by Amira Rain
Even though it was my second, I reached orgasm with him a bit quicker than I had with Nick, burying my face in the pillows, moaning, while Blaine growled out his own release behind me.
When we both collapsed on the bed, side by side, I found that Nick was already becoming hard again beside me, slowly stroking his pole while gazing at me with his breathing accelerating. And though I probably would have considered myself completely satisfied otherwise and would have probably soon drifted off to sleep, I found the sight of his hand around his stiffening shaft to be such an erotic one that I almost immediately became a little worked up again.
By the time I did finally fall asleep that night, more profoundly satisfied than I'd ever dreamed was possible, I'd tied Tracy's record, having had my "bell rung" no fewer than three times. And I'd gotten the feeling that Nick and Blaine would have been very glad to ring my bell once more had I not started to get so tired. I'd come to learn very well that shifter desire and stamina was no joke.
For the next two weeks, each day dawned sunny and bright, matching the mood in the house. No one borderline slammed coffee mugs on the counter anymore. No one bristled because of light contact made during hugs. I was happy. Nick and Blaine seemed happy. Sometimes I even wondered if I was the happiest I'd ever been in my life, despite currently living in a post-apocalyptic world.
However, two weeks to the day of our marriage, it stormed all morning and afternoon, keeping me inside when I'd been planning to spend the day working on an outdoor project with Tracy and two other women named Lily and Marie. Over lunch at Tracy's the day before, the four of us had been lamenting about the fact that that we'd all lost so many loved ones since the virus had hit, but we didn't have any physical place to "visit" our loved ones and periodically pay respects, like a graveyard or even a location where ashes had been scattered.
After we'd all discussed a few ideas, I'd come up with the idea to create a "memorial rock garden" across from the community vegetable garden. We'd use masonry tools to carve the name of a loved one, or a symbol or picture that brought them to mind, in large rocks that could be found in different places in the village.
Then, we'd "plant" the rocks in the garden, planting various wildflowers among them as well. Anyone in the community who wanted memorial rocks to honor their lost loved ones could either make them themselves, or Tracy, Lily, Marie, and I would make their rocks for them.
I loved the idea of "planting" rocks for Jessica and Ebony, Sandor and Marta, and also my parents, even though they'd died long before the apocalypse had hit, and even though they did have physical graves back in Michigan. Of course, the apocalypse had made it so that I couldn't visit those graves.
I'd have to wait to collect rocks and get started on my big project idea until the storms passed, though. In the meantime, I decided to spend the afternoon baking cookies to bring to a woman named Melissa, who'd just given birth to a prized baby girl five days earlier.
However, having to use a mix of rice flour and oat flour since there was a community shortage of wheat flour, I had to experiment with the cookie recipe a little, and the first batch was absolutely horrible, both in look and taste. The second batch I made, this one with oat flour only, I burned when a visit to the bathroom prevented me from hearing the oven timer. After that, I decided to just quit wasting food supplies, giving up on the cookie idea.
Instead, I decided to bring Melissa a half-pound of honey-flavored hard candies from a batch I'd made a week before, tinting them pink and yellow with food coloring and wrapping them individually in plastic wrap. After packing them in a cute little straw basket I'd found in the storage closet, off I went to Melissa's house.
However, despite the fact that I was carrying an umbrella, the pouring rain dampened the fragile basket along the way; when I was nearly there, the handle broke, and all the candies fell into a mud puddle several inches deep. Cursing, I wadded the little basket into a ball and jammed it in my pocket.
Embarrassed to be visiting Melissa without a gift, I sheepishly told her about my difficulties, promising to babysit her precious new flaxen-haired baby, Laurel, any time she wanted me to, no matter how far in the future. Melissa said that was a wonderful gift, making me feel better, but then when I left her house, I promptly slipped in mud, kind of funny for a former Olympic figure skater who'd only rarely slipped on ice; I ruined a pair of very nice white Capri pants I'd just gotten at the community "clothes closet" the day before.
When Nick and Blaine came home for dinner that evening, the day got significantly worse. Right away, I could tell they were both troubled by something, and I asked them what was wrong almost the second they stepped in the door, both of them with soaking wet wet hair and clothes.
Frowning, Nick took my hands and gave me a brief kiss. "Let Blaine and me get dried off quickly, and then why don't the three of us sit down. We need to talk."
*
Although what Nick had said alarmed me, to say the least, he and Blaine were just soaked to the bone, dripping on the hardwood floor; I wanted them to get dried off and warmed up so that they could be comfortable while the three of us talked about whatever it was we needed to talk about.
"Why don't the two of you go take hot showers, and then we can talk out in the living room."
I'd learned that the three of us trying to talk about anything of importance in our bedroom usually didn't work.
Nick and Blaine both agreed, kicked off their heavy boots, and each gave me a quick kiss before trudging upstairs, one right after the other, leaving me to wonder what had them both in such a serious, glum mood.
