Shine

by R. L. Jameson

  Gabe cups my cheeks, standing closer and closer to me. I feel his still-hard cock against my stomach.

  “You going to stop running away?”

  I bite my lip and look down, but instead of the floor to retreat to, I see his perfect length. While shrugging, I take him in hand. He gasps.

  “Maybe,” I say with a smile.

  He softly chuckles and kisses my forehead. Carefully, he traces my back with his gentle touch, letting me explore him. He’s getting harder in my hands and I’m fascinated. I’ve never understood penises. How can something that hard be wrapped in such velvet skin? It makes it so I crave to touch him, touch all of the men in my bedroom.

  But right now only Gabe and I are in the bathroom, and he lets me stroke him, watch him. His breathing is rapid. I love watching his chest rise and fall. From my periphery, I catch sight of his beating pulse in his neck.

  “Jane.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you let me fuck you now?”

  I almost recoil at the words. I’ve never liked pussy or fuck or some of the other words used for genitalia and making love. Honestly, Paul must have woven some sort of spell for me to have liked it when he’d said pussy, then I wanted to use it too. It’s like playing grownup, saying pussy. But fuck, fucking…? I always get the image of a man using a woman. Are these three men using me? Or am I using them?

  Gabe brushes my hands from him. He bends at his knees and slides his cock between my legs, slipping against my sex.

  He groans, and pushes my legs closer together, pumping through my thighs. “I want to be inside you…” He trails off with kisses around my hairline. “I want to make you come. Again. I want to make you feel good. So good.”

  Is that what fucking is to him? Making me come, making me feel good? It doesn’t sound all that bad.

  That’s when I realize the depth of Paul’s spell. I’m looking at sex, even at my own sex from his point of view. I felt how Paul thought I was pretty, even my wet pussy. For maybe the first time in my life, I felt gorgeous. And with Chris and Gabe, I’m seeing things from their point of view too. Fucking might not be using someone. It’s just feeling good. Is it hedonistic? I don’t know. And I no longer know if hedonistic is really all that bad, sinful.

  These men, in one drunken night to one sex-filled morning, are changing me. I wonder if I have as much impact on them.

  I kiss Gabe at the corner of his mouth, where he shows his slight smile. Then I time it right and lift my leg around his hip as he’s pushing his length forward. He stills at my opening.

  He’s huffing for air. “You on birth control, Jane?”

  I nod. “And I’m clean.” I know since I had to be tested after my husband fucked around. Maybe I should start calling it something else. Maybe call it when Tim lost his mind and felt compulsive about putting his dick into any living woman, including me.

  “Me too.” Gabe’s lingering in my opening, lightly touching me there with his blunt cock. “We should grab a condom anyway.”

  I nod. He’s sensible and right, but he feels so good where he’s at. And I almost whimper at the thought that we have to leave each other’s bodies, even if only for a few seconds, to get a condom.

  But then he angles himself a little lower and thrusts inside me. I’m shocked and I think he is too by his wide eyes. Then he moans, closing his lids, his dark glossy lashes making shadows on his face. And he’s holding me so close.

  “I knew it would feel like this,” he whispers. “I’m made to be inside you. You’re made for me.”

  At that, my heart sprouts legs and sprints straight toward Gabe. Yes, this will end badly. Very badly. I’m sure to end up internally bruised and bleeding with my heart running away like it is.

  Oh, but at that second I’m not sure I care.

  14

  Gabe slides out of me, his body twitching. I’m so surprised by what just happened that I’m compliant to whatever he wants, whatever he needs.

  He lifts me by my waist, and I wrap my legs around him, my arms around his neck as he turns and somehow opens the door. Lying me down on the bed, I notice Chris at the top, sitting, still naked and looking down at me.

  “Condom,” Gabe gruffly says.

  Paul comes to stand beside the bed, his face tense but trying to smile for me, handing Gabe a foil wrapper. He’s taken his own condom off and is naked too, and he’s lovely. He’s so cut, so lean. I see the striations of muscles along his shoulders and stomach, thick blue veins reaching down to his groin. He’s growing hard looking at me, looking at Gabe hovering over me.

