Grace Under Fire (4 page)

Colin’s chuckle of agreement rumbled across her skin even as his tongue kept up its ministrations. Reaching down between them with a free hand, he fisted the shaft in rhythm with the fingers sliding in and out of her arse. Atticus’s free hand roamed over her back and around to cup her breast, teasing and tugging at the nipple until sensation crowded out every rational thought. There was so much pleasure, too much. Her mind and body couldn’t keep up with everything they were doing to her, with her, for her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said breathlessly.

“Take his cock in your mouth,” Atticus instructed.

Colin pointed the silky head upward, and she did as Atticus bid, engulfing the downy skin and rigid shaft with her lips. Once she had him there, instinct took over, and she bobbed her head up and down, taking him further back into her throat with each successive pass.

Immersed in sensation, she lost track of time and space, of everything except the gathering storm within her body. Dimly, she was aware that Atticus withdrew his hand from her breast and pumped his own cock, that he had added a third finger to the two pistoning her arse. Just when was sure she had reached the pure pinnacle of pleasure, Colin slipped two fingers inside her pussy, filling her to bursting.

And burst she did. A kaleidoscope of colors burst behind her eyelids as rapture swamped her, her body flying apart even as her muscles clamped down with viselike urgency around the fingers still working inside her. The only thing that kept her cries of pleasure from alerting the entire household to their activities was Colin’s cock thrusting in and out of her mouth.

“Grace, darling,” he groaned, “I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”

The words redoubled her joy, extending her climax. She wanted to make him come, wanted to give him even a small taste of the paradise he and Atticus were giving her.

Suddenly, his cock stiffened and jerked, and in seconds, she understood why he had warned her as thick, tangy fluid spurted down her throat. For a second, she feared she would choke, but she quickly caught up to this turn of events, sucking and swallowing his seed as, shuddering, he took the Lord’s name in vain.

Behind her, Atticus made a noise of his own in his throat, and she realized he was coming, too. When Colin’s cock stilled in her mouth and began to soften slightly, she released him and turned her head to look back at Atticus. Fascinated, she watched as milky liquid squirted from his shaft and onto her back. With a smile, he bent over and bestowed her with a long, sweet kiss.

At last, she thought she understood how this could work. Would work.

Her decision was made.

They departed for Gretna Green the night after the encounter at Lady Aberdeen’s, stopping only to change horses despite Grace’s certainty that her father would not attempt a pursuit. By the time her parents woke to find her gone, her reputation would already be irrevocably damaged. There would be no point in trying to save her.

Two days later, she was utterly beyond saving. The heavy ruby ring Colin had slipped onto her finger at the end of the ceremony over the anvil was testament to that. For better or worse, she was Colin’s wife.

And Atticus’s what? Consort? Concubine?

A strange arrangement and one she doubted anyone—with the possible exception of Lady Aberdeen—would ever understand let alone sanction. Not that it mattered. Sitting in the carriage with Atticus beside her, his fingers laced through hers, and Colin across from her, one slippered foot massaging her calf, she knew she would never be unhappy with these two men to love and cherish her.

And take her to heights of ecstasy she never dreamed possible.

Now that she fully understood what taking both men together would mean, the combination of arousal and apprehension building inside her had become nearly unbearable. Just the thought of having both their cocks inside her body at once—one in her pussy, the other in her arse—made her sex tingle with desire. But she was anxious, too. Though she trusted them never to hurt her, despite all they had showed her these past few days, she didn’t know entirely what to expect.

Atticus gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. We’ll take it as slow as you need.”

“Or as fast as you want,” Colin added with a low laugh.

The coach lurched to a halt in front of the inn, and Grace’s stomach lurched with it. This was it. No going back now.

The driver opened the door, and Colin stepped out first, extending his hand to help her down to the cobbled walk. Atticus followed, instructing the driver to have their valises sent up to their room. If the driver thought it odd the three of them would have only one room, he did not let on.

While Colin secured their lodgings, Grace stood on shaky legs next to Atticus, barely registering her surroundings. At last, Colin turned and nodded toward the staircase that led up to the bedchambers. Grace and Atticus followed him at a discreet distance. While their personal driver might be inured to their proclivities, the regular denizens of the hamlet of Gretna Green might not be so forgiving.

