It's Always Complicated (Her Billionaires Book 4)

by Julia Kent

  “Uh, frozen enchiladas.” He shrugged as he poured three glasses of wine. “It was the best I could do on short notice.”

  Mike groaned. “Great. It’s bad enough that I am the cause of not going to Paris on our honeymoon, but now our dinner is something you microwave?”

  “They’re organic,” Dylan said in a defensive tone.

  “Guys! I did not come on my honeymoon to hear you fight!”

  “We came on our honeymoon to come,” Dylan replied.

  Mike groaned.

  “What? Is it some kind of secret that we’re going to have sex? There are more sex toys in that closet over there,” he said, pointing with the corkscrew, “than in a whorehouse.”

  “You’ve frequented whorehouses?” Laura asked, eyebrow up.

  “No. It just sounded pithy.”

  “Since when do you need to sound pithy?” Mike asked.

  “Since I decided to become a Pith Lord.”

  Mike and Laura groaned.

  “Do we really have an entire week here, with the kids just up the road at the house?” Laura asked, downing half her wine without thinking. The idea seemed unreal. She hadn’t had an entire week alone with her guys since she was pregnant with Jillian, three and a half years ago.

  “Whatever will we do?” Dylan said with a leer.

  “We can binge-watch all the shows we’ve missed for the past three years!” she chirped.

  “I was thinking along other lines,” Mike said, sliding his hand up Laura’s knee, making her throat burble with laughter.

  A week. An entire week. No diapers, no middle-of-the-night wakings, no constant whining, no chaotic noise. Laura had weaned the boys right before the wedding, so no nursing anymore. While she’d been wistful, she’d also been ready. So had they, to her surprise.

  “Seriously.” Dylan frowned, downed the rest of his wine, and gave Laura an incredulous look. “A week? I think my cock’ll fall off by Friday if we try to catch up on all the sex we’ve missed for the past three years.”

  “Good thing Mike has one, then,” she said, motioning for Dylan to pour her another glass of wine.

  “I’m one-handed,” Mike said, waving his cast between the three of them.

  “We’re not talking about how you jack off,” Dylan said with a fake sigh.

  “Really?” Laura protested. “You want to talk about masturbation now?”

  “I want to talk about this one hand I have and how it is going to have to do the job of two,” Mike said, kissing Laura’s neck. He abandoned his wine glass and she finished hers, misjudging how full it was after Dylan had poured a new glass. A drop of wine slid down her chin to her neck.

  “Oh,” Dylan said in a low, thick voice. “Let me help you with that.” He bent down, the tip of his tongue making her body tingle as he grazed his way up between her breasts, his lips on her, suckling harder than he needed to. Reaching into her shirt, he pulled one breast out of her bra cup and continued his journey, his mouth pulling in one nipple, making her groan.

  A week, huh?

  Oh, this was going to be grand.

  “I’m not sure,” Mike said, his breath quickening, “what I can do without a hand, and with a barely-recovering body.” They’d stayed at the campground for two days after the wedding, sending Josie and Alex off, giving Mike a chance to prepare his body for the long car drive home.

  “Your cock didn’t break, right?” Dylan asked.

  Laura reached for Mike’s package, finding him tight and thick. “No,” she replied for him, delighting in slipping her fingers under his waistband, savoring the moment her fingertips made contact with the soft, rigid flesh..

  “My mouth works,” Mike interjected as he groaned, the sound strangely satisfying.

  “Thank God,” she muttered, going in for a kiss.

  This was the first time since she’d given birth to Jillian where the sheer luxury of time spread out before her like an ocean as the tides came in, seemingly endless, massively powerful, and a reminder of how so much of the world remained out of access because it was so complex as to be invisible. A week. An entire, glorious week. She felt so rich with time.

  Sex was sex, and she knew, as she kissed Mike, Dylan’s hands on her, unbuttoning her blouse and freeing her breasts from her bra, that they would have lots of it. Operationally, that was obvious.

  Even required when you’re on your honeymoon.

