by Pam Godwin
“Take off your clothes.” His green eyes swirled with intensity. “I won’t tell you again.”
The only aphrodisiac she needed was the command in his voice. Hearing his salacious order and knowing he expected her to obey, she didn’t realize until now how much she wanted to be dominated by a man she trusted.
Not just any man.
These two men.
Martin wasn’t just telling her what he wanted. He was telling her what she wanted because somehow, he knew better than she did what that was.
His hand gave her throat a warning squeeze and slid away.
Lying on her back between them, she toed off her sneakers. As they thumped to the floor, excitement charged the air.
Martin pushed himself into a sitting position and rested back against the wall. His eyes hooded as they honed in on the wetness between her legs. Wet from the shower. Mostly.
She released the fly on her jeans as her other deeper wetness turned into an inferno, throbbing to be extinguished.
Sadly, there would be no sex with them tonight. Not without birth control. It was a frustrating thought, but she wouldn’t let it kill her mood.
The denim was the dampest around her butt, making it awkward to slide the material down her legs. Ricky helped her pull it off. Then he tackled her shirt, ripping it over her head before she could stop him. Not that she would have.
“Goddamn.” He pried her thighs apart and knelt between them. “Be still. Just let me digest this for a second.”
A voracious tremor rippled through her, and her rabbit heart pattered toward certain death.
She peeked over at Martin to see hungry green eyes studying her from beneath golden lashes. He tipped his head in admiration, angling for a view of the fabric between her legs.
A whoosh pulled through her stomach as his searing gaze drifted along her inner thighs. His expression was as predatory as his posture. Casual and confident, patient and threatening, he reminded her of a lazy lion, watching his meal, waiting for it to come a little closer before he played with it.
She ripped her eyes away as a finger traced the tattered strap of her bra.
Ricky followed the edge where the broken lace met the upper curve of her breast.
“This is what I put on…” A stinging memory clogged her voice. “The morning Vera called me. The last time I talked to her. I threw on some clothes and raced out the door. I had no idea the mismatched bra and undies I absently chose would be the only ones I would wear for the next five years.”
His brow pulled down over the shadows collecting in his stricken eyes. He gently caressed the off-white bra cups, carefully touching the unraveling holes along the underside.
Lowering his hand, he glided the backs of his fingers down the faded purple triangle that covered her pubic bone.
She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of his expert touch. “I had this one set that was burgundy satin with lace trim. The flirty panties were low cut, lots of cheek peek with a cage-back. You know, with the crisscross lattice that shows off the top half of the butt crack?”
“No. Jesus.” He groaned. “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds sexy as fuck.”
“Yeah. It was.” Regret pinched her chest. “I wish I would’ve thrown on that set before I rushed out the door. Now it’s gone, along with everything else in my life.”
“I’m here.” He lowered onto her, chest to chest, and braced his weight on his arms. “Martin’s here, and we’re going to make you very happy that we are.”
“Martin? Are you sure?” She peeked around Ricky to lift a brow at the quiet, watchful man in question. “He’s selfish with his body. He lets us look, but no one’s allowed to touch.”
“I’ll work on him, but right now, I’m going to work on you.”
He kissed her long and deep, sending languorous curls of fire through her veins. The warm glide of his tongue ignited her pulse. The hard press of his muscles melted her limbs, and the heady buzz of his presence made her want. Oh, God, how she wanted him.
He released her mouth to trail a scorching path of kisses down her neck. His hands slipped beneath her and deftly removed her bra. As he bent over her breasts, his pink tongue slid between his lips. She wanted it between her legs, and the thought made her hot and restless.
He licked her nipples, and she struggled to remain still. He nibbled and bit, torturing her, making her gasp. She tried to squirm away, but not really.
She needed him. Needed every atom in his body. She wanted to fuse with him at a molecular level so that nothing or no one could tear them apart.
Not just him. She craved them both.
