by Anya Bast
Her adolescent and teen years had been spent finding safe places to sleep, locating food, and avoiding the hands of men who wanted to use her ill. She’d been remarkably successful at the latter, up until she’d walked right into Ivan’s clutches. She couldn’t help but feel a pinch of jealousy that these men had gone to school, had friends, families to come home to on the weekends, and had never had to worry about food, medical care, avoiding harm, or finding shelter in the winter the way she had.
Mostly she tried not to think of those years of her life. They were a painful haze of survival in her mind, cut through with jagged tears of grief over her father’s death.
She could remember one winter in particular as being bad. She’d learned during her first winter that scrambling up high and living on roofs provided her the most protection. She’d found the warmth-radiating chimneys of cook shops were the best places to make wayward shelters, and had stolen bedding from people’s clotheslines to create makeshift walls and a roof that insulated the heat. If she managed to find the right chimney, out of the line of sight from people on the ground, she could go the whole winter in relative comfort—well, at least what had passed as “comfort” for her back then. Her standards had been low.
One winter she’d been ousted from her spot in the dead of night by a homeless boy who’d also discovered the secret world of rooftops. He’d been bigger than she and had kicked her out of her little hovel, down to the ground. When she’d fought him, she’d received a fat lip. She’d been lucky to keep her life.
Worse than losing her warm place had been the loss of her father’s scratched, broken pocket watch. It had been the only thing she’d had to remember him by. The night had been bitter cold and she’d curled up at the base of a wall in an alley and cried for the first time since he’d died. Losing the watch had been like losing him all over again.
She’d almost given up that night. Despair had sapped all her energy.
But the will to live was strong, and she’d known her father would have wanted her to make it through. Finally, she’d risen on numb legs, knowing that if she didn’t find shelter she’d get frostbite, and trudged off to find some kind of place to curl up until morning. She’d survived that night, survived to build another hovel from scratch—rebuild, as it was. She’d never see her father’s watch again, though.
The conversation had lulled them all into a comfortable space. Byron shifted his head to watch her, his eyes intense with the arousal she’d come to know so well. She returned his gaze, hungry for him, wanting to spend time with him, wanting to touch him.
How she wished she didn’t feel that way. She would much rather have her customary reserve and control. Being with him made her feel like she was in a free fall, nothing to hold on to and only pain to cushion the impact.
Feeling the pull of another set of eyes, she looked over at Alek and found a confusing mirror of her emotions. She was coming to care for Alek too, in a slower and softer way. Her feelings for the scholar weren’t as intense and explosive—although the sex certainly was—but what she felt for him was becoming richer, more nuanced . . . deeper with every passing day. She found she trusted Alek, which was not an easy emotion for her to achieve with men.
Confused, she looked at the fire so she didn’t have to face the truth of her feelings in both their faces—she was not only falling for Byron . . . but for Alek too.
Silence fell over the room as Byron and Alek finished their conversation and Lilya slipped into growing disquiet. The logs snapped in the hearth and the wind howled outside, buffeting snow against the thick windowpane.
She was just about to excuse herself and go to her room when Byron reached out and touched her. Her breathing quickened as he caught her ankle in his hand. He slipped one shoe off and then the other, and began to massage her foot. Her stomach clenched and then unraveled into slow warmth at the sensation of his hands on her. He moved up to her calf with his big, sure hands, massaging out all the tension until her muscles went soft and pliable. The entire time he touched her, his gaze, filled with erotic promise, held hers.
Fifteen
Alek watched from the other side of the sitting room, his pupils growing darker. Lilya wasn’t sure if it was lust or anger that clouded his chocolate brown eyes. Was it that edge of competitiveness he possessed or was it desire? Either way, she felt something unidentifiable building in the room, like a storm gathering.
Her eyes widened as Byron moved up farther, dragging his hand over her knee and up to her thigh. Her breathing quickened and a haze settled over her mind as it did whenever he touched her. His motions were hidden by the layers of her skirt, but it was clear to all in the room where he was headed.
“Byron, what are you doing?” Her voice came out a tremulous whisper, an inquiry.
A glance at Alek showed her that his hands had clenched on the armrests of the chair. His gaze had narrowed to an intense focus on Byron and his hands on her. She now identified the look on his face as lust, not anger—though the two emotions seemed so often paired in him.
