Always Theirs: A Male/Male/Male Menage Rockstar Romance (The Always Series Book 6)

by J. P. James

  “You like this?” Jameson whispers against my mouth.

  Before I answer him, Jordan presses two fingers against my hole.

  “Yes,” I moan. It’s loud, and Jordan chuckles under me.

  “Good,” he chirps. “Now relax, baby. We got you.”

  Jordan slides his fingers up and down my crease, probing at my hole with every pass. His fingers are strong, but he knows what he’s doing. He’s not going to push in until I’m ready to take it. I’m getting there, fast.

  “More,” I beg.

  Like a sixth sense, Jameson quickens his pace. It’s a distraction, but a welcome one. I feel like I’m flying, and I relax enough to let Jordan inside me. He pushes one finger at first, moving in and out deadly slowly. My chest feels tight, but I push through the pain, letting the sensations burn until pleasure takes over.

  “More,” I continue, rolling my hips on his finger.

  With every roll, my ass and dick meet with strong, sure fingers. Caressing, teasing, and pushing me higher. I swear I can taste the peak on my tongue.

  “I’m close,” I whimper, shaking against the couch. Jameson brings his free arm around me, cradling me as his other hand moves faster still.

  “You’re free, Fyre,” Jameson promises. He kisses my chest, and I jerk down on Jordan’s fingers as he pushes his second digit in.

  “Oh fuck,” I groan, “It’s so much.”

  “Take it,” Jordan says, “Take back your pleasure.”

  He doesn’t say anything after that, because his mouth comes to my rim. His tongue licks at the edges of his fingers, providing added lube as his fingers curl and hit the spot.

  “I-I’m close– I can’t hold on,” I say as quakes rack through me.

  Then everything goes silent. I don’t hear myself cry their names out, or hear their own moans, because my ears stop working once my orgasm hits. All I can do is feel the fire. I’m burning from the inside out, feeling the flames from my arms, my lips, my cock, my ass. I’m surrounded, and yet at peace.

  I look down and see my chest painted white. Jameson leans up, kneeling on the cushion next to me. He grabs his leaking cock, and with a few more sure strokes on himself, he comes on my chest. He paints me, mixing his cream with mine.

  Jordan stands and follows suit. He seems more ragged than his brother did. His strokes are too hurried, and I can tell he’s struggling.

  “Let me,” I say, leaning forward. I kiss his cock. I lather it with my mouth, running my lips along the base. It does the trick.

  The first spurt hits my face, but he milks the rest onto my chest as well. We take a few moments to catch our breaths. I stare at the ropes of hot come on my body. It’s the last thing I see as exhaustion takes hold. I close my eyes knowing there’s a smile on my face.

  10

  Jordan

  “Shhh,” Jameson hisses over my shoulder.

  I ignore him as I pull the door handle. I latch it so softly that there isn’t a peep. For a second, I feel like a spy on a top-secret mission.

  We listen for a moment, hoping we didn’t wake Fyre. When silence meets us, I nod, and we walk gingerly towards the stairwell.

  “This should be quick,” Jameson says fully once we shut the door to the stairwell. “This hotel is small.”

  “It’s trendy,” I say, noting the paintings on the wall. Paintings in a stairwell, really?

  “It may be trendy, but it’s too small. There’s only one security guard on duty. It’d be easy for anyone to get to the second floor.”

  We break down the risks as we enter the first floor, sweeping down the hall, the garden, and out the front of the building.

  “What was Damon thinking?” Jameson wonders.

  “He booked this months ago.” But I don’t disagree with Jameson.

  Fyre is a star. Sure, he’s not Justin Timberlake or Jennifer Lopez. He doesn’t need a team of bodyguards yet, but he’s on the rise. His fans love him. He has a devoted base that only grows. I’m not surprised either, because every performance tops the last. His show last night was better than Baltimore, and I can only imagine what’s in store for Atlanta.

  “I’ll check the back while you sweep the front. Deal?” Jameson asks.

  I nod, and he takes off. He moves so fast, he doesn’t catch my face before he goes. I drop the smile, and let the frown bubble up from deep down. In a little over a week, this will all be over.

  I scan the windows and doors of the building, checking for cameras and any points of entry. Everything looks clear, so my mind continues its assault as I wait for Jameson.

  We’re going back home soon. I miss the firehouse. I miss our company. I miss the job. I miss my brothers. I miss my life.

  I also know when we go home, that I’ll miss him.

  “Shit,” I say, kicking the ground.

  I feel stupid admitting it. I’ve known Fyre a few days. I shouldn’t feel this way about anyone at this point. I shouldn’t have butterflies in my stomach or knots in my chest when he sings. I shouldn’t look at him the way I do, and I definitely shouldn’t think the way I’ve dreamed about him.

  As if it weren’t complicated enough, last night happened. Fuck, did it happen. I haven’t stopped replaying it since I woke up. I can hear every moan and taste every inch like I’m still at the couch. I don’t even mind that we didn’t use our cocks. What mattered to me was that Fyre got everything he wanted. He wanted our hands, and we were more than willing to give them to him.

  Plus, I can’t get the image of his come-soaked body out of my head. His sweat-slick skin, the rise and fall of his chest, his legs languid and spread wide from use. He glistened like a pearl, and our seed was proof that he could trust us.

  “All clear,” Jameson calls, stirring me out of my thoughts.

  Good timing, because if I spent any more time remembering last night, I’d be hard before we get back to the room.

  “What’s the matter?” I look up, wondering how to respond to such a simple yet complex question.

  “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “You’re not talking about the security sweep,” Jameson says.

  I nod. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  His hand rests on my shoulder as we walk back inside the hotel.

  “Good morning,” the receptionist greets us.

  She’s different from the girl who was here last night. There are at least two shifts then. She doesn’t ask for our ID or confirm which room we’re in, and that ruffles my feathers.

  “We’re staying in the studio loft,” I tell her before she turns towards her computer.

  “Oh, thanks,” she says as an afterthought, already concerned with the next task.

  “Fyre shouldn’t stay here again,” I whisper to Jameson. “The next time he’s in Philly, he’ll be a bigger star. He’ll need a bigger hotel.”

  We head towards the far stairwell, the last of our sweep before we get back to Fyre. Before we have to talk to Fyre, and I’m dreading it.

  “You seem so calm,” I tell Jameson as we start to climb.

  He laughs, but it’s hollow and sad. He doesn’t look at me, only keeps his gaze forward.

  “I’m calm because I already know what’s going to happen.”

  “Is that right, Mr. Jones?” I prod him. “Enlighten me.”

  He pinches his eyes closed for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

  “We’re here for you for two weeks. For two weeks, it can be whatever Fyre wants it to be. I’m willing to give him that,” he says with a sharpness to his voice that hurts my ears. “After that, we go back to New York and forget about him. We have to.”

  I stop walking, and Jameson doesn’t notice until he’s at the top of the stairs.

  “You think so?” I say. I sound pathetic, but fuck. This hurts more than I thought it would.

  “Look at us,” Jameson says with a flick of his hands. “We’re firefighters. He’s an international celebrity. He’s going places we’ll never go. He’s out of our leagu
e.”

  I can see him bite the inside of cheek. It’s a nervous habit he’s had since we were kids. He does it when his emotions get the better of him, so he clamps down. It’s painful, but easier than dealing with emotions he can’t process.

  “Jameson–,”

  “Don’t,” he barks. “I can’t get my hopes up. I won’t. You shouldn’t either.”

  There it is. The truth.

  We act tough because that’s what we have to be. But behind the muscle and brawn, behind the need to protect, I want to feel needed. I want a guy to cherish me, the way I’ll cherish him. Jameson wants that too, and I think Fyre could be that guy.

  “Too late. I already have,” I murmur.

  Jameson looks at me with disdain. He knows I can’t turn Fyre down.

  “I’ll have to break it to him for the both of us.”

  He turns away, grumbling as he opens the door onto the second floor. I should tell him I’m sorry. I know that we already let things get too messy, and I’m leaving him to clean this up on his own. But if I told Fyre I’m not interested, I’d be lying. I can’t lie to him. I let out one shaky breath before I follow Jameson through the doorway.

