Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  Ah.

  Oh.

  Lachlan lets out a strangle groan from behind me as Hugh coats them both with more lube, and then Lachlan presses in.

  Past Hugh, and into me, stretching me wide.

  I can’t breath.

  “You were built to take us both,” Hugh says.

  That's probably not true, but oh God, I want to believe him. Lachlan groans from behind me. He wants to believe it, too.

  And as they work in and out of me, I realize I’m going to come.

  Maybe it is true. Maybe I was made for them, to take me like this.

  I need— “Clit,” I manage to say, and Hugh gets his thumb there as they slowly pulse back and forth together.

  Inside me, together.

  Heat swirls and everything fades to a glossy, fantastic bright white as my climax begins. It’s long and heady, sustained and wild. It rocks through my entire body and shatters my brain, my heart.

  It destroys me, and it’s perfect.

  57

  Lachlan

  I stop at the grocery store on my way home to pick up celebratory foodstuff. Hugh and Tate are at Hugh’s apartment right now, loading up his bed and his weight bench.

  He’s moving in. There’s no reason for him to keep paying rent on his apartment, and he doesn’t have that much stuff.

  Beth’s clothes have mostly moved in, but she owns her condo, and has a lot more furniture than we have space for. That process is going to take longer, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe she’ll keep her condo as an income property.

  What matters is that all her pretty dresses are hanging in my closet, and she sleeps in my bed each night.

  When I get home, Hugh’s not back yet, but Beth is. She’s out on the deck reading.

  I stand at the back door and just watch her. She’s stretched out on the lounge chair, her legs bare, and her skirt hiked up high on her thighs.

  That’s an invitation too tempting to pass up. I quickly put away the groceries, then pour myself a glass of the lemonade she’s made, and head out to say hello.

  She twists around when she hears the door. “How was shopping?”

  “Quick. I got a watermelon for dessert.”

  “Mmm.” She smiles and tips her face up to the sun. “Lemonade, watermelon, and a deck to read on. I love summer.”

  I lean down and cover her mouth with mine. “I love you,” I whisper after I kiss her thoroughly.

  I move around the chair and lift her legs so I can sit under them. I slide my hand up her thigh, and her eyes go wide.

  “Your neighbours…”

  “Our neighbours. And they can’t see anything.”

  “Tate…”

  “Isn’t here yet. Let me make you feel good. Please?”

  The sweet request always works on her. She sighs and relaxes into my touch. I stroke my fingers back and forth over the soft skin of her inner thighs, then higher. I hook the elastic edge of her panties and tug them aside.

  She’s wet for me already, soft and warm and slick. I revel in the plump, swollen feel of her flesh. I could touch her for hours, but we don’t have time for that right now.

  “Wider,” I murmur, and she drops her far leg to the ground. My forearm slides against her close leg as I ease two fingers into her and roll over her clit with my thumb. “How fast can you come?”

  She closes her eyes and arches her back. “Keep doing that and I’ll come pretty fast.”

  My cock swells, making my pants tight as I fuck her with my hand. I watch with greedy eyes as her lips part, her cheeks flush, and her eyelids flutter.

  Our beautiful woman.

  Our Beth.

  Ten years ago, I went to a tattoo parlour with Hugh and on a whim, got a compass tattoo.

  “I love your ink,” I told him. I meant, I love you, but I couldn’t bring myself to say that.

  “You should get something the next time I go in.”

  “Yeah.” My mind started to spin.

  And later, when I went with him to his favourite place for a touch up, I pulled out a sketch I had in my wallet.

  “Could you do something like this?” I asked the artist.

  “I can do exactly that.”

  “Man, that’s awesome,” Hugh said, leaning over me. His hip pressed against mine, his arm looped lazily around my shoulders.

  “You should get the same one. We’re both on the same path, after all. Searching for our true north.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Love it.”

  It took us ten years to find her.

  As she trembles down from her orgasm, as I lick my fingers and watch her smile at me like a queen who has just been well served, I get an idea.

