Shine: Wild Love Series

by Red L. Jameson

  “Do you really love me, Jane?” Chris asks on a whisper.

  I try to turn my head to look at him, but he’s less than an inch from my face. “Yes. God, Chris, I love—”

  “I don’t have a story to share.” His voice is quiet. “Nothing happened to me. I had a boring-as-hell childhood. I’ve never fallen in love. Until you.”

  At that I do turn and brace myself with one hand close to his head.

  But it’s Paul who says, “Fuck, man. Jane, Gabe, and I need someone normal like you.”

  “You balance us out,” Gabe adds.

  I lean down and push my nose against Chris’s briefly. “I—I just love you. I’m so lucky to have you. I’m honored. You’re so—I love you so much.”

  He kisses me, but it’s a tad uncomfortable since I have to do a yoga twist in order for our lips to lock. He gently pulls me away, and back on his body.

  “I’ve never done it this way,” Chris says, taking my waist and sliding me up and down his thick length.

  “I haven’t either,” I moan as his cock settles close to my opening, then he moves me so my clit bumps against his straining purple head.

  I have no idea what to do with my legs. They’re just kind of open, my feet on the floor. But I bend my knees and Chris’s cock is that much closer to where I want him to be.

  Then there’s a gold foil wrapper in my hands and Paul is kneeling between Chris’s and my legs. There’s an unspoken rule to wear a condom when we’re altogether having sex. I’m fine with that since someone found these incredible condoms that actually feel good.

  I’m not sure what Paul’s doing, but he opens the wrapper for me.

  “Put it on Chris and sit on him.”

  I bite my lip and smile, sitting up on Chris’s stomach. I do as Paul’s told me—first unrolling the condom over Chris’s giant cock. Then, on my knees, I lift up so his tip is just inside me. Both Chris and I moan at the contact. Gabe rolls one of my nipples, and I close my eyes and savor the feeling. But something shocks me.

  I look down to see Paul kissing my clit. I make a gasping, odd noise. We haven’t tried this, where someone licks me while someone else is in my pussy. It’s what I wanted, but I didn’t know how to ask.

  The one thing I understand about my men is they are a bit of voyeurs, sure, and a bit of exhibitionists, yes. But they are also heterosexual. They never touch each other during our encounters. Granted, there’s a little of accidental touching here and there, but—and this is why having sex with them is such a turn on—this is all about me.

  What woman wouldn’t be swept away by that?

  And now Paul is suckling in my clitoris, which makes me slide down on Chris’s cock in one fast move. He’s stretching me. There’s a slight edge of pain, but Paul is licking it away. I buck, my hips out of control.

  Then Gabe’s huge hand eases between my breasts. “Let us take over.” His voice is a half-growl, half-whisper.

  He has me lie again on Chris, his jaw on the top of my head, his ridged chest and stomach against my back, his huge penis inside me while Paul licks me senseless.

  Chris grabs my waist and pulls me up and down his body. “This good?”

  Sure, Chris is asking me, but he’s also making sure Paul is comfortable. Paul and I both moan our approval.

  And I can only lie there as Chris is pulling himself in and out of me in this odd position where Paul is suckling me to orgasm.

  “In my mouth,” I beg, looking over at Gabe. “Please, I want you in my mouth again.”

  Chris keeps pulling me up and down his body, Paul is making it so my eyes roll back into my head, and then Gabe comes forward.

  “Sure?” God, I love it when his voice is full of sex, the promise of it, the want, the desire. It’s animalistic, a growl of need.

  “Please.”

  He smiles.

  It’s awkward, where Gabe has to lean over Chris and me, but then he’s inside my mouth, and the roaring train of my orgasm breaks through. I can only moan.

  Chris pulls me up and down faster. “Fuck, I love it when you come.”

  I love orgasming too. I love the pulsing release. But this isn’t a release. Something else is building as Chris moves me, as Paul licks me, as Gabe’s rocking his cock in and out of my mouth. I’m just nerves and this building sensation.

  Chris is moaning and pulling and pushing me even more, and I feel his stomach contract. I have my hands around Gabe’s cock, but I lift one and try to caress Chris’s whiskered cheek behind me.

