Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance

by Sierra Sparks

  I replied with, “I can go in without you if you feel safe enough outside. We’ll be far enough away from my house. I don’t see why Danny would send anyone to a shopping center. Those places are usually crawling with townies, even in the early morning. There’d be too many witnesses.”

  Vanessa was limping and I felt awful for her. She didn’t deserve any of this. I wished I could take away the pain. Her leg wasn’t broken but she must have twisted her ankle, and that was bad enough.

  “I’ll be safe then,” she breathed. “Someone will call the police if anything goes wrong, da?”

  “All the gangs and cartels have practically run the police out of town, but I know some of them stayed behind. They like to turn a blind eye to crimes and take bribes, but there are still some honest ones out there. Even so, don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  “I know better,” Vanessa whispered. Her voice seemed to be going out, raspier than I’d ever heard it. I noticed her Russian accent shining through despite it all. She felt comfortable around me. I wasn’t a monster to her anymore.

  We arrived at the store after an hour of walking. There were early risers fresh off their morning coffees, pushing their shopping carts along. I kissed Vanessa gently.

  “Wait off to the side and don’t let anyone see you. Act homeless if anyone asks about the way you look. I’ll be back in no time,” I told her.

  She smiled at me with warmth. “A good plan. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  I smiled back then turned to go into the supermarket. No one seemed to notice me even though I’d always been described as having an imposing figure. Maybe they were still dragging themselves along after a night of drinking or gambling.

  Leaving Vanessa behind worried me. I didn’t want to have her out there without protection but I had no choice. She was the woman I imagined myself marrying. I could only hope that she’d be safe.

  I gathered everything I needed and went through the register without any incident. It was a little embarrassing to pick up a dress but maybe they understood that it wasn’t for me. It wasn’t that little black dress I imagined because that’d turn heads. It was rose colored and went down past the knee. It was modest but not nearly as conservative as whatever Vinny had her wear.

  I turned the corner and saw her there. No one had attacked or kidnapped her. She was alright. I presented her with the bags of all the things we needed to turn her subtle.

  She took out the dress and laughed. “This is a far cry from my normal wardrobe, isn’t it?”

  “Not as far away as what you’re wearing right now,” I countered, also laughing.

  Vanessa nodded. “It’s far better.”

  No one could see us where we were standing, so she slipped off her ripped calico dress and pulled on the new one. She wasn’t wearing any bra so I got a glimpse of her perky tits. A lot of girls had saggy breasts without a pushup but not her.

  “I have antibiotic ointment for you. I’ll let you put it on since you know where it hurts the most,” I said.

  She took the tube and gently rubbed the salve into her wounds. She had dirt on her legs and face, so the next thing I handed her were damp wipes.

  “If you can get my legs and feet, I’ll do the rest.” Vanessa gave me back a couple of the towelettes.

  I carefully washed away the mud and sand, and then I slipped her feet into a pair of comfortable shoes I picked up. The last step was for her to fix her makeup. She had to do it all in the reflection of a pocket mirror that came with powder. I watched her paint away the bruises. Last of all, she pulled out a hair tie and put her hair up into a bun.

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Gorgeous. You’ve always been gorgeous. Even caked with mud,” I chuckled.

  I kissed her again. I craved her lips and her body. When everything was said and done we’d get back to our bedroom routine. The thrill of the danger we were in seemed to make me desire her all the more.

  Vanessa hid her limp well. She paced to test her walk. “I haven’t been able to wear flats in ages,” she said. “I love my high heels but they kill my feet.”

  “Come on, let’s head to the monorail station. It may be an hour before we can board but we’re not noticeable.” I reached out to take her hand again. She grasped mine with fervor.

  We wandered forward but I had a creeping feeling that we were being watched. I took a look over my shoulder but I couldn’t see anyone. I chalked it up to paranoia.

  “Is something wrong?” Vanessa asked.

  I responded with, “Not really. I think I’m just jumpy.”

  She understood and took her own look behind us. “Seems clear, but I feel the same way. It’s like having a ghost, but thankfully ghosts aren’t real. We’re afraid of nothing.”

