by Kent, Julia
“There aren’t any.” Dylan’s voice was thick with emotion as he stood. He and Mike moved to Laura, who volleyed between them, head bouncing left and right to take this all in. With one on each side of her, she struggled to understand what was going on as they both knelt down.
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. And she didn’t. Nearly five months of wants and needs and luscious thoughts poured into her now, less from passion and more from a knowing love. A place of goodness and completion, of welcomed desire, of being treasured and assured not by words or by touch but by presence.
“Say you’ll stay. Say you’ll let us take care of you.” Dylan touched her belly. “Both of you.”
She frowned. “Take care of?”
“We have more money than we can spend in ten lifetimes. Quit your job. Be a full-time mom. Start a business or a charity or whatever your heart desires, Laura. Hang with us. Help me run the ski resort. Become a gym bunny. Open a bakery. Hell, buy Jeddy’s and fire Madge,” Mike laughed, his face wide and open, body tense but eyes serene and raw all at once.
“In other words, let us take care of you, because we need you to take care of us,” Dylan said, getting to the point.
Oh, guys, she thought. Her heart should be racing, temples pounding, face flushing and heart swelling, right? Instead, all she could feel was a diffuse calm. An acceptance. An understanding.
And the baby did a somersault right then, her little foot practically poking a hole in Laura’s belly. “Holy shit!” Mike shouted. “I could see the outline of her toes on your shirt!” She’d chosen a fairly tight, “slimming” light pink maternity shirt, with a little spandex, and it was pulled snugly over her belly.
“I saw it, too!” Dylan joined in.
“Maybe she was answering for me?”
“Was she?” they asked in unison. Laura closed her eyes, shoulders dropping, her breath even and mature. Yes. Yes yes yes yes.
In later years Laura would try to remember the exact moment she leaned down and took Mike’s face into her hands, kissing him gently and with great passion, but try as she might she could never pinpoint it, would never find her recollection precise enough to discern when she made the decision. Like so many other moments in her years with Dylan and Mike it just was, a delicious shift of molecules and energy that moved her body, compelling her toward what her heart wanted.
Regardless, Mike’s response was keen and matched, lips connecting, arms wrapping about her waist, sliding up her back as he stood, pulling her to standing, the belly making an awkward chaperone that separated them. Dylan stood back and watched, smiling. He wasn’t left out for long, as Laura pulled back from Mike, breathless, and reached out.
The little, doubting voice inside her, the one that whispered insecure comments in her ear at inappropriate times, the saboteur of all that was good and whole in her life, tried desperately to wiggle its way to the surface as Dylan’s arms wrapped around her, as his lips touched hers, as his mouth explored hungrily and apologized with little movements and sighs, hands saying “I’m sorry” in ways words and looks could never convey. Laura found herself not only not caring what that voice said, not actively pushing it away, but instead just not listening. Tuning it out like static, like traffic, like the sound of something so insignificant it becomes white noise after a while. You know it’s there but it blends in with the rest of the world and takes its rightful place as something you don’t need to attend to.
What she needed to give her attention was, in fact, right here, standing before her, both men here, now, for her. And she was here for them, all three together and hopeful and trying to find their way to a new truth. A new honesty. A new vow.
As she warmed to Dylan’s caresses, their bodies awkward and accommodating, the reality of their earlier coming together very real—regardless of whose baby she carried— desire roared forth, a huge ball of need and hormones rushing to the surface, her mouth aggressive, hands not backing down. Wanting them both, needing time and pleasure, her skin’s memory of the fear of nearly dying now straining for an expression of life, to conjoin and co-mingle with Mike and Dylan, to renew something deep and unspoken as they unveiled a commencement. A beginning of something unspoken but cherished.
Dylan’s touch became tentative, hesitant. She pulled back and asked, “You OK?”
Mike’s eyes held the same conflict that Dylan’s reflected as she looked at them both. “Can we...are you...is this -- ” Dylan stumbled.
“Oh, God, yes!” she nearly cried out. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed this?” She stroked his arm. “Both of you.” A sigh. “All of this.”