  Before I can reach out and touch him, Gabe scoops an arm under my hips and hefts me up the bed, closer to Chris. Then he’s opening my legs with his thighs, while he’s rolling on the condom in haste.

  He’s frantic, and suddenly I am too. I need him inside me. I ache without him there. I feel so gorgeous with Paul looking at me while he’s hard, and stroking himself as he looks down at my pussy.

  “Jane,” Gabe whispers, and Chris holds my hand.

  I must be glowing because I feel…beautiful. In their eyes I am. And it’s a heady drug, feeling like this. I’m sure when the men walk away from me I’ll be in withdrawals. But for now, I’ll take all they can give.

  Gabe slides inside me and we both moan. I look up at him and he’s smiling, giving me that breathtaking grin of his that makes me stare only at him. He rears back and thrusts inside me again. He’s slow. Careful. But soon, he’s circling his hips, pumping in and out, faster and harder.

  “So tight,” he whispers.

  Chris is still holding my hand, and he inserts his fingers between mine. “Feel good, baby?”

  I nod, while looking at Gabe. “So good.”

  Gabe lowers onto me. Skin against skin while he’s deep inside of me, and I know I’ll orgasm soon. Then he rolls us over.

  “Can Paul…you want him back, Jane? Doing what he was doing?” Gabe asks, taking my hips in his hands and pumping me up and down.

  I glance at Paul, hopeful. “You want me?”

  Paul smirks and rolls his eyes. “Come on.” He glances down at his now engorged cock. The head of his penis is nearly purple.

  I reach out for Paul with my free hand. “I need you.”

  He growls and rushes behind me. I can hear him with a foil wrapper, the slapping noise of the condom being put on too quickly. Paul sucks in a breath, leaning against my back.

  Then Gabe reaches down and circles my clit while he holds my body still. And I’m putty. I’m so malleable I don’t recognize myself. I’ve never felt this open, this free to let go. Gabe pulls me down and kisses me. My stomach is squishing his arm, but he’s still rubbing against that sensitive nub of mine. And then I feel Paul at my tight back opening. He’s rubbing something warm all over me with his fingers and his cock.

  I think he might have had lubrication the first time he was inside me, but everything felt so good I never noticed. Now, I want to notice everything. The way Gabe feels inside me, how I ache for Paul too, Chris holding my hand.

  I look up. He’s hard now too. And I can’t help but roll my lips in, wanting him. He slowly smiles, looking at my mouth. Then Paul tenderly enters me. With Gabe already inside, I feel so full. I’m not sure I can take much more, but Paul gently pushes farther, prodding my body to take him again.

  “What’s it feel like?” Gabe asks in a whisper.

  “So much. So good.” That’s all I can think of to say.

  “Do you like it, honey?” Paul gently pries my body to take more of him.

  With Gabe rubbing me, I like everything. “Yes,” I say breathy.

  With a little extra thrust, Paul is back inside my body, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed him. I can only hold still as Paul very tentatively begins to slide in and out of me, which causes me to push and pull at Gabe’s cock. It’s slow, but so good.

  I lean away from Gabe, putting my hands on his chest. He’s looking at me, his blue eyes even darker than twilight, gauging if I’m a
ll right. And I don’t doubt that if I’d say one word, he would make everyone stop, including himself.

  Growing up the way I did, I never knew safety. With Anne, it was the first time I could sense dependability and protection. She would do everything in her power to keep me safe, shelter me from harm. But having never known what that felt like, I often doubted I could truly rely on her. For that, I’m ashamed. I wish, while she’d been alive, I could have given her more of me. I think she would have liked that. I think she would have loved that and loved me even more for it.

  But I was so scared.

  My mother never protected me. At twelve she started pushing me toward my father’s brother, shortly after his wife died. She’d have me sit on his lap, tell me to kiss his lips. I didn’t. But she still forced me to sit on him. He was, however strange as this might sound, my only source of protection as he didn’t touch me inappropriately until a year later. He said he was done mourning. He said I’d helped him through it, and, thanks to God, he realized I would take the place of his wife. He only kissed me. Then he told me how a wife and husband were supposed to kiss. And he said he’d give me time to kiss him that way.

