by Julia Kent
He had me there.
“I don’t. Every bad decision I’ve made before only hurt me. Maybe Mama, a little. But this — it’s the whole band! It’s everyone. It’s my whole world. The world I’ve built, on my own. It’s fucking scary to realize I could lose it all because I let my ego get in the way. I thought I was smarter than I am. I was wrong.”
“No. No. Don’t turn this into more self abuse.”
“Self abuse? I’m not masturbating!”
Trevor was taken aback. Joe snickered. “I meant verbal self abuse. It’s like you’re beating yourself up because you don’t know what else to do, and I won’t tolerate it.” Trevor said firmly.
“You won’t what?”
“Me neither,” Joe said, suddenly serious. “You’re beating yourself up for all the wrong reasons. Plus, it’s unnecessary.” He turned to Trevor, who pulled me in for a long hug.
“You’re not worthless,” he whispered into my hair.
“I never said I was.”
“Some part of you is trying to make you feel shame. And you don’t need to. Let’s love the part of you that can’t stop hurting you. Maybe it’s the same part that thinks you just have to take what life gives you.”
“He’s right,” Joe said, his hand on my hip suddenly, the hug turning into a pile-on. Linked to each other, we were stronger like this, but especially me. I was stronger. Better for having their hands on me.
When I attached myself to my people — my men — I was suddenly able to drive out the shame, like borrowing their power gave me a tool to leverage my strength, to push the rock up the mountain, to overcome what needed to be defeated.
Shame.
Shame has a purpose, but it’s meant to be used in tiny doses. Like medicine, it’s the dose that matters. And all you need is a tiny bit of it when you’re off course and trying to steer back.
Some part of me was a shame factory, and it was time to pull the plug.
I stood on tiptoes and kissed Joe’s cheek. “Thank you,” I murmured, breaking contact to kiss Trevor next. His stubble scratched against me, light and simple, the taste of his lips as he caught mine for a deeper kiss a salty treat, turning wet and loving as our tongues stroked each other, the bones in the palm of my hand like paperweights pressing into him, holding him in place so I could kiss him long enough to truly believe every word he was saying.
That would take a while.
“Let us love you,” Joe said behind me, his fingers raw and surprising on my bare skin. “You don’t need to be ashamed. You’re human. We all are. We all make mistakes. The difference between people who screw up and people who don’t isn’t perfection, or moral superiority.” He kissed the back of my neck as Trevor broke away from my mouth, his hands cupping my jaw, making me look up at him. Joe’s words were Trevor’s voice in that moment, almost telepathic.
“What is the difference, then?” I asked, turning my head to nuzzle closer to Joe.
“Risk. People who make mistakes have a kind of courage you can’t get from coloring between the lines your whole life. You taught me that, Darla. Until you I was living my life like paint by numbers.”
“And now?”
“We’re just one big Jackson Pollack painting, babe.” Joe shut me up with a roaring kiss just then, his scent filling the air between us, his words crystal clear and unambiguous.
He was right.
They both were.
Whatever scrabbling, desperate little animal living inside me that sought to bang the shame drum over and over wasn’t me. It wasn’t real. Joe and Trevor were reality. My chosen life in Boston was reality. Joe’s hand cupping my breast, Trevor’s fingers soothing my tight neck, followed by wet kisses that made me shiver — that was my reality.
We were who we were, mistakes and bad decisions and scars and all. My hand slid under Joe’s shirt, index finger finding the heart surgery scar from his infancy. A part of him had been broken through no fault of his own, and yet he’d been fixed through love and skill. About equal measures of both.
We three had love.
And these two had plenty of skill when it came to connecting our bodies and hearts.
It was Trevor who took the lead, making me want what I didn’t think I wanted, calling to the part of me that knew this was how I could heal. Sex wouldn’t fix a damn thing. It never has, not once in the history of all that is fucked up and holy.
But sex with them? That was different. Because we needed to start calling what we did when we were naked something other than sex. Three letters were woefully inadequate to convey what happened when Trevor, Joe and I threw inhibition down into the holding pen where it belonged, distant and contained, and unleashed the rest of us.
One of the best parts of sex is the getting naked process. I was already here, the distinct boundary of clothing against my bare belly its own allure. Being nude with a close partner feels elicit and naughty in a private, evocative way. Unwrapping Joe was like being given a gift, my fingers undoing the button of his jeans like tugging on the end of a bow, my hands sliding his pants down around his ankles like tearing wrapping paper on a big box you weren’t expecting. The promise of what comes next is captivating, and soon Joe’s silky skin and rock hard erection were all I knew.
They guided me to the bed, my skin tingling from cold air and the growing ability to turn off the numbness that dread had instilled in every fiber of my being. As it drained out of me, I felt myself come back online, each sector of my skin finding a way to join the party.
Trevor cupped my breasts while Joe kissed my back, the three of us on the bed, me stretched out diagonally with Trevor in front of me, Joe behind. We were dark and light, my blonde hair and Trevor’s catching in the outside light’s glow, Joe’s sleek, onyx hair like a silkie in bed, searching for my wet sanctuary.