  “Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” I ask.

  Her eyes light up, then her gaze drops to my hip. She licks her lips. “Maybe.”

  “I have an idea…”

  58

  Beth

  I stare at the black ink sketch on the translucent paper in front of me.

  “It’s perfect,” I breathe.

  The North Star rising over the curve of the Earth.

  The tattoo artist holds it up to my hip. “It’ll sit right there, with the lines ending here and here.” He points to my hip bone and lower down on my pelvis “Should take me a bit more than an hour. We can do it now, or you can book an appointment for next week.”

  I glance at Hugh, then Lachlan. We stopped in here on a whim, but we have the afternoon free. They’re both grinning.

  “I’ll do it now,” I say, my pulse fluttering.

  “Sounds good. Have you eaten in the last few hours?”

  I nod. “Just had lunch.”

  “Perfect. Fill out these forms while I get the sketch onto transfer paper, and then we’ll get going.”

  That doesn’t take long, and the next thing I know, he’s prepping my skin. Then he presses on the transfer to outline the tattoo he’ll copy in permanent ink. Oh wow, this is really happening.

  He hands me a mirror. “Check that positioning for me.”

  I love it, and Lachlan and Hugh nod along.

  The artist grins. “Okay. Time to take a deep breath and let’s do this. Why don’t you tell me about the sketch idea. Does this have a special meaning?”

  Before I can answer, Lachlan takes my hand. “It sure does.”

  Hugh grabs a wheeled stool and takes up a position on the other side of me. “She’s our North Star.”

  Okay, then. We’re telling this stranger the whole story. I blush. “What they said.”

  The artist bobs his head. “Cool.”

  I blink. It is, but…no reaction? And then the tattoo machine touch my skin, dragging a dull, unforgiving slice of pain across my nerves, and I forget everything else. “Ahhhh…”

  “You okay?”

  “Uh..huh.” I exhale roughly. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

  “I’m working on the star first. It’ll hurt more when I get to your hip bone.”

  Oh, goodie. But the next press isn’t as bad, or it’s exactly the same, and I know what to expect now. I breathe through it, and we fall into a pattern. Every few minutes, he wipes my skin before proceeding again. It doesn’t that long at all for him to declare the star completed, and he shifts lower, right above my yoga pants now for the curve of the Earth’s shell.

  “My sister’s in a polyamorous relationship,” he says casually as he makes short, painful strokes for the islands that dot Northern Canada. I regret not going with the ocean there.

  “Yeah? Cool,” I grind out. It is, but my brain is pretty fuzzy right now.

  He laughs. “Endorphins kicking in?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Lachlan’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He ignores it and keeps rubbing circles on my arm. It stops, then starts again.

  “You can answer it,” I whisper, and the tattoo artist lifts the tattoo gun off my skin.

  “Do you need a minute?” he asks.

  Lachlan shakes his head. “We’re good. Whatever it i
s, it can wait.”

  But then on the other side of me, Hugh’s phone vibrates—and then starts playing music.

  “Oh shit,” he says, his eyes going wide. “I mean, it’s fine, keep going, dude, but…” He pulls out his phone and shows me the screen. Max’s number. “I gave Max a ringtone because there’s only one reason he’d call me.”

  “Oh my God.” I gasp and wave my hand at him. “Answer the phone.”

  “Hey, Max,” Hugh says, grinning at me. “What’s up? No way. Cool news. Okay, well, we’re in the middle of something, but we can be there in an hour or so.”

  “We can go now,” I say, pushing myself up.

  Lachlan presses my shoulder back to the table. “The baby will wait,” he says, gesturing for the artist to continue.

  Hugh hangs up and sits down again. “Baby’s not here yet. We’ve got some time, but they’re at the hospital, and Max thought we might want to do the classic hang out in the waiting room thing.”

  “I do!” I realize my voice has carried clear across the tattoo parlour, and I drop it back to a whisper. “Yes, I want to do exactly that. Let’s go now.”

