by Pam Godwin
“I never knew my dad.” Tula pulled the blanket over her, covering her nude body on Ricky’s lap. “And my mom couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I don’t know why. I never gave her any trouble and always did well in school. She and Vera were close, but she kept me at an arm’s distance. When I turned eighteen, she begged me to leave. To leave the city. The country. To just go away. So I did.” She sucked on her quivering bottom lip and released it. “She died seven years ago, and I miss her so much.”
Ricky slid a hand into her hair, raking his fingers along her scalp as he pulled her against him.
“I’m sorry, querida.” He kissed her head, his eyes locked on Martin, waiting.
“My mother left when I was two.” Martin lowered onto the far end of the mattress and leaned against the wall at his back. “I grew up on a small farm in Texas with my dad. He was a good man. Hardworking. He died from a stroke when I was fourteen.”
Orphaned at fourteen.
His heart caved in.
Based on his own experience, Ricky could draw conclusions about what happened to Martin. “I was given up at birth and spent my entire childhood in foster care. Fortunately, I was always placed with nice families.” He softened his voice. “No pedophiles or abusive foster dads.”
“I wasn’t put into foster care.”
“Orphanage?”
“No.”
“Then what—?”
“Fucking drop it, Ricky.”
All three of them had been victims of rape, and they coped with it in different ways. Martin’s experiences had been the worst by far, and Ricky knew he hadn’t heard the half of it.
He could be patient, but he would never stop trying to help Martin.
Tula adjusted her position on his lap. With her back to his chest, they faced Martin with the length of the mattress between them.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it.” She kept the blanket clutched to her chest. “But what do you want? What do you need?”
Martin’s eyes flashed. “Lower the blanket.”
“Oh.” She tensed against Ricky’s chest. After a reluctant moment, she tossed aside the cover.
“That is what I need.”
“You need my…?” She looked down at her breasts.
Ricky knew the answer before her head popped up.
“My obedience,” she breathed.
“Yes.” Martin inclined his head. “And your trust. Open your legs.”
After what she just witnessed, her trust was a helluva lot to ask for. The mood had been decimated, replaced with a stifling gloom in the air, but that didn’t stop Ricky’s cock from swelling again. The damn thing couldn’t ignore the gorgeous, naked woman on his lap.
Martin bent over the edge of the bed and reached for the box of supplies on the floor. The crinkling sound of a paper bag told Ricky what Martin was doing, and his body hardened in anticipation.
Tula gave him a look over her shoulder, one that said, I know that’s not a banana in your pocket.
“We don’t have condoms.” She turned back to Martin and stared at the foil packet he set between her legs. “Okay. Where did you get that?”
“Garra.” Martin returned to his perch against the wall. “He delivered a bag of them earlier today.”
“Garra?” A sound of surprise left her lips. “That’s why he has a broken nose. Which one of you punched him?”
“It might’ve been the one-armed man.” Ricky pressed his grin against her neck.
“I don’t care that you hurt him. I’m guessing Hector sent him with the condoms. I don’t think Garra gives a shit if I get pregnant.”
She was wrong. Garra had a lot more interest in her than what she believed, but Ricky didn’t want to talk about that bastard right now.
“Who does this belong to?” He cupped a hand between her spread legs and met Martin’s eyes.
“Ricky Martin.” She dropped her head back on his shoulder and chuckled. “My pussy belongs to Ricky Martin.”
Ricky slapped the silky, damp flesh, making her yelp. “You’re going to put that condom on me. Then you’re going to slide down in this exact position so Martin can watch your pussy lips stretch and suck on my cock.”
“Jesus, you’re dirty.” She melted against him, sighing. “Why does that turn me on so much?”
“Because you’re dirty, too.” He slid his touch along her slit, slowly working it up and down, teasing her.
Fuck him, she was tight and wet. He sank two fingers into her velvety heat and stroked her clenching muscles. His other hand cupped her breast, kneading the soft weight.
