Three Men and a Woman: Annabelle (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (16 page)

He used his hands on her hips to control her as she started to resist that near-painful, wicked invasion. “Don’t even try, puss. You know you want it.”

She felt every inch of him slide in, stretching, filling. She whimpered a little with the exquisite strain of it as her body accommodated to his size.

Kevin groaned out in triumphant pleasure, keeping her hips held tight as he ground into her.

In the meantime, Ro had torn off his shirt and worked his pants open to release his dick. He gripped her hair, holding her head back while he rubbed his cock over her lips. “Here, babe. Suck me.”

She opened and took him in. He restrained her head, taking charge of the depth of his penetration, at the same time he started milking one nipple.

By the sounds of it, they were both very happy. And she was, too. She loved having their cocks fill her, loved the way they used her body, even loved their dom tendencies.

She knew that Ro wouldn’t come in her mouth. When they wanted a double-fuck, they went for the gold, taking her ass and cunt.

As she predicted, after a few deep thrusts, Ro pulled out of her mouth. “Lay her back.”

“Fuck, yeah. Come on, puss.”

Kevin put his hands beneath her breasts and pulled her back against him. They adjusted positions a bit, angling her until Kev had a little room for thrusting, and her pussy was wide open, all ready for that second cock.

Kev’s hands clutched her breasts, working her nipples. Ro knelt between her legs.

“Suck her, man.” Kev said, the devil. “Make her come again before we double-team her.”

Ro was already tugging at her clit, watching her with a fiendish gleam in his eyes. “Now there’s a fine idea, right, babe?”

“No,” Annabelle moaned. She didn’t think she could take it. She was so full of Kevin’s cock and already wracked by that last orgasm. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t make her come again while they double-fucked her. “Just fuck me, Ro. I can’t take more than that.”

The devil grinned and looked at Kev. “Sounds like a challenge. I’m going down.”

Abruptly he closed his hot mouth over her clit. He sucked her in, using his tongue to stroke her.

Within minutes she was panting, trying to arch away from him, chanting, “No, no.”

Kevin rolled her nipples, squeezing them just the way she loved. He took advantage of her efforts to escape Ro’s wicked mouth, thrusting into her every time she moved. All the while, he encouraged her, urging her on. “Come on, puss. Let him eat you. Your cunt tastes so good.”

Pretty soon she wasn’t so sure she was trying to escape Ro’s mouth as much as seek it, not trying to wriggle away so much as bring herself down on Kev’s thrusting cock. But she was still chanting, “No, no.” Until she was moaning it. Then screaming it.

She came hard, bucking back against Kev’s hard body, rocking up to get the most stimulation to her clit.

She was hardly aware as the men spoke. Kevin was urging Ro to hurry it the fuck up because he was about to come. Ro was telling Kev to hold her legs open.

She hadn’t even started to come down when Ro drove himself deep into her. Kevin had grabbed her legs and pulled her wide open. Both of them slammed into her. Nothing gentle about it, just both studs rutting into her. No polite turn taking, but great, hard, simultaneous fucks. Ro mauled her tits, arching back and howling his pleasure. Kevin had her splayed open, using the grasp he had on her thighs as counter to his thrusts.

Annabelle was helpless as they heaved into her. She was so full with them, so stretched that each movement overstimulated her, each thrust made her shriek. She had a prolonged, frantic climax, driven higher and higher until she was insane with it, convulsing endlessly.

Ro and Kev were lost to it, also, wildly fucking, their bodies pumping into her, their breaths exhaling in feral groans and curses. It seemed they drove each other on until they both came to a frenzied peak. They shoved into her then held, the force of their thrusts lifting her up, impaled. Then they spasmed, their hot cum flooding into her, warming and soothing her.

Annabelle wasn’t sure she was entirely conscious for what happened next. The three of them spent a long time collapsed on the couch, waiting for breath and sanity to return. Then one of them lifted her and carried her to bed. She fell asleep, encircled by four strong male arms.