  The second I step onto the floor, however, the world spins out of control.

  “Hey!” Jameson calls before I can find words.

  Across the hall, a lanky black figure stands in front of Fyre’s door. His knuckles are poised to knock, or maybe he already did. Either way, the arm jerks back once he hears Jameson’s voice.

  He’s wearing a mask, but I know that shirt. It’s a tech crew shirt for the Fillmore. I remember a few guys wearing it last night.

  “Stop!” I bellow.

  My feet dig into the carpet and I’m off, lurching past Jameson. My heart goes into overdrive, blood pumping furiously as I close the distance between us. I’m a cheetah ready for the chase, and I have my prey in sight.

  Still, he’s close to the other stairwell. He spins and flies towards it instantly. I feel Jameson close behind me, catching up in every effort to not lose sight of the guy.

  “Wait! Wait!” Jameson calls as I shove the stairwell door open.

  The guy’s already on the first flight of stairs by the time we lunge at the second flight. My eyes lock on the steps and I race down them three at a time, hitting the walls as I descend.

  I shove the first floor door wide open. The sunlight blinds me, but I stagger forward, my hands grasping for anything solid. By the time my eyes adjust, all I see is Jameson frantically looking down both sides of the street.

  He’s gone.

  The door behind us pushes open, and Rusty stumbles out.

  “Are you guys trying to wake the entire building? What the hell?” He yells, his fist shaking in our faces.

  The adrenaline pumps hard as I step towards him. Without a word, barely even a thought, I shove him. Hard.

  He hits the closed door, and his eyes blister with fear.

  “Jordan, stop it!” Jameson’s hand comes around my chest, throwing me backwards against him.

  “What’s wrong with you guys?” Rusty tries again.

  “Why don’t you tell us, Rusty?” Jameson spits. His grip holds me firmly against him, but he’s just as enraged.

  “Excuse me?” His arms cross over his chest. His shirt hikes up in the front, exposing the beer belly underneath.

  “Whoever that was, he was wearing a tech shirt from the Fillmore,” I shout. “And trying to get into Fyre’s room!”

  Rusty goes white, his eyes wide. “What?”

  “You heard him,” Jameson chides. “He had a mask, but he was lanky. Did one of last night’s crew seem odd? Fidgety?”

  Rusty thinks, and I realize he isn’t breathing. His drapes a hand over his mouth, biting at the skin of his knuckles as his mind goes into overdrive.

  “There was one kid. He had blue eyes, dark hair. He asked a lot of questions about Fyre. I asked his manager, and the guy said it was his first day there, but I remember thinking the kid wasn’t very good. He mostly kept to himself,” Rusty says.

  “What kind of questions did he ask? Did you tell him where we were staying?”

  He brings his hand down, and I see the bite marks on his knuckles.

  “Yeah, I think so. I said something about Fishtown smelling pretty good for its name. He said the Holiday Inn smells pretty bad, and that’s when I mentioned this place.”

  Jameson and I turn to each other, worry etched on both our faces.

  “He baited Rusty. He stalked Fyre again.” I push myself off Jameson, and he lets me go. My anger isn’t for Rusty anyways.

  “He’s blonde, Jordan,” says Rusty.

  “He could have dyed his hair. It’s him.”

  Jameson hisses, but closes his eyes and thinks. “It’s possible. Do you really think he came all the way here, though?”

  I nod. I’m certain that the guy who just got away was Percy Ellis. “It was him. I’m sure of it.”

  Percy Ellis followed Fyre. He booked a flight, or hell, drove the 95 miles to see him. To stalk him.

  I pull my phone out quickly and dial Damon.

  I gulp, bracing myself for the words I wish I didn’t have to say. “There’s been a security breach.”

  Damon starts shouting, but my mind drifts to Fyre. I can see him now, sleeping peacefully upstairs, none the wiser about what could have happened if Jameson and I hadn’t returned when we did. My mind drifts back to the plane. Fyre said he didn’t have family or friends, just fans and coworkers. There would have been no one to check on Fyre if we hadn’t been there.