Colin made it easy for them to find the room by leaving the door open. At the end of the narrow corridor, the chamber was clean, spacious, and warm due to the fire blazing in the hearth. Not that they were likely to need the heat it provided. She fancied they would generate more than enough of their own on the bed which, though larger than she was accustomed to, would nonetheless be a tight fit for the three of them.

“Ready for your wedding night, Lady Fitzgerald?” Colin asked, extending his hand.

Trembling, she slipped her palm inside his and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

She heard Atticus close the door as Colin pulled her into his arms and lowered his mouth, capturing her lips in a fierce, demanding kiss. She opened her mouth to the onslaught, the banked embers of desire within her flaring to life as his tongue swept inside. By the time he broke the kiss, any hesitation she’d felt had been reduced to so much ash.

Colin and Atticus undressed her quickly and efficiently, and then, while she lay in the center of the bed watching them, disrobed themselves.

Their bodies were still a marvel to her. Where Colin was all long and lean muscle tightly corded and drawn over a loose, lanky frame, Atticus was broad and thick, his musculature and bone structure heavier and sturdier in appearance. Their cocks, to her delight, followed the overall layout of their bodies, Colin’s long, Atticus’s thick. As with everything else about the two men, she couldn’t have chosen which she liked better. She wanted them both—to touch, to taste, to fill her body.

When they were both nude, they stretched out on the bed alongside her, Colin on her left, Atticus on her right.

Colin cupped the breast nearest him in his hand and flicked his thumb across her nipple. “I think we should begin with something familiar, don’t you, Atticus? To ease our nerves.”

They were nervous? The thought made her smile. They must have done this many times before, while she was a pure novice.

“I agree,” Atticus said, sliding a hand down over her abdomen, “but I think it is my turn to taste this delightful pussy.”

“Fair enough.” Colin brushed his lips against her cheek and whispered in her ear, “Open your legs, darling.”

As Atticus got to his knees, Grace parted her thighs. He settled between them, hooking her legs over his shoulders. She quivered with anticipation of the touch of his mouth, but before he obliged her, he parted her damp, swollen flesh and brushed his thumb over the pulsing core of her desire.

“Such a lovely, juicy clitoris,” he murmured, his tone almost reverent. “No wonder you’re so responsive, sweetheart.”

His thumbs spread her nether lips, exposing her tender, aching core to the sweeping caress of his tongue. Her hips rose involuntarily to meet his mouth, to deepen the contact she so desperately craved. When at last he stroked her purpose, she realized the way he’d stretched her folds intensified the sensation, bringing her almost immediately to the brink of climax.

“Don’t come yet, sweetheart,” Colin warned. “I can make it even better for you.”

Grace couldn’t fathom how that was possible, but then he sucked one nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue in stunning rhythm to Atticus’s mouth between her thighs. Her legs shook with the effort of staving off her release as the pressure coiled, tighter and tighter, until she feared she wouldn’t explode, but implode, collapsing in upon herself with the sheer weight of the pleasure. Colin’s hand slid down to her belly, kneading the taut muscles there.

She couldn’t hold back any longer, but she tried. Then, suddenly, she was arching, bucking, shuddering, the ecstasy so intense it bordered on agony. She heard someone sob, and dimly realized it was herself before Colin’s lips covered hers, absorbing her pleasure-pain into himself.

When it was over, Atticus lay back down alongside her as Colin rolled atop her, positioning his hips between her spread-eagled legs.

The tip of his cock pressed against her entry, and her breath caught.
Finally.
She shifted her hips, wanting to accommodate him, longing for him to fill her.

“This may hurt at first,” he said gently as he eased forward, “but you’re wet and ready, and I’m damned if I can wait any longer.”

He was right. It did hurt, just a bit, but it was a nothing, a trifle compared to the miracle of having him inside her. Once seated to the hilt, he began to move, thrusting in and out in an
easy, measured rhythm. The same spiraling tension she’d experienced earlier built again in her belly, but she knew his tempo was too slow, too gentle to bring her to orgasm again.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked, his features taut.

“No, it’s wonderful.”

He let out a groan of relief. “Good, because I don’t think I can stop myself from riding you hard, sweetheart. You’re like paradise, and I can’t get inside you far enough or fast enough. Atticus,” he ordered gruffly, “hold her legs for me. Give me more cunt.”

The words sent a spear of pulsing need straight to her core. She’d nearly forgotten Atticus’s presence, although now she realized he had been there all along, watching and waiting.

