Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  She mimics him using my dick. Duelling hand jobs.

  We’ve all come already tonight. That should have taken the hungry edge off and let this just be about kinky play, but damn if I don’t want to chase an orgasm right now. I sway my hips forward, clenching my ass around the plug Hugh’s stuffed in me, and I manage to knock cocks with him before he realizes what I’m doing.

  “Lachlan,” he warns.

  “What?”

  “No topping from the bottom.”

  “It feels good.”

  He grins. “Okay, Beth, lesson number one. Sometimes kink is about power exchange. Earning submission from your bottom. Making them wait, making them beg.”

  She nods, an eager pupil at the school of Professor Evans’ Deranged Perversity.

  He exhales roughly and steps into me, taking my cock from Beth and sliding our flesh together. “And sometimes,” he mutters right against my mouth. “It’s just about dirty fucking sex.”

  I moan as he sinks his teeth into my lower lip.

  Without thinking, I reach for Beth, and my arm jerks hard against the rope. She gets the message, though, and presses into my side.

  Her hand lands in the small of my back. She hesitates there, her fingers fidgeting, then she smooths her palm lower. Heat races through me as she curves her fingers over my ass. Cupcake, I think. Maybe. I don’t know.

  It’s one thing for a guy—for Hugh—to work my cheeks open and lube me up.

  It’s another for a woman I’ve practically put on a pedestal to see or feel me split open.

  But you gotta trust the dick.

  And the dick is thumping hard as Beth explores the tense curves of my backside.

  I stop breathing entirely when Hugh’s mouth drifts to my neck and at the same time, Beth rolls her fingertip along the edge of my crack. Takes a stroll all the way down the cliff’s edge, but never tumbles over.

  And then she’s shifting again, touching Hugh, and I stop thinking about what she’s doing and give in to the sensations.

  Hugh, stroking me hard against his own cock. Flexing and straining muscles. Mine and his. Bumping chests, then soft skin too, as he draws her between us.

  A rush of air as she drops to her knees, then her mouth. No, just her tongue.

  I groan and look down between our bodies.

  She’s licking us both. Back and forth, everywhere Hugh’s hand isn’t. Wet tips, swollen balls.

  Hugh shifts to the side, dropping his own erection so it swings wildly, obscenely, for a second. He fists me tight. “Suck him deep, beautiful. I want you to gag on him.”

  She slides her mouth over my crown, lapping and licking.

  Lust hazes my vision as I watch Hugh sheath himself in a condom, then kneel behind Beth.

  “Don’t stop,” he murmurs, and she doesn’t, even as he guides her up, then settles her back on his lap slowly, filling her with his cock.

  Never in my life have I seen anything as hot as Beth’s wide eyed look of almost alarm as he stretches her out, followed by an undeniable smile before she swallows my cock again.

  He’s got his arms wrapped around her, one low across her hips, the other across her breasts, and he’s moving her entire body up and down. She still doesn’t miss a beat in blowing me.

  My balls are heavy, full for her again, and the noble thing to do would be to hold it in until she comes first, but I’m strung up and tortured and her mouth is magic.

  I don’t stand a chance.

  When her breath dances against the underside of my cock, I groan a plea. “Lick there. Right there.”

  Her tongue swipes at that sensitive spot on the bottom of the tip, where my foreskin pulls back, and I thrust my hips forward.

  Another swipe, and the plug rocks inside me.

  Fuck.

  Fucking fuck.

  “Your tongue…” I whisper, shaking now.

  She licks around the head of my cock like it’s an ice cream cone and the slippery pre-come flowing out of me is Madagascar vanilla. Too precious to let even a drop slide by.

  Fucking fuck.

  Fuck.

  My brain short circuits as her hand tightens, pumping my length. The third stroke of her hand bumps my cock against her tongue, and that’s it. That’s the thing that will explode my mind. A few more tugs and everything’s gone black, pure pleasure.

  Sweet, warm mouth. Firm, nimble fingers.