It was two weeks later, nearly dusk on a long California evening, when Annabelle knocked on Bill’s door. She’d come unannounced. She’d spoken with her parents just a few days ago, and they’d told her they were taking a break and traveling to the coast for a couple weeks.

She knew what to read between those lines now, knew where to find them.

She had to bite back a grin when her father answered the door. He wasn’t just surprised, but stunned. He stuttered, and his face turned red.

“Annie,” he sputtered. “Is everything okay?”

She’d never been to Bill’s house. In fact, she’d rarely seen him since she’d moved out of her parents’ home after college. Annabelle suspected they’d always made sure that her visits never coincided with Bill’s. Still, she’d known him well through her childhood, and they’d always kept in touch in a casual way by exchanging Christmas cards and an occasional e-mail.

Bill’s house was typical Silicon Valley—all sharp angles of glass, stone, and wood. It contrasted distinctly with her parents’ home, which was an old brownstone whose edges were softened by age, filled with furnishings that were also old, soft, and welcoming.

Her father finally collected himself and invited her in, wrapping her in a warm hug. She glanced around, noticing that the interior matched the exterior. The fixtures and furniture had more of the same glass and wood and angles.

“Yes,” she assured him. “I’m fine. I just wanted to see you and Mom.” And Bill. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, come in.” He held her arm and pulled her through the great room. He paused to switch off the big screen, where he’d been watching tennis. He took her through the house to an outdoor stone terrace. “Here, have a seat. I’ll go get your mother.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “And Bill’s here, too, uh, of course.”

He turned and escaped, still rattled in a way she’d never seen. He’d pointed her to a lovely seating area. It was more sleek wood that matched the outdoor dining set but made comfortable by deep cushions. The chairs formed an arc around a fire pit and faced out over the terrace wall for a view of formal, xeriscaped gardens.

She didn’t sit, but wandered along the edge of the terrace, thinking about what was likely happening in the house. She imagined a flurry of activity as her father fetched her mother and Bill. It was both sweet and awkward that she suspected they’d been in Bill’s bed making love.

She thought of her father watching tennis alone while her mother and Bill were elsewhere. No doubt, as lovers in a ménage approached their sixties, there were more one-on-one sexual encounters and fewer gang bangs. Then she remembered the sex-party she’d had with Ro and Kevin the night before and reconsidered. Nothing satisfied them or her like having her body stuffed with two throbbing cocks.

She was going to be gone for a few days, they’d complained, practically pouting, the night before. She couldn’t expect them not to want to fuck her crazy, and repeatedly, before she left. She’d been warned to expect more of the same when she got back.

She wasn’t just expecting it. She was counting on it. And getting hot just thinking about it.

She pulled herself back as her father returned. He carried a tray with a California red, a French loaf, and small bowls of olives, roasted garlic, and Asiago. He busied himself opening and pouring the wine, telling her that her mother and Bill would be out shortly.

Annabelle and her father had toasted each other and sipped a fair share of wine before her mother came. It was clear she’d showered, anxious, Annabelle suspected, to not carry with her the scent of lovemaking.

The women hugged each other warmly, and Annabelle calmed the mother-worry that had assumed the worst.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to see you. To talk to you. And you, too, Bill.”

He’d stood at the glass door, watching the reunion of mother and daughter. He was a tall, handsome man. Virile, Annabelle thought, seeing him in a light she hadn’t discerned before. And, she saw, so clearly in love with her mother.

She hugged him, too, with a kiss that brought the roughness of his evening beard against her cheek. It was a sensation that produced another awkward thought, conjecture about whether her mother had whisker burns in some of the same places Annabelle did.

They spent a few minutes busy with passing around bread and wine and talking with Bill about his lovely home and grounds. But no one sat, and after a while conversation died.

The three older adults—all her parents, she should think—looked to her.

They knew she was there for something more than an impromptu visit.

She looked back at the three of them, knowing that they loved each other and that they loved her. What she had to say to them wasn’t wrong.

But still not all the way easy. She took a sip of wine for courage.

“I want to tell you, all of you, that I’m in love. Seriously in love. With two men.”