  I resolve to be there for Fyre, no matter what. Jameson and I will be his friends, his companions, anything he wants and needs from us. I know what I want. I know I want more, but I will take whatever I can get to be by Fyre’s side. No one’s getting to Fyre, without getting through me first.

  11

  Fyre

  It’s impossible to sleep in, the way sun refracts off the white walls of the loft. It’s not unpleasant though. Instead of blinding me, the light warms me from the inside out.

  The alarm clock shows it’s not yet 6 AM, but there’s no use going back to sleep. I shake the sleep off, blinking and groaning as my mind and body get their bearings. My luggage is everywhere--two suitcases in the living room, another next to the bed. That’s when I notice the rug in the living room. It’s a mess, especially at the base of the couch. Jordan must have rumpled it, where he sat on his knees in front of me.

  “Oh fuck.”

  Today is one of the few free days that I have on the tour, but there are a number of things I can do. I should do. For instance, I should write. I haven’t put pen to paper in months. We’ve been promoting my latest album non-stop, and I need to get a head start on new material if I don’t want execs breathing down my neck.

  But it’s early. Too early to rush, in my opinion. I’m in a clean bed, lying on top of crisp sheets as warm sunlight pours through the windows. I’m in a beautiful city, doing what I love, and I’m happy.

  I smile so big that I can feel my lips crack. I’ve not felt this content in my whole life, and it has everything to do with last night. The way they took care of me, brought me over the edge, the way they stayed by my side. There are a thousand words that come to mind.

  I grab my phone off the nightstand and open my notetaking app. I can feel the words flow through me. My fingertips struggle to keep up as they fly over the keys, plucking the words from my mind like apples off a tree.

  Voices don’t make a sound

  When I hear you all around

  Your tongue in my ear,

  Pain gives way when you hold me

  I write the lyrics as I feel them. They feel nubile but wild, unfinished but sultry. The words twist and turn down the page, and I realize too late that I’ve written a novella. There must be at least four songs in this, I’m sure of it.

  A stray thought rears up: It’s too soon. I shouldn’t feel these things when I barely know Jordan and Jameson. I kno
w that. But what I feel is real. I don’t know what to call it, but I know it’s there.

  It felt great being with them, that’s for sure. I never thought I’d hook up with two firemen. I’ll remember last night for the rest of my life. I’ve never felt safer or more secure. I don’t just feel safe with them. I know I am safe.

  A guardian angel must have sent them my way. Jordan and Jameson are intelligent, sharp, caring guys. I know this is their job, but they didn’t have to warn me about my social media presence. They don’t have to care this much, yet they do. They are protectors, and I couldn’t have asked for better bodyguards … and more.

  I nearly throw my phone on the floor when it starts ringing in my hands. It’s Damon. Why is he calling so early?

  “Hello,” I say, pulling the sheets off me. “You want to Facetime now?” I sound petulant, but I jump off the bed towards my suitcase. “Okay, just give me a minute to get decent.”

  Luckily, I had packed a burgundy robe at the front of my travel bag. I like to wrap myself up in one after a show, but I was too preoccupied with other post-show activities. Once the tie is secure, I switch the function and Damon’s harried face pops up on screen.

  “Good morning. Nice robe,” he says flatly. “I’m surprised you picked up. I was sure you’d still be asleep.”

  “Early bird and worms, right?” I tell him.

  Damon takes a deep breath, and only now can I hear how tired he sounds. “I just got off the phone with Jordan.”

  I try to keep my face placid, but my heart practically plummets in my chest. “Oh.”

  Oh. Great start, Fyre. After all the waxing poetic I just jotted down, I thought I could string a couple words together. Apparently not.

  “Yeah,” Damon continues. “They’re coming up to see you, but I want to let you know I’m sending an updated itinerary over.”

  I nod and swallow around the lump forming in my throat. “Sounds good.”

  Damon looks down and rubs the base of his neck. Even through a screen, he looks distraught.

  “Did something happen?”

  Damon looks back to screen. His eyes are shiny, but he smiles back at me. “Fyre, can I ask you something?”