His hands slipped beneath her knees, pulling her legs back and steadying them as Colin picked up his pace. “Oh God, that’s it,” he grunted. “Nothing but pussy.”

The new angle of her body and the increased speed of Colin’s thrusts were all she needed to collapse into another climax. Weak and boneless, she didn’t think to protest or ask questions when Atticus released her legs and Colin pulled her tight to his chest and rolled her on top of him.

Atticus dropped a kiss on her mouth. “It’s time, sweetheart.”

She blinked in momentary confusion, and then she remembered. He meant it was
that
time. The time when they would both be inside her.

Her skin tingled. The idea aroused her terribly, almost obscenely, but dear heaven, with only Colin inside of her, she was full to bursting. How could she accommodate both of them at once?

Colin must have sensed her hesitation, because he said, “Remember how much you enjoyed it when Atticus fucked your arse with his fingers?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her inner muscles flexing around his cock at the word
fucked
. A word that sounded as wicked and wonderful as the act itself.

“We’ll start with that, then, and only go further if you want to,” Atticus said firmly. “I’ll start slow and go gently. All right?”

She could only nod in answer.

Atticus was as good as his word. After pouring a slippery oil between her buttocks, he pushed one finger past the tight ring of muscles. As it had the first time, the invasion burned, but only for a brief second.

Colin held her hips steady with both hands and resumed his thrusts, while Atticus worked his finger in and out of her arse in counter-rhythm. Dear heaven, it was too much, too intense, too exquisite. A second finger joined the first. Now a third, until she felt stretched to the very limits of her endurance.

But still she wanted more.

“Sweetheart,” Atticus rasped, his respiration painfully irregular, “do you think you can take my cock?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Thank God.”

The fingers withdrew, leaving her strangely empty considering Colin was still embedded in her pussy. The next thing she felt was the firm yet gentle pressure of Atticus’s cock easing its way inside her. Although he worked slowly and with infinite patience, she couldn’t help wincing as its round head—so much larger than even three of his fingers—passed the resistant ring of muscles and lodged within her.

Colin brushed her hair back from her face. “Do you want him to stop, darling?”

Closing her eyes, she willed herself to relax, to turn herself over completely to their care. Already, the discomfort was dissipating to become a strange, icy-hot burning pleasure that seemed at once intolerable and indispensable.

“No,” she gasped, surprised by the breathiness of her voice, “I want more.”

“More what, sweetheart?” Atticus asked, his lips caressing the outer rim of her ear. “Tell us exactly what you want, and we’ll give it to you.”

Her cheeks heated. They wanted her to say the words, to use the language they did. Just thinking them made her hotter, more aroused. To speak them aloud…

“More cock,” she whispered, though she didn’t know where she found the courage. But once they were out, she was emboldened. “I want you both to fuck me. Together. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Jesus, Atticus,” Colin groaned on a half-laugh, “now look what you’ve done.”

Atticus grunted, not laughing at all. “I know exactly what we’ve started. Now, let’s finish it.”

Grace held her breath as inch by slow, steady inch, Atticus tunneled in. By the time his cock was buried in her arse, she was a tightly wound ball of sensation, awed and thrilled by her body’s ability to accommodate them both. A perfect match for her heart.

Colin moved first. He drew back, his cock dragging across her swollen, sensitized flesh, then plunged back in. Atticus moved in counterpoint, withdrawing as Colin rocked in, pushing in as Colin pulled out.

Someone moaned, “Oh, God, yes.” Herself.

Atticus’s hands came around her torso to tweak and pull at her nipples, sending ripples of lust to the place Colin teased with each thrust of his cock.

More. More. More.

Had she spoken aloud? She wasn’t sure. But more was what they gave her, until finally the pressure gave way and unraveled, rolling itself out like a ball of yarn in strand after strand of convulsive ecstasy. As the shudders overtook her, she registered Atticus, groaning and stiffening, and the short, sharp jerks of his cock deep inside her arse, and then Colin, grinding upward into her pussy one last time before he came, too with a silent shudder.

They lay there for some time afterward, still joined, panting in a jerky sort of unison, three hearts hammering as one.

“You see, darling,” Colin said when at last he’d caught his breath, smiling up at her.

“You were made for this. For us.”

She smiled back, triumph and joy surging in her veins. Clumsy, inept, hopelessly awkward Grace Hannington had at last found one thing she could do well—pleasure the men she loved.