  “It’s so good,” Chris growls. “You’re still coming.”

  I am. My orgasm isn’t subsiding but just keeps cresting over and over again.

  “Going to make me—” Chris grunts and pushes me hard down on him. He’s inside me all the way. I never thought I’d have him so deep, but he is.

  Chris is coming and clutching onto me. He’s cutting into the skin at my waist and hips. I might have bruises tomorrow, but I like the slight pain. I love being held like this, so tight, so endearing.

  After a few moments, I feel an emptiness. Chris is leaving me, but somehow I’m floating. Paul takes my legs, wraps them around his shoulders and lifts my hips and most of my back off the floor. Gabe pulls himself from my mouth, looking down at me.

  Chris rolls to his side looking at Paul and me. I’m rigid from coming, from Paul’s tongue constantly giving me pleasure, and we must look like an erotic circus act with only my head and shoulders on the floor. I glance down and around and see Paul stroking himself with one hand, the other is holding my pelvis high off the floor.

  “That’s hot,” Chris says.

  “Touch your breasts, Jane,” Gabe adds.

  I do and I can hear Paul’s stroking is getting faster. I have to close my eyes, my orgasm so intense, but from time to time I open them and watch Gabe stroking his cock. Even Chris who just came is stroking himself, watching as Paul’s mouth is attached to my sex and my only connection to this earth is my head.

  I love the sound of a man touching himself. I love that slapping-sliding noise, his grunts and growls. I love it that Paul is going to make himself come. He’s so close; I’m nearly delirious. I wish I could do something that could make him…

  He grunts. I know that sound from him. He’s coming and pulls the apex of my legs even closer to his mouth, but he stops licking me.

  “God, Jane, you taste like honey,” Paul says into my sex. “You taste like fucking honey. Your taste makes me come.”

  And I’m floating again. Not just on the wings of my orgasm that never seems to stop, but my body is moving. I’m back on the ground. My legs are adjusted. They’re wide open and my pussy is cold without anyone touching it. My orgasm finally wanes.

  Two giant arms hike up my thighs. I look down to see Gabe positioning me, my legs are held by his forearms, and he’s angling his hips over mine, his cock pointing right at my opening.

  “You still coming, princess?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  Gabe puts his condom-wrapped head against my channel.

  I arch my head back, moaning, as my pussy squeezes and releases all over again.

  “Sure about that?” Gabe cockily asks, pushing just the tip of his length into me.

  “You’re making me…again,” I moan.

  “Good.” Then he’s inside me.

  I look up at him, shocked at how I feel like every time with him is new, like it’s the first time. With Gabe it’s as if we’re meeting all over again. And not just our bodies. I see inside his eyes. I see into his heart and I think he sees mine. Our hearts fell in love first. Then we got to know each other and fell in love completely.

  He pistons his hips. My legs are spread so wide, so high, I can’t feel them. I just feel Gabe. He kisses me, keeping his torso away from mine so we only meet at our lips and our sexes. But soon he lowers himself. The slap of him against my body makes me dig my fingers into his huge arms. I love hanging onto his arms while he pumps away. I can’t wrap my hand around him. I
’m not sure if both of my hands can wrap around his one arm.

  We’re kissing and smiling and fucking and smiling even more. My orgasm takes me to a place I’ve never known before. It’s dark and safe and beautiful. These men make me feel like that. Maybe this is heaven.

  Gabe’s thrusts build, grow hurried, harder. His kiss is frantic. Our teeth bump into each other’s. Our breath becomes one. And then he comes with me. He shouts, twitches, spasms, and I feel his cock contracting inside me.

  After a moment, he falls completely on me, finally releasing his hold on my legs. I wrap around him like a cocoon.

  Or maybe the men are my cocoon, because I’ve never felt so transformed. I’m beautiful. I’m safe. They accept me as I am. Not as a victim. Not with any kind of label. Just me. Just Jane.

  Gabe chuckles slightly and rolls away from me. My poor pussy weeps without company. But I’m somewhat relieved to no longer be coming.

