Jonathan to him and kissed him roughly, his tongue plunging deep and sweeping through every crevice of Jonathan’s mouth demandingly, insistently. Jonathan opened himself willingly to the assault, his tongue meeting Devon’s but giving him full control of the kiss. His pulse was throbbing in his veins, his cock achingly hard against his belly, his lips bruised when they finally broke apart. “I did promise you anything,” Devon growled, his voice softening when he met Jonathan’s eyes. “There’s no one else I’d do this for, love.”

  “I know,” Jonathan said quietly, holding his gaze.

  Kit flinched as if slapped at Devon’s words. He would never ask for such rough treatment, but that wasn’t the point. Devon clearly didn’t believe he could take it. And that was the point. He was the one who should be making that decision, not Devon. That was why they had safewords, wasn’t it? Why they talked about things before they tried them. So that they could each make their own decision about what they wanted and didn’t. His temper sparked, although he tried to tamp it down. He would bide his time and see what else Devon was keeping from him, see if there was more to this than just different tolerances for pain.

  Devon let his eyes flutter closed, shaken by the unconditional trust shining from Jonathan’s gaze. Drawing a deep breath, he rose to his feet, offering his hand to help Jonathan si
t up. “Then let’s take this up to the bedroom,” he said. “I want you as comfortable as possible, and we have some prep to take care of before we get started.”

  “I’m clean,” Jonathan said softly as they started toward the stairs, the admission bringing another rush of heat to his face. “I told you I’d been thinking about this for a while. When Kit said he’d be gone all weekend, I… well, I’ve been watching my diet for the last few days, and I—cleaned myself out before I came over.”

  Kit choked back the sob that rose to his throat, sinking down onto the kitchen floor as the other two started up the stairs toward Devon’s bedroom. It was bad enough thinking this was some spur-of-the-moment decision, something that had struck Jonathan while he and Devon played, but to know he’d been planning it, had been looking forward to Kit’s absence so he could get something he needed and couldn’t get while Kit was there…. The churning in Kit’s stomach was back, for an entirely different reason this time. He was holding Jonathan and Devon back, keeping them from exploring facets of their relationship. It tore at him to think of it, but he realized he had some serious reevaluating to do.

  “You’re amazing, you know that?” Devon tucked a strand of hair behind Jonathan’s ear and paused on the steps to kiss him, more gently this time. “Should have known you’d done your homework.” Pushing him gently toward the bed, Devon flicked on a light and dimmed it to a warm, muted glow. “Lie down and relax. I’m going to wash up and get a few things ready.”

  Jonathan sank onto the bed, his stomach tight with anticipation. Getting ready that morning, he wasn’t sure he’d find the nerve to ask for what he wanted or that Devon wouldn’t refuse; now that it was actually going to happen, he was still just as nervous. Closing his eyes, he began the routine he’d found worked best to help him relax. Letting his limbs sink into the mattress, he tensed each muscle in turn and then released it, working up from his toes, his ankles, his calves, his knees, his thighs. When he reached his chest, he began to breathe deeply, long, slow breaths that purged more of his tension with each exhalation. You want this, he reminded himself. You want to give this to Devon. It’s going to be good, so good…. His erection bobbed against his abdomen, all the relaxation techniques in the world useless to quell his arousal at the thought of what was to come.

  Sinking fast into his headspace, Jonathan was caught by surprise at the dip of the mattress, his eyelids heavy when they fluttered open at Devon’s weight settling onto the bed. Devon smiled at him, running the backs of his knuckles over the stubble on Jonathan’s cheek. “God, you’re beautiful,” Devon murmured, bending down for a gentle kiss. “Need to take care of a couple things before you get too deep, though.” Jonathan nodded, and Devon held his gaze. “Do you want me to wear a glove?”

  Jonathan shook his head, then forced himself to answer out loud. “No—no glove. Want to feel you, know it’s your skin touching me.”

  Devon nodded. He wanted that too, but he’d needed to offer Jonathan the choice. “I’ve trimmed all my nails nice and short, and luckily I don’t have any open cuts.” Given the intensity of the fight scenes during filming, that couldn’t always be said. “What about the wax—want it off first?”

  Jonathan shook his head again. “Leave it?” he asked, wanting to know that Devon would still see the way he’d marked him.

  “Roll over,” Devon urged as Jonathan turned onto his stomach. “Scoot up on your knees a bit.” Jonathan settled into the new position, feeling a bit vulnerable as he presented himself and Devon spread his cheeks, examining him. Relax, he told himself again, breathing deeply. Trust Devon.

  “This needs to go,” Devon decided, brushing at the trails of wax that had dripped down Jonathan’s crease. As much as he admired the contrast of deep purple wax against pale skin, he wouldn’t risk any of it getting inside. Unfolding the thick, fluffy towel he’d brought from the bathroom onto the bed beneath them, he spread Jonathan open again. “This will hurt a bit,” he warned, peeling away the first blotch of congealed wax.

