As Nix continued to eat me out, Donovan flopped down on the bed, head on the pillows. My mouth was right by his dick, which was sticking straight up. Turning my head, I tried to take him in my mouth. I wanted to feel the silky hardness of him against my tongue, to have the burst of pre-cum coat my tongue. To get him so worked up he lost his mind.
“Nix, get her up here,” Donovan growled, tipping my chin away from my goal. “If she gets that hot mouth on me, it’ll all be over before we claim her together.
What? Together?
My pussy clenched at the idea and Nix groaned. He slapped my ass, not hard, but to get me moving. “Climb on Donovan’s cock. Take it for a ride while I get all lubed up to take that ass.”
I climbed up Donovan’s body as Nix went to the bathroom, came back with a flip top plastic bottle of lube. He was all dark skin, rippling muscles and hard dick. When he saw me staring, he grinned. “Ready for me to get in your ass?”
I glanced at his dick again. Long. Thick. That head was so much broader than the plug they’d used the other night. Could he fit?
“Kitty Kat, we’ll get you all hot and ready for him.” Donovan turned my attention back to him. “Climb on and get my dick nice and wet.”
I was apprehensive about Nix’s intentions, but I trusted them. I remembered what it had felt like when he’d used his finger there. I’d come so hard and so fast. But that wasn’t anything like the size of his dick.
“Come on, Kitty Kat,” Donovan said, hooking my hip and pulling me toward him. I straddled his hips shifted so he was at my entrance. He slipped in an inch or so, stretching me open. Looking down, I watched his jaw clench, his eyes flare with heat.
I bit my lip and lowered myself down, took him all the way in until I sat upon his lap.
“Good girl. Fuck me.”
I rode him then, hands on his chest, moving and feeling so damned good.
“That’s it. You’re right where I want you, right where you belong.”
Nix moved onto the bed, dropping the bottle of lube by my calf and within reach.
“Between us,” Donovan continued.
He was right. This was where I belonged. “I love you,” I whispered. “Both of you.”
A smile spread across his face and he pulled me down for a kiss. I clenched down on him and he groaned as his tongue found mine.
I gasped as Nix’s finger brushed my entrance. “It’s time, Kit, to make you ours.”
I couldn’t nod, but only relaxed, lying on Donovan’s chest and allowing Nix’s finger to slip into me. He’d slicked it with lube to prepare me.
Lifting my head, I gasped. “So full,” I moaned and glanced over my shoulder.
Nix’s gaze was on my ass, probably watching as his finger disappeared inside me. He could also see how Donovan’s cock filled me, stretched me wide.
“Not yet, Kit, but you will be,” Nix promised.
He slowly fucked my ass with that finger, adding lube and then a second finger to prepare me. Donovan lifted and lowered me just a few inches so he rubbed over every delicious place inside me.
Finally, Nix asked, “Ready?”
I nodded.
“Good girl,” he replied.
“Kiss me some more, Kitty Kat,” Donovan said. “In just a minute you’ll belong to both of us. Nothing’s separating us again.”
***
DONOVAN
She was so fucking tight. Her pussy walls clenched and milked my dick. I had been close to coming before I ever got inside her, but now I was practically considering baseball stats not to blow my load too soon.
Nix had hooked her hip so her ass was tilted just right for him to get in her ass. As I kissed Kit, I could feel him press against her, then get the head of his dick into her. I felt every inch of it, only a thin membrane separating us. Kit stiffened in my hold, her lips stilled on mine as she moaned.
“I’m in. Fuck, Kit, you’re so tight.”
She was, like a fist. Hot. Wet. Perfect. And the feel of her, all soft, lush curves. Plump breasts pressed into my chest. The scent of her arousal and the musk of fucking filled the air around us.
I tried not to move, to give Nix time to work his dick into her no-longer virgin ass.
He kept dribbling more lube onto her, some of it sliding down to get on the base of my dick and I’d fuck it into her.
She was dripping.
“I’m so full,” she moaned, her dark eyes meeting mine. Her lips were red and swollen, her cheeks flushed.