“When we’re together, nothing else is more important,” Trevor murmured as he kissed my collarbone, my thoughts still so fast, my hands finding bare muscled ass, a long, thick erection, Joe’s chest with the scar. His thighs were thickening, a gradual growth that seemed to come into both of their bodies, though represented differently. I’d never been with a guy long enough to notice non-surface-level changes in them. Haircuts, clothing, shaving, beards – sure.
Structural changes? Emotional explorations and analyses, followed by actual change?
Not until now.
Joe ventured first, his fingers titillating as they fluttered over my ass, one finger finding my wet, hot pussy waiting for him. I moaned into Trevor’s hair-dusted inner thigh as Joe found his way to getting the last vestiges of my overwhelmed mind to surrender.
I’m not always into anal sex, so let’s just put that out there, but when we’re together, having them fill me turns a mere sex act into something so much more. We go from being pieces of flesh that you put into and accept from and we are a union. Forged through lack of inhibition, curiosity, time and love. The three of us.
Pleasure becomes the goal, but not pleasure for pleasure’s sake. That’s fine and all. Erotic and hot, it can be a rockin’ free-for-all that leaves you sweaty, sticky, breathing hard and bonelessly wanting more. It’s like having all your frustrations and insecurities vanquished from you until all that’s left is your essence. When you let your essence meet another person’s essence on such an intimate level, and in a committed, bonded relationship, it’s a cornerstone of intimacy. Closeness. Vulnerability.
Connection.
Joe’s fingers lightly stroking my anus sent zings through me, the forbidden always delicately turning me on. Even three years of sex with these guys wasn’t enough to make it routine. Once we got going, it was so much more. The air changed when I touched them, like a chemical shift we caused. I don’t know if it happened to other people when they were intimate, but it sure did for us, and sometimes that feeling was the gateway. It’s how my body knew it was time to stop letting my mind be in charge, to give over to my body and just feel.
Trevor’s mouth moved down my body, leaving one
wet nipple to be assaulted by cold air, the sudden icy feel like a dom’s demand. My body rose to their touch, emotion like mercury, measuring the heat between us. My leg brushed against Joe’s hip as Trevor moved against me like a thief in the night, coming to steal all my shame and throw it into the stardust to be reclaimed by nature, remixed and reimagined into nothing at all.
“I love you,” Joe said, his fingers playing me, pushing just enough against the tightness to make me gasp, the rush of his hot breath against my hip making me moan, intensity building not just from nerves and pinpricks, from caresses and sighs, but from the requited love of two men who were determined to make all my problems go away one by one, stroke by stroke, each second that passed in connection another reclaimed bit of time where we were kings and queens.
I couldn’t reply, too wrapped up in the exquisite feel of his fingers in me, his chest and abs pressed against my side, the way he kissed my spine like a combination lock that he opened by superstition and guess, ingenuity and passion. I was wet and ready, the familiar slow build turning hot and heavy on a dime as Trevor moved just enough and I grasped his shaft, licking the tip and sliding my free hand up his abs, enjoying the tactile roller coaster ride up his body until he dipped his head and took one of my fingers into his mouth.
Sucking him while he sucked my finger shot my blood through my body, my moans growing louder as Joe’s finger did its magic. I removed my finger from Trevor’s mouth and brought two, then three wet fingers up to my clit, making me tighten as I moved my hips and Joe slid into my pussy like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was fate, like it was meant to be.
Because it was.
With one man in me and one man in my mouth I was ensconced by hair and skin and musk and the all-pervasive knowledge that I belonged here. I was pinned in place between them, a perfect conductor, plugged in. My mouth took Trevor’s cock down nice and deep as if I were accepting his soul into me, the sounds he made more of this web of connection. He smelled like sweat and soap, wine and a tangy, sexy odor and it made me give him as much of my mouth as I could.
Joe moved slow and steady behind me, urging me onto my knees as his thighs crashed into my ass, hands roamed up and down my ribs, my breasts, my back, fingers woven into my hair and tugging.
So much sensation. I didn’t know the body could integrate like this, taking conversation and glances, touches and urges, moans and requests, turning them into a naked ball of three people in love. We were making love, having sex, fucking each other’s brains out, sucking and licking and thrusting and smacking and grabbing until all that mattered was touch.
And it mattered.
A lot.
I started to shake, trying to enjoy Joe’s body slamming into mine while keeping Trevor’s cock wet and silky, feeling his ass clench as his orgasm grew near. I should have drawn it out, made it last longer, given him more of a journey than a quick ride up, but a joyous sense of pleasure took over.
I wanted us to to come together.
Now.
So we did, my screams of ecstasy buried by Trevor’s enormous erection, the vibrations from my low sounds making Trevor grab my face and freeze, his hot seed spurting into me as Joe fucked me so hard from behind we started body clapping, like an audience cheering us on. My hand continued down under me, fingers on my clit and that one touch – one finger, one tiny bit of pressure –catapulted me to the moon.
They came with me, so I wasn’t alone. Surely, when someone makes you orgasm so hard to move beyond the boundaries of your own skin, they should be invited on the journey, yes?
