by Helena Maeve
Jackie rolled her hips forward and back, getting used to the slip-slide of Tony’s dick inside her for a good, long minute before she canted forward and twisted around to catch Marten’s eye. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath or fashion more than a shaky smile. “Are you just going to watch?” The touch-memory of his slippery fingers in her ass was hard to shake. Whatever apprehension she’d felt when he’d started had since been replaced by the stranglehold of want. If Marten changed his mind—
But he didn’t. He pressed a palm between her shoulder blades and drove her forward, into Tony’s waiting arms, as he took himself in hand. He must have slicked up the condom already, because he slid into her easily, with just the faintest burn of a stretch. Jackie gritted her teeth to choke off a moan. Always, Marten had said. He wanted her always. Why did that sentiment suddenly seem so overwhelming?
Jackie reached her hand back a little shakily and curled it around his in a tight clasp of fingers. His were still slick with lubricant. She could feel Tony’s heartbeats ricocheting against her ribcage and Marten’s breaths against her nape and she wondered, dimly, how the hell she hadn’t come already when they were both of them inside her so deep, three links finally connected—
“Oh, fuck,” Tony bit out. “I can feel you—Marten. Oh, God.” It didn’t take much more. All the practice in the world couldn’t stop him from arching up with a shudder as he spilled violently into the condom.
Jackie tried to flex her muscles around him, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She contented herself with kissing his cheek, his furry jaw. “That’s it,” she mumbled, feeling oddly triumphant. “That’s good, darling…” Marten pulled her back against him then, winding his fingers into her hair for want of a better anchor. Jackie gave up the talking gig.
She could feel Tony twitch and tremble as she fucked herself back onto Marten’s dick, but he didn’t protest. He didn’t ask her to stop. The tight clutch of his fingers at her hips was sure to leave bruises, yet Jackie couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted him to see her fall apart and she wanted Marten to be the one to do it, to come inside her as she chased her release.
She barely held back a keening protest as Marten spilled them down onto the bed, his cock still buried deep in Jackie. He’d eased her by the same token out of Tony’s lap, pulling her leg back and over his so she was exposed, bare and glistening before Tony’s eyes. “Touch her cunt,” he ordered, doing his best to conceal the way his voice cracked. It didn’t make the words spilling off his tongue any less exciting. “Come on, Tony, you’re not done yet.”
It didn’t seem to have occurred to Tony that he might be. Even with eyes heavy-lidded from his orgasm, he still found his way to their side and slipped eager fingers into Jackie’s pussy. She sucked in a breath, almost at the same time he did.
“You’re so wet,” he gasped. “Holy shit, you’re dripping…”
Jackie kissed him to stop herself from begging for the pressure of his palm against her clit. Marten’s panting breaths against her ear didn’t help her any. Every roll of his hips seemed to be hurling her closer and closer, until she was on the verge of the precipice, looking down, so close she could feel release within her grasp. She wanted and she didn’t want to let go. It was a bit like allowing Tony into her life—terribly inconvenient but oh so rewarding. And, ultimately, impossible to deny.
When Tony spoke, his breath ghosted softly against her lips, like a kiss that wasn’t. “Come on, now, love. Come for us.”
Jackie couldn’t do it on command, but the sound of Tony’s voice and Marten’s muted grunts was more than she could handle. She tipped over the edge with her body clenching hard around Tony’s fingers, half in his arms and half in Marten’s grasp, letting them take her where they would as pleasure peaked with a greedy, all-consuming burn.
She felt Marten follow suit within precious seconds, his fingers tight on her hips and hair, his body flush against hers. His heat seemed to score right through her skin, lengthening the tremors that were still quaking through her. Marten had set his teeth against the back of her neck and when he climaxed he couldn’t help but bite down, evidently too lost in the heat of the moment to stop himself. Jackie hissed a little, but it didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected. She reached for him with a sweat-slick palm. It took a few tries, but eventually Marten met her lips, the kiss as shaky as it was gratifying.
