Keith’s eyes are dark and brown, warm and happy, and I couldn’t possibly be more in love with him. I feel him in every wisp of air I inhale, every cell in my body. I want his love, his heart. I want his children, his family. I want to cook for him, care for him, and support him in every way a woman supports the man she loves.
And I love Jason. I loved him when he refused to take my virginity. I loved him when I said goodbye to him fourteen years ago and when he pushed through muscle and nerve and pain, and breached my most private flesh. And I want to continue loving him. I will continue loving him.
Two men are my heart, my soul, my life.
“I—I love you—both,” I whisper softly as my eyes fill with emotion because I have no idea how or if this could ever work out. “I love you both with all that I am.”
Keith slides out of me and lifts my hand against his chest, while I cringe as Jason nuzzles his face into my neck and eases out. “And Keith, you’re exactly right.” I shift onto my back and watch two full condoms ease down two beautiful penises while aching and craving to one day feel that warm arousal leaking from inside me and soaking the sheets beneath me. I look at Keith, then Jason. “The house, the kids, the soccer games … I want them all. God, I do.” Tears flood my eyes. “And I want you. I want Jason. I want the two of you to keep wanting each other. But I’m not an idiot. I don’t know how that can ever happen.”
Keith kisses my mouth softly, then deeply. “Anything can happen, baby girl. We just have to make it happen. But just as you said, this will take effort. We will be judged—and not always positively. But understand that, for better or for worse, you, Jason, and I … we will create our own life.”
After the three of us shower, we climb back into Keith’s bed, fingers, arms, legs, all coiling and lacing together until I feel the soft blanket of slumber sliding over me, thoughts of a house, kids, soccer games, the last things I remember.
Chapter Eighteen
Keith
Days are flying past in a blur. This anthrax outbreak has required giving all the herd, even the bred heifers that haven’t pastured on the south end of the property, the anthrax spore vaccine, which will also require a booster to maintain immunity. We’ve vaccinated the entire herd, and no more carcasses have been found, but I suspect more than half, if not more, of the deer are gone. Between moving the cattle, vaccinating, baling and storing hay, and battling over the fucking exasperating cost of the foundation issues on the museum, the days have flown by.
I still haven’t taken Jen out to see Ladonna Fisher. I tried not once but three times to talk to that woman after Rylee’s death. One minute she was crying, carrying on, telling Jesus to forgive her and that it should have been her. The next she looked me straight in the eye and said she had no idea what possessed her daughter to do something so foolishly selfish and that her self-concerned deeds had broken up a family.
There wasn’t a damn selfish bone in that girl’s body.
After eight days on the road, Jason is back from another business trip. As good as it is seeing him home, I’m treading lightly. Thick tension fills the air. He’s definitely bent out of shape about something, barely saying a dozen words since he walked through the door. I’m almost relieved that Jen is having dinner with Morgan this evening.
Though Jason is rarely in a crabby mood, I’ve never seen him look so disgruntled or so riled. And being tired as hell myself, every angry glare from his eyes and clipped response from his lips is only fueling the fire inside me.
“Trip that bad?” He’s damn near silent as we share a beer out back. No idea what’s got his fucking feathers ruffled, but he looks like he’s seconds from snapping.
I’m a little amused, a little pissed, a lot aroused.
Between an expression that’s somewhere between smiling like something good is about to happen and glaring like he’s two seconds from putting a fist through something, I can’t deny that his temperament only intensifies the callous craving inside me to bind him, press my hand against his throat until the fight leaves him and he’s seconds from passing out, then leave his inner thighs and muscular ass covered in a nice long pattern of red welts before raising his heels to Jesus.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Jason rises from the lounge chair with a harsh bitterness flashing in his eyes as he swallows the last of a Guinness and all but slams the bottle down on the table.