  The tattoo artist laughs. “Give me ten more minutes and you can leave with a finished tattoo, how does that sound?”

  “Like torture,” I moan, but I close my eyes and smile.

  Hugh drops us at the front doors of the hospital and goes to find a parking spot. Lachlan and I head straight to the new mom and baby ward, and run into Sasha in the hallway. She’s got a big bouquet of flowers.

  “Oh, we didn’t bring anything,” I say. I don’t know where my head is at, that’s normally something I’d think of.

  “On it,” he says, pulling out his phone. He texts Hugh.

  Lachlan: SOS need a teddy bear. And chocolate. From the gift shop?

  Hugh: On it.

  I giggle at the accidental echo of my men sounding so similar.

  “Where do we go?” Sasha asks, and Lachlan is apparently a master at reading the confusing hospital signs, because he glances around and then points us unerringly toward the waiting room. We find an RCMP officer standing outside, and inside, Gavin and Ellie are relaxing in the plastic bucket seats. They jump up as we come in. Ellie and Sasha hug, Gavin shakes Lachlan’s hand, and then they turn to me. I gingerly offer Ellie my non-bandaged side for a one-arm hug.

  “I was getting a tattoo when we got the call. Have you had any further updates from Max?”

  Ellie shakes her head. “But apparently Violet’s contractions were right on top of each other when they came in. That’s either a good sign, or excellent birth control.”

  I laugh again. Tattoos make me super giggly, because I’m pretty sure that any other time, talk of contractions would have me squirming in a not-at-all good way.

  “Where’s Hugh?” Gavin asks, and it blows me away that he’s just so accepting of our relationship. Although I’m not sure why…but I appreciate it.

  “Parking the car.”

  The next person to walk in the door is Violet’s best friend Matthew, who we met at the baby shower, and his boyfriend, who he introduces but I miss the name.

  Then Hugh arrives with a cute little teddy bear and an entire basket of chocolate options.

  He sits on the other side of Lachlan from me, and Lachlan slings his arm across the back of Hugh’s chair, squeezing his shoulder. “Find a spot okay?”

  “The garage was mayhem, but someone pulled out just as I turned a corner, so we’re right next to the elevator.”

  “Score.”

  Matthew’s boyfriend leans in and the conversation veers into a parking garage construction debate.

  I lean into Lachlan’s arm and close my eyes.

  “How’s the tattoo?” he murmurs.

  “Achy.” I take a deep breath. I’m still spinning from the experience. How crazy that we walked in on a whim and now I’m branded like this.

  As theirs.

  I smile to myself, then glance up at my lover. “I can’t wait to take the bandages off when we get home.” And carefully get between my men, and their tattoos that will both point to mine.

  “We’ll have to be gentle,” he says under his breath as he laces his fingers through mine.

  My smile grows.

  Max appears in the doorway an hour later. His eyes are bright, his hair is standing on end, and he’s sporting the world’s biggest shit-eating grin. “I’m a dad,” he announces as we all stand up and crowd around him. “Violet’s holding our son. My boy. I have a boy! His name is Noah. And I’m his dad.”

  Gavin throws his arms around his best friend, and there’s a lot of back thumping. We all take turns congratulating him, then he tells us he’ll be back in a few minutes with Noah—and we’re allowed to look at him, but probably not touch, because while he likes us, that’s his son and he doesn’t care if that’s paranoid.

  It’s the sweetest, most overwhelming thing I’ve ever seen.

  My eyes are wet when he disappears again.

  “A boy,” Ellie says, wiping tears off her cheeks too. “How amazing.”

  Sasha’s beaming. Her smile slips when Lachlan mentions that Tate isn’t responding to messages to get his ass to the hospital, but then Max returns with a tiny, perfect baby wrapped in blue and white striped flannel, and nothing else matters.

