by Joey W. Hill
With Dana being a decorated soldier, and now training to be a minister, Rachel had felt like the plain Jane of the group at first. But that feeling was part of the same left behind debris that had nearly made her turn away from Jon, reject all he’d been offering her. He’d refused to let her.
She was so thankful for that, that sometimes she forgot that she was here today as much because of her own courage, and the will that Jon had helped her rediscover and build back up. “You can’t build something out of nothing, Rachel,” he’d told her, more than once. “Yes, I helped, maybe opened that door, but the treasure inside you was always there. I fell in love with you because of what shines out from your heart and soul.”
The emotional surge was oddly what helped her hold back. She gripped his hand at her hip, her head dropping as she pressed it between Dana’s shoulders. “I love you,” she said. “All of you.”
Dana’s hand found hers, where it was banded around Dana’s waist. The woman turned her head, Peter’s grip loosening so Rachel brush her cheek with her own. “Same goes,” Dana said softly. And she kissed a tear on Rachel’s face. “You’re crying and smiling at the same time. That’s the best kind of cry.”
Jon turned her face to him with an inexorable hand, studying her expression. Whatever he saw there eased his concerns about Dana’s pronouncement about her tears, and he kissed her mouth, the shift of his body moving him inside her, so she made a soft noise against his mouth. “With me, sweet girl?” he asked huskily.
It was a different version of what Peter had asked Dana, and Rachel understood it. Another thing they did. They never let their submissives get isolated in their own heads, always maintaining that heart, mind and soul connection above everything else, no matter the physical intensity of the session.
“Thank the Goddess, yes,” she said. Her body quivered at his look. “I want to come for you, Master,” she added, a break in her voice. “But I want your permission.”
The moment they started moving, she was going to lose the battle. She couldn’t resist what she felt for him, body or soul.
His lips curved, the look in his dark blue eyes caressing her, inside and out. He didn’t give her an answer, not right away. Instead, he eased her back down over Dana and resumed his movement inside her, pulling a cry from her with the very next stroke. She clutched Dana’s shoulder and felt the other woman shudder when Jon’s movements pushed the strap-on deeper inside her again. She made her own shriek when Peter apparently added to that, thrusting deeper into his sub and wife.
Jon pushed Rachel more firmly against Dana’s back so her breasts were pressed there, her hips working against Dana’s ass. When Rachel dropped her head fully to Dana’s nape, she let out a whispering sigh as Peter wrapped a big hand in her hair again, holding her pinned against Dana as effectively as Dana’s tether had held her head down when Rachel tied it to her leg. His other hand was at Dana’s hip, making her move how he wished. Down on his cock, back against the strap-on, in rhythm with Jon’s thrusts into Rachel. Her cunt convulsed on his length, and her cries grew more desperate.
“Master…please…”
Jon made her wait and struggle, just as Peter did Dana, until Rachel thought they’d all go up in flames. Perspiration made them slide against one another with even more erotic friction.
“Now,” Jon whispered to her, and Rachel immediately obeyed, her body jerking. The rough, erratic thrusts only seemed to goad Dana to greater heights, for apparently Peter had given her the same go-ahead. She and Dana were rocking together on a wild ride of release. They were all locked together; her body caught beneath Jon’s, his cock inside her, her joined to Dana with the strap-on, Peter’s unrelenting grip on her hair, his body lodged inside Dana. The joinings kept her movements intense yet controlled, magnifying the sensations. She wondered if Dana felt the same, for she was even more restricted by Jon and Rachel’s combined weight and the demands of her own Master.
Then any other random thoughts disappeared, for Jon released inside her. From the burst of additional power in his movements, Peter obviously did the same with Dana. The jet of seed inside Rachel pushed her even higher. Her and Dana’s screams likely vibrated the glass. Despite the excellent soundproofing between offices, Rachel knew the other men must be hearing them, all while sipping their drinks in Matt’s office. It added a whole other level to her response, and as she went over one more pinnacle, she wasn’t sure if she could go any higher without being dizzy.