  Gabe pulls me against him, so I’m on my side and see Chris and Paul. They’re both hard again and looking at me.

  “Have it in you to go a few more rounds?” Gabe asks, still softly laughing.

  I giggle. “Goodie.”

  28

  “Jane, baby,” Chris says as my head is on his lap, and he’s gently caressing my hair from my face. We’re on the sectional couch. It’s Christmas morning and we’ve already opened our presents for each other. Gabe is by the tree, still admiring the set of knives I got him. Paul’s head is between my legs, clad in the new pajamas Chris got me. I worry the bump of my pubic bone might bother the nape of his neck, but he seems to like it there.

  We’ve all taken turns saying we need to get ready soon. My in-laws will be over in a couple hours for the huge lunch that Gabe’s been cooking and baking for all week. Bethany and Sherman, who promised not to fire me, will be here too. Bethany swore she hasn’t said a word about how I’m with three men at once. But my dean came into my office unannounced, rubbing the back of his head nervously, and saying something about glass houses and how my secret is safe with him.

  Chris continues. “So you got to pick your name, right? I mean, after Anne became your foster mother, she let you pick your name, yeah?”

  I nod. The pain of being reminded of my past doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. It’s softened, the way grief can.

  “Why Jane then?”

  Gabe looks up, holding a butcher knife, looking interested in my answer. Paul turns around so he can look up at me, his face crammed into my sex. And I can only roll my eyes.

  “Okay, well,” I begin, talking with my hands rolling in the space around me. “Anne thought, since I had never seen a movie, to start with some of the older classics. She said the thirties were a good decade for movies, and one of the first ones I watched was of Tarzan. God, I thought he was beautiful.”

  Chris chuckles.

  “I loved those movies because I understood him, Tarzan.” I smile. “I understood what acclimating to a new world felt like. That I understood too well. I felt like a weirdo. I’m so lucky to have been fostered by Anne who homeschooled me. I really don’t know if I would have survived public school. University was hard enough.”

  “You weren’t and aren’t a weirdo.” Paul plays with my inner thigh. My poet smiles up at me, after rubbing his nose against my clit. “You’re a wild thing. You’re rare. Being with you is like touching a robin’s wing. I feel charged just being close. And when you let me touch you…” He rubs his nose over my sensitive flesh again, making me moan. “You’re a wild thing, my precious, my beauty, my love. You’re wild.”

  I almost reach down to grab Paul, but Chris holds onto my wrists.

  “Nah-ah.” Chris shakes his head. “Let her answer. Besides, Paul can’t take all the credit for his impromptu poem. Granted, he said it best just now, but Gabe and I have said something similar. Maybe with a few more grunts in there, but…” He laughs at his own joke, which makes me love him all the more. “So tell us about your name, baby.”

  I look up at Chris with a feigning frown. He smiles down at me.

  I sigh, submitting. “Okay, I asked Anne if I could be called Tarzan—”

  “Seriously?” Gabe asks.

  “Well, I didn’t know that would be odd. I thought Tarzan was like me, or I was like him.”

  “So you settled for Jane, instead?” Chris loosens his grip of my wrists and I tunnel my fingers through his blond hair.

  “Actually—” I cut myself off with a giggle. But I go ahead and tell them. “Okay, I was a girl, a teenage girl. So I had an insane crush on Tarzan. I was in love with him. And there’s this scene in one of his movies, where he takes Jane by the ankle and pulls her out of the treehouse to wake her. And—god, this is embarrassing—I thought that scene was so erotic, and I wanted to grow up and have someone pull me around by my ankle.”

  Then, of course, there’s a mad dash for said ankle. Gabe wins and pulls me off the couch and onto the floor, but everyone is down with me. We’re all wrestling, laughing, and I’m so very much in love. There’s orange ambers in the fireplace behind me, the pink sunrise reflected and augmented by the two-feet of snow on the ground outside, and for once I allow myself to feel loved.

  Paul kisses me. Chris is pulling down my pajama pants, and Gabe is still tugging my ankle.