  Some deeper sense of self, in triplicate, emerged as she contemplated the fact that they had one entire week to devote to each other. No jobs. No foundations. No dating services or music classes or swimming lessons or teething. The kids were in suspended animation (not literally) for a week while she, Mike and Dylan reconnected.

  A week to be focused on each other.

  Laura felt like a virgin all over again.

  “You all right?’ Dylan whispered in her ear, making her shiver. She dipped her head before he could lick her ear and laughed.

  Halting and tentative suddenly, the overwhelming sense that their wedding had redefined them swept over her, consuming her mind, making it race with the thousands of tiny thoughts that added up to a swarm. Her body wanted to enjoy the kiss, the caresses, the feeling of fabric against skin as Dylan stripped her nude, but she couldn’t shake the torrent of thoughts that reframed how she viewed this week. This life.

  Like a prism, a tiny turn of an angle made the world explode into color and devastating brightness, her present illuminated and laid bare, her sense of self questioned.

  And then, just like that, it all melted away.

  This was her world. Now. It could collapse into a tiny speck, or expand into new realms, so far-flung they stretched stardust beyond infinity. Shifting her perspective was all it took, and as she closed her eyes and let herself breathe, feeling the stroke of Dylan’s callused palm against her bare back, the prickle of Mike’s stubble on her chin, the sound of birds in the woods outdoors, and the scent of wine on Mike’s breath, she felt that change inside herself, outside herself, and the warm, full sense that every part of what she needed, what she craved, was always accessible.

  She had to give herself permission.

  “Too many clothes,” she murmured, breaking the kiss, shimmying out of her pants, naked before them. Mike tilted to the right, then bounced up, his smile sheepish and sensual, eyes begging her.

  Please undress me.

  Now.

  “Need some help?” she asked, her laugh full-throated, her mind’s buzz dialing down as she reached for the snap of his jeans, the sensation of his metal zipper tab between her thumb and forefinger so deliciously slow and real that she felt her pulse in her clit. Second by second, time rolled through her like a temporal orgasm, her own breath a delight, the rise and fall of her ribcage as she inhaled and exhaled a foreplay that she found sensual beyond measure.

  “I could use it,” Mike said with a sigh that morphed into a groan as she reached under the waistband of his boxer briefs and two-palmed, slid his pants off, her palms tickled by his thigh hair, her body flushed hot by sensation.

  Mike needed help with the rest, but within half a minute all three were on top of the enormous bed, windows open, the warm summer air circulating as the ceiling fan above them made lazy circles. It moved slowly, a reminder that they were in no rush, either.

  Her first orgasm seized her so quickly she had no time to cry out, her body clenched tight, throat unable to react. It must have been hovering beneath the surface, ready at will, and being in bed with so much warm, naked, eager flesh gave her body permission to release.

  Maybe it knew this needed to come—literally—in smaller waves at first, her body pulsing gently and with great heat, because what hovered in the room, anticipatory and patient, was going to be so great that she needed practice orgasms. The body cannot move from chatter to full immersion, Laura had learned. It needed to be promised, with kisses and slickness, with sighs and whispered dirty, dirty words, the vocabulary of heated sex an adjuvant that took the same basic set-up of
biology and kinesiology and turned it into a divinely emotional, integrated sex of fucking astounding, mind-blowing climaxes.

  In triplicate.

  “You’re so open and beautiful when you come,” Dylan said in her ear, his hot breath torturing her, making her hips arch up and her nipples rock hard. He lowered his voice but the need was there, emanating from him, radiating in the tiny space between where his lips began and her ear picked up the sound. He didn’t need to compliment her, and she blushed but said nothing, barely able—even after four years—to believe the words. She did, because he meant them, full-hearted and with great passion.

  No touch could replace that.

  “You make me come in ways that allow me to be open and beautiful,” she said to him, then caught Mike’s eye. Both of them. They knew her words were always inclusive, but she took that extra step, knowing it was relationship, glue, a kind of binding that connected them all to each other. Words matter.

  Words always matter.