“We did good, baby.” Jackie grinned and hooked her free hand around Tony’s forearm to bring him closer. She felt like a glutton, like some lascivious femme fatale with two men wrapped around her little finger—and each other’s.
Marten kissed her again as he eased his way free with a low, tremulous exhale. “I stand corrected… Leaving you out? Not my best idea.” Jackie caught him grinning as she felt Tony settle beside them. It should’ve been suffocating to be caught between two men like this, a mess of lube and sweat and other bodily fluids. It wasn’t. There was a sense of comfort in being held so tight.
She sighed a little as Marten folded himself around her, the big spoon to her little spoon. His hand on her breast was a welcome, familiar clasp of fingers—even when he stroked his thumb over her nipple, igniting the dying embers in her gut. She was sure he could feel her pulse thrumming against his palm as his knuckles brushed lightly against Tony’s biceps.
My heart in your hands, thought Jackie. Yeah, they could make this work.
Epilogue
Jackie drummed her fingertips against the table. Over the steaming eddies of caffeinated fumes, she could see the browser page, address bar loaded and waiting for her click. She had been staring at it for a couple of minutes when a key slotted into the door, rousing her from her silent study.
“I’ve got breakfast!” Marten announced, waving a paper bag of croissants. He arched a brow when he caught sight of her sitting lonely at the kitchen table. “Tony’s still in bed?”
“Shower,” Jackie answered. She’d heard the shuffling of bare feet across the floor a little earlier. It was the weekend and Tony only sometimes rushed to the gym anymore. When there was a choice between loitering in bed with them and braving the cold, he almost always went for the former. It was only recently that Jackie had begun thinking there was an ulterior motive to his neglecting his form. She turned the laptop around for Marten to see what she’d been up to.
The croissants met the table. “Are we checking up on him?”
“Aren’t you curious?” Jackie shot back, scalding her tongue on too-hot coffee. Tony had mentioned getting a job at a nearby store, mostly lifting boxes and stocking shelves. He’d failed to say whether that meant he’d quit his old one. And while Jackie couldn’t pretend she wanted to know out of concern for her own health—they were practising safe sex even after a full year together—she was curious. It seemed like the kind of thing partners should discuss.
Marten hitched up his left shoulder. “A little. But I would rather he tells us than the other way around.” Ever since refusing the job offer in Seattle, he had begun making more time for his personal life. He came home at a decent hour, sometimes even stopping by to pick Jackie up from work. He didn’t run off during the weekends anymore.
“Me too.” Admitting as much did nothing to shift Jackie’s interest. She still wanted to know. It wouldn’t make a difference either way, it wouldn’t change what they were, but knowing would help. Somehow.
The bedroom door creaked. Tony’s footsteps were audible as he padded out into the hall.
Marten slammed down the laptop screen to hide the browser page. It was a far cry from inconspicuous. If the plastic thump didn’t give them away, the guilty expressions around the table were an all-too-obvious tip-off. “Are you two looking at porn again?” Tony quipped. He was wearing one of Marten’s T-shirts over a faded pair of jeans, his feet bare on the kitchen tile. “Oh, breakfast—”
Jackie watched him kiss Marten in lieu of thanks. Affection came so easy to Tony that sometimes she wondered how they’d ever survived without him. He had beco
me the glue that held this weird, lopsided family of theirs together. It didn’t matter that her folks didn’t understand, or that Marten’s were growing increasingly suspicious. It worked for them. And Marten was right—they owed him a little bit of trust. If there was something to discuss about his former—or current—career, Tony would tell them himself.
“No gym today?” she asked instead, sitting back as Marten obligingly drew out three plates.
Tony shook his head. “Taking Joni to the park around ten… You’re welcome to come, if you want.” His brows arched. “I would’ve told you earlier, only I know you’re so hard to get out of the house…”
“Are you calling me lazy?”