Byron moved up, his fingertips brushing the silk of her panties and delving between her upper thighs, rasping over her sex, which was becoming warmer and wetter with every passing second. Her breathing had deepened and her hardened nipples rasped against the material of her bodice with every tiny movement she made.
She had no defenses against Byron. He touched her, she responded. What he wanted from her, he got. It took away everything she’d thought she’d needed—control. Yet here Byron was, for all intents she could perceive, ready to make love to her with Alek as an audience . . . and she would let him. She would give up control to him and love it because she trusted him.
His thumb found her clit through her panties, pressing and rotating. Licking her lips, she closed her eyes, trying to fight the power he had over her and failing. Her clit grew under his finger, growing more and more deliciously sensitive.
Then Alek was there, unbuttoning the bodice of her gown and freeing her breasts to the gentle, warm air of the room. His face looked as tormented as hers as he lowered his head to her nipple and sucked it into his mouth, making a low moan rip from her throat. Her head fell back against the cushions and she closed her eyes, her fingers tangling in Alek’s hair. The sensation of both of them touching her at the same time was better than Joshui’s heaven.
Byron pulled her panties over her hips and down her legs, while Alek worked to pull her gown over her head and throw it aside. Soon she was bare between them, their clothing rasping over her skin and making her shiver.
Alek slanted his mouth across hers, delving his tongue between her lips as his hand roamed her breasts restlessly, brushing her nipples and sending little jolts of pleasure through her.
The question “Why?” was poised on her lips, but the sexual haze she was under prevented her from uttering it. Why were they doing this when each of them seemed jealous and competitive where she was concerned? Yet here they were, both of them touching her.
Wordlessly, Byron pulled her down onto the thick carpet in front of the fire and forced her thighs apart, dipping his head between them. All questions and wonderings left her brain and her body took over. Her breath came in fast pants as his lips closed over her clit, licking and sucking the sensitive, swollen bit of flesh. Pleasure radiated out in sweet waves over the rest of her body, making her shudder in sexual bliss.
Alek came down over her and laved and sucked each of her nipples to hard little peaks and soon Lilya was lost in a haze of ecstasy. Having both of them touching her was nearly more than she could handle. Her fingers caught in Alek’s hair, the pressure of her impending climax building inside her. Her back arched and she moaned, lost to their hands and mouths, her hands skating over the bunching muscles of Alek’s upper arms and shoulders.
Alek raised his head, his eyes dark with desire. “Are you going to come, sweet Lilya?”
Her back arched and her head fell back on a moan. The ecstasy of having them both touch her at once over
whelmed her.
Byron thrust two fingers inside her, stretching her inner muscles as his mouth sealed over her clit, tongue working. He knew just how to drive her over the edge. Her climax burst over her, sending waves of ecstasy through her body. Lilya bucked and moaned as she came. Alek was there to inhale the sounds of her pleasure into his mouth.
Once the sweet waves of her orgasm had passed, her fingers caught on Alek’s shirt, tugging it off. She wanted both of them naked. Alek unbuttoned his shirt and she rose up onto her knees, running her hands over his chest, into his hair and kissing him. Byron came to her side and she switched to him, her fingers finding and undoing his pants.
“Please,” she whispered against Byron’s lips. “You’ve both made me insane with need.”
Soon their clothes were a forgotten heap and their bodies moved skin against skin, Lilya in the middle. She felt incoherent, drunk on lust. Moving between them, she kissed them each in turn, her fingers finding and stroking their cocks as their hands moved restlessly over her body, across her breasts, stomach, and between her thighs.
Leaning down, she took Alek’s cock between her lips, taking him deep into her mouth and stroking him with her tongue the way she knew men liked to be stroked. He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair and his back arching.
After giving Alek several minutes of pleasure, she moved to Byron and did the same, made him groan her name, his voice rumbling through him and into her. Back and forth, she moved between them, giving them each strokes with her mouth and tongue, while caressing the other with her hand.
Soon both men were harder than iron and practically growling with need. Byron forced her up, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her deeply, murmuring how much he wanted her between hungry stabs of his tongue.
“So, take me. I’m yours,” she murmured. How true it was.
He forced her down on all fours, her rear toward him. Knowing what he wanted, she slanted her hips up to give him better access.
He took in the sight of her, making a low, needful sound in his throat. “Is that not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life, Alek?”
“It is, and if you don’t take what she’s offering soon, my friend, I will.”
Byron’s fingers raked over her swollen, needful sex, making her moