by Mari Carr
“I know, I know.” Sylvia felt flushed and foolish, rising, needing to put some distance between her and them. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”
“Oh no, we’re going to talk about this.” Lancelot rose as well, crowding into her personal space. He loomed over her, huge and a little threatening.
Sylvia swallowed, her mouth dry. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Dr. Marchand.” Lancelot didn’t take his eyes off her. “What do you think? Because I think she wants something from us, something she’s hiding.”
“Not exactly hiding.” Hugo’s tone had taken on a distant, academic tone. They were talking about her, not to her. Discussing her as if she wasn’t right there.
Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest, hoping to hide the way her nipples had gone hard.
“Rather, I believe she is embarrassed,” Hugo continued.
“Embarrassed.” Lancelot seemed to savor the word.
“She was very open with us yesterday,” Hugo continued. “Admitting a desire to have sex with two men, for some, would be a source of shame. To admit any physical desire is dangerous for a woman, given current social norms and the policing of women’s bodies and needs.”
“Uh-huh.” Lancelot hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “So what you’re saying is that she wants something even kinkier than two men.”
Hugo rose and stretched, raising his arms over his head. The movement emphasized his size. If it wasn’t for Lancelot standing there, she would have described Hugo as large and muscular. The dichotomy of Spartan warrior body and Greek philosopher mind had been one of the reasons she, and half the other people taking his class, had been so enamored with him.
She was staring at the small strip of skin that had been exposed when his shirt rode up. She wanted to lick him right there. She wanted to lick him, and then he’d force her to lower the zipper of his pants with her teeth. He’d pull her hair, force his cock into her mouth, and then Lancelot would—
Sylvia darted around Hugo. “I should, uh, go…somewhere.”
Hugo chuckled. “It’s your house.”
“Don’t let her leave this room,” Lancelot said darkly.
Hugo stepped into her path without saying a word, his big body blocking her route back to the kitchen.
Hugo was in front of her, Lancelot behind her. She couldn’t get away. Dammit, this was so fucking hot.
But she couldn’t tell them that. Couldn’t admit to them what she really wanted. She liked and respected these men. More than that, they respected her. If she admitted what she wanted, she would lose that.
“What are you thinking about, Sylvia?”
She turned to Lancelot, afraid of what she might say to Hugo. It was silly, since she hadn’t seen him in years, but she was slightly more comfortable with the Frenchman, which meant she was more likely to blurt out something she shouldn’t if she kept looking at him.
Lancelot was also taller, so she focused on his chin, speaking to it rather than meeting his gaze. “I’m thinking that I like both of you, and you’re nice guys, and…”
And nice guys would be alarmed—or worse, insulted—if she asked them to play out her fantasy. It’s what had always stopped her in the past. The kind of man she liked to spend time with—thoughtful, intelligent, gentlemanly—was also the kind of man who would recoil at using and abusing her the way she secretly craved.
Lancelot placed a single finger under her chin, forced her face up. “I’m good at reading people. I can tell when a bloke is about to throw a punch. And I can tell when a woman is aroused.”
“I was aroused last night,” she pointed out. Her voice was a bit higher than it had been, breathier.
“And you’re aroused right now. Why?”
“You’re both very attractive,” she squeaked. The urge to say it, to just blurt out what she wanted was so strong she had to swallow, as if that could force back the words. “And also standing very close to me.”
Hugo crowded against her back. “Ah, I think I understand.” His hand slid up into her hair, cradling the back of her head.
“But you have to say it,” Lancelot told her. “You have to tell us what you want.”
“I…don’t want to.”
Hugo’s hand closed into a fist in her hair. Her scalp prickled with a delicious mild pain. She couldn’t stop the moan. Hugo tugged her head back, just enough so that she couldn’t avoid Lancelot’s gaze.
“Maybe I’ll make it easy on you.” Lancelot traced the line of her throat with the back of his index finger. “Should I guess?”
“Please,” she whispered.