“You did it, Kitty Kat. You’ve got both your men in you. You make us one. Whole. A family.”
She nodded, her sweaty hair falling around her face. “Want to come?”
“Yes,” she begged.
My hands slid from her hips to her ass, cupping those perfect cheeks and pulling them open for Nix.
As Nix pulled almost out, I thrust deep, then reversing direction so we alternated our in and out motions.
Kit moaned, begged, whimpered as we took her, slowly and carefully. It was too much for me. I gritted my teeth not to come, but she was too much. We’d been waiting too long. It was better than I ever imagined. Loving her.
I came on a shout, emptying myself deep inside her pussy. My mind was blown, but her pleas for something, anything, had me reaching between us, brushing my thumb over her clit.
Just a press and she came. I could feel her milking my cock, my cum slipping from her as she did so. I knew Nix could feel it as well, that he had superhero powers if he could keep from coming as her inner walls worked us over.
He couldn’t. He was a mere mortal when it came to Kit and came on a deep thrust. I felt him throbbing, filling her up.
Kit dropped her head to my chest, her breathing ragged. Her sweaty skin stuck to mine. Nix sounded as if he’d run a marathon as he carefully pulled out. Kit gasped and I stroked my hand up and down her damp back. My cock, softening slightly, was still inside her. It was a great place to be because as soon as she caught her breath, I’d fuck her again.
I wasn’t done with her. I never would be.
“Kitty Kat,” I said. She lifted her head and her eyes met mine. “Forever.”
She looked to me, up at Nix who’d just returned from the bathroom with a wet washcloth. “Forever.”
“Fuck, yes,” Nix added, making her laugh.
The sweetest sound in the world.
Epilogue
KIT
The past two days have been incredible. Donovan and Nix had let me out of bed… barely. I made it to my shifts at the diner on time… barely. I’d met with Wendy and her sister for the initial planning of her engagement party. Nix had filed paperwork to open his own business.
We’d stayed at Nix’s, but he continued to talk about buying a bigger house. But it had been two days. Just two days. Two amazing days. I still had nightmares, but they were there to wake me, soothe me, hold me close until I fell back asleep.
Nix had said he’d pick up Chinese for dinner, so Donovan and I were in the kitchen, setting out plates, getting silverware and drinks. We’d also been kissing. A lot. When Nix came through the front door, I was on the counter with Donovan between my parted knees. His hands were under my shirt and cupping my breasts.
“I’m hungry for Kitty Kat right now. Chinese later,” Donovan called to Nix while grinning at me.
I wasn’t going to stop him. They were creative, gentle and also very dominant lovers. And we hadn’t had sex in the kitchen. Yet.
When Nix didn’t offer a witty reply about getting me out of my panties, we both looked to him.
“What’s wrong?” Donovan asked.
Nix looked pissed. His hair was messed up, his jaw clenched, his shoulders tense. He had his pistol on his hip right next to his badge.
“Seaborn lied.”
Donovan’s hands slipped out from under my shirt and he stepped back.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Donovan asked.
The arrest had been all over the local news outlets. TV, radio, in
ternet, newspaper. People were relieved to know the murderer had been found, that it had been a crime of passion not random.
“They installed one of those red-light cameras on Main by the library,” he said.
Donovan nodded. “I remember. Pops promised it was a way to make crossing the street safer.”
“The photos and tickets are issued once a week. The technician went through the pile today. Guess who’s on it?”
“Seaborn?” I asked.
Nix shook his head as he went to the fridge to get a beer. “Erin Mills.”
“When?”
He popped the top, guzzled a third of the bottle in one go. “The night she was killed. Miranski said the photo was stamped at twelve-thirteen a.m.”
I’d gotten home around eleven-thirty and had been asleep at that time. “If she was in her car then, that means she wasn’t at the house.”
“Seaborn said he killed her at midnight.”
“Holy shit,” Donovan murmured.