  Chris stops and looks very serious, gazing at Paul who’s looking at him now too, then at Gabe. The big, blond, beautiful man grins mysteriously.

  “Let’s have Jane stop taking birth control and get her pregnant.”

  I’m beyond shocked as both Paul and Gabe smile like that’s a brilliant idea.

  And all I can do is swallow.

  * * *

  THE END

  Want to read more by Red L. Jameson?

  Here’s an exciting excerpt from Enemy of Mine, Book 1 of the Glimpse Time Travel Series

  * * *

  Prologue

  * * *

  “The poor girl is so exhausted, she’s sleeping through your rummaging around in her underwear drawer. Or wait, is that a herd of buffalo stomping through Erva’s things?” Clio snaked a dark red brow high at her sister, Erato.

  Erato, clad like Clio in a golden toga also with burgundy-colored hair and smelling of Mediterranean lavenders, pulled out a purple thong. “Girl? I think not. She’s a woman. Looky here.”

  Clio giggled, but then sucked in her mirth with a bite of her lip. “Stop it. You always get me into trouble.”

  “Well, what are you doing here anyway? I thought we’d planned to go to that male stripper club.” Erato looked around the dark and bland bedroom. Even cheap hotel rooms had more character. The only human element to it was the piled books and papers strewed about the nondescript floor. “Instead I find you here in this God-awful mess.” Then, Erato snorted. “Get it? God-awful?”

  Clio rolled her eyes. “We’re muses, not gods, love. And I’m not convinced I’m awful.”

  “Nice. Insult your own sister, why don’t you?”

  With a smirk Clio sat close to Minerva Ferguson, Erva, on her beige bed. While Erva slept soundly, Clio pulled back a few strands of long blonde hair from her creamy complexion, sighed, and smiled at her sister. “We’re here because...because...”

  “Oh God, not again.”

  Clio cleared her throat. “She’s so deserving, Sister. I’ve been watching Erva for quite a while now. She finished her dissertation two years ago, but her supervisor won’t let her argue it, won’t let her graduate. She should have been a professor by now. Instead, she works like a dog for her supervisor, a Dr. Peabody. Can you believe that name? Anyhow, Erva has been working tirelessly for a place at her university; she is one of the most knowledgeable in her area of expertise; she’s being held back by evil Dr. Peabody; and—oh!—she’s had one hades of a bad day today. The dean observed her classes—all of them—and in her last class one of her students accidentally poured water down her front. She looked like she was going to enter a wet t-shirt contest. In front of her dean! She was mortifie
d.”

  Erato leaned over her sister to stare down at the human in pink flannel pajamas. “She’s got great boobs, that’s why the little accident happened. Are those even real?”

  Clio growled and turned quickly, making Erato fall on Erva in a lump of giggles.

  As Erva stirred, Erato scurried off her to sit closer to her sister. Erva curled in a ball on her side, fists tucked under her chin.

  “Did you drug her?” Erato asked.

  Clio shook her head. “She did that herself. She drank a whole bottle of Moscato wine before bed.”

  Erato sighed. “She’s been beat up by the world. What else is new, Clio? Why do you always do this? You think you can save everyone?”

  “I don’t think I can save everyone.”

  “Just historians?”

  “Well, why not? I am their muse, after all.”

  “You don’t see me saving every romance writer, do you?”

  “Um, yeah.” Clio crossed her arms. “The rise in romance writing is monumental. Further, many romance writers are finally making good money too. You can’t tell me you didn’t have something to do with that.”

  Erato bit her bottom lip playfully.

  “I knew it!”

  Erato pressed a finger against her full lips. “Shh, Sissy. You’ll wake your new project.”

  “So you’re agreeing with me? You think I should give Erva a glimpse?”

  Erato shrugged. “Why not? Where is she heading?”

  Clio couldn’t help but chuckle again as she scooted even closer to her sister. “That’s the fun part! Minerva’s doctorate pertains to the American Revolution, but get this. This little all-American, blonde, doe-eyed girl is in love with a British officer of years afore. Her dissertation defends one of the youngest English generals to serve during the war.”