“I think you want a man to take charge,” Lancelot said. “You want to submit.”
“That’s…part of it,” she breathed.
Lancelot frowned, then glanced from her to Hugo. Something passed between them.
Hugo tugged on her hair, forcing her head back even more. “If that was all you wanted, you could have found that,” he said. “You told us you’d been to a sex club. You could have found a partner to dominate you.”
Hugo slid his lips up the side of her neck to her ear. She expected him to whisper something. Something insightful, something reassuring maybe.
Instead, he bit her earlobe.
The flare of pain made her jump. She’d forgotten that he was holding her hair, and when she moved, her scalp burned with a tingle of pain.
“It’s not about the controlled power exchange,” Lancelot said. “It’s about being overpowered.” His words hovered on that line between question and statement.
Hugo jerked on her hair. “Answer him.”
That rough demand, the feeling of being trapped between them…that was what it took to break down her walls, to free the chains of silence she’d wrapped around those more secret desires.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes! I want it to be rough and hot. I want to feel taken.” That was enough, she should stop there. But she felt intoxicated, not by a substance, but by them. Her inhibitions were muted, as was her sense of both emotional and physical self-preservation. She spoke, and it was the unvarnished truth. “I want to be forced. I want to be used.”
The words felt so wrong, so counter to everything she knew to be safe and right. Maybe that was why she wanted these things. Because they were wrong, because they were dangerous.
“That’s what you expected from a ménage?” Lancelot asked. “Or from us?”
Something about the way he said it sent a tendril of shame lancing through her. “I’m not trying to insult you. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. It was stupid.” Neither man moved. “Stop, please.”
Those were the magic words. Immediately, Hugo released her hair, and they both took a step back, giving her space.
“Dark fantasies aren’t uncommon.” She was aware she was trying to justify what she’d said. To make herself seem less deviant. “I just happened to have combined two different fantasies, but they’re just that, fantasies, and I—”
“Stop.” Lancelot’s word was hard and forceful, and damn, but that made her want him, want to live out the fantasy with them, all the more. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Or justify,” Hugo added.
“But you two are so kind, you aren’t the kind of men who want to…” She waved her hand in the air, not comfortable finishing the sentence.
“Not the kind of men who wish to ravish you?” Hugo asked from behind her.
She turned to face him, the shame that she’d started to feel arrested by the look on Hugo’s face.
“I will not speak for Lancelot, but I do wish, very much, to ravish you. To take you.” His eyes were dark with desire. “To use you. Fuck you.”
Sylvia inhaled sharply, desire shooting through her.
She was so focused on Hugo that it took her by surprise when Lancelot’s thickly muscled arm wrapped around her waist. He jerked her back against his body. She was off-balance and fell into him. “I’m a big guy,” he murmured. “My rough might be too rough for you.
That’s why I asked. Getting fucked by two big men is different than being fucked by two big men.”
“I didn’t hurt your feelings?” She twisted, trying to look up at him, but she was too close.
“Hurt my feelings?” Lancelot asked.
Hugo was watching her with the barest hint of a smile touching his lips.
“I saw you, all big and muscled and big…”
Hugo did that guy thing where he grabbed the back of his shirt, between his shoulder blades, and pulled it up and off, revealing his chest.
Sylvia lost what little bit of focus she had. “What was I talking about?”
“How you hurt my feelings.” Lancelot’s voice rumbled through her.
“I’m interested in this explanation,” a shirtless Hugo said.
“You’re big,” she said.
“Yes,” Lancelot said slowly. Hugo was now grinning widely.
Sylvia closed her eyes, hoping that would help her focus. What the hell was she trying to say? Words were her tool, her craft. And the possibility of living out a forbidden fantasy with these two amazing men had her stammering and unable to give a simple explanation. “I’ve never told anyone about this fantasy. Never asked a lover to, to…”
“Ravish you,” Hugo said.
“Take you, fuck you, rough and hard,” Lancelot countered.