“Wait.” I held up my hand. “If Seaborn said he killed her at midnight but the traffic camera captured her alive and downtown almost fifteen minutes later, that means—”
“He’s lying. He didn’t do it.”
My stomach dropped at what he was saying. “Then who killed Erin?”
Nix shrugged, set his beer on the counter. “He’s still out there.”
Read book two in the Wild Mountain Men series, MOUNTAIN DELIGHTS, now >
Tormentor Mine
By
Anna Zaires
Part I
Chapter 1
5 Years Earlier, North Caucasus Mountains
Peter
“Papa!” The high-pitched squeal is followed by a patter of little feet as my son propels himself through the doorway, his dark waves bouncing around his glowing face.
Laughing, I catch his small, sturdy body as he launches himself at me. “Miss me, pupsik?"
“Yeah!” His short arms fold around my neck, and I inhale deeply, breathing in his sweet child scent. Though Pasha is almost three, he still smells like milk—like healthy baby and innocence.
I hold him tight and feel the iciness inside me melting as soft, bright warmth floods my chest. It’s painful, like being submerged in hot water after freezing, but it’s a good kind of pain. It makes me feel alive, fills the empty cracks inside me until I can almost believe I’m whole and deserving of my son’s love.
“He did miss you,” Tamila says, entering the hallway. As always, she moves quietly, almost soundlessly, her eyes downcast. She doesn’t look at me directly. From childhood, she’s been trained to avoid eye contact with men, so all I see are her long black lashes as she gazes at the floor. She’s wearing a traditional headscarf that hides her long dark hair, and her gray dress is long and shapeless. However, she still looks beautiful—as beautiful as she did three and a half years ago, when she snuck into my bed to escape marriage to a village elder.
“And I’ve missed you both,” I say as my son pushes at my shoulders, demanding to be free. Grinning, I lower him to the floor, and he immediately grabs my hand and tugs on it.
“Papa, do you want to see my truck? Do you, Papa?”
“I do,” I say, my grin widening as he pulls me toward the living room. “What kind of truck is it?”
“A big one!”
“All right, let’s see it.”
Tamila trails behind us, and I realize I haven’t spoken to her at all yet. Stopping, I turn around and look at my wife. “How are you?”
She peeks up at me through those eyelashes. “I’m good. I’m glad to see you.”
“And I’m glad to see you.” I want to kiss her, but she’ll be embarrassed if I do it in front of Pasha, so I abstain. Instead, I gently touch her cheek, and then I let my son tow me to his truck, which I recognize as the one I sent him from Moscow three weeks ago.
He proudly demonstrates all the features of the toy as I crouch next to him, watching his animated face. He has Tamila’s dark, exotic beauty, right down to the eyelashes, but there’s something of me in him too, though I can’t quite define what.
“He has your fearlessness,” Tamila says quietly, kneeling next to me. “And I think he’s going to be as tall as you, though it’s probably too early to tell.”
I glance at her. She often does this, observing me so closely it’s almost as if she’s reading my mind. Then again, it’s not a stretch to guess what I’m thinking. I did have Pasha’s paternity tested before he was born.
“Papa. Papa.” My son tugs at my hand again. “Play with me.”
I laugh and turn my attention back to him. For the next hour, we play with the truck and a dozen other toys, all of which happen to be some type of car. Pasha is obsessed with toy vehicles, everything from ambulances to race cars. No matter how many other toys I get him, he only plays with those that have wheels.
After playtime, we eat dinner, and Tamila bathes Pasha before bed. I notice that the bathtub is cracked and make a mental note to order a new one. The tiny village of Daryevo is high in the Caucasus Mountains and difficult to get to, so it can’t be a regular delivery from a store, but I have ways of getting things here.
When I mention the idea to Tamila, her eyelashes sweep up, and she gives me a rare direct look, accompanied by a bright smile. “That would be very nice, thank you. I’ve had to mop up the floor almost every evening.”
I smile back at her, and she finishes bathing Pasha. After she dries him and dresses him in his pajamas, I carry him off to bed and read him a story from his favorite book. He falls asleep almost immediately, and I kiss his smooth forehead, my heart squeezing with a powerful emotion.