  Unlike Max and Violet, Noah’s fuzzy head is fair. “I was blond as a kid,” Max says, his voice full of marvel. “But I never thought…he’s just so perfect.”

  I gently rub Noah’s tiny foot. “And tiny.”

  “Do you want to hold him? I didn’t think I could let him go, but maybe I could. For a second.”

  My heart explodes. “Could I?”

  He nods, and carefully hands me the most precious eight-pound bundle in the world.

  “Oh, my…” I press my lips together to try and keep from crying. “He’s gorgeous, Max.”

  “That was all Violet’s doing.” He glances toward the door.

  I gaze down at the baby, then carefully hand him to Ellie. She has the same here-take-my-ovaries expression on her face that I’m sure is painted all over mine. Sasha takes a quick cuddle, then it’s Gavin’s turn.

  “Hey, little man,” says the prime minister. “Ready to take on the world?”

  I turn to smile at Lachlan, but the look on his face steals my breath, my smile, my entire heart. Then he tosses his arm around Hugh and hugs him tight. Both of their gazes are full of emotion.

  One day soon, we’ll talk about a baby of our own.

  And she will be the luckiest baby in the world, to have three parents who love her to the moon and back.

  59

  Tate

  I’m standing in the middle of the empty Senators locker room when my phone pings again.

  Another text message, to go with the dozen others I haven’t been able to reply to.

  I pull the phone out and scroll through the last few updates.

  Everyone is leaving the hospital now, letting the new mom and baby have some much needed rest.

  I missed the gathering.

  I head out to my truck. Damn it.

  I drive back into the city. Instead of heading straight home, I park just off of Bank Street and head for my favourite coffee shop.

  Any minute now, the news is going to break. This might be my last chance to soak up some adoring fan attention. Take some selfies, get some numbers of hot, easy hockey fans.

  Can’t wait to see you in nothing but my jersey, babe.

  Works every time.

  A couple of co-eds recognize me in line, and the attention soothes my soul like a sex balm. Yeah, honeys. Room for both of you in that jersey if you squeeze tight enough. Tits together. Cuddle up on my lap. That would make me feel better.

  After we take a couple of good shots for Instagram and SnapChat and whatever else they know about and I don’t because I’m old and broken and too damn expensive for my team—okay, now I’m reeling, the shock is wearing off—I excuse myself to order the coffee I cam
e in for.

  Might be my last in this city. Until I come back as just another guy who used to be famous here.

  Didn’t you use to play for the Senators?

  Sure did. You’d look good in my Vancouver jersey, though.

  Doesn’t have the same ring to it, even if the Lumberjacks are heading into next year with a solid chance at the playoffs.

  “So, like…throwing down with some barely legal puck bunnies is more important than celebrating your friend’s new baby?”

  I brace myself against the coffee bar and count backwards from ten.

  I get to seven before I spin around and give Sasha Brewster my best don’t-give-a-fuck-so-fuck-off smirk. “Bustin’ balls as usual, I see.”

  She flips her perfect blonde hair and smirks right back. “Baby’s adorable, by the way. A boy. They’ve named him Noah. And we all agreed you can’t be left unsupervised with him until he’s thirty-five.”

  “I’m a fine influence on children.”

  “You’re a public menace.” She flicks her wrist. “Go hang out with your afternoon bedmates. You’re in my way and I have studying to do tonight. I need coffee.”

  “All work and no play makes Sasha a b—” I cut myself off, even though her expression doesn’t change. “You know what? I was just meeting some fans. It’s a free country and I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  “I’m sure their parents will be thrilled to see a man old enough to be their father hanging on them.”

  “I’m not—” Shit. Quick math says that I am.

  She taps her tongue against the top of her mouth and makes a sound like she’s telling a horse to get going.

  I see red. I move to the side, but I don’t go bloody far.

  I wait, patiently, quietly, until she’s got her coffee, and then I follow her outside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Following you home like a creeper,” I say mildly, because the length of time it took for her to get her coffee was just enough time for my rage to simmer and re-focus.