“No, I mean, the doctors—can you, you know?” Mike jumped in, hands clearly itching to touch her, but keeping a respectful distance as she was in Dylan’s space.
She blushed. “I’m cleared for ‘intimate relations,’ as the nurse put it, but I don’t think they were thinking of what we do,” she laughed. Pointing to her belly and hips, she added, “And I think we just have to do this the old fashioned way this time. No room for two at the inn.”
“I like old-fashioned,” Dylan sighed in her ear, nuzzling her neck. A zing of pleasure made her inhale slowly, savoring the heat of his cheek on hers. Mike stepped back, sweeping his arm toward his bedroom, the same room, same bed, where they’d first been together, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
In a way, it was. This world was theirs to forge, social and emotional rules that they landscaped, shaping it as they wished. No doubting voice, no righteous screeds, no one else could dictate how or whom she loved. So this lifetime that she embarked on felt like her real life. Time to start it.
Start it off right. Nice and slow and easy and luscious. Taking Mike’s hand, holding on to Dylan’s with her other, the three walked with languid grace, her body hot and ready so soon, so fast, she nearly burst as Mike reached down to kiss her, Dylan stroking her shoulders and back, hands wrapping around her from behind and loving her belly.
Sinking back into him, soaking up Mike’s skin, the taste of him, how his mouth was lush and present and fully aware of hers made the scene less surreal. Just...real. As if all of the other moments in her conscious life were somehow just a preparation for this, and that all her worries and concerns were useless, unnecessary.
Discarded.
The sound of Dylan’s long inhale, then his deep exhale, hands reaching under the hem of her shirt and warmth—just as Mike’s hands cupped one breast, his hip grinding into hers, back curled over her, shoulders lifted, one hand stroking her ample, swelling nipple as the other kneaded her hair, little kisses interspersed with great, deep, wet explorations. Her clit pulsed, abs tightening and elongating, body primed and ready for everything.
And it looked like that’s what she was about to get.
Four hands slid up her ribcage, across her shoulders, down her legs, everywhere, like tentacles made of honey and wine, slipping and caressing until she stood in panties alone, their flesh ripe and clear, her own hands busy and red-hot from sliding cotton and threads off six packs, glutes, biceps, and flesh that now stood ramrod straight, as if tipped up to say thank you for the coming feast.
Mike’s bronzed chest, with a sprinkling of sun-kissed hair, felt familiar and foreign under her finger tips, his hands lifting up under her thickened breasts, face gazing down and marveling, as if looking at a work of art for the first time. When his eyes met hers they were smiling, and he touched her lips with one finger. “I do love you.” Hand on her belly. “And her.”
A lump in her throat made it hard to speak, Dylan’s hard, muscled form behind her, leaning against her back and ass. Heady from the touch of both, she tipped her face up and drank in Mike’s words. “I love you, too.” His smile, his mouth, their tongues touching as she was enveloped by manflesh, manskin, the two men who completed her—it made her feel truly, madly, intensely loved.
Cherished.
Dylan’s words were a trigger for so much more as he nipped her ear and whispered, “I
love you, too.” Mike released her and she spun around, arms lifting over his shoulders, his muscled forearms on her back and hips, their embrace less sexual and more a homecoming.
Until his mouth found hers, telepathically transmitting everything they couldn’t say but felt, as if he thought and emoted for her through a long, wet stroke, or fingers that trailed a line down her neck to her breasts, pausing to turn a soft areola into a pebbled nipple.
“And I love you,” she replied, smiling into the kiss, feeling his mouth shift, too, into a grin. Ah, she really was home. Love. They’d all said it, felt it, meant it. The sweet taste of it was nirvana, a light, delicate—but hardy—flavor that they would relish forever.
She moved to the bed, climbing on carefully, the only one wearing anything. Slipping out of her panties, she became self-conscious of her body for the first time—how it had changed, how she had gained weight, how her breasts were fuller, more sensitive, her hips wider and more lush. Would they like it? Was she too big?