I had a guess what it might be, though I hoped I was wrong. After the most recent fight with the dozen or so Borderline shifters that Nick and Blaine's men had spotted not a half-mile from the village walls, not a single Borderliner had been spotted anywhere in the area, which was odd. Usually, there was some kind of "Borderliner trouble" at least every couple of days. Some people in the village, including Tracy and Chris, thought that Wesley Archer had finally abandoned his plans to push his mob-style extortion practices into Kentucky. After all, he'd had to retreat with his shifters the first time he'd attacked Helena, and many of his men had been killed.
Then, he'd lost three additional men in the recent fight that had taken place beyond the village walls. During that fight, all Helenian shifters had survived, sending a clear message to Wesley about the strength of our army.
I knew better than to think he'd just given up, though. I knew better than to think that fate was just going to let me have my happily-ever-after, or whatever semblance of a happily-ever-after a person could have post-apocalypse, with Blaine and Nick. I also knew better than to think an apparent psychopath like Wesley Archer would just throw in the towel after a few defeats,
not with such a wealth of food, machinery, and women in Helena on the line. There would be more attacks coming, more turmoil. I could almost feel it.
Though we hadn't really discussed the Borderliner issue much, I got the impression that Nick and Blaine felt the same way I did, and they knew more trouble was coming. So, based on the grim looks on their faces when they'd walked through the door, I had a little idea that they might have learned something that day about Wesley Archer's future plans.
While they both showered and dressed, I turned my attention back to the ground venison stroganoff I'd made for dinner, turning the burner beneath the pan to the very lowest heat setting, just to keep it warm. Having thought I'd hate it, I'd come to discover that I actually liked venison, and Nick and Blaine loved it, as did many other people in the community. In order to bring in a fresh supply for everyone to share, Blaine went hunting the day before, killing two deer.
He hadn't killed them while in his tiger form, though. He always insisted on hunting game with a bow-and-arrow, like he'd learned to do before the apocalypse. When I'd asked him exactly why he didn't hunt while in his tiger form, since it would be quicker, he'd given me a three-word answer. "Wouldn't be fair."
He e
nded up being the first of my husbands to come downstairs from showering, and he entered the kitchen bare-chested, wearing jeans that hung low on his slim hips. Around his neck, he'd hung a plain black t-shirt, and when I first looked up and saw him, he was reaching up to grab it, presumably to put it on.
However, not wanting him to put it on quite so fast, I set down a knife I'd been using to chop vegetables for a salad, dashed over to him, and grabbed the t-shirt right out of his hand.
"No. Not yet. Just let me look at your chest for a second. I haven't seen it in almost twenty hours or something."
I'd been sleeping when he and Nick had left the house that morning, so I hadn't gotten to study their nearly-nude forms in the first light of dawn as I often liked to.
"Just let me look at you and touch your chest for a second."
With his gray eyes glinting and his mouth curving just slightly, Blaine moved a little closer to me. "Only if I get to do the same to you."
Feasting my eyes on his sculpted pecs and washboard abs, I agreed, soon beginning to run my hands over his bare skin, reveling in the feel of so much hardness beneath my fingertips.
Now my day was getting a little better.
However, Blaine didn't give me too awfully long to explore his chest before he peeled off my shirt, flung it to the side, and then undid my bra clasp with his breathing accelerating. Growling a bit, he actually removed my bra with his teeth, one strap after the other. He flung it to the side using his teeth as well, actions that if done by another man might have been clumsy or come off as rehearsed,
This wasn't the case at all with Blaine. He always acted as if removing a bra with one's teeth was the normal way to remove a bra, like other ways were for more refined men whose hands weren't perpetually stained with motor oil.
After raking his gaze over my chest like I'd done to him, he cupped my breasts in his hands and began gently, slowly circling my nipples with his thumbs, stiffening them. This was what always surprised me about Blaine. Not his definite animalistic tendencies, and his tendency to be a little rough during times when I clearly liked it. It was how gentle his touch could be sometimes that always surprised me.
Soon he was kissing me, mouth firm and warm, thumbs still slowly circling my nipples with just the right balance of gentleness and firmness. After a little while, his strong hands began wandering lower, with one going to grip my rear, pulling me closer to him, and the other going down the front of my yoga pants, fingers roaming. When one of them connected with my most sensitive spot, I moaned into Blaine's mouth without breaking our kiss.
However, a short while later, when he slid two curved fingers into my slickness and began pulling them in and out, I pulled my lips from his with an even louder moan, then told him not to stop. "Just keep doing that. Please."
With his fingers curved how they were, he was hitting some indefinable spot deep inside of me, some spot that when stroked, made me feel such intense pleasure that I could hardly keep my eyes from rolling back in my head. Blaine's fresh-from-the-shower scent, woodsy, clean, and masculine, which I was inhaling through my nose, was intensifying my pleasure, as was the sight of his face, which I was taking a few peeks at. He had a way of studying my face during passionate times, a way of looking at me intently, that always turned me on even further than I already was.