Martin raised his heated gaze from Ricky’s mouth on her breast and met her eyes. His fingers moved along his thigh, drawing a winding line as if he were tracing her body. It was profoundly seductive, fucking with her breathing and setting her skin afire.
“How’s your head?” she panted.
“Fine. How’s your pussy?”
She moaned. “Wet. Come here.”
“Lie still and shut up.”
She gave him the side eye.
“Do as you’re told.” He gripped her panties and yanked one side down her thigh.
Ricky took over, sliding the threadbare cotton off while being mindful not to rip them.
Then she was bare, totally nude and utterly exposed beneath the weight of their eyes. They took in the dark hair between her legs, their nostrils pulsing and expressions burning with desire.
Her body was completely natural and all her. No creams, perfumes, polishes, powders, dyes, waxes, surgeries, or enhancements of any kind. But they liked what they saw, and she kind of loved them for that.
“Open your legs,” Martin said.
She submitted without hesitation, relishing the way he controlled her. Both her and Ricky.
Ricky was domineering in his own right, but when he was with Martin, he let his friend take the reins. She adored the dynamic, loved that they didn’t compete against each other for attention or dominance.
Each of their roles in this threesome felt natural, fitting together seamlessly, effortlessly, without alterations or compromises.
Nothing in her life had ever been this easy or felt this right. It was as if some cosmic force had decided she deserved a chance at happiness, and poof, here they were, molding her into a woman who would never want anyone else but them.
“She’s lost in her head,” Martin said. “Rectify that.”
Ricky stretched her legs open and fit his wide shoulders between her thighs. Her heart stuttered as he lowered his mouth to her pussy.
The first touch of his lips bowed her back. He did it again, and she gulped uselessly for air, choking and trembling.
“Breathe.” Martin crawled in beside her and brushed her hair from her face. “Deep breaths.”
She inhaled slowly, unable to stop her thighs from squeezing around Ricky’s ears. “It’s been so long.”
“I know.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth.
He did know. Seven years without sex. She needed to understand why, but she wouldn’t push him. Not tonight.
“I don’t know if I can have an orgasm.” She stared down her body to find Ricky’s waiting gaze, the depths glimmering with promise. “I can do it on my own, but I haven’t tried in two years.”
“Give me your eyes,” Martin said.
She looked up and fell into a crystal green ocean.
“You’ve never come with another person?” He stroked a finger across her lips.
“No.”
“Lick her, Ricky. Do it slowly and draw it out.”
“I love it when you’re bossy.” Ricky grinned.
Then he buried that smile between her legs.
The firm, wet warmth of his tongue made her gasp. Martin caught her lips between his, kissing her soundly as Ricky brought her body to life with skillful licks and soft sucking pressure.
Her arms encircled Martin’s neck, and she kissed him back, hungrily eating at his mouth
while pulling him closer, tighter. She wanted him on top of her, inside her, deep and hard and more.
His dark, manly scent drugged her inhales. The potency of his hot skin on hers evaporated her brain cells. The taste of his breath pulled her hips up, spurring her to flex and grind against the diabolical swirl of Ricky’s tongue.
Two mouths worshiped her, kissing in sync and catching an urgent rhythm. Her entire body throbbed beneath the pure expertise of their tongues, and that was when she knew she would come.
Pleasure rose from dormancy, bursting from her core with a vengeance. There was no slow build or warning tingles. When the orgasm sparked, it blasted across her vision in Technicolor and shot full-body compression waves through her nerve endings, shaking her down to her soul.
She screamed their names, cursed them in four-letter words, and Martin devoured every syllable with his mouth over hers.
“I just died a thousand deaths.” She shivered against the lingering twitches of the best orgasm she’d ever had.
Ricky crawled up her body, his lips swollen and wet and curved in a breathtaking smile.
“You’re the reason the gods invented oral sex,” she said to him. Then she glanced at Martin, unable to ignore the massive bulge straining his briefs. “You should let Ricky use his mouth on—”
Martin grabbed a fistful of Ricky’s hair, and their lips collided. The kiss skipped slow and gentle and plunged straight into ferocious.