“What’s wrong with me?” His back tenses as he glares at me like he’s way beyond wanting to kick some ass. “Ever even considered the small fact that I may just be fucking exhausted? Or stressed? Or thinking about my future? I travel all week,” he continues, his expression simmering mad. “While you get to stay here on your pretty little piece of paradise with no worries of money, no worries of financial future, and all the sweet warm pussy you want.”
“Is that right?” I push up from my chair and stand close enough to feel the tension rolling between us like ugly storm clouds. “You call losing my yearly income paradise? Knowing damn well that it could cost me next year as well? You consider rotting deer carcasses fucking pretty? You ever smelled decaying flesh? Felt revulsion from watching maggots writhing through decomposing corpses? Think again, Jason.” I lower my hand in a slow slide down the length of his face and stop at his throat then squeeze and release. “This paradise only remains that way if I keep this place up and running. I’m not wallowing in fucking trust fund money! And as for all the pussy I want, she loves you just as much as she does me, you ignorant fuck.”
“Yet, I only fuck her ass, and only when you say, while you, Keith, own every hole she has.”
His heated tone has fury hissing through my body and the veins thudding in my neck. “Is this what’s got you worked up? Your dick throbbing for some pussy?”
The burning hard stare of his gaze has his face red with rage, his expression angry cold ice. “You once told me you were willing to submit to me. To do as I say. When I say. And with no doubt, no debate, no dispute. I guess that’s changing. So, tell me what you want, goddamn it to hell!”
Animosity and hostility glaze his eyes, his burning stare rigid, cold, and hard. With his face a blotchy crimson, he kicks the chair to the ground then takes a swing at me. “This, motherfucker. This is what I want.” His first jab glances my chin, and it feels like my teeth are knocked loose. Blood rises in my mouth, and I reach over and spit beside his boot.
He takes a second swing the instant I spin back around, but I take a lurching step forward and land a bruising hard blow to his ribs, which sends him doubling over to catch his breath. When he stands back up, he lunges again, and I grab him by the neck then force him into the brick wall. “You feel better, boy?”
He glares at me with a look I know all too well. After fifteen years, I know every aspect of his face, every hairline movement in his body. I know if he’s in the mood to simply be “Jason” or if he’s ready to be “boy.” Being two hundred plus pounds of hard muscle, he can hold his own, probably taking me to the floor if he chooses to do so.
He’s holding back.
“Fucking fuck you, you bitch-ass greedy sonofabitch. You uproot this beautiful woman’s life to bring her back here, knowing damn well she’s in love with you. Knowing she’s leaving a good job and good friends because you asked her to. Because she can’t say no to you. She deserves a real life. A monogamous relationship. Not seesawing between two fucked-up bisexual men.”
With my grip tightening against his throat, I lower my free hand and reach between his legs. “Is this really about me, or is it about your dick craving some sweet pussy? Or the fact that you know very well that you’re making the biggest mistake of your damn life walking away?” I squeeze his length, which grows hard at my touch. “Is it really me who’s the greedy one? Me, you ungrateful, disrespectful jackass? How many men do you know who would willingly let another man take his woman’s tight little puckered asshole for the first time? You think I gave you the fucking honor of sinking this thick eight inche
s of cock through all that muscle and nerve that no man has ever had before out of greed? Self-centeredness?” I release my hand from his neck and stare into those ocean-blue eyes that burn with anger and sizzle with rage and lust. “That, boy, was done out of respect. Out of unselfishness. That was done out of nothing but unbreakable love.”
There are no words after my confession and nothing but a thick, chilling kind of silence, one that only seems to be growing deeper and ebbing into a black wretched glumness of nothingness.
“But you’re right about one thing. I can be a selfish bastard. I fight for what I want. I always have. I always will. And with that selfishness comes honesty. And right now,” I add, while squeezing him so hard through his jeans that his eyes dilate, “I think you know what that is … boy.”
His eyes search mine like he’s debating on whether to take another jab at my jaw or reach for my swelling erection so we can masturbate each other until the both of us are a breathless mess of slick cum and limp cocks. It takes every bit of strength not to take him right here, right now, to bind, torment, possess, and own. “Unless, that is, you’d like to take another swing at me first.”