  “I’m not exactly afraid,” I said. Maybe I was but I didn’t want to admit it. I was supposed to provide her with strength and protection. I couldn’t afford to feel fear. “I’m being cautious.”

  I took one more look behind me and that’s when I saw someone duck into an alleyway. Vanessa saw the look on my face and she tensed, squeezing my hand.

  “Someone’s there, right?” Her voice was a mere whisper. “Should we act like we don’t know?”

  “We’ll lose whoever it is when we get to the monorail,” I replied, equally as quiet. “They probably already know we know, but to be safe we should pretend. I wish I had a gun.”

  “You didn’t bring one?”

  “I didn’t know I’d be on the run,” I sighed.

  Vanessa’s grip on my hand went stronger. With no weapon it would be harder to fight back. I knew my fists could do some damage but if the person who stalked us was armed it wouldn’t be a fair brawl. I didn’t look again. Looking back would just confirm any suspicion about us.

  The sun climbed higher into the sky. Following us without being noticed would be harder in broad daylight. Maybe they’d even give up. There were probably eyes and ears all over the place but it wasn’t often that someone was so brazen to murder in public, corrupt police or not.

  I could see the monorail station in the distance. Our safety wasn’t guaranteed on the strip but it was better than nothing. There were bouncers outside some of the casinos and they took any weapons away for the safety of their patrons.

  I didn’t have a plan for taking down Mikey and Danny yet but once I could clear my mind to think about it, I knew I’d find a way to have them killed. It was a dog eat dog world, but I’d be the one feasting.

  Exclusive, New Bonus Book: Arresting the Past

  Copyright © 2018 by Cameron Collins; All Rights Reserved

  Published by Juliana Conners’ Sizzling Hot Reads.

  Chapter 1 – Jasmine

  It’s all about the pressure.

  Not the category everyone thinks of in soaring planes or under rocks deeply hidden in the crust of the huge potato we live on, oh no. It’s more of the kind that is akin to a soft flame. It ravages the dark ever so carefree, with a simple glow that emanates from within, and then with the right burst of air, it births an inferno.

  His tongue has that sting on me. I suppose it should be more of in me. My back is arched ever so high, and my feet are on his burning red back. My hands find solace in the grasp of the clammy sheets between my pulsing fingers. My eyes, for my sake and definitely not his, are closed. Enjoyment is an order to which we all need the shutting out of the rest of the world, or so I tend to imagine.

  “Right…there baby,” I whisper, trying my best to hold in the little joy I have left inside.

  “You really love this hmm?” he asks. His dark wet mop is all over his face, slapping the morality out of the gaze he longs at me. I know he wants to go harder, but we agreed on vanilla today. No need in waking the neighbors from their afternoon siestas.

  “You know I do Spencer…mmmh…can’t I-?”

  “No. Today I have you to tease.”

  His fingers caress the wet skin that is my inner thigh. The heat and cold from his lips is enough. My
arms, as promised, are far back from him, not touching his face as he makes love to me. It’s the worst sexual torture- not being able, nay, allowed, to touch the one thing that crazes you the most.

  The grace of his tongue does not end at the tip of my folds. He licks and digs deeper, nudging the bright and dull colors of my sex to his whim, caressing and adoring all that he holds dear. My…my dear Spencer… the love of my life, orally gifting me the burst of a…of …

  “Baby…get inside me now. We’re cumming together. I don’t care about your weird rules.” Quickly, he gets behind me, slamming his thickness into my moist and wanting slit. Our hands intertwine like vines in a meadow right after sunset. The skin between us is as one, and our hair tangles like the branches of a human canopy. The beige room is filled only with our lust and musk.

  In…

  Out…

  There is a succinct passion when two souls bond. Physicality aside, when a pair of souls slides on and off of each other, grasping and letting go of their secrets, nothing but hellish heat builds up. It is the secret of lovers; the undying zeal of a serenading quest. It was different with his tongue. Now…his dick quenches the thirsty well that belongs only to him. My Spencer…my love…

  “Jasmine…ah…I…I,” he tries, desperate to hold what is his from spewing into mine.

