Fly (Wild Love Book 2)

by Red L. Jameson

  So I’ll try not to think about it. I just need to think about…

  Jay must have read my mind because he’s lazily stroking my clit with his thumb. He looks up at me. No smile. Just looking at me when he puts his finger inside. I moan, staring at him. I’ve never had sex with a man who looks me in the eye. It’s a bit unsettling at first. It’s too intense. He doesn’t move his hand very much, but takes advantage of H pulling me up and down, so Jay’s finger is simultaneously sliding in and out of me. And his thumb is pressing against my clit.

  “You—you’re not touching yourself like I asked you to.” I smile down at him, surprised my voice is so soft, whisper soft.

  Jay smiles slightly. Still just looking at me while his finger is inside. He slides another digit into my channel, and I moan.

  “I don’t want to touch myself, honey.” Jay’s voice is also distorted, sounding tender, though. “I want to be inside you.”

  At that, H is pulling us, in tandem, to the middle of the bed. He’s slow and cautious. When we’re settled, I lower myself all the way on him. He moans and begins to move me up and down again. Jay has been looking at me the whole time. Contrary to what he just said, he starts to stroke himself as H pumps me up and down. Then Jay kneels on the bed, gazing deeply into my eyes. He takes a condom and quickly sheaths himself. Something about watching him watching me is making my heart speed up even more. I’m not sure, but I might be falling in love. Or falling in love with the way Jay looks at me.

  “Lean back,” Jay says, his voice so hoarse.

  “I’ve got you.” H holds onto my shoulder and back.

  I begin to tremble all over again. I want this so much. I’ve craved it from the very beginning. Yet when Jay is finally close enough to kiss me, I can’t help but duck away. I’m so scared. I’ll want more. I’ll need more. And the men will throw me away. Men only throw me away.

  H stops his gentle thrusting. “You okay, Dee?”

  Jay caresses both of my cheeks, making me look at him. “Where’d you go, honey?”

  Trying to control my fear, I say, “D-don’t stop.”

  H sits up and encompassed me with an embrace. We’re so connected. So unified, already. I wonder if he feels my trepidation.

  Like usual, my damned mouth opens and I reveal too much. “D-don’t th-th-throw me away after.” I’m stuttering. It’s something I went to a speech therapist for when I was six. Two years of Enna taking me there when the therapist wasn’t certain I needed it, that my speech would even out with time. But my mother insisted. And I adjusted. But it comes out when I’m scared. So scared I’ll do something to make someone I love abandon me.

  Jay still has my cheeks in his large calloused hands. “Never, honey.” He kisses me. “Never.”

  H holds me even tighter. “You’re mine now,” he whispers into my ear. “Mine.”

  Jay is trying to kiss me more, and I feel H moving, maybe going to remove himself from me.

  “Please don’t stop. I’m sorry I—”

  “I’m sorry,” H interrupts. “I—we shouldn’t have hurried things.”

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “But maybe we should talk?” Jay asks.

  The thing is, I might be even more scared if we do talk. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, but when faced without drama and the ever-present feeling that I’m not good enough, I scramble, hustle, and worry. I fuck things up.

  I kiss Jay. “Make me feel good.” Turning my head, to look over my shoulder I say it to H, “Make me feel really good, please.”

  H kisses me. He’s so passionate and his lips are such a comfort. I reach down Jay’s body and find his hard thick cock. Without a word, I pull as gently as I can until he’s at my opening. As I feel Jay’s hesitance, I push him inside. Jay grunts.

  “Jesus,” he whispers against my cheek. “So fucking…” He never finishes but thrusts deeper.

  H has my breasts in hand, and he’s massaging, caressing, making me come back to the moment, come back to my body. I grip onto one of Jay’s shoulders, the other hand is supported by H’s strong stomach, which I urge down until he’s laying on his back again. Only then do I grind my hips against Jay. Folding my shins under, making me appreciate the fact that I am kind of bendy, I use my legs to rock against both men. And when I do, they groan. Oh, this is good.