She did get dizzy before the intensity at last started to subside. As she came down, she was clinging to Jon’s forearm, for he had his arm wrapped around her waist, his mouth at her shoulder as Peter released her hair.
It was like listening to one giant heartbeat slowly come down in pace, then breaking into four different rhythms, a soothing pattern that helped them hold onto reality as much as each other.
It was a while before anyone had the ability to speak or move, but at length, when his breath caught, Jon was the first. He slid his arm across Rachel’s chest, his other at her waist, and slowly eased her out of Dana’s body.
With his clever fingers he released the buckles so the strap-on fell away. He placed it on the mat. As Rachel was lifted and moved, Peter brought Dana fully down upon him, wrapping both large arms around her graceful back, one hand spreading out over her small, tight backside as she nestled her head into his shoulder and throat.
Jon lifted Rachel in his arms. How many times had he done that tonight? It didn’t matter; it would never be enough. The way he did it so effortlessly, she never tired of it. He took a seat in one of the chairs, curling her up in his embrace. Also something he’d done several times tonight. Also something she loved. Being in his arms, spent and quiet. Loving and loved.
He’d refastened his jeans so her bare backside nestled into denim instead of a scratchy zipper. He was good at remembering things like that. He was murmuring to her, no real words. Just calming reassurances. Aftercare.
“Pizza,” Peter said abruptly, perhaps fifteen minutes later. Caught in a half doze, Rachel angled her face to see he was still holding Dana, nuzzling her hair, but he dropped his head back enough to toss them a grin. “I need pizza. Loaded with lots of meat, so we’ll have to get one with your falafel and veggies or whatever the hell you put on it.”
“I’m sitting here with far too good a view of your balls,” Jon said. “I’m not sure I have an appetite.”
“You wouldn’t be seeing my balls if you weren’t looking at my sub’s ass. Which always gives me a hell of an appetite. Though not for pizza.” Peter murmured to Dana and she lifted herself up on unsteady arms, so he could tuck himself back in and refasten his jeans. He sat up, clasping his arms around her, and scooted to the end of the table, his long legs easily finding their way to an upright position on the carpet. Holding her against him, her arms and legs wrapped around him, Peter found a chair a few feet from them.
As he sat down, he shifted Dana into a similar cradling position as Jon’s grip on Rachel. Peter rolled his chair to the table and picked up his open, unfinished beer. Taking a swig, he offered a sip to Dana, holding the bottle for her. “We’ll get you some water in a few minutes, since that won’t hydrate you,” he told her.
She nodded and dropped her head back on his shoulder, closing her eyes.
“I can—” Rachel started to say, but Jon made a quelling noise and stroked the side of her throat.
“You do nothing right now but what I tell you. You’ve taken good care of us. Now we’re taking care of the two of you.”
In truth, that was probably a good idea. Even saying those two words had been an effort. Post-subspace haze was a contented, lovely place to float, so she just listened to the men’s voices as they discussed which pizza place should do the delivery. She was vaguely aware of the door opening and the others returning. She didn’t know if the climactic shrieking had given them a sense of when things were concluded, but she’d already seen just how well the men picked up cues from one another dur
ing multiple partner sex; figuring out when they should come back into a room for pizza was a piece of cake.
“I’m thinking Jon and Peter had the ultimate winning hands tonight,” Ben said, rocking back in his chair and tossing a balled-up napkin in Lucas’s direction. Lucas caught it and two-pointed it into the nearby trash. “After pizza,” the lawyer added, “I’m headed out to Progeny to enjoy a sub or four while you married folk head home to your cable and slippers. Unless anyone wants to join me.”
Though he spoke casually, teasing them, something about his tone struck Rachel’s empathic radar. Gazing at him through half-closed eyes, she realized for the first time what it must feel like, to be the sole member of this pack without a committed submissive. Ben didn’t show a lot of emotion about things like that, but she noticed she wasn’t the only one who had concerns about it. Peter and Lucas had exchanged a look that was faintly troubled; the look of friends who weren’t yet sure the best course to help another friend who might be hurting—or lonely.
For now, they let it pass, but she suspected the subject would be visited again. They’d watch out for him. It comforted her on Ben’s behalf. She knew what it was to be alone, to think she was going to reach the end of her life never once having the experience of being loved wholly, romantically, by another soul.
She suspected Ben would assert he wasn’t looking for that because he wasn’t wired that way, but she knew everyone was wired that way. She made a mental note to suggest to Jon that they do another guys’ night soon, with just the guys. Not that she had minded being part of this particular guys’ night.
“Yeah, M*A*S*H reruns,” Peter said with a grin. “I’m sure that’s exactly what Lucas and Matt have in mind to do with Cass and Savannah. Until they fall asleep on the couch in flannel PJs. What color are yours, Lucas?”
“Blue. M*A*S*H would be good. After I eat my fill of my wife’s gorgeous pussy and make her come, tied to the bed,” Lucas said absently. He was keying the pizza order into his phone. “Then hot chocolate. How about you, Matt?”
“Hmm.” The CEO swiveled back and forth on his chair, his expression thoughtful. There was a curve to his sensuous mouth and a sharpness to his gaze that told Rachel he wasn’t contemplating reruns. When he said nothing further, Ben spoke, a grin wreathing his face.
“That was Matt-speak for he’s going to go home and ravish his wife until she’s too weak to stand. Tie her up, bend her over that ten-thousand-dollar couch and make her beg for me, will you?”
Peter clucked. “You’re still holding a grudge about her counsel outmaneuvering you on last week’s deal.”
“They did not outmaneuver me. I strategically allowed them an advantage we’ll exploit in the next round. Hide and watch.”
Matt lifted a shoulder, drawing their attention. “I’m hoping she’ll be asleep.” His gaze passed over Rachel and Dana. Something heated flickered through Matt’s eyes. “She likes it when I wake her up.”
“That’s his version of a Penthouse letter,” Ben intoned, and grinned when Matt flipped him off.
Rachel could well imagine all the things that one simple sentence could mean. “She likes it when I wake her up.” Jon had woken her up more than once in memorable ways. She’d drifted out of dreams into the real-life dream of Jon’s mouth on her body, his demanding hands compelling her blissful surrender.
Though she couldn’t imagine her body rousing once more tonight, the thought did cause some lower stomach stirrings. As Jon’s arms tightened around her, she wondered if he was having similar thoughts. She tipped her head up to gaze at his extraordinary face.
“So, falafel and broccoli on your pizza?” he asked, with a trace of a smile.
“Never. Tomato, green peppers and mushrooms. Olives, if you insist.”
“I’ll put them on my half.” He pulled her closer, and she nestled her face in his neck. “I love you,” he murmured. “You were amazing tonight.”
He’d given her the confidence to embrace amazing, to be amazing. To be exactly who she was, and strive to always be better, not just for him, but for herself as well. She’d loved doing this tonight, she realized, and she’d had only one or two whispers from the darkness of her past, whispers she’d pushed down and dissipated.
She’d never regret her life with Cole. First, because it had given her the gift of Kyle. Second, because that was the path that had led her to Jon. However, she thought… No, she knew. If that life had repeated itself, the woman she was now wouldn’t have let Cole reduce her to the belief that she was nothing, a failure, or wrong, because she desired something from a partner he couldn’t understand.
She could tell Jon things she wanted and didn’t want, the dreams she had and goals she wished to pursue. Not because he would always agree with her, but because she trusted that their connection came from the heart, and any paths they took separately would still be connected by that.
It was as she’d declared earlier to those ghosts of the past. She knew what love was now. She’d never forget it again.
Matt let himself in through the kitchen door and re-set the security alarm. A light had been left on over the sink, giving their spacious kitchen a dim, welcoming glow. He saw a glass cake cover set out on the counter. When he approached it, a smile touched his lips.
Two large sea salt caramel chocolate chunk walnut cookies were beneath it, his favorite flavor from their local bakery. Savannah had left a note beside them in her flowing script. “I ate one, but these two are for you.”
As he withdrew one of the cookies, he took a bite and opened the fridge. Another smile as he saw the glass of milk she’d left him, already prepared.