They all three looked at her, then at each other. Her mother lifted one hand, fingers to her lips. “Annie,” she whispered.

“I’m going to marry them. Well, one at a time. I’m going to have their babies. We’ll be a family.” She paused, looking at each of them. “Like you three.”

Her mother let out a wordless cry. Bill and her father gave Annie the same hard, searching look before, as one, they went to her mother. They hugged her between them just as Rowen and Kevin had hugged Annabelle a thousand times.

Tears streamed down her mother’s face. Bill turned her to look at him. Wiping at the tears, he touched his lips to hers. “I love you, Grace.” Then he kissed her again, long, deeply. When he let her go, she turned to Annabelle’s father.

“James,” she said. And he kissed her, too, just as Bill had.

In another moment her mother stood before Annabelle. “Honey,” she said and opened her arms.

Then the two women, both loved by two men, held each other.

* * * *

Two men, Annabelle thought as she stood outside another door, this one three hundred and fifty miles away. Should be enough for any woman.

So why was she here on the front porch of a small bungalow off Wilshire Boulevard?

She’d spent three days with her parents and Bill. After those first moments of awkwardness, the four of them had, indeed, felt like family. They’d laughed and chatted. Her mother, the focus of gazing and touching for two handsome men, glowed in that very way Annabelle remembered from the first night Bill had come to their home. Grace was a very happy woman—more so now, she said, that she didn’t have to live a deception with her only child.

Annabelle told them about Rowen and Kevin and the life they planned to make in New York. Rowen, master manipulator, was already hunting for a large house with plenty of rooms for a growing family and a yard with space for a playhouse and a dog.

She did not plan to tell them about Braeden. But her mother, sharp and perceptive as ever, broached it one early morning while they were alone having coffee on the terrace.

“You’re very happy, Annie,” she said. “I can see it, and I’m so glad for it. But you’re sad, too. What is it?”

“Oh, Mama.” The two women sat side by side on a glider, and Annabelle laid her head down on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother took her hand. “There’s a third man. Braeden. He and Ro and Kevin have been friends since college. I love him, too.” He’d been gone from her for two weeks, and every day had hurt.

“Oh, my.” Grace let out a low chuckle. “Leave it to my daughter to have a good thing and want more.”

“But I can’t have it,” she said, burrowing into that comforting shoulder. “Brae doesn’t want me. Or, rather, he doesn’t want—”

“To share you?”

“Um-hmm.”

“Well, it’s easy to understand that, isn’t it? Most men would have a hard time sharing a woman, if they loved her, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. It seems easy for Dad and Bill. And for Rowen and Kevin.”

“Agreed. But I think that’s unusual, yeah? I mean, would you be willing to share them?”

“You mean with some tall, thin blonde, a bleached, augmented, and Brazilianed cu—uh, strumpet, who lusts after my men?”

Her mom chuckled. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“No way.”

“Well, then.”

“But we all love each other. I know it’s true.”

“So he’ll have to decide which he can live with better—sharing you, or not having you at all. Those are his choices, aren’t they? You wouldn’t be with him outside your—”

“There’s a word for it. Ménage.”

“Yes, okay. Ménage.”

“No. I guess I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.” And that was maybe what she’d needed to learn. That was what she’d needed her mom for.

“Then Braeden has to decide for himself. He’s the only one who can.”

So what was she to say here at Braeden’s door? I was in the neighborhood? From home, she could be in twelve different states and not have traveled so far.

Maybe, when she’d flown to California, it had been in the back of her mind that she could still love Braeden, still
be
with him even if he wouldn’t live with the three of them in New York. But her mother was right. It could only be one way. And he had to choose.

So she knocked. Only the screen door was closed, and she could see through to the back of the house where another open door led to a screened porch. It was a house built before air-conditioning was common, taking advantage of circulating air and enveloping shade trees to cool.

She knocked harder, louder, when there was no answer.

After the third time, she got a response. “Go away!”

She smiled. He was out on that back porch, writing. And no more tolerant of interruptions than he’d been when he was in New York.

She didn’t keep the laugh out of her voice. “Braeden, it’s Annabelle.”