  “We both do Spencer. Slow and sweet. Just like the beach…mmmh.”

  “Uh-huh…How do you keep getting tighter Jazz?”

  “Oh wouldn’t you like to know,” I smirked, squeezing my lips into a line. Both pairs.

  “Mmhmm…I’m gonna do that thing you like Jazz,” he whispers, keeping his voice level, trying to remind me who’s in charge. I love it when he does the ‘thing’. We both do. I oblige where my words fail me. My left leg goes higher and its end rests on the wall. His fingers grasp my neck, his chest on my back, and he plows me harder and deeper till I feel his balls harden inside me.

  “Baby…”

  “Baby…oh Spencer.”

  I scream louder than him. Well, we both agreed to always say I’m the one who screams, and not him, when we release the pressure valves. Still, the cold look of perspiration on his brow is enough to show me where we are. His brown eyes flitter in the afternoon light, and it warms me. The sun and his thick prick do the warmth between our gaze no justice.

  *

  “Jazz…you know how I feel about you,” he starts. His cum is dripping from my cookie, and I let it. It feels better than good knowing I can do this with him. His brown gems betray him. He loves acting tough, but I know the plushy toy inside him like the back of my ass.

  “I know, Spencer. We both know it’s real and mutual.”

  He falls silent. As do I. Our lips are together, sucking and letting go, giving way for tongue and teeth to clash at battle in the war for superiority. Neither of us wins. Neither ever does.

  “Come on Jazz…let’s run. You and me.”

  “You mean elope?”

  “That’s just a fancy word that makes it look bad. It’s going to be so much fun and you know it. Come on. I know you have that pink Gucci suitcase packed under this bed.”

  “Don’t. Ha-ha…Spencer!”

  He makes a mad dash above me and leaves my face with his dick. Spencer is surprisingly tall, more than his mom but less than his late old man. He gets his goodness from him of course. And his devilish charm.

  I quickly suck him off. Off guard is how he likes it.

  “Jazz…I won’t…just…the tip is really sensitive right now alright…let the helmet cool down okay? I won’t.”

  “Promise?” I half-mouth drooling a bit from the candy on my lips.

  “Promise.” He means it. I smile and plop it from my teeth. He comes to my side and holds my waist.

  “You know why we can’t do anything as foolish as that Spencer,” I trail off. We sigh. His flower droops a little at the turn-off in topic.

  My father, Harvey Turner, is the symbolic effigy of the saint of hate. No, loathe. He has a thing against every boy I’ve ever dated, and that obviously means he just hates the one, Spencer Winters. I realized it the first day he dropped me off at my door…

  It was the kind of cold and mundane day that always feels like saw dust in your eye. I couldn’t help but wake up feeling angry. Over what cannot remember. I had a row with dad right at breakfast, where he had the chef make pancakes and grilled cheese.

  “Dad…for the millionth time, I’m lactose intolerant! Why won’t you get that? Just for once?”

  “Nonsense my dear. There’s no such thing. All this television and teenage hormones make you think you’re something you’re not. Eat up,” he said, not even lifting a finger from his morning paper. I glared at his face, dark in hue and old in time. His spectacles gleaned in the misty morning sun, and his mouth lingered somewhat over his smoking pipe.

  I was angry. No, I was seething. Like a cat on steroids, with her kittens threatened by some mangy mutt. My arms to my side, I stormed out of there and slammed the door behind me, with the finality of a mic drop on comedy night.

  “If it weren’t for you, mum would still be here.”

  The shuffle of feet and ruffle of paper on the table by his side gingered my smile. I had gotten to him. But I was right. If he wasn’t such a pompous dick mom would still be with me, and I would have someone to share my secrets with. Someone whose shoulder I could cry on, and wish her the best on her work day especially when she ran late. Someone who I could hug and argue with over some random boy I was dating, and who I would check out my wedding dress with me and slap my wrist when I binged on frosting.

  Never more.