  My father thought the union was ordained, and when I threatened to run away, he threatened me right back. With a knife. I still have the scar on my calf. He promised he’d cut deeper if I dared dishonor his brother ever again. He swore he’d take my legs from me. Cut them apart and take the pieces into the forest, scatter them, so wild beasts would eat them.

  After my father said as much, I never would have run away from the commune. But…my mother was pregnant. She hadn’t been with child since me, so my father suspected she was worshiping the devil. My uncle promised to protect my mother if I married him. I agreed, but he died that night from my father. My father then killed my mother and twelve more people. Or so I was told by the FBI. I ran when I saw my dead uncle’s body, shot through the forehead, his face twisted from fear.

  My defiance was a whisper in the wind as I ran that night and the next two. And I can’t help but wonder if having sex with these three men is another whisper of defiance. Society tells me I’m wrong for wanting three men. Doesn’t it?

  However, at that moment, all I feel is my body, pleasure pouring in, the bump and thrust of men’s bodies against mine, and it’s so beautiful. Maybe I’m even beautiful too. I open my eyes and smile at Chris.

  “I want you in my mouth again.”

  He rolls forward, reaching for my head, holding my nape and kissing me with such sweet longing. It takes a bit of finessing, Chris is so tall that it takes me leaning to the side while still anchored to Gabe and Paul, but somehow we manage to make it work. And finally I feel perfectly full, Chris in and out of my mouth, Paul at my back, Gabe inside me, circling my clitoris.

  I don’t have to move. I don’t have to think. The men maneuver my body and I just take in the lovely sensual feeling they are giving me. Ambrosia is said to come from the gods. It’s the most exquisite flavor, the most nutritious too, giving the very essence of life to any mortal who dare drink it. I’m daring. I’m imbibing. I’m living in this very present moment, so full of life, so full of passion. So full.

  “Honey, you’re going to make me come,” Paul says.

  “Me too,” Chris grunts.

  Paul’s first, shortly followed by Chris, and my own orgasm is so close, so happily present. I love the way Chris tastes. I love his consideration as he gently holds my head and comes inside me. Paul’s also sweet, clutching at my hips, cupping one of my breasts, as he spasms.

  Somehow Paul and Chris fall away and I grow limp to the mounting pleasure. Gabe rolls me over and pumps, pumps so hard into me. I feel his balls slap against me and it feels good. He’s kissing me, frenzied. He’s whispering something I can’t make it out. It’s just one word, but I can’t decipher anything. I just feel so free to feel him, to feel this.

  And I let go. My orgasm is soft yet rocks me like the ocean can, the warm Atlantic Ocean at St. Croix where Anne took me less than a year after I’d run from my past—the water licked me and warmed me and made me feel so fucking alive.

  Gabe growls through his kiss. He’s buried deep inside me and begins to spasm. He thrusts again. His orgasm is intense. I feel it inside me. And I’m coming all over again. His lips are on mine and he’s holding me so still, so connected.

  After a few more twitches he releases the kiss and whispers, “Mine.”

  I look up at him, surprised.

  It’s what he’d been whispering while making love, I finally realize. And he says it one more time, “Mine.”

  What’s he mean by that? Doesn’t he notice we’re not exactly alone?

  15

  I call Bethany later that afternoon when Gabe is cooking a huge frittata for all of us, and I think Chris is trying to help but he and Gabe are laughing a lot at whatever’s he’s doing. Paul is close to me on the sectional white sofa, reading a book. I hadn’t noticed he’d brought it, paying too much attention to all the other goodies he’d brought, like condoms, lubricant, and coffee.

  The book is thick with blue binding. Old. Smells like comfort on those sepia-colored pages. I know what Paul means about finding a sanctuary in books. I have my own Never Never Land in almost everything I read too.