As she grew slick around his fingers, he curled them into a beckoning motion, again and again. She writhed and panted on his lap, and he turned his mouth toward hers, biting and licking and grunting at her sweetness. So fucking sexy.
“Get the condom.” He slipped his fingers from her body and caught her tight little clit, rubbing it until she moaned.
She twisted around and delivered a hungry kiss to his lips. Then she climbed off his lap.
He scooted to put his back against the wall that sat perpendicular to the one Martin leaned against. Then he removed his boxers and widened his legs. One foot touched Martin’s hip. His other rested on Martin’s ankle.
The position would give Martin the best view of her body as Ricky slid in and out of her cunt.
The thought sped up his pulse and pooled warmth in his balls, drawing them closer to his body. He needed her. Now.
Then she was there, kneeling beside him with the condom ready.
He grew impossibly harder.
As she rolled on the latex with small, warm fingers, he flicked his gaze between her and Martin, reveling in their presence and absorbing the moment.
Martin’s blank expression started to gain color and life, the pain he carried inside him retreating from his eyes. He was a ticking time bomb, that guy. He thought he could keep it all locked up, but Ricky had just found the key.
It was probably going to hurt like hell, but Ricky was confident that sex would set Martin free.
“I think I did it right.” She peered up at him, her eyes round and dark with desire.
“Straddle me, facing Martin.”
She threw a leg over his lap, giving him a brain-scrambling view of her curvy ass. He gripped her hips, holding her over his cock, keyed up and so damn ready to fuck.
The weight of her petite frame in his hands, the feel of her satiny skin beneath his palms, the deep pulses at the base of his dick… Everything suspended, waiting on Martin’s command.
For a handful of heartbeats, Martin simply watched them. He bent a leg and draped his arm over his raised knee. His cock lay semi-hard beneath his briefs. Then it twitched, moving the fabric.
Dark stormy energy rotated around him, his green eyes aglow in the shadows of the flickering candlelight. Hell only knew what kind of thoughts were swirling in his head.
“Give me her orgasm, Ricky,” he said in a rock-grinding voice. “I want to see her face as she forgets every man who came before us.”
“What other men?”
Ricky heard the smirk in her response right before he pressed the tip of his cock inside her.
The tight ring of her opening stole his breath. Her hands went to his wrists as he held her waist, hovering her over him and making her squirm on that first inch.
He pushed deeper, and they moaned together. He extended the torture, turning that initial stroke into the slowest and longest in history. With every inch he worked in, he felt her wrapping around him, constricting and pulsing and stoking his need into electrifying chaos.
He wanted to see Martin’s expression, but it was all he could do not to drive himself, hard and fast, inside her. When he finally reached the back of her cunt, he sucked in a breath and began to fuck her deeply, languidly, savoring the sinful feel of her strangling heat.
“Martin.” He groaned. “She’s so fucking tight.”
A masculine groan rumbled in answer, and the mattr
ess squeaked as Martin shifted his weight.
Ricky’s control only lasted so long. She felt too good, too damn warm and sweet. He knew her scent, her taste, and now he knew the depths of her sex. He was in heaven.
She squeezed down on him, grinding her ass each time he buried himself to the root. Eventually, he released her hips and let her move on her own.
Reaching between their legs, she cupped his balls and scratched her nails up and down his scrotum. He grunted at the wicked sensations and thrust his hips harder, jerking himself off in her slick pussy.
His blood pressure went up, and his heart rate increased as he rapidly approached the point of no return. He wanted to come inside her while staring into her eyes.
But first, Martin was going to see the face she made as Ricky made her explode.
He snaked his hand into her hair and turned her neck, locking her into a kiss. She undulated on his cock, driving her hips to meet the slamming force of his thrusts.
Her mouth opened for his lashing tongue, and the kiss morphed into a mauling of lips and teeth. He was too hungry, and his thrusts were bouncing her too fast. They couldn’t keep their mouths connected amid the panting, groaning, full-on fucking.