He'd been working his fingers in and out of my slickness for a short time when Nick entered the kitchen, eyes widening slightly when he saw Blaine and me, both shirtless, and with Blaine's hand down the front of my pants. Clearly wanting to quickly make our twosome a threesome, Nick came around behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and began kissing the side of my neck, which never failed to make me curl my toes, and this time was no exception.
It wasn't long before I felt his hardness pressing against my hip, near the small of my back, and this gave me an idea. I wanted him to make love to me from behind, while we were standing, if possible, while Blaine continued touching me around my front, stroking my most sensitive spot. I just didn't know if this was possible.
With me being shorter-to-average height-wise, and with Nick and Blaine both being tall, I wasn't sure if what I was thinking of could actually work. Only the tiniest bit bashful, however, I spoke right up and told my two incredibly handsome husbands what I wanted, and they acted like my request was completely doable.
Over my shoulder, glassy-eyed, Blaine looked at Nick and spoke in a husky voice. "Her cookbook."
The cookbook he was speaking of was an exceptionally large, thick one, and the only one I owned. The title of it was The Only Budget Cookbook You'll Ever Need, and it featured a lot of recipes requiring few ingredients, which was very helpful, since I usually didn't have a ton of ingredients to work with.
With each recipe, it also provided substitution and swap-out ideas, which were also very helpful for a cook living in a post-apocalyptic world where sometimes certain ingredients just weren't available. I didn't use this cookbook just for cooking, though.
I'd discovered that with it being several inches thick, it served as a perfect handy little step-stool for when I needed to reach something on a high shelf just beyond my fingertips. And now it seemed that Blaine thought the cookbook could give me the little height boost I needed to make something else possible, too.
Within seconds, Nick had grabbed the cookbook, helped me step up onto it, and had lost his jeans and underwear. Then, tipping me forward just a bit, into Blaine's arms, he positioned the head of his already-rock-hard manhood at my entrance from the back, making me whimper with desire. Right as Nick began sliding into my depths, Blaine, around my front, began stroking my now-throbbing sensitive spot, turning my whimper into something much more like a cry.
The sensation of being stroked and filled at once was almost more than I could take, though in the best possible sort of way. I only lasted a minute or two before a powerful orgasm made me bury my face in Blaine's shoulder, moaning, while he continued touching me, and while Nick began growling with his own release behind me.
Having grown accustomed to two releases per lovemaking session, at the least, I soon told Blaine that I was ready for more, and he and Nick switched positions, with Blaine making love to me from behind, gripping my hips, and Nick giving me some very intimate attention around my front.
A while later, Blaine wrapped my long hair around his fist, tugging it a little, before groaning with a powerful release, filling me with his masculine essence. This sensation was all I needed to tumble right over the edge along with him, moaning with my face buried in Nick's strong shoulder.
After, the two of them just held me, kind of sandwiching me, while our breathing returned to normal. With their arms feeling so good around me, I might have been perfectly content to let them hold me for several minutes, but before long, the smell of something burning made me lift my face from Blaine's chest.
"Oh, God. The rice flour rolls. I forgot to set a timer for them."
Underscoring this fact, the acrid scent wafting through the kitchen quickly intensified. And by the time I'd whipped my clothes on and had pulled the tray of rolls from the smoky oven, the tops of them were nearly black.
Feeling more than a bit guilty about all the food I'd wasted that day, between my failed cookies and the rolls, I set the tray on the range with a sigh. "Well...I guess we'll just have to make do with salad for a side."
Getting dressed, Nick said that was just fine, and Blaine grunted in agreement.
Once the three of us had washed our hands, we brought the venison stroganoff, a bowl of cooked egg noodles, and the salad to the table, and upon having a seat, Blaine pulled me into his arms.
"Come here. You're eating on my lap tonight."
What ensued was a boisterous sort of dinner, with Blaine and Nick teasing me about different things, including burning food, me laughing, and the two of them taking turns pulling me onto their laps.
It was only when the three of us had finished eating that the table briefly fell quiet, with the sound of the r
ain still pouring down outside being the only noise, and I recalled that they'd been wanting to talk to me about something. Unbelievably, or maybe not, their making love to me, and then our shared laughter, had driven away all thoughts of their serious expressions when they'd walked in the front door.
However, now that I remembered, I had to know right then what had caused those serious expressions, even though I was pretty sure I already knew. I had to know exactly what Wesley Archer had threatened.
CHAPTER 17
Turning the mood at the table into a more somber one than while the three of us were eating, I asked Blaine and Nick to tell me why they looked so serious earlier, when they first arrived home. Before either of them could answer, loud knocking sounded, coming from the front door.
Heaving a sigh, Nick stood, lifting me from his lap and placing me on my feet. "I'll bet that's Carlos. I told him to check back in with us later."