  I recall walking to school because of the chill on my knees. The bus had always been my refuge in such times, but for that day I felt the cold needed a victim to bite in on. I needed to cool off, or boil over. It depended on how well the walk would go. I got to school late as usual. Scolded and warned, I sat and doodled on my corner page a witch on a broom.

  Then, a note landed on my thigh.

  Looking back, I presumed it was one of my desk mates who had passed it, but they had the feigned look of dumb on all their faces. The originator though, him I could tell. I smiled and opened the folded piece of paper, a glimpse of relief over the words I read washing over the droning voice of Mrs. Matthews’ explanation on…something. Memory can be a fickle blessing sometimes.

  You, me, pizza on the roof at recess. Blink twice for yes. Once for yes.

  There was a corny smiley face at the bottom drawn in red and black, and the paper was marked with a snowman watermark that faded along the lines. It was his trademark, always was his trademark when it came to our styles of communiqué. He always had an ingenious way to send tiny messages, like a spy. More like a cop. He always admired his dad’s footsteps. Spencer Winters always knew how to cheer my mellow ass up. Always.

  Thinking about him sped the time for me. It wasn’t like the oddball films where it’s the opposite. For us, I kinda floated in my mind mesmerizing over his lips and laugh, over his smile and kisses, over the way he held my hand and warmed my insides. The bell rang, for the last session.

  School was out, and I was atop the roof. Spencer was always waiting for me. He never came late, always earlier than I am. The summers spent coasting through the tables busting his ass waiting in them at Mac’s Coolade store had given him half his tan. The rest of it must have been when he worked close to the beach as Coastguard. At the very least, Clark Kent would have nothing on my Winters.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey myself,” I replied. His feet dangled over the edge, his lap tightly bound in dark denim crowned with pizza from Joe’s down by the deli. It was the best to have in town on a low budget, and let’s face it- Spencer never accepted handouts. His own steam, as he loved to adore, was his to savor.

  I sat next to him and held his hand after a quick peck on the lips. My sandals dangled and collided with his sneakers, and he smiled. His lip was muddled with oily stains from his pepperoni.
I hated the stuff.

  “Don’t worry, I never forget your fav,” he plucked out a bar of Oreos from his side pocket and fiddled with it for a while. He worked his magic on another pizza box that sat on the hard grey rooftop.

  “You remembered!” I was always a fan of the awkward and weird. Dipping an Oreo into the crusty Hawaiian pizza, I indulged.

  “I will never get how I fell in love with such a weirdo. Oreos. Pizza. Pineapple?”

  “Must be the way I beat your sorry ass at chess.”

  “Ohoo, the shade is on now huh?”

  “Ha-ha”

  We ate and talked for about half an hour as the school grounds below us had less and less children walk and hug home. Bullies were the rare exception in Crimson High, but the awkward zit-faced awesomes, jocks and sororities never lacked their place. The sky above had bee

  n cloudy and marred with tears, and finally, by around 5, the pain fell.

  “Come along Jazz. We don’t want you sneezing like Macbeth now do we?”

  We ran down the service hatch and through Mr. Baldwin’s ladder. He was the cool janitor everyone thought was a creep, but whom I loved dearly as the spicy and drawling Sudoku wiz who had stories from places you wouldn’t believe. Macbeth had been Spencer’s old terrier. He died of pneumonia two years ago. We held a service for him in his backyard too. Dad laughed it off. I hate him for that.

  Spencer is a proper gentleman of course; helping me with my oversized books and drenched bag from the dry and somber confines of Crimson High halls, all the way through the wet and muddy rain of Crydon Street. School is and forever will be a bore. But with Spencer, I felt like I could fly with the time.

  He pecked me on the cheek after our long conversation about the stars and their relationship with bugs in the rain. It was a queer and healthy talk, and it was all the more reason I liked him from the get-go all that time past. Just a peck, and my dad, coincidentally watching from his leather recliner at the center of his study overlooking the front door, got boiling hot, caramel-like on Autumn’s last day, and stormed the school offices the next morning calling for ‘the vagabond’s’ suspension. It’s how he enjoys referring to him. If only he could see us now, ha!