“If you keep talking like that I’m never going to be able to explain,” Sylvia said a bit desperately. “What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t ask you to do it not because you’re big. I don’t think your bigness means you’re…” Maybe if Lancelot took his arm off her, she’d be able to think.
“Bigness? This is a word?” Hugo asked.
“No, it’s not,” Lancelot said. “She’s flustered, but more importantly, she’s aroused.”
He released her, twisting her around to face him, his hands gripping her upper arms. “Ground rules. Because if you want rough, I can be rough.”
“I do! I do want it.”
“You say stop, we stop,” Lancelot said. They’d already proven that, and the way they’d stepped back, given her space, without comment or judgment, had been one of the most arousing, touching things she’d ever experienced.
“You say wait, we pause,” the big Brit continued. “You say anything else and it’s part of the game.”
“Part of your ravishment,” Hugo clarified as she turned to look at him, Lancelot’s arm wrapped around her waist, holding her, keeping her close. Captive.
“I trust you,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t, I barely know you, either of you really, but I trust you. Last night felt…right. It’s because I trust you that I admitted that I want to be—”
Hugo, apparently, was done with words. He reached out, grasped her shirt, and ripped it down the middle. Lancelot released her, and Hugo took advantage of the unfettered access to finish ripping the shirt.
Sylvia gasped and reached to cover her breasts with her hands. Her bra was still on, but the wash of cool air against her newly exposed skin made her feel wildly vulnerable.
Lancelot grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms behind her back. “Naughty girl,” he purred in her ear. “Trying to stop him from touching those pretty tits?”
Sylvia whimpered, as if she were afraid, but arched her back, thrusting her chest toward Hugo.
Hugo stepped into her, his bare chest against her body, driving her back into Lancelot. She was surrounded, overwhelmed.
While Lancelot held her still, Hugo once more tangled a hand in her hair, forcing her to look up, the back of her head against Lancelot’s chest. Hugo took her mouth. He didn’t kiss her…or, didn’t just kiss her. It was so much more than a kiss. It was a fusing of their mouths. His tongue thrust in, claiming the space behind her teeth, exploring the warm, wet hollows of her mouth as if he had every right.
“My turn,” Lancelot said.
Her wrists were released, and then she was ripped away from Hugo. Tonight wouldn’t be calm and collaborative. Lancelot may have held her while Hugo kissed her, but to get his turn, he would take her from the other man.
Her sex pulsed with arousal as Lancelot whirled her around to face him once more. He forced her arms behind her back, holding both of her wrists in one hand. Experimentally, she tried to get away. His grip tightened, until it hurt just enough for that to be another element of her arousal.
Lancelot slid his hand under the torn edge of her shirt and cupped her breast, his thumb finding the diamond-hard peak of her nipple. He rolled it and smiled down at her. It was a devilish smile, bordering on cruel. It was exactly what she wanted.
She struggled again, wiggling in his arms, wanting to feel his strength, wanting to rub her breast against his hand.
The smile slipped from his face and he bent his head. She thought he would kiss her as Hugo had, but instead, he buried his face against the crook of her neck. His tongue swept over her skin once, twice, and then he bit her.
Sylvia yelped and gasped, crying out a second time when Hugo smacked her ass, hard. A second smack, and then his hands were sliding around the waistband of her pants, finding the button. A second later and he yanked her pants and underwear down to her knees.
Hugo landed another smack to her ass, and she tried to spread her fingers over her bottom, a pretense of protecting herself when really she welcomed the hot touches.
Lancelot released her, stepping back, and for a moment she thought she’d done something wrong. Had she said stop and not even realized?
Hugo reached around, grabbed the cups of her bra and yanked them down, her breasts popping free.
Lancelot was stripping, his movements quick but controlled. Shirt off. Shoes off. Socks. Pants. Boxers.
His cock seemed massive. Maybe it was the light of day, or maybe he was harder than he had been last night. Either way, it was impressive. And terrifying. In all the right ways.