Each movement Joe made, his long thrusts turning staccato with power until the air and my juices mixed to create the most divine sensation as he pulled out and hammered back in, over and over, until my abs tightened so hard I caught him in me, my throat opening up for Trevor, my body seized by love and lust and tightened to the hardness of a diamond, shining in moonlight.
I stopped breathing, stopped thinking, just stopped, weightless and floating as I exploded and shivered, muscles run out of any other way to say I love this.
I love you.
By the time my body was done, I dropped Trevor out of my mouth and rested my cheekbone on his thigh, panting, Joe collapsed against my back.
We were a pile of crazy. One big old random act of actual crazy.
I can’t tell you what happened next, because all I know is at some point in the middle of the night I woke up and had to peel myself off Joe and Trevor, skin literally sticking to them, our sex goo dried to bind us together. It was a fitting metaphor.
By the time I got back to bed Joe was on his back, Trevor on his side, both leaving a generous spot between them for me.
As it should be.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DARLA
It was the day of the band’s first performance. Three nights in a row, three sold-out shows, opening for a superstar with the power to get us into huge venues.
No pressure, right?
A day and a half after my gambling fiasco, I was sitting in the lounge of the hotel, drinking a coffee with everyone as we got ready for the guys to split off and do last minute practice, when Amy started doing an impressive imitation of a woman with a live mouse in her bra.
She’d arrived the day before, while Joe, Trevor, and I were sleeping off our crazy day, and I’d woken up to find her here, sucking down lattes from some coffee shop at a nearby resort that she raved about, all her first day excitement a little much for me to handle.
“Darla!” Amy hissed, looking at her phone. Her jaw dropped like she was about to give a guy a blow job, and I half wondered if she was getting ready to do the licking app.
“What?”
“You’re all over the news.”
“What? Me? I’m not on the news!”
“You are on Reddit. Trending now.”
“Reddit ain’t the news!”
“It practically is,” Trevor interjected. “Better than mainstream news, at least. And if you want the newest – ” He shut himself up as Amy showed a video.
Of me walking the chickens on the Las Vegas Strip.
You ever watch a group of kids in a trailer park when the ice cream truck arrives, especially the day after payday? That’s what every member of the band looked like as the video came into clear view.
Like iron shavings to a magnet.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, tilting his head as if that would make what he was watching make more sense.
“Ignoring all of you,” I answered truthfully.
“No, I mean – why were you walking a human chicken on a leash?” he clarified.
“Kink,” I shot back, which made everyone look at Trevor and Joe, shifting the attention off me.
Briefly.
Everyone watched the video, which was of poor, shaky quality until it wasn’t, the video slow and steady toward the end. I couldn’t help myself. I looked.
The video was on the Random Acts of Crazy YouTube account.
“What the fuck?” I called out. “How did Wonder Woman pull that one off? How’d she upload that straight to our account?”
“Wonder Woman?” Amy asked, giving me the hairy eyeball. “What does Wonder Woman have to do with this?”
“She was the one recording me when Mavis laid her egg.”
I gave the video a long, careful look. Wait a minute.
No Ed. No egg, either. Just me, walking them on leashes through the convention hall. I was a zombie. The expression on my face was so blank, it might as well have been a whiteboard wearing a bad blonde wig.
“Who recorded this?” I demanded. “And which one of you uploaded it to the band’s account?”
“Check it out,” Liam said. “Eighty thousand views already.”
That shook me out of my stunned state. “Huh?” Views on YouTube meant making money from revenue.
Joe was grinning like a fool.
“Why,” I asked, suddenly suspicious, “are you so happy?”
�
��Because that is how you’ll earn back all the money you lost.”
I gave him a wide-eyed shut-your-piehole look.
“What money?” Liam asked, curious. “I thought you won at the slots.”
Charlotte just looked at me with that laser stare of comprehension she should patent. People who work in student services at colleges must have entire seminars devoted to mastering that look. It’s the look of a police detective. Of a Weight Watchers leader.
It’s the look that patiently dares you to lie.
“Oh, no biggie,” I said, waving him away.
“Is this about the financial problem you were describing to me when my company ran out of urethral soundings?” Charlotte asked. Every guy in the room tucked his abs in.
Before I could reply, Joe spilled the beans.
“Darla accidentally got wasted and lost eight grand of the band’s money on roulette,” Joe said, so blunt he might as well have used a baseball bat instead of words. The man could play Negan on The Walking Dead.
The room turned into an ice chamber. I know because every pore on my body tightened at once, all those eyes on me, shocked and pissed.
“What?” Sam gasped.
Liam made a low whistle.
Charlotte gaped and sputtered, “I didn’t know it was that!”
I just closed my eyes nice and tight and said nothing, braced for the inevitable, mentally re-composing my apology I’d rehearsed a thousand times before in my mind.
“You bet the band’s money?” Liam choked out. “Without our permission?”
“We got it all back,” Joe said, rushing in to my defense.
“But you lost eight grand?” Liam persisted.
“Go big or go home,” I said weakly. “No one ever talks about the going home part. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
“You gambled band money?” Charlotte said, her tone more one of curiosity than outrage.
“Never mind,” Joe said, his protectiveness endearing. “It’s all back in the bank.”