  Hugh’s grunts behind her.

  Dirty fucking sex.

  With a shout, I come, shooting my first spurt into her mouth, then she strokes me again, cool air sharp against the sensitive tip.

  I blink my eyes open in time to see her direct the next shot of my come onto her breasts.

  Fuck.

  My cock spasms in her hand and I paint her again, spurting three more times before I’m wrung out.

  She wraps her hands around my thighs as Hugh carries them both over the finish line, his thumb on her clit, his mouth against her ear.

  Dirty words. Dirty sex.

  They gaze up at me, him knowingly, her in awe, and I have no doubt this is the rightest thing I’ve ever done.

  25

  Beth

  Lachlan falls asleep first, his arm growing heavy over my side as his breaths slow and even out. Hugh’s in front of me. The other half of my delicious man-Beth-man sandwich. He silently touches my lips, and I kiss his fingers. Good night, I mouth.

  He watches me for a few minutes, a happy, sex-drunk smile on his face.

  But then he blinks. Once, then twice. Slow, sleepy blinks. And after a bit, his eyes don’t open, and his breaths, too, grow steady.

  I’m so ridiculously lucky.

  I know that.

  So why can’t I sleep, too?

  I lean back against Lachlan. He’s so warm and stable. If I squint, today is a lot like how I expected being with him would be. Except Hugh wasn’t in those fantasies.

  And that makes my chest hurt, because…I slowly follow the shape of my new lover with my eyes. His dark stubble, his full lips. The big, thick bulk of him in front of me, hyper-masculine and all mine to devour.

  He’s perfect.

  Funny, bossy, sexy.

  Just like Lachlan’s perfect in a different way. Strong, kind, sexy.

  I could never choose between them.

  Ugh. I clench my fist, not wanting my thoughts to go there. Not tonight. Not after this weekend. But the question has encroached, here and there. It can’t really be ignored.

  This perfection is fleeting.

  Deep down, I always thought maybe Lachlan might be the one.

  Now there are two.

  Have I fucked myself over for a happy-ever-after with the only man I could ever see myself having babies with?

  Hot tears threaten to fall, and I am not doing that now. Not between them.

  My heart pounds as I carefully slide myself off the bed, then pull on one of Lachlan’s t-shirts. I don’t bother with underwear.

  I need busy work. I need to distract myself.

  In the kitchen, I poke through his fridge. He’s got mushrooms and onions, so the leftover steak from tonight could be turned into the filling for meat pies. I don’t even know if he likes meat pies, but whatever. My fingers shake as I pull out the ingredients. I get that going, and as I chop and stir, my pulse slows down again. Breath, Beth. Easier said than done, but the cooking helps.

  As the gravy simmers, I wander to his pantry. He’s got oatmeal, raisins, chocolate chips.

  Flour. Sugar.

  Butter and eggs from the fridge.

  When I’m done investigating, his counters are covered in supplies and I have enough work to do for at least an hour so I don’t have to worry about…whatever is on my mind.

  The second tray of cookies is just going into the oven when I feel Lachlan’s presence. I glance toward his bedroom just in time to see him step into the hallway and pull the door shut behind him.

  He rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Can’t sleep?”

  “Did
I wake you?”

  “That’s not an answer.” He pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “But no, I don’t think so. Hugh rolled into me and he’s a lot bigger than you. I wondered where my Beth had gone.”

  I shrug it off. I feel heaps better now, anyway. “Sometimes when I’ve got insomnia, I like to cook. And bake.”

  “And tonight you’re doing both.”

  “I made you cookies.”

  He glances at the tray I just pulled out, now cooling on a rack. “Yum.”

  “You have a very well-stocked kitchen.”

  “I told you I like to cook.”

  “I think you said something like, ‘I make a decent steak and a mean egg.’”

  He laughs. “Those are both true statements.”

  “I can vouch for the steak, yeah. But I think you undersold your abilities.” I sigh. “And why am I surprised? You’re never one to toot your own horn.”