She reached for Lancelot, wanting to run her hands, her nails, over all those muscles, but Hugo grabbed her, spinning her around. While she’d been facing the other way, he’d stripped too. His cock was gloriously erect, the tip glistening with pre-come.
They were naked, and she was still partially dressed. Yet with her shirt ripped down the middle, pants and panties hobbling her legs, bra still fastened but breasts exposed, she felt more naked than she would have if she were bare-assed.
Hugo fisted a hand in her hair, kissed her hard and quick.
And then he forced her to her knees.
Sylvia gasped, looking up at him, up past the erect bar of his cock. Hugo hesitated, just a moment, giving her a chance to say “wait” or “stop.”
Instead, she tried to pull away, shuffling her knees backwards, her scalp lighting up with pain as she twisted her head.
“Hold her still while I fuck her mouth.” Hugo’s accent was thick, his hold on her hair unrelenting.
Sylvia was so aroused that she was sure she’d come the instant one of them touched her clit.
Lancelot dropped to his knees behind her, his big body stopping her retreat. He smacked her ass a few times, then manhandled her legs, forcing her knees to lift just far enough that he stripped off her pants and panties one leg at a time. She shoved at him, trying to put up a good show of resistance, but it was hard to even pretend to push them away when she wanted them both so much.
Then Lancelot forced her knees wide. Cool air hit her naked pussy. She was spread, vulnerable, and so damned wet.
Hugo grabbed her chin with the hand not in her hair and forced her mouth open. He released her chin and hesitated. She didn’t close her mouth, didn’t turn away.
She wanted this.
Lancelot forced her arms behind her back once more, then held them in place by plastering his front to her back. His cock was jammed against her ass, his hands wrapping around her. One went to her breasts, and the other dipped down between her spread legs.
Hugo grabbed his cock, angled it toward her mouth.
Lancelot cupped her right breast in his left hand. His fing
ers found and pinched the nipple.
Hugo’s cock slid over her lower lip, the head pressing in, filling her mouth.
Lancelot’s right hand cupped her pussy. He didn’t spread her labia, didn’t delicately rub her clit. He grabbed her pussy and applied pressure, almost lifting her.
That was enough—the hand in her hair, cock in her mouth, fingers on her nipple, and hand on her pussy pushed her over the edge. She came, a hard, quick orgasm unlike anything she’d experienced before. She was used to the slow burn that built and grew until it was a tidal wave. This was like diving off a cliff into the ocean—short, shocking, and intense.
Sylvia didn’t have time to contemplate because they were far from done with her. Hugo’s cock pressed deeper into her mouth, touching the back of her throat. She fought her gag reflex. He pulled out, just enough that she could suck in a breath, but then he was fucking her mouth, pressing in deeper than before, until she could feel him in her throat.
Lancelot parted her sex, fingers sliding easily through her slick folds. She felt his cock jump against her ass.
“Get down here, Hugo. I’m going to fuck her pussy while you fuck her mouth. I can’t wait. She’s so fucking wet.”
Hugo pulled out and stepped back. Lancelot released her pussy and breasts, but grabbed her hips. “Hands and knees,” he commanded.
Sylvia obeyed, her world foggy from the combination of pleasure from the orgasm and ongoing arousal. Need pulsed through her. Her whole body felt hot and tender, as if each inch of skin had more nerve endings than ever before.
She planted her hands on the floor, looking down at the familiar carpet of her living room.
She’d never look at it again without remembering this moment.
Hugo landed on his knees, his hand immediately going to her hair. He grabbed it, forcing her head up. She looked at him, and his gaze was hot and dangerous. His cheeks and upper chest were flushed. Some primal part of her reveled in the evidence that she wasn’t the only one who was wildly aroused.
“Open your mouth,” Hugo demanded.
Sylvia licked her lips, then opened. He fed her his cock, sliding in slowly. She closed her eyes, but could feel him watching her, feel him watching his cock disappearing into her mouth.