With a chilling silence still lingering between us—my one arm on his shoulder, the other between his thighs—we take long, anxious, backward strides around the corner and down the hall, his eyes blazing bright blue as we reach the bedroom door. I ease the grip on his shoulder but strengthen my hold on his cock. “Choice is yours.”
“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Jason rasps out while reaching for my face and rubbing a finger across my lip. “Christ, I do. But you’re bleeding.” He kisses a slow trail across my mouth that turns my body hard. “And you know damn well what I need. You always have. You know me better than I know myself at times, and days like this, I truly can’t stand that you have that much control over me.” He slides his hand down my abdomen, shoves at my zipper, then reaches inside the elastic of my boxers where he closes his palm over me, damn well knowing who has the power and who’s always held the power.
“You know exactly what I need. What I always need. This! Inside me, goddammit!” His heated palm squeezes my crown. “It feels like a lifetime. It’s been too fucking long. Too fucking long, Keith.”
“Undress me. Undress yourself,” I add in a grumble then give his lips an inappreciable brush with mine. “Then pick out your favorite flogger, boy.”
Jason teases the head of my cock with his thumb and drops his lips on mine and kisses me slowly, gently, his rolling finger pulling pre-cum and hardening me to misery. “I’ve fucking missed you. I’ve missed us.” He pulls back and connects with my eyes. “I know you love Jen. I’ve always known. And it’s always hurt … because I love her too. But the two of you need to be together, Keith.”
His words give rise to unsought emotion, and I swallow at the lump lodged deep in my throat. “I, too, have always known you loved Jen. I knew damn well why you didn’t fuck her when you had the chance. But she loves you. She loves me. We both love her, and each other. And—”
“Just fucking stop, Keith. With all the emotion. All the guilt, the remorse.” Jason strips off his clothes, undresses me, then walks to the closet and quickly returns with a blunt-end flogger made from latigo leather.
“Make all the pain, all the worries, all the challenges and complications … go away.”
My chest constricts with love and need. Lust and longing. He faces the wall, spreads his legs wide, and steps back a couple of inches then threads his fingertips together behind the nape of his neck. I don’t need to bind his wrists or his legs. He won’t move an inch. He craves this. Hungers for this. He lives for this.
When I throw the first strike and see his flesh turn a nice pink shade, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t utter a word. He does nothing but wait patiently and compliantly while anticipating the endorphins soon to be flooding his blood system, the pain, the burn, and the pleasure that will shortly be running through his body and turning his cock to hard, hot steel, and the exquisite ecstasy of what follows after his skin is a blazing, red-hot fire from the final stroke.
Lean muscles tense and tighten with every hard thrash. Over the nape of his neck. Down the long length of his back. Over the firm curves of his ass. His fingertips are white from clenching them together, and with a final, brutal strike to the area directly underneath the sensitive skin where his ass meets the top of his thigh, a carnal groan rises up his chest, and his fingertips squeeze and clutch, grasp and grip.
I drop the flogger behind me with my body trembling and roll on a condom, my dick painfully swollen as I silently howl inside with desperation for the dark, deep depths of the body in front of me. The man who, for fifteen years, has filled the void in my soul, taken up the emptiness inside me, and made me realize that we aren’t here to judge. We aren’t here to lay blame on what we feel or who we are. We’re here for a short time only … to live. To flourish. To love.
Will the beautiful, sweet, compassionate woman that owns half my heart continue to accept the two men she claims to love when she sees all that we do? All that we feel? All that we demand? Will there be jealousy between us? Feelings we can’t adhere to? Will this, can this, ever work? Or does any of it matter at this point?
Will Jason stay in Springhill to find out?
Will he stand by me when I need him the most?
Will he walk away from Jen and deny her a second time?