She scooted out of the way as they rose to their knees and crashed together. Their mouths moved violently, rabidly, sucking, biting, groaning, panting. Hands pulled at hair. Fingers clawed down backs. Their hips slammed, cocks grinding. They were fucking each other with only the barrier of underwear between them.
It was so beautiful, so utterly staggering it made her heart hurt.
Martin ripped his mouth away and stared at Ricky’s lips. Then he dove in again, his hand tangled in Ricky’s hair as he licked around Ricky’s open mouth, curling his tongue into the corners and the undersides of Ricky’s lips.
She stopped breathing as it dawned on her. Martin was lapping her come from Ricky’s face.
Martin leaned back, his gaze unfocused. “Fuck, she tastes…”
“Like resurrection.”
Her heart fainted. Then it hammered anew as she watched them stare at each other. The penetrating glares, stiff necks, and swollen need between their legs… The passing seconds hardened and condensed between them.
They weren’t finished.
She silently willed them to fall into each other and fuck until they passed out. But she didn’t say a word, didn’t move a muscle, afraid she would break the spell.
“Let me touch you.” Ricky looked down at Martin’s strained briefs. “Let me send you into ecstasy.”
“Tula.” Martin held Ricky’s gaze as he said to her, “Lie on your back and spread your legs.”
CHAPTER 22
Ricky’s pulse thundered in his ears as Tula moved into position.
With her thighs open and tits heaving, she lay like an erotic buffet spread out before him. He was five seconds from blowing a load in his boxers.
“You’re fucking gorgeous.” His gaze raked over her sensual body, making her shiver. “Can’t wait to bury my cock in your cunt.”
“Kneel between her legs.” Martin smacked Ricky’s ass so hard his breath cut off.
His lips pulled back, releasing a groan of pain, and his entire body tensed to spin around and punch Martin in the face. But he didn’t.
A sense of peace stole over him as he obeyed. And there was something else. Hunger. It raised his body temperature, accelerated his breaths, and blazed more blood to his cock.
His erection strained harder, taller, tenting his boxers and producing a wet spot at the crest.
Martin moved in behind him and curled a hand around his rigid length.
Fuck, he would never get used to the feel of that fist on his cock. He’d dreamed about it for so long it didn’t seem real.
Martin swiped his thumb over the crown, rubbing the slippery wet spot as he bit and licked along Ricky’s nape.
“Don’t stop.” Ricky dropped the weight of his head forward and groaned.
The sharp bite of teeth sank into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. Maddening pain gnawed through the muscle there, stabbing so hard and deep he was certain Martin drew blood.
The agony centered him, and his balls tightened in anticipation.
Beneath his bent position, Tula’s jaw dropped an inch, her eyes wide and glistening. “You’re hurting him.”
“Shhh.” Ricky slid his palm between her breasts, holding her to the mattress. “I like it. We both do. But Martin would never force you into edge play.”
“If you think I’m playing…” Martin grabbed Ricky’s nuts. “You don’t know me at all.”
That fist clenched viciously, squeezing without mercy. Black spots strobed across Ricky’s vision, and his stomach twisted with nauseating pain.
“Are you man enough to make me scream?” Ricky choked out.
“I’m mean enough to make sure you can’t.” Martin released Ricky’s testicles and cuffed his throat, instantly cutting off his airway.
Cruel fingers tightened without care, digging into his vulnerable esophagus as if intending to yank it out.
“You’re scaring me.” Tula’s face paled. “Let him go.” She jackknifed upward and pulled uselessly at Martin’s arm. “He can’t breathe!”
“I didn’t tell you to move.” The chilling calmness in Martin’s voice made her freeze.
Martin’s other hand imprisoned Ricky’s cock, stroking him ruthlessly, vigorously toward orgasm. He tried to shake his head, to tell her he wanted this, but he had no voice, no air, and no power to move.
She clutched her throat, her eyes watering as she looked down at Martin’s pumping fist.