She and Cass had planned a girls’ night at the house, which he suspected had a dual purpose. One, the two women enjoyed one another’s company, close friends even among their already tightly knit group with Dana and Rachel. Two, they knew the plan for tonight. Though both women understood and had experienced something similar themselves, he expected that it might be helpful to be with one another, reinforcing and reminding each other of that bond, what it meant. And what it didn’t mean.
Not for the first time, he realized how extraordinary the four women were that they’d found for their equally unique brotherhood. He imagined hanging out with Lucas while Savannah and Cass were off executing a guy-guy fantasy. Since the very thought made him think about murder, he decided he wanted to go see his wife here and now. He wanted to let her know, if she even had a whisper of doubt, who the woman was who centered his vast universe.
As he passed through the living room, the light thrown by a dim lamp showed him two glasses and an empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table. He was glad of it. At an earlier time in her adult life, Savannah never would have left a glass on the coffee table to pick up in the morning. Now she could allow herself to occasionally be lazy in the comfort of her own home. Comfort being the vital word.
This home was theirs together. They’d bought it soon after they married. She’d gotten rid of the mansion she’d shared with her father until that bastard’s death. He’d sold his townhouse near the business district, in favor of them making a home together, a sprawling farmhouse-styled place on several acres.
He went up the stairs to their bedroom. To the right of the master was another bedroom, recently his office, with a connecting door to the master. They’d relocated his office to another room and, since then, Savannah had been collecting odd, whimsical pieces of furniture and bric-a-brac for this one. Though she hadn’t tempted fate by buying the things that outright screamed nursery, like a crib, he knew that was where her mind was.
He liked the idea of making a baby with her, though they hadn’t had any luck yet, and neither of them were in favor of fertility treatments. They wanted it to happen if it was going to happen. If it didn’t, at a certain point, they’d adopt. They’d do that even if they did conceive, giving the baby adopted siblings. Blood didn’t make a family. She knew that better than anyone.
And while he loved the idea of ch
ildren, that wasn’t the top thing in his mind tonight. Not after several hours of exposure to the explosively sexual performance he’d witnessed. Every erotic moment had made him look forward even more to this. His cock had settled down during pizza and conversation, but seeing Rachel and Dana curled naked and docile in their Doms’ arms had kept it on full alert, to put it mildly. Now, as he stood at the doorway to their bedroom, done in soft whites and silver grays, their mahogany canopy bed partially curtained with drapes of gauzy silk, he was aroused to rigid fullness just by inhaling Savannah’s scent.
His wife. His soulmate. His submissive. His, in a primitive way he never denied, though he was able to—most of the time—cloak it in a way acceptable to the modern world. It had been an intriguing experience for all of them tonight, seeing that same ferocity come from Jon a couple times, when he felt the need to assert himself as Rachel’s Master in a situation where so many other males were involved. Even males he trusted as much as they all did one another.
Yeah, nature wouldn’t be denied. Thank God.
Savannah was curled up on his side of the bed, her face pressed into his pillow, her slender arms wrapped around it. Her shoulders were bare, the covers pulled down enough he saw the rise of her shoulder blades, the slope of her back, almost to the shallow valley above her buttocks. Heat tended to rise up to the second level, and seeing so much of her lovely flesh made him very glad of it.
He’d left her instructions. When you go to bed, wear nothing but those white lace panties I like so much.
He stripped off his shirt, toed off his shoes and socks, but he left on his jeans, for now. Moving to the side of the bed, he put his knee on the mattress. The curtain of her blond hair was scattered over her shoulder and partially draped on the bed. Cass’s hair was white-gold, and Rachel’s had an even lighter hue. Savannah’s was the gold of a sky a breath before sunrise.
It had grown longer since they married, so loose it was almost to her waist. Each time she talked about getting a more contemporary, shoulder-length style, he cringed. He never told her no—appearance was something key to their respective business roles. If she felt more up-to-date and professional with a different style, he wouldn’t try to dissuade her. But he loved her hair. Wrapping his hands in it, stroking it, feeling it brush his skin when they lay in bed together, bodies as well as souls naked to one another.