Mike’s hands held an answer as he reached for her, eyes tracking his own hand as he moved it along her side. She propped her head with her hand, elbow holding at an angle, breasts and belly pulled down by gravity and one leg bent. “You’re so...” He sighed, his hand opening where her ribcage met her breast, smoothing and sloping to take in more. “Voluptuous. Glowing.” Bending in, muscles rippling and arms tight, he kissed her and then slid into bed, arms warm and chest pressed against her, molding himself around her. “Amazing.” She relaxed into rippled muscles on his thighs, his long, lean body surrounding her, mouth kissing her neck—
Oh! That was Dylan, who had taken up residence behind her, her back warmed instantly by a wall of hot skin and hard flesh that started with her ass, then her thighs, gliding up her sacrum, back, and shoulders, like a strong blanket of sensuality. His hands cupped her breasts as he kissed her neck, erection pressed into the cleft of her ass, ready for her bidding and whatever they all chose next. Delicious. That they had all the time, all the choice in the world, to do as they wished right here, right now.
Just the feel of them against her body made her abs tighten, the flesh above her clit buzzing, her hands eager and needy, touching Mike and Dylan with an urgency she didn’t have to possess any more. No rush. No scarcity. All three had made the decision to move on, to redesign the world, to make their love so much more.
Mike trailed kisses down her breasts, looping one nipple into his mouth, tongue teasing with circles of benevolence, making her walls clamp and the air in her lungs rush out. Base instinct guided her hands to his hair, hoping—oh, hoping!—he was headed where she needed that mouth most right now. It had been long, long months without, and her body tingled with anticipation, for that first cool touch of tongue tip, as the warmth of her flesh would mix with his wetness and make her gasp.
“Are you OK on your back?” Dylan asked. She hadn’t considered it.
“I can be creative,” Mike answered, his voice muffled. For some reason, it made her giggle, and she got a case of the sillies, right here in this incredibly sensual moment. Laughing so hard tears filled her eyes, Dylan watched her, eyes dancing with amusement. Mike paused, then crawled up her body, dragging his chest along her skin.
His head popped up, face curious, as she quivered and shook, overcome with laughter. “I’ve been laughed at in bed before,” he said, “but never while doing that.”
Oh, God. That made her giggle even more, great whoops surprising her, Mike glancing at Dylan, Dylan’s shrug, both sets of eyes watching her. Contagious, the laughter got them too, deep voices rumbling with chuckles until finally Laura settled down, flapping her hands in front of her face to cool down and calm herself.
“What was that?” Dylan asked, finger circling her nipple.
Mike dipped his head back under the covers and moved down. A kiss on her hip. “Was that funny?” A kiss on her knee. “Funny?” A kiss on her mons. “Giggling now? How about I make you gasp.” The last word came out as a low growl, so predatory and primal she filled with a blooming wetness, all heat and low thrumming, body fully ready.
And gasp she did, for as his hips moved, Mike folding his extended body into position between her legs, and although she was on her side, he simply moved one leg up, balanced it on his shoulder gently, and leaned down, tongue touching the exact place she needed it to. Like a butterfly in slow motion, his tongue lapped and licked in a perfect, slow rhythm that took her from ready to gone. Dylan’s scent, all musk and smoke and salty, filled the air as he lowered his mouth on her other nipple, keeping symmetry.
She didn’t care, transported to a frenzied near-climax by a few touches of Mike’s tongue. When Dylan rotated slightly, calves brushing against her hip, his body hovering over hers, her mouth was open, breath coming out in pants, his lips taking hers as his hand reached for her ass, pulling her closer.
What she wanted, though, was more. Urging Dylan to slide up, she reached for him, fingers lacing around his thick erection, guiding him to her mouth. Knowing she would soon come— hard and furious, crazy and tilting—she wanted to give, to make someone else feel as good as Mike made her feel now, to spread out her own intensity, delaying her climax, to make it all the more incredible and vital and fucking liquifying when it did come.
And at this rate, she didn’t have long, months of pent-up frustration and need and arousal and all of it. Mike’s hands spread up her hip to take in what they could, as his mouth worked wonders, exploring the full, pink flesh of her labia, one finger sliding inside her—now two!—the added sensation giving her a gasp, indeed, as she tongued Dylan’s mushroom cap, his body tensing, all of this energy traveling like a physics math word problem.