“Languid,” Tony shot back, sucking in his cheeks to keep from laughing. “Nothing wrong with being a homebody.”
“I know, but it’s not true.” She looked to Marten for support. “It’s not, right?”
Marten gave a dutiful nod. “Right.”
“You’re only saying that!”
“Right.” This time Marten, too, was grinning broadly.
“I hate you both,” Jackie announced with a solemn exhale. “Just for that, neither of you gets a bite of my Danish.”
“We’ll live,” Marten drawled. “Tony, do you want tea?” He already had the kettle running, its familiar hiss filling the kitchen with noise.
“Can’t,” Tony said with a headshake. “I’ve got a couple of errands to run before I see Joni… Offer still stands, by the way.” He filched one of the croissants, already retreating.
“Can’t,” Jackie shot back. “Apparently I’m lazy.”
Marten rolled his eyes. “Oh, hush.”
“Suit yourself,” Tony called out from the living room. The thump of his trainers echoed into the kitchen. “But we’re renting bikes, so it’s your loss.”
Jackie smiled. She’d had her doubts about Clara and the wisdom of standing in her way, but Tony had been firm and resolute in dealing with her. Somehow, out of the mess of their relationship, Tony had successfully forged a relationship with his daughter. Clara had quit the magazine a few weeks after Tony had moved out of the apartment the two of them shared, so Jackie didn’t know how she was faring. Tony didn’t share her concern. According to him, Clara was like a cat that always landed on her feet. At most, this was a setback in her ambitions. The thought failed to reassure. Jackie worried about repercussions, but with the months passing and no flowerpots conspicuously dropping from windowsills onto her head, she’d started giving up the sport.
“Can we meet you at the park?” she called, loud over the wailing of the kettle.
Tony’s answer was immediate, “Sure. Oh, by the way, feel free to check the website if you want.” Jackie felt the blood drain from her face just as Tony put his head around the doorframe. “I took it down,” he added, smiling crookedly. “You’ll just have to get your kicks elsewhere.”
He was gone before Jackie could answer, an entirely too self-satisfied grin on his pretty face. Marten huffed out a laugh.
“He sees right through us, doesn’t he?” Jackie took a sip of her coffee, though it did nothing to mitigate the shock. Warmth bloomed in her chest—not butterflies, not panic, just the pleasant warmth of relief. It took her a long moment to fire up the laptop again. The browser page was still waiting expectantly for her go-ahead, arrow blinking into focus. Jackie moved the cursor to the small X in the upper corner of the screen.
She clicked once.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Starting Over
Barbara Elsborg
Excerpt
Chapter One
I hate my job. I hate my life. I hate my job. I hate my life.
“Yes, Mrs Dutton, but—” Pia said into her mouthpiece.
She closed her eyes as she was interrupted yet again, tempted to bang her head on the desk. Good thing the irate woman was at the other end of a phone line or Pia might have been tempted to bang Mrs Dutton’s head on the desk rather than her own.
“Of course, Mrs Dutton, but—”
How many times would she have to repeat the same thing? They were dancing in circles with Pia hardly able to get a word in. Finally, the woman paused to draw breath and Pia seized her chance.
“I can understand your disappointment. The thing is you should have declared you had a heart condition when you took out the insurance. You were asked if you had any health issues and your response was no.”
“But I wasn’t ill when I went on holiday.”
Oh, God. “Yes, but insurance is offered on the basis of your medical history. You failed to provide us with all the facts. The premium you paid was based on incorrect information.” Otherwise known as lies. “We might well have declined to insure you if you’d told us.” Or charged her a fortune.
“That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
Pia winced. The call was being recorded and that was an admission of fraud.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Dutton, but Insure4U2 have to reject your claim.”
She waited for either an earful of abuse or tearful sobs. She actually preferred to be yelled at. It was easier to deal with.
“But the b-bills…” the woman hiccupped. “What am I going to do? I don’t have enough money to pay them.”