Using his grip in her hair, he angled her face toward Martin and sealed his lips to her neck. She clenched her inner muscles, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He wasn’t going to last much longer.
With a hand between her legs, he tortured her clit. She cried out in pleasure, spreading her legs wider. He circled his fingers around and around the little nub, making her thighs tremble and breaths come faster, harder.
“Look at me.” Martin’s deep voice penetrated his chest.
He knew Martin was talking to her, but he looked anyway, tilting his head to get a direct view of those green eyes in front of her.
Martin stared at him with the force of fire, stirring the embers of a rising heat. Ricky worked his hand harder around her clit, flexing his hips and spinning them into delirium.
Martin balled and released his fist, and a muscle bounced in his jaw. “Give it to me. Now.”
“Tula first.” Ricky drove deep, desperate to send her over.
Martin leaned forward, giving her the force of his daunting glare. “Now.”
She doubled over and gripped Ricky’s knees, bearing down on his cock as she met Martin’s eyes. Her hips jerked once, twice, and she let out a throaty roar, growling and panting through clenched teeth. She continued to grind, gasping and milking her release to the last drop.
Ricky didn’t breathe through the entirety of her full-minute orgasm. Didn’t wait for her to find her bearings. Didn’t spare Martin a glance. He didn’t stop to do anything as he tossed her onto her back and slammed himself into the tight sheath of her body.
Pinning her pretty tattooed arms above her head, he captured her lips and thrust his tongue deep. All control gone, he hammered his hips, dipping in and out of her slick cunt and spurring them into wild madness.
He couldn’t let up, couldn’t slow down. He gave and took, raw and mindless, kissing and fucking to within an inch of their lives.
“Holy fuck.” She moaned against his mouth, her face radiating with the afterglow of her orgasms.
“That’s right, baby. What’s my name?” He pounded into her.
“Oh, God.” She clawed at his back.
“God is good, aren’t I?”
“So good.”
She made him feel like a god. In her arms, under Martin’s heated gaze, he caught fire.
He’d never felt like this—free, wanted, happy, exactly where he belonged. With her. With Martin. Coming his fucking brains out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!” He stared into her eyes as muscular spasms attacked his body, starting at his face and quaking down to his toes. Even his rectum contracted, squeezing in rhythm with the pulsing spurts of his cock. Heat and sweat spread over his skin and penetrated deep, saturating his insides from his balls to his nipples.
On a squeaky rusted cot, in the most violent prison in Latin America, he experienced the best orgasm of his life.
He rolled to his back, taking her with him. As she settled onto his chest, both of their heads turned toward Martin.
The brutal intensity of Martin’s eyes raked over them, stroking more than their bodies. He felt Martin reach inside him and curl around his soul.
He depended on that connection. He needed the completeness of all three of them, and he was so close. Tula reciprocated every touch, and Martin no longer felt like an impossible dream.
She lifted her hips, letting his softening cock slip out of her. “You annihilated my orgasm-less existence.”
“I would gladly do it again, every day, for the rest of my life.” He removed the condom and tossed it at the bag of trash in the corner.
Her gaze drifted back to Martin, and she tilted her head. “Do you…?” She glanced at his semi and returned to his eyes. “Masturbate?”
Martin’s lips bounced before surrendering a grin. “Yes, Tula. I’m quite proficient at it.”
“Do you want to do it now? Or I can—?”
“If I need to come, I’ll come.” He pushed off the wall and crawled to her. “You were devastatingly perfect tonight.”
He kissed her, nudging her onto her back as he bent over her. Soft and slow, he licked and nibbled and took his time.
Then he turned to Ricky and placed his hands on either side of Ricky’s head. His bright eyes filled with equal amounts of apology and affection. Then he pulled Ricky close and slid his tongue in Ricky’s mouth.