If Mike’s tongue flickers at a rate of 69 beats per second while Laura’s mouth licks Dylan’s enormous cock five times per minute, as her hands dig into Mike’s golden waves and Dylan groans at 200 decibels, when will they all come?
About...now, apparently, Laura’s body twitching, removing Dylan from her as he eased back, her face turning to the pillow, unable to do anything but experience this, biting the sleek cotton to keep from screaming. Didn’t work. “Oh, God!” she shouted, her body convulsing, neck muscles stretching and pulling at the same time, her body stretching like a cat’s, then shaking, stretching, then shaking, hands curled into fists in ecstasy.
Beyond words, she just came and came, exploding as Mike rode the wave, following her as her clit bobbed and jumped, hips out of control, her eyes open and then shut, occasionally catching glimpses of Dylan’s transfixed look, watching her with such passion it nearly made her come again.
“No, stop!” she begged. “I want you in me!”
“I’m here,” said Dylan, smoky and sensual. He slid against her, from behind, as Mike straightened up, slipped out from under the covers and rested on his knees, a delicious drink of water her eyes soaked up. How could he have so little fat, pockets of muscle etched into his ribs and abdomen? Unreal. Dylan’s hot skin married hers, hips resting behind as Mike’s mirth-filled eyes acknowledged what he’d just given her, and waited patiently for so much more, lips flush and red, blue eyes growing serious and sultry.
Now it was Dylan who nudged against her, her own passage eager to be filled, nudging back as he centered himself, then the tip of him touched her outer lips, eliciting a sigh that turned into a moan, her body responding with such fierce arousal she was grateful for two men. They might not be able to satisfy the tiger inside her, the one that had prowled for the past few months through her erogenous zones, pacing and searching for—
Oh! Oh! As he entered her everything split and she felt nothing but slick, her body welcoming and warm, his erection pushing hard from behind as she rested on her side, trying to get him deeper, needing a fuller feeling of man, of Dylan, and as he began to thrust, slow and tender, she whispered, “I love the feeling of you in me. I need you so much.”
“I need you, too, Babe,” he answered, the hissing musk of his breath enough to put her into a cocoo
n of this, of nothing more or less, his abs pushing against her ass, his knee between hers, his cock inside her as rough palms massaged her breasts, wet lips kissed her earlobes, and then—there it was.
Explosion. Implosion. Screams—hers, of pleasure and orgasm and release and pluming and of complete annihilation of the mind. Hands and fingers and mouths and cocks and ass and pussy walls all worked in concert until everything was just a pink and red void, panting breath and hot, wet flesh and a gritty, guttural groan of fucking and being fucked, of having her body pushed to its sensual limits and over the line, of crossing something that expunged all worry, all fear, all timid nature into a ball of greedy desire and lust and—
Dylan. His neck muscles pushed against her ear; she could feel the strain as she came down from her own high, could sense the creaming inside her as he came, could hear the little sounds the back of his throat involuntarily made as he thrust, then froze, thrust, then froze, squeezing every drop from this masterful movement. He slumped against her, spent, as her energy roared to life, her appetite for sex and skin and being fucked a thousand times stronger than it had ever been in her life, the roar of want so great she feared she would devour them.
Mike. Could Mike be enough now? As Dylan slid out of her, kissing her shoulder, Mike moved like a lion, slow and sure, owning the land and the bed, her body and his, knowing what she needed without her saying a word. He didn’t seem surprised when she took his mouth with force, a maniacal power driving her to kiss him, to use her tongue to nip, to suck, to measure the terrain of him.
“I want you on top,” he murmured, stretching out on the bed, his tall runner’s body going on and on. Dylan had rolled over and watched, an open, friendly face that seemed more wistful than voyeuristic, and as she climbed on Mike’s hips, straddling him, she unceremoniously plunged down on his rigid cock, the tip hitting her cervix with a push of pleasure that made it seem as if she hadn’t just made love with Dylan, hadn’t just come from Mike’s mouth and Dylan’s cock, hadn’t just been satisfied and catered to in every way possible.