The prolonged wail into her throbbing ear chewed at Pia’s heart. The woman’s debt was not the company’s problem, but Pia felt sorry for her.
“Do you have family you could borrow from? Perhaps take out a loan? You could speak to your bank manager.”
The sobbing stuttered to a halt. “You have no idea what my life’s been like. I needed that holiday. My husband died. I had to get away. It was supposed to be a new start and now I have a mountain of debt. I might lose my home.”
“I’m very sorry,” Pia said quietly. “I do understand—”
“No you don’t,” the woman snapped, anger replacing her tears. “You don’t care. You’re just some faceless nine-to-five pen-pusher. You insurance people are all the same, looking for ways to worm out of paying what’s due. Well, I’ll be putting in a complaint about you. I’ve not been treated fairly.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way—” Pia listened to a dial tone and exhaled.
A glance at the clock showed it was well past time to go home and she powered off her computer. After six in the evening another call centre took over. Everyone else had already gone, happy it was Friday, looking forward to seeing their partners, kids and pets. Pia had none of those. She didn’t even have a plant. They never thrived under her care. Nothing thrived under her care. She shuddered.
Pia grabbed her coat and purse and made her way downstairs. She waved at the rotund security guard behind the reception desk.
“Night, Fred.”
“Last out again, Pia? Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
There was no such thing as a good weekend. At least from Monday to Friday her life had purpose, even if she hated the job. Get up, go to work, come home, eat, go to bed, toss and turn, get up, go to work. The weekends were almost unbearable, long days of nothing, longer nights of more than nothing with not even a plant to talk to. She tugged up the collar of her coat and made her way through the city streets towards—towards what? She actually had a choice tonight, though she’d talked herself in and out of it so many times her stomach had churned all day and she’d not eaten a thing.
Better to go home and…what? Eat a meal for one in front of a crap TV show? Pretend to be happy? Pretend to be normal? Her heart ached.
I am so lonely.
Then do something about it.
What?
You know what.
Pia turned and walked back towards the Grand Hotel. Ten steps later, she swivelled round and resumed her journey to the station.
Coward.
So?
Are you going to call and tell him you’ve changed your mind?
She took out her phone, then stuffed it back in her pocket and reversed direction yet again
.
Two weeks ago she’d responded to an ad in the Yorkshire Post’s personal columns.
Good-looking charmer in his mid-thirties, looking for a female 18-30 for fun times when he’s in town. Tall, slim, blond, GSOH. Reply box 14598
Pia wasn’t sure if he was tall, blond and had a good sense of humour or that was what he was looking for. In any case, she was tall and blonde, and she used to have a good sense of humour, although it had mostly been missing for the last eighteen months. Laughing made her feel guilty. She’d miraculously managed to send off a response to the ad before she could change her mind, although she’d freaked out after she’d sent the email. Even more miraculous was that a week ago she had met tall, slim, blond, GSOH for a drink.
He hadn’t lied. Steve Hartley was exactly what he’d said he was, although a little too charming for Pia. He’d been as smooth as an icy slide and clearly after one thing only—a woman in his bed. Apparently, he’d had so many responses to his ad he’d decided to interview everyone who’d replied. But he’d made her smile and she’d made him smile. Even though he wasn’t really her type, his admission that he wasn’t looking for anything serious fitted with what she wanted. Pia wondered if he could be the one to snap her back to life because if she didn’t do something soon, she’d wither up like a fallen leaf and crumble to nothing.
So at that first meeting a week ago, she’d said yes to seeing him again and had made her way home with her confidence buoyed by his desire to get together, although that niggling devil of doubt had told her he’d said that to all the women he’d spoken to. By the end of the train journey, she’d talked herself out of meeting him again. She’d crawled into bed knowing she couldn’t do stringless sex, that she had to feel some emotional connection in order to get into bed with a guy. She had boundaries and morals, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted sex. Maybe she just needed to be wanted by someone who wanted sex.