The urgency to come had never felt so terrifyingly pleasurable, and she must’ve seen that in Ricky’s expression because she dropped back on the bed, her gaze lasering on his cock.
Martin’s fingers loosened on Ricky’s neck, allowing him to drag delicious gulps of air into his lungs. The instant he could breathe without choking, the hand cinched again, strangling his next inhale.
Tula watched with lust-filled eyes as Martin jerked Ricky off, stroking him expertly toward release. Right as Ricky reached the pinnacle, Martin stopped. The vise of his hand squeezed beneath the head of Ricky’s cock and stifled the orgasm, causing Ricky’s body to shake uncontrollably.
And so it went. Martin tortured him for an eternity, bringing him to the edge of climax, asphyxiating him to the brink of unconsciousness. Then he paused, gave Ricky air, and started again.
Each time grew rougher, harder, and more reckless until Martin started to go too far. Ricky felt a real fear of death beneath the hand on his throat. Midway between desire and unconsciousness, self-preservation kicked in, and he started to fight.
Martin released him and tangled that brutal hand in his hair, wrenching his neck at a painful angle.
“I’m going to fuck your ass.” The voice at Ricky’s ear spoke without emotion or familiarity. “I’ll do it dry while you’re tensing in fear. Once you’re nice and bloody, I’ll shove the handle of a hammer into that ruined hole and ram it hard.” Martin ground his erection against Ricky’s backside. “Every blow will drive so deep you’ll feel it in your stomach. The pain will own you, make you so fucking weak you’ll try to puke it out. I’ll shove your face in the vomit, make you lick up your own filth. When you start crying, because you will, motherfucker. You’ll cry like a goddamn faggot, and I’ll piss all over those whiny lips.”
A sickening feeling punched Ricky in the gut and sank to the pith of his stomach.
Van Quiso hadn’t put those images in Martin’s head. This was the creation of something much more sinister.
“Oh, no. Martin.” She rose to her knees and pressed a trembling hand against her mouth. Tears poured from her eyes as she shook
her head in horror. “Who did that to you?”
She stole the words out of Ricky’s head. His dick started to shrivel as he yanked his boxers back in place. Then he turned toward his best friend.
Martin’s arms lowered to his sides, and he went hauntingly still. His expression froze, vacant and eerie, as his glazed eyes stared off into the distance.
“Martin.” She touched his jaw, her voice thick with tears. “How old were you?”
His brows pinched together, and his breathing lunged into a wheezing panic.
He shoved off the bed and pivoted toward the wall, flattening his palms against it.
Heart racing, Ricky moved to comfort him.
“Don’t.” Martin dropped his head between his braced arms and sucked heavy gulps of air. “Stay there. Please.”
The please locked Ricky’s limbs. The desperation in Martin’s voice gutted him. Martin never pleaded. Never asked. Whatever compelled him to do it now held Ricky in place.
A sob sounded beside him, and he hooked an arm around her, pulling her onto his lap.
He clung to her, suffocating in the wake of Martin’s pain as he helplessly watched Martin put himself back together.
Agonizing minutes passed before Martin straightened and stepped toward the bed. Stitches and bruises marred his gorgeous features, but none of it detracted from his strength.
He stood tall and powerful, wearing only briefs. He didn’t need the armor of clothing or the security of a masked expression. He let Ricky and Tula see all of him—the soft bulge between his legs, the bobbing swallow in his throat, and the indelible memories of abuse in his eyes.
“How badly did I hurt you?” Martin asked.
“It was nothing that I didn’t want or couldn’t handle.” He shifted to one end of the pushed-together mattresses, taking Tula with him. “I know you don’t want to talk about why you—”
“I can’t.”
“Can you tell me about your parents?”
Ricky had asked that question numerous times, and the only answer he’d been given was Martin had a dad, as in once had but not anymore.
Had Martin’s father molested him? Was that the man he killed?
His silent glare confessed nothing, his lips refusing to answer.