  “I don’t need to brag. I just need to do.” He grins down at me. “Can I help?”

  I shake my head. “All done. Even the dishes. Just need to wait for twelve minutes until the last batch is ready to come out.”

  “Do you have a timer, or are you watching the clock?”

  “Timer.”

  “Good.” He picks me up and sets me on the counter. His body is right against mine. Hugh had me in the same position earlier, but now I’m half-naked.

  I shift on the cold counter.

  “Are you okay? Sore from earlier?”

  I shake my head. “Not sore at all. It’s cold.”

  “I can warm you up.”

  “I know you can.” I lean in and kiss him. He tastes sleepy and warm, but the heat turns up quickly. It’s just like the first couple of times we were together.

  Hugh was right. There’s no doubt about our chemistry.

  I close my eyes and try not to think about Hugh. I’m kissing Lachlan. Just Lachlan right now.

  “What is it?”

  Damn him and his attentive ways. “Nothing.” I groan. “No, not nothing.” I turn my head and look in the direction of his bedroom. “I was thinking about him.”

  Lachlan chuckles. He clearly doesn’t get why this is a problem, although the way his erection is lazily growing against my thigh, maybe it isn’t one.

  “Should we wake him up?”

  “To make out?” He kisses my jaw. “No. How much time do we have left?”

  I glance at the numbers counting down on his stove. “Nine and a half minutes.”

  “That’s appropriate. Okay. In the morning, over pancakes, we’ll talk about this with Hugh. I’ll tell him how you blushed with worry at the thought of cheating on him with me in the kitchen—”

  “I know it’s not cheating.”

  “Doing filthy things with chocolate chip cookies and milk.”

  “There’s no milk.”

  “Yet. I have plans.” He kisses my chin, my lips, my nose. Delicate, laughing little kisses. “They’ll be scandalous. And Hugh will love hearing about them, I promise you.”

  “You can’t blame me for wondering. This is my first…whatever we’re doing.”

  “Polyamorous relationship?”

  “That’s a mouthful.”

  “If we’re lucky, yes.”

  I laugh, and it takes hold, shaking my entire body.

  “See?” He rubs his nose against mine. “No big deal.”

  “Mmm.”

  “You sound unconvinced. Is this what had you up in the middle of the night?”

  “I didn’t actually fall asleep. You have six mini meat pies in your fridge for the week.”

  “Ah, Beth.” He sighs. “Come on. Tell me what else is on your mind.”

  I tap my fingers against his chest, trying to frame it in a fair way. “You know, maybe Hugh’s question before dinner wasn’t completely out of line. He doesn’t understand why we hadn’t hooked up before. And… I still don’t completely understand. And now we’re doing this, and it changes everything that I thought might one day happen.”

  Surprise rolls over his face. I can’t blame him when he looks away. There was a lot loaded in what I said.

  But he asked. I cup his cheek, stopping him. He sighs as he turns back to me. “I know. You’re right.”

  “What’s changed?” I drop my hand to his chest and tap his heart. “Right here?”

  A tortured look rolls over his face. “I don’t know. I mean, shit, that’s an awful answer, but it’s the truth.” He grabs my wrist and lifts my hand, pressing a rough kiss to my palm. “I never want to lie to you. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

  My chest is tight, but my head is clear. “It’s fine.” I stretch my arm out, inviting him to kiss my wrist and up to my elbow. “We’ll figure it out together. Slowly.”

  “I am sorry it took me so long.” His voice rasps in the quiet of the kitchen. “And it’s not because of Hugh. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. Fuck. I’m glad he’s back, though. And I’m glad he pushed us together, even if that wasn’t his plan.”

  I glance toward the bedroom. “Maybe it was.”

  He shakes his head. “No.” Tension pulls at the corners of his eyes. “There’s a lot of history there that I don’t know if he wants me to spill. None of it bad. Well, except where I treated him badly.”

  “No.”