The languorous kiss curled warmth through Ricky’s chest, and by the time it finished, Martin left no doubt in Ricky’s mind that they’d only just begun.
They slid in on either side of Tula and twined their limbs with hers. Martin’s hand brushed Ricky’s bare hip, curled around his buttocks, and stayed there.
Ricky basked in that touch, in the nearness of this man and woman, in the three of them together.
As he drifted into sleep, forever sank into the crevices of his soul.
CHAPTER 23
The next month was the happiest month in Tula’s memory.
There had been no attacks on her or the guys. Hector’s security guard, Luis, had been released from prison. That meant fewer cartel meetings and more time with Martin and Ricky.
Her sex life had gone from nonexistent to nonstop, and the sex…
Sweet mother of Himeros, Ricky had unending stamina and talent. He was inside her every day, multiple times a day, in every position. Slow and fast, hard and gentle, they went at it so frequently she had to ask Garra for more condoms.
She’d never felt such uncontrollable desire for a man, let alone two.
Martin kissed her and Ricky as often as she and Ricky had sex, but he never allowed himself relief. He never let them touch him sexually, and after that first night she and Ricky were together, Martin stopped touching them, too.
She knew he didn’t want another violent episode after the one he had with Ricky. So he sat on the sidelines, seemingly content to watch her and Ricky fall apart at his command.
Behind his tightly controlled bearing, however, simmered a bottomless well of pain and frustration. He tried to bury it, but it burned from his eyes and scorched the air around him whenever he was aroused.
Sex was his trigger, and it made him viciously mean. She couldn’t fathom the abuse he’d endured.
Pressing him to talk about it only made him coil tighter, and whenever he lashed out, his fury was loaded with accusations.
Accusations directed at her.
She left him and Ricky in bed this morning, telling them she had a meeting with Hector. The lie made her chest hurt, but dammit, she knew they weren’t being truthful with her, either.
She sat in her own cell, on a mattress she didn’t use anymore, and pored over everything they’d said over the past five weeks.
Martin’s distrust resided with Hector, steeped with the notion that Hector’s ca
rtel snatched children off American streets and sold them into slavery.
Though Martin never admitted it, she knew he’d been a victim of sexual abuse as young as fourteen. His stance against child slavery wasn’t just a moral one. It was personal.
That wasn’t the case for Ricky. No, he just flat-out hated Hector.
They had no evidence against Hector’s involvement in human trafficking. Their claims came from alleged news reports and rumors they’d heard in the circles they ran in. Or so they said.
That was where her suspicions really niggled. What circles? Who were Martin Lockwood and Ricky Saldivar really? Where did they come from? Why had they paid their way into Area Three if it wasn’t to join La Rocha Cartel and take advantage of that protection?
She didn’t know all their truths or the details about their pasts. They maintained they were innocent of their drug trafficking charges, which she believed. They were too high-minded and honorable to fuck around with narcotics.
So why were they arrested? She didn’t buy their bullshit story about a Mexican vacation gone wrong. The military didn’t just scoop up American tourists and throw them in prison.
Except that was exactly what happened to her.
With a self-pitying groan, she dropped her head in her hands.
She cared about them deeply, possessively. They’d taken her from feeling nothing to feeling everything, and it wasn’t just lust and orgasms. It was more profound and soulful. She thought of them as hers. Hers to hold and support and love.
She didn’t know if she loved them. There was so much about them she still hadn’t discovered. Not just the secrets they kept from her, but who they were outside of prison. What did they do when they woke every morning? Where did they go? Who were their friends?
All this could be derived from a conversation, but she wanted to experience it herself. She wanted to be with them outside of these claustrophobic walls, and that couldn’t happen for at least three years. Maybe longer, pending their sentences.
Even then, when she was released from Jaulaso, she would never be released from Hector.
Hector.
Her loyalty to him was all tangled up in her feelings for Ricky Martin.