  As I wait for Bethany to pick up, I can’t help but smile at every room around me. Chris and I had sex close to where I’m sitting. Paul and I had sex on the floor right after. Gabe and I…had sex everywhere else. I’m quite sore, and Paul’s ordered a bath for me after I talk to Bethany. Never in my life did I think I’d follow a man’s orders. Once I broke free from my past, I detested men who tried to tell me what to do. If a man even said an imperative sentence, like, “Hey, keep it simple, Jane,” I’d reel in anger. Which I’d repress of course. It’s not just the curse from a fanatic background, but I’m fairly certain there are millions of women who repress their righteous anger.

  I have no idea what’s happened, but I let Paul tell me and the other men to lay off sex for a while, until I have a bath and can relax. He’s trying to take care of me. Lazily, he drifts a hand to my shoulder and rubs. Any stress that’s left in my body, and after hours of sex there really isn’t much left, is squeezed out by Paul’s adroit hands. I lean toward him, arching my back for an awkward upside-down kiss to his chin. He smiles, looks like he might say something but then Bethany picks up.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed with one of your little boyfriends?”

  I laugh and straighten, resting against Paul. “No. I called to see who you’re in bed with.”

  She laughs. “Seriously? That’s all you can think about? My sex life?”

  “That’s all I can think about. I’m a very perverse friend.”

  She laughs harder and it soothes me completely. I almost didn’t want to call her, too scared I’d hear fear. Or she’d hear it in my voice. I’m so afraid of what’s in her throat, of what needs to be diagnosed still.

  Chris leans over the couch and places two beers on the coffee table. Before he actually sets the beverages down, he carefully shuffles my students’ essays to the side. I love how considerate he is to do that, and I’m also in awe of how long he is to be able to push papers away while stretched over my couch. He’s the most dressed out of us, besides me. I’m playing Victorian aloof in my long gray robe. Chris is wearing his t-shirt and boxers. Paul is wearing his boxer briefs, and I can’t help but glance down at his crotch, hoping he’ll grow hard for me to watch. Perverse girl that I am. And Gabe is wearing his jeans, revealing his wide expanse of a chest with the crisp black hairs I love to rub my nipples against.

  Chris kisses my cheek, then Paul feigns he’s insulted because he didn’t get a kiss too. Chris laughs and walks back to the kitchen.

  “At first I thought you were watching TV,” Bethany says. “But you never watch TV, do you?”

  “I do too. I watch TV all the time.”

  “No, you don’t. Well, maybe you get addicted to one show, cry when you�
�ve watched every episode on Netflix, and then not watch anything again for months.”

  “I do not. I’m not at all predictable, lady. Sometimes I watch PBS cooking shows just for the hell of it.”

  She chuckles. “I love how you’ve deflected from answering the question.”

  “Did you ask a question?”

  Bethany laughs even more. “Who’s with you, Jane?”

  “No way. It’s you, missy, who has all the ‘splaining to do.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Moi?”

  “Cut the crap, you Aussie.”

  “My goodness, Jane, you’re so mean sometimes.”

  I giggle.

  Bethany sniffs. “I—well, I do have something I need to ask you.”

  She’s serious now. So I will be too.

  “Sure. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Dr. Callahan called me back yesterday. They scheduled an appointment with that oncologist on Monday.”

  I straighten away from Paul and open my laptop, wanting to get to the calendar to adjust my schedule.

  “Monday,” I say. “What time?”

  “It’s when you have a class at 10:30.”

  The Wyoming university where I teach is small. I don’t have graduate students to fill in for me when I’m gone. No TAs. But that doesn’t matter. “I’ll cancel class.”

  “I don’t want you to cancel. Not again. I—” Then someone interrupts Bethany. Someone male. Authoritative. And I can’t believe it, but I recognize his voice.

  I gasp without meaning to.

  “Did you hear that, Jane?” Bethany’s voice is near panicked.

  “I didn’t hear what he said.”

  “But you heard him.”

  I gulp. “Yes.” I heard my dean, the very man who sometimes tells me to keep it simple, Jane.

  Standing, I walk to my bedroom, wanting privacy to say what she already knows. “He’s married,” I hiss.