  He nods. “I was young and stupid and falling out of a closet I didn’t even know I was really in. I didn’t handle our affair well. Not at the beginning, and definitely not at the end.”

  “In the middle?”

  He laughs ruefully. “Okay. I handled it just fine in the middle. We were good together.”

  “But it didn’t last.” That hurts my chest. “I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “Can’t be sorry. I needed to find you.”

  “Shush.”

  His eyes flare bright and he cups my face, his fingers gentle but firm as he holds my head still so I can’t shake it. “Don’t. Don’t pretend this is something casual between us. Or that because Hugh and I have a history, our relationship is deeper or more meaningful.”

  “Lachlan…”

  He takes my hand and drags it to his chest. I can feel his heart beat, pounding faster than I expected. His gaze doesn’t waver from my face. “I’m scared as shit that I’m not going to figure out the right thing to say to you before you give up on me.”

  Oh. “No.” I lean in and press my forehead against his. “That’s the right thing to say, right there.”

  “I want you so much,” he whispers. “Every minute of every day. I’ve wanted you since the first minute I laid eyes on you. And I’ve l—”

  I press my mouth against his. That’s enough for tonight. I don’t know if my heart can take any more. And across the hall, there’s another man who’s laid a claim in the same space, too.

  We’re too complicated for l-words.

  26

  Lachlan

  The long weekend comes to a hot, sticky close, and when Beth and Hugh leave my place Monday night, they need to dash through a heavy rain storm to get to their cars.

  The wind and rain intensify overnight, and early in the morning on Tuesday, devastating news alerts start to ping out.

  Three tornados have touched down. One in southwestern Ontario, which caused property damage but no injuries.

  But in a small town just north of Kingston, two twisters have caused significant damage. Many houses destroyed, half the town population displaced, and at least six people missing.

  It’s one of the worst tornados in Canadian history.

  I’m not politics-savvy. I’m adjacent to it, though, so I hear stuff like news cycle and response management. Shit like that grates on my nerves, because as law enforcement, it’s my preference that the news and politicians stay far away from the life-or-death work of emergency response.

  On the other hand, apparently jackasses on Twitter are already freaking out that Gavin hasn’t made a statement.

  “It would be a good idea to say somethin
g before the morning news shows are over,” his communications director says.

  The regional disaster response liaison, who was brought in for the morning briefing, shakes her head. “Unless it’s the world’s shortest statement of support for the fire department and police on the ground, there isn’t much to say at the moment. Be careful that we don’t promise anything we can’t follow through with.”

  Gavin nods. “I can do that.”

  His communication director protests. “People want a pledge of federal dollars. They want a state of emergency to be called.”

  “That’s a provincial call,” Gavin says tersely. And he’s already spoken to the premier of Ontario, who is facing pressure to not call it. “But we can pledge military support.”

  “How much will that cost?”

  I don’t see who asked that question—the room is packed—but Gavin’s answer is exactly the one I want to hear. “It’ll cost what it needs to cost. People lost their homes this morning. Probably lost loved ones and neighbours, too. If you think there’s a financial cap on the federal response to that, the door is over there.”

  A stunned silence pauses the room for a moment, then the sound rushes back. A flurry of polite and some not-so-polite political debate points get tossed back and forth, but the parameters have been set. The prime minister wants the federal government to fix this, and as quickly as possible.

  By mid-day, he’s in an awful mood because his brief statement didn’t go over well with his critics, and he’s chomping at the bit to get down to Beaumont.

  “The logistics of you showing up on the scene are nightmarish,” I tell him candidly, because I pull no punches. I can’t, not if I’m going to do my job properly. “Because it’s not just you. It’s the media train that will follow, even if you try to keep it under wraps. It’s not like flying into a war zone, where we control the media access. They’re camped out down there already. You show up and the perimeter that’s been established will fall apart.”

  He glowers at me over the roast beef sandwich Beth has shoved in his hands. “A month after I was elected to the House, there was a mudslide in my riding, and I was at home. I went and helped. People liked that. It wasn’t a stunt.”