It’s love. I recognize it, even though I’ve never felt it before—even though a man like me has no right to feel it. None of the things I’ve done matter here, in this little village in Dagestan.
When I’m with my son, the blood on my hands doesn’t burn my soul.
Careful not to wake Pasha, I get up and quietly exit the tiny room that serves as his bedroom. Tamila is already waiting for me in our bedroom, so I strip off my clothes and join her in bed, making love to her as tenderly as I can.
Tomorrow, I have to face the ugliness of my world, but tonight, I’m happy.
Tonight, I can love and be loved.
* * *
“Don’t leave, Papa.” Pasha’s chin quivers as he struggles not to cry. Tamila told him a few weeks ago that big boys don’t cry, and he’s been trying his hardest to be a big boy. “Please, Papa. Can’t you stay a little longer?”
“I’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” I promise, crouching to be at his eye level. “I have to go to work, you see.”
“You always have to go to work.” His chin quivers harder, and his big brown eyes overflow with tears. “Why can’t I come with you to work?”
Images of the terrorist I tortured last week invade my mind, and it’s all I can do to keep my voice even as I say, “I’m sorry, Pashen’ka. My work is no place for children.” Or for adults, for that matter, but I don’t say that. Tamila knows some of what I do as part of a special unit of Spetsnaz, the Russian Special Forces, but even she is ignorant of the dark realities of my world.
“But I would be good.” He’s full-on crying now. “I promise, Papa. I would be good.”
“I know you would be.” I pull him against me and hug him tight, feeling his small body shaking with sobs. “You’re my good boy, and you have to be good for Mama while I’m gone, okay? You have to take care of her, like the big boy you are.”
Those appear to be the magic words, because he sniffles and pulls away. “I will.” His nose is running and his cheeks are wet, but his little chin is firm as he meets my gaze. “I will take care of Mama, I promise.”
“He’s so smart,” Tamila says, kneeling next to me to pull Pasha into her embrace. “It’s like he’s five, not almost three.”
“I know.” My chest swells with pride. “He’s amazing.”
She smiles and meets my gaze again
, her big brown eyes so much like Pasha’s. “Be safe, and come back to us soon, okay?”
“I will.” I lean in and kiss her forehead, then ruffle Pasha’s silky hair. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
* * *
I’m in Grozny, Chechnya, chasing down a lead on a new radical insurgency group, when I get the news. It’s Ivan Polonsky, my superior in Moscow, who calls me.
“Peter.” His voice is unusually grave as I pick up the phone. “There’s been an incident in Daryevo.”
My insides turn to ice. “What kind of incident?”
“There was an operation we weren’t notified about. NATO was involved. There were… casualties.”
The ice inside me expands, shredding me with its jagged edges, and it’s all I can do to force the words through my closing throat. “Tamila and Pasha?”
“I’m sorry, Peter. Some villagers were killed in the crossfire, and”—he swallows audibly—“the preliminary reports are that Tamila was among them.”
My fingers nearly crush the phone. “What about Pasha?”
“We don’t know yet. There were several explosions, and—”
“I’m on my way.”
“Peter, wait—”
I hang up and rush out the door.
* * *
Please, please, please, let him be alive. Please let him be alive. Please, I’ll do anything, just let him be alive.
I’ve never been religious, but as the military helicopter makes its way through the mountains, I find myself praying, pleading and bargaining with whatever is up there for one small miracle, one small mercy. A child’s life is meaningless in the big scheme of things, but it means everything to me.
My son is my life, my reason for existing.
The roar of the helicopter blades is deafening, but it’s nothing compared to the clamor inside my head. I can’t breathe, can’t think through the rage and fear choking me from within. I don’t know how Tamila died, but I’ve seen enough corpses to picture her body in my mind, to imagine with stark precision how her beautiful eyes appear blank and unseeing, her mouth slack and crusted with blood. And Pasha—
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