  The pull of hairs caught in the wax stung, but no worse than removing a Band-Aid, Jonathan decided. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, he endured having the rest of the wax removed from his crease, humming when Devon smoothed a cool, soothing lotion over the sensitized skin.

  “Lube.” Devon chuckled at Jonathan’s contented sigh. “Get used to it—going to be using a lot, more than you’re used to, probably. And anytime you need more, tell me, all right?”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Jonathan agreed, finding it hard to form words again. He let his knees slide a little farther apart, the gentle, rhythmic touch of Devon’s fingers gliding down his cleft calming him, settling him. When a fingertip skittered over his entrance, he moaned softly, a tremble shaking him. “Please.”

  “Not yet,” Devon countered, his fingers never faltering in their tender caress, his other hand reaching below Jonathan to circle his cock. “Want you to come for me first.” His lubed palm slid over the silken skin, measuring its length in steady strokes that matched the pace of his fingertips, his thumb flicking over the head each time he skated over the puckered opening that clenched at every contact.

  “Want to—come—when you’re—inside—me—” Jonathan protested, his voice breaking each time Devon’s fingers teased him.

  “You’ll be much more relaxed if you come first,” Devon purred into Jonathan’s ear, leaning forward to lap at the salty skin of Jonathan’s neck. When he felt droplets of fluid welling from the slit below his thumb, he let the tip of his finger just press inside, barely enough to stretch the guardian muscle.

  Jonathan moaned louder, his hips arching into Devon’s touch, but his lover refused to be rushed, keeping to the same steady, maddening pace. Each stroke sent Jonathan soaring higher and sinking deeper, until his awareness shrank down to only Devon’s hands, stroking him, tantalizing him, kindling a heat that spread through his veins until it consumed him. With a hoarse cry, he stiffened under Devon’s touch and came hard, his body shuddering with each pulse that erupted from him until he collapsed against the mattress, totally spent.

  The strangled sound reached Kit’s ears, pulling him from his self-pity. He jumped to his feet before he could consider the wisdom of it and started toward the bedroom. Yes, he knew Jonathan had asked for whatever was going on in there, and no, he didn’t think Devon would abuse that trust, but he had to make sure. Still trying to move quietly, he climbed the stairs, skipping the third step with the squeaky tread. He wouldn’t intrude unless he had to, but he needed to see for himself. When he arrived, though, he realized immediately that the cry he’d heard had been one of pleasure. He recognized the limp relaxation in Jonathan’s pose.

  Easing his hand from beneath Jonathan’s damp stomach, Devon lifted his temporarily boneless lover just long enough to position a pillow underneath him. He turned his head for a moment, brushing the hair from his forehead and taking a deep breath to ready himself. Resuming the slow stroke of his fingers down Jonathan’s crease, he added more lube and slid one finger inside, meeting, as he’d expected, even less than the normal resistance. He slid the finger in and out slowly, twisting it inside the clinging sheath until it moved freely, adding more lube and using several more slow, curling thrusts to distribute it before inserting a second finger. He knew Jonathan could take a third finger, even a fourth, with little more preparation, but this was as much about preparing Jonathan’s mind as it was his body, and Devon wasn’t about to rush either one.

  Jonathan was still floating on the glow of his orgasm when Devon’s finger breached him, so gently he barely felt the penetration. The unbroken rhythm kept him hovering on that blissful plateau, filling him and receding and filling him again with the inexorable consistency of waves bathing the shore. His breathing slowed and steadied, matching the ebb and flow of Devon’s fingers: breathe in—fill; breathe out—withdraw; breathe in—fill and twist. A peaceful lassitude embraced him, so much that to arch his hips into Devon’s touch, even to give voice to the pleasure
he was feeling, would take more energy than he could muster. Devon knows what you’re feeling, his heart told him. Devon will give you what you need.

  When Devon could curl two fingers inside without resistance, he added more lube and slipped in a third finger, letting them rub for the first time over Jonathan’s prostate. That won a moan from his blissed-out lover, and he bent down over Jonathan’s back for a moment, chuckling. “Just checking you were still with me,” he rumbled. Jonathan muttered something that might have been “bastard,” but Devon couldn’t be sure, the pillows swallowing most of the sound. He took his time stroking and twisting, only occasionally nudging Jonathan’s gland with the steady motions.

  Kit didn’t know what he expected, but at the moment, he saw only the familiar sight of Devon fingering Jonathan’s arse. Three fingers, to be sure, but Devon had done that before, to him as well. More than that, though, Kit recognized the acceptance in Jonathan’s posture. He wanted this, and however uncomfortable that made Kit, it was still Jonathan’s choice. Forcing himself to stay outside the room in the shadows, he continued to watch the scene playing out in the light of the dimmed chandelier.

  By the time he’d eased a fourth finger past Jonathan’s relaxed muscle, Devon’s own erection had returned, hard and hot. This was as far as he’d ever taken Jonathan with his fingers, and his cock wanted what usually came next. Ignoring its insistent throb, he twisted his hand in the same slow rhythm, spreading the fingers as much as he could to stretch the muscle for what was coming next.