  I roll my hips again, feeling both men slide in and out. The motion is overwhelming, and I know I can’t last much longer, even if we did just start. But, god, it’s wonderful. My orgasm builds down my spine, my stomach flutters once more.

  “Fuck, this is…” Jay’s raspy voice never finishes his thought. Again.

  “It’s so…” H’s voice cracks. “This is so good. This is so good. Fuck, this is so good.”

  H wraps a hand around my hip and lowers it. He strums over my clit and my rhythm escalates. When arching, I feel the tips of my hair caress H, so I tilt my head back, way back, to I see him. I’m upside-down, and he’s smiling, looking at me. He had to brace himself on one elbow so he could reach my clitoris, but there he is, tall broad muscular man.

  “Little acrobat.” He chuckles. “God, that’s hot.”

  I keep smiling as I push and pull with my hips against him and Jay. I glance back at Jay who’s there, staring into my eyes.

  “Feel good, honey?”

  “Too good.”

  He softly chuckles and begins to match my pace. He’s thrusting into me as I roll forward and I moan.

  “No such thing, honey.” He grabs hold of my hip, the one not occupied by H, and begins to thrust harder. “No such thing. Nothing is too good for you.” He grunts. “I’m going to embarrass myself here, but I’m going to come. Less than two minutes in and I’m going to come. Honey, you’re going to make me—”

  It was actually more than two minutes. A lot more, but when I see Jay thrust inside me, holding me tight, the tendons in his neck standing out, I know he’s coming, which is going to make me.

  Then H grabs my hips more firmly. “Sweetheart. You’re going to…oh…” He thrusts inside me too.

  That’s when I reach the end of the rope. It frays into a million silky ribbons tickling over my skin, over my back. My orgasm ripples through me like waves of fabric, making me buck against the men, making me moan, and close my eyes, and making me fall in love, even though I know I can’t, I know I shouldn’t. It’s the worst idea I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some monstrously bad ideas in my time.

  But I fall into my orgasm, letting it make me boneless, defenseless against this stupid idea of mine, this love.

  26

  I didn’t mean to do it. But I did.

  I enticed H and Jay into having sex. They’re excited and breathing fast as we’re taking off our clothes in our new loft bedroom. The colors of the room are cream with a few sprinkles of poppy red. I’m guessing our first sexual experience at the hotel influenced me and my decorating decisions for our new cabin. Filling the room is the happy afternoon sun, streaming through the French doors that open to our balcony. We really need to close our curtains when we’re making love, but we always forget, smiling at each other while we strip.

  They want to go with me to my first OB/GYN appointment here in Ennis. Only, I’m not sure I can handle it if they come. We’ve been living together for four weeks. We’d decided to try Fran and Herbert’s cabin temporarily—nothing set in stone. There was no commitment mentioned. But it’s been four weeks now. I’ve never been so happy. Or so terrified.

  Hence the distracting sex.

  It’s an odd habit I’ve gotten into. When H or Jay try to talk about the future, I undress them. Or myself.

  See, the problem is, this is so good I’m scared of ruining it. I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, if I do something silly, if I start to make a plan, then it will all blow up in my face, and I’ll be left with my heart shattered and bloody. At this point, if H or Jay leave me, I’m not sure I can recover. But I’d have to. I have a baby to look after. A little more than thre
e months pregnant now. My belly is slightly protruding. So I know I need all the strength I have. Which is why I sidetrack the men with sex, distracting them and me from the future.

  Somehow, in the last four weeks, Fran has become my best friend; although, Greta is in close competition. That amazingly chipper German woman and I call almost every day. I had to get a new cell phone plan to compensate. But, I haven’t answered the phone, not even once, when my mother called. Or my sister-in-law. I don’t mean to exclude Jane. I really don’t. And I like her so much. I just don’t know if she cares about me or feels some sense of obligation to watch after me now that my brother is dead.

  Jay pushes through the haze of my thoughts by kissing my lips and peeling his t-shirt from my body. I’ve taken to wearing both H and Jay’s clothes, especially their t-shirts, since, almost overnight about a week ago, my boobs got even bigger and so did my waist. Jay and H are delighted, but I worry what they’ll think of me when I get huge enough that a captain named Ahab obsesses about harpooning me.