  But actions truly do speak louder than words.

  And right now, the only vocabulary Laura wanted to draw from was one that used fingers, palms, lips, and tongues to craft a love language that would transport them to another plane of existence, where blood carried words to sensual cells that cried out for attention, and where blood would recede, chests would rise and fall, and the need to touch and be touched in the marrow of each others bones would be sated.

  For a short time.

  She reached to find Dylan’s thick shaft, predicting the long, dry hiss as he inhaled through his pleasure. Thoughts of tasks and errands undone flooded her mind, a ceaseless cacophony of distraction that she willed away yet again. Sex was never simple these days. She couldn’t turn off the rest of the world easily, her mind consumed by all things child, all things household, by being the executive brain of the household who felt like it never had permission to turn off.

  How could he be turned on when she couldn’t turn that off?

  Wrapping her lips around the head of Dylan’s cock was a start.

  The soft, yielding skin tasted like silk and rainwater, his imprinted scent filling her, making her focus on him. Perhaps that was the answer: release the mindchatter by devoting herself entirely to his pleasure. She ran one hand under his shaft and cupped his balls, so heavy and light at the same time. On her knees, ass in the air, she reached up to her neck and brushed her long hair away from him, feeling it brush against the middle of her back like a lover’s hand.

  “God, that feels amazing,” Dylan said. She felt his eyes on her, then felt a hand on her ass, caressing. Not knowing whose hand it was thrilled her, spiking her need even more. Over the years she’d lost the sense of who touched what during sex, their bodies molding into a blur. The differentiation between her and Dylan and Mike seemed artificial.

  They were just an erotic group of pleasure. The goal was simple: there was no goal.

  Just love and fire and craving and pulse.

  Smiling, Laura took him in deep, going slow, flattening her tongue and returning one hand to the underside of his sac, one finger sliding down the center of the root of him, pressing up, exerting pressure in a long line leading back to her. His groan made him twitch in her mouth just as another hand found her wet and eager, swollen and ready again.

  Suddenly, she had to know. Releasing Dylan, she kept her mouth on him, but with a free hand she traced the source of the touch, the fingers that found the hooded clitoris and teased around it, making her flush.

  Mike.

  Mike’s one good hand.

  And oh, what a good hand it was, indeed.

  She quickened her attentions to Dylan, surprising him with tiny flicks of the tongue designed to make his need surge within, to trigger the massive masculine rush she loved. It wasn’t a state that was observed or heard, but rather felt. Her men became suns, radiating heat and musk, energy and fusion and fission and pure, untamed light as their arousal grew.

  Unlike frantic, stolen moments in bed, where five-minute quickies and making sure they all came right away was the order of business, to prevent an awakened child from interrupting, this was timeless. Spaceless. Laura, Mike and Dylan were in no rush, and she let herself sink further into the mind and body space that said, Breathe.

  Be.

  Enjoy.

  Cool air tightened her nipples, followed by hot warmth that made her gasp. Mike’s blonde hair covered her chest now, his mouth on her, Dylan moving to the other side of the bed, ensconcing one side of her with skin stretched over hard marble, all fire and bone. This was the moment she’d loved so much when they were first together, the delicious feeling that they served her with their bodies, and that she was a buffet to be sampled, then devoured, until all three were full.

  And the guys, empty.

  The slide of Dylan’s muscled body against her left, and Mike’s awkward, lean body to her right, his casted arm comical as he held it, befuddled but with an erection that could almost touch the ceiling, made her sigh, letting go of everything but the Laura she wanted to be right now. Mike’s cock jumped in her hand as she wrapped her fingers around it, Mike’s mouth sucking hard on on nipple, her clit crying out for a mouth now.

  And Dylan heard that silent cry for help.

  “Oh, she moaned as he moved like a predator, her body his prey. The moment his hands parted her legs, gentle but insistent, and as air rushed to fill the vacuum caused by the spreading of her thighs, was always a hitched moment in time, a precipice between being Laura, and being pitched forward into a sensual world of motion and wetness, of nerves and need, of timeless pleasure where she went to a place in the body that could only be accessed by his tongue, searching and purposeful, seeking her ecstasy.