With a moan that sounds more like a desperate carnal cry, I lean against the hot welted flesh of Jason’s back and part his thighs with my foot then bite at the nape of his neck while brushing a hand across the firm plane of his abdomen and the eight inches of hard muscle between his legs. I pull his hips closer and feel his shudder, his racing pulse, and my heartbeat in my ears. Then, I push through the tight muscle of tender flesh that is my temple, my sanctuary, and everywhere I need to be. Everywhere he wants me to be.
“I know what you need, boy,” I whisper softly. “I’ve always known.”
Chapter Nineteen
14 Years Ago
Jen
Losing a best friend is like losing a little piece of your soul. It never heals—not entirely. The pain never ends—not completely.
But a true friend never leaves your heart, even if they’ve left your life.
The little voices inside a person’s head uttering, “don’t ride your bike down that sidewalk,” “don’t jump off the high diving board,” “stay home and study for your math exam” are there for a reason.
That feeling is with me this hot summer day. But then it’s me, and I always get gut feelings that usually play out to nothing but an overactive imagination. I’ve listened to way too many silly stories out at Ryker Ranch. Paid way too much attention to rumors and tall tales provoked by beer drinking and weed smoking. Watched one too many horror movies that kept me up all night.
Nevertheless, something keeps telling me that today will not end without grief.
So far, the day has been a good one. We’ve just finished sharing pasta salad filled with braised chicken, asparagus, mushrooms, and mouthwatering homemade mustard vinaigrette at Mom’s favorite place, Potpourri of Silk & Spice. Even though we’re both stuffed, Mom’s insisting we also share a pot of Earl Grey—for no other reason than because she adores the pretty china they serve the tea in—along with two luscious lemon éclairs. Mom’s mood is great. She’s decided we need to make San Alba a monthly date between mom and daughter but that we can bring Rylee next time.
That day won’t ever happen. I feel it. I know it.
After lunch, we stop by Target for a few household items, the Western shop for a belt for Dad, and lastly Candy Crate. Yet, just as earlier in the day, I have a second odd premonition, this time that Rylee won’t be eating a bite of her favorite chocolate malt taffy.
It’s a little after three in the afternoon when Mom and I get home from San Alba with a dozen bags in hand. New jeans for the both of us, new bras and panties, and panty hose for Mom. My nails and toenails ar
e painted a bright sky blue, Mom’s, her normal soft pink. After a ten-minute shower, I lather on scented lotion, dry my hair, and apply light makeup. Hopefully, when I go over to Rylee’s in an hour or so, Jason will be over at Keith’s house and we can hang together, even if it means a trip to the musty old museum with absolutely nothing interesting to look at inside. I’ve made a silent pact to not freak out when I walk through the door. Ryker is just a lonely old man. And Jason and Rylee both like him. Jason swears that if I’d actually give the man a chance that he’s got some pretty cool stories to share about his time in the military.
If I get to see Keith … or Jason … it’s worth it. God, it is.
That weird gut feeling hits me again, and I shudder as I pull my hair back into a multi-colored headband covered in bling.
Mom pops her head through the door just as I’m sliding my feet into Yellow Box flip-flops, obviously upset. Her eyes are red from crying, and she takes my hand in hers. “I need you to come sit down for a minute, sweetheart.”
The blood drains from my face and I feel a rush of dread skate down my spine. A million ugly thoughts are running through my mind. Is my brother okay? Is Daddy worse? Is Mom okay? “Why, Mom? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rylee, baby.” Mom squeezes her eyes shut and when she opens them again, they look even redder than they just did. “Ladonna just called. She’s taken an overdose. She’s gone.”
What? When? Why? How? Please no. Please…
I stand up and run to the bathroom and throw up until there’s nothing left in my belly. Mom holds my hair behind me with one hand while the other caresses my back. “Why, Mom? Why? I knew this morning that I shouldn’t go to San Alba. I knew! I just knew it.”
“Jen, you can’t blame yourself for this,” Daddy says behind me. “You had no way of knowing.”
Call Me Sugar Page 16