  Jay’s tongue is in my mouth, stroking me, and I try so hard to concentrate on him, on what he’s doing. My shirt is off and H is dealing with my bra. As soon as it is tossed aside, H and Jay switch places, H sweeping in to kiss me. They have a silent language I haven’t quite caught on. But somehow they know what they want to do with me and when and where to move.

  I wrap my arms around tall H, loving the feel of his firm bare shoulders. H and Jay are doing odd jobs for Fran and Herbert as well as building, of all things, tree houses. When they had a little extra time, they started to build one in our new backyard, which Fran and Herbert are in the process of selling to us for a measly amount.

  At the same time we moved into Fran and Herbert’s cabin, Jay was talking about being the kind of dad who spent a lot time with Baby, making my throat tight and my eyes sting. When H agreed, they started getting lumber, and the next thing I knew they had built a palace in the old cottonwood that’s down by the calming river. I took pictures of it, which Fran posted on her Facebook wall, and—voila!—the guys have a career building giant tree houses for the quasi-celebrities who live close by. What makes my heart burst with joy is how happy the guys are. H and Jay like working with their hands. They like creating a fantasy that both children and adults can live in. That says a lot about them, doesn’t it?

  Oh, and me and my job? Yeah, that somehow was taken care of too. Actually, when Fran and I went into town to get pedicures from the one and only salon in Ennis, there was a Yellowstone Park director who overheard Fran and me, talking about the latest shots I’d taken. The director, Jaime Lynd, wanted to see, and I was giddy from my toes turning pink, maybe a little high from the fumes too, and happened to have my tablet in my purse, so I showed her some of my cinemagraphs.

  Since I had time on my hands, while Jay and H were out making money and building tree houses, I figured how to make a cinemagraph, which is an artful combination of photographs mixed with technology, making moving pictures. Not video. But a picture that has one or a couple elements that are dynamic, enhancing a photo to become a spectacularly vibrant story. For instance, I have a cinemagraph of a male bison near a geyser, where the sun sparkles off the long strands of ice crystals along his beard and a few of the drops from the hot water spout. So, while the rest of the picture is still, the ice and geyser are illuminated and the dazzling effect moves through a gif loop.

  After watching three seconds of the sparkling bison, Ms. Lynd hired me on the spot. I have a job for the next five years, filming Yellowstone. Ms. Lynd wants to promote the park in an artful and elegant way, and she says I’m the one to do that. It’s a vote of confidence I needed to keep pursuing my photography. And I can easily work around my pregnancy and baby. At least that’s what Ms. Lynd said. Who knows, though. Babies tend to change just about everything.

  H has both my breasts in his hands, rolling his thumbs over my nipples.

  “Am I too rough?” he asks.

  I glance up, realizing I’m a world away when I was the one who instigated this. Smiling, I blink, trying to pretend I’m fine.

  “Just right, sweetheart.”

  He frowns. “I’ll be more gentle.”

  I feel like shit, because I have hissed a couple times when he’s touched me. Usually, I like it a little rough. But my body doesn’t. Not right now. My stupid breasts are annoying me senseless. I hate how huge they are. I hate how much they hurt. And I’m only at the very beginning of my second trimester. It’s all happening so fast.

  “No, honey,” I capture H’s face with my hands. “You’re doing everything just right.”

  “Then why are you—”

  “Are you worried about your appointment?” Jay asks, always more insightful than I’d like him to be, especially when I’m terrified about something. “Dee, honey, H and I will go with you. We’ll be there every step of the way.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. Oh, not that they’ll be dependable. Reliable. The perfect men that I know them to be. What scares me to the point where I sleep less than H now, what terrifies me to the point where I have a hard time eating—and even with the nausea I’ve always been able to eat—is that I’ll learn how to lean on them, and then they’ll throw me away.