  She watched. This was new. tilting her chin to chest, her eyes eagerly took in the sight of his head between her legs, a bashful blush filling her cheeks as she indulged in the visual. Her body ratcheted up, her blood racing, heart slamming against the very chest that was covered by Mike’s head, the two working her body like an instrument, part strings, part brass.

  All symphony.

  Her fingers curled against the bed sheets, pulling them inch by inch into her fisted hands, her hips arching up as Dylan slid one finger, then two, inside her, the fullness never enough, yet teasingly helpful. The combination of his mouth on her clit, gently sucking and laving, his fingers within, and Mike’s mouth on her breast was too much, too full, too everything, and she came with a scream, the erotic violence so sudden her throat spasmed as she held her breath until she felt blood vessels pinprick around her eyes, saw the world change and shift into sepia tones, made herself exhale and then breathe in, because if she didn’t she would faint—and fainting would mean she would lose touch with this feeling.

  And that just could not happen.

  Riding Dylan’s face, oxygen filling her, the great pull of air into her lungs pressing her breasts into Mike’s eager mouth, Laura felt that fusion that came with extraordinary orgasms. Blood and skin and arteries and nerves all merged into oneness, no more divisions between her body and theirs, the rough sensuality of taking as much gratification as possible from each other a kind of contract, signed in liquid lust.

  She threaded her fingers in Dylan’s hair, pulling him up, her other hand on Mike’s shaft, skimming the surface with a feather touch that she knew was more powerful than a firm grip. As if he read her mind, Dylan moved up her body, planting a wet, warm kiss on her mouth, then reaching for the nightstand for the lube.

  Both. They both needed to be in her.

  Now.

  This would be tricky, with Mike’s broken arm, but ten seconds later, she was astride him, her hands on his pecs, bracing herself, skin abuzz and body tremoring with a craving as she nearly wept with joy from the fullness of him inside her, from the intense eyes and slight smile that tickled his lips as he studied her, looking up. She coveted their bodies, ached to have them inside her, wanting the three aligned and joined inside her.

  Shivering as
Dylan prepared her ass, the wet rush of viscous fluid dripping from tailbone down, she felt him at the rim, slow and purposeful, respectful yet eager. His chest pressed against her back, one arm bracing him on the right, the other holding himself for aim as slowly, tenderly, he made his way inside her, all throb and pulse, all steady presence and wall of hard heat behind her.

  Full. Full and overflowing, she relaxed, letting her men find their way to the piece of her buried deep inside, touched only in moments like this.

  This is it, she thought. My forever home. I’m done searching. I’m here.

  As Laura lifted herself up with her palms pressed into Mike’s chest, Dylan caught her rhythm, the sensual slide of his shaft against her tightness so excruciatingly sensitive she felt her clit blossom like mountain laurel, bursting with beauty. Her hair dragged against Mike’s shoulders as she tipped her head down, lost in the sensation, the brush of Dylan’s abs against her ass and the tickle of his coiled curls so real and human that she wished she could slow time and make it serve her. Make time submit.

  Soon time lost all meaning as she felt the massive, full-body wave approach with a roar and a promise.

  Tears of joy, unexpected and delightfully part of the roaring climax that consumed all three of them, rolled down her cheeks as she slipped into another world, one filled with light and pulse and groans and screams of pleasure, the roar of nirvana and raw, primal release one that had no boundaries, no rules, no expectations, and no judgment. The three of them strained for friction and flow to squeeze every drop of pounding pleasure from their simultaneous orgasm, Laura’s mind filled with one word that surfed through her body on blood pumped by nothing but lust driven by pure love.

  Home, she thought. Home home home home home home home.

  Epilogue

  Two Months Later

  Verily, Maine

  Lydia

  “You’re right,” Lydia admitted, looking up at the night sky, the crisp fall air cutting their kayak trip short. “You really can see more stars from here.”