  So I reach over my shoulder and kiss Jay, refusing to talk about what I know we need to discuss—my ever-present fear of what will be. I’d like to punch Doris Day in the mouth for her “Que Sera Sera” song because sometimes you need to fucking know the future. But what if you’re terrified of it?

  However, it’s always there. Just a heartbeat away.

  Jay leans back. “I’ll be here every step of the way.”

  I want to cry, but I nod and smile. “I know.”

  Jay holds one of my cheeks, ensuring I’m looking at him, even as I’m awkwardly twisting. “Do you?”

  I swallow.

  Then H cups my chin, ensuring I’ll gaze at him. “Sweetheart…?” He never finishes his question, and it was obviously a question from his tone. He just stares at me, concern through his brows, his dark eyes assessing me.

  Will they be here every step of the way?

  Adding to my worries is how do I tell my baby about them?

  Well, you have two daddies who are raising you. And another daddy who passed away before you were born. Confusing enough? It gets even better because I love both of your daddies equally. I couldn’t choose just one, even though I know I should. I should because my baby will get picked on for having such a weird family. I’ll be the mom who is ostracized for being a hippy-free-love freak. Even if I’m not into free love. I just happen to love two men. At once.

  And that’s another problem: I love them. But none of us have said it.

  Actually, H and Jay say it to each other. When one of them frustrates the living hell out the other, they confront each other by saying, “Hey, bro, you know I love you, but…” fill in the blank. Sometimes they add a few snarls at each other. Once, H slept on the couch because he was so pissed. But they always talk it out and finish their discussions by repeating, “Dude, love you, you dickhead.” Or something like that.

  I’d rather not be called a dickhead, but I crave for one of them to tell me he loves me. My chest squeezes tight when thinking about it.

  But I don’t want to focus on any of that right now.

  I glance at the clock. “I have a couple hours—more like an hour-and-a-half—before I have to go to the doctor’s, and I want to come twice before that.”

  H tries to temper a wicked grin. “Bossy lady.”

  After he sweeps in for a quick kiss, I say, “You know you love it.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, I do.”

  “You sure you want to, honey?” Jay whispers into my ear.

  I reach down and cup his cock. God, I love it when he’s hard. He’s so warm and that rigid length of his, of both of them, turns me on so much.

  I nod. “I want to. I really want to.”

  And I do.

  It’s just…when it comes
down to it, if Jay and H told me they love me, I’d figure out how to get over being the weird hippy mom. Actually, I’d probably be the envy of every other mom. I can get over everything else, except…what if the only reason why H and Jay are with me is because, as much as they might complain about the title, they are boy scouts. They are the good guys. With Jay’s tattoos and H’s smoldering good looks, they might look like bad boys. But they aren’t. They’re knights in shining armor. And I’m scared they feel forced—an internal sense making them rescue Baby and me.

  That’s why I can’t talk about the future. I’m so scared they feel obligated.

  That’s why I distract them, but namely me, with sex.

  I kiss Jay, one hand still on H, feeling the rippling chords of his cut abs, the other on Jay’s bulging bicep. Jay’s in my mouth, stroking me once again, and this time I do concentrate. I pay attention to how he communicates his wants to me. He thrusts his tongue even deeper, and I know he’s thinking about being inside me. I smile. Can’t help it but love when he’s turned on. When both of my men are turned on.

  I pull away from Jay and return to H, who catches hold of my nape and forces a brutal kiss on me. He’s holding me tightly, moaning. His hands on my hips pull me to him where I feel his erection against my stomach.

  “Get on the bed, sweetheart.” H’s voice is low, demanding.

  “Bossy man.”

  He smiles. “You know you like it.”

  Oh, and do I.

  27

  As I move toward the bed, Jay unbuttons my jeans, and I smile, coyly blocking him from getting me undressed. Then, before I get on our king-sized bed where we all sleep and have sex almost every day, I stop to do a striptease. Both men watch me, no smiles on their faces, as I unzip my jeans and shimmy them past my hips. H sharply inhales. He likes my hips. He’s told me how he adores my curves, the way they fit in his hands. He’s whispered to me how he thinks he was made to hold me, hold me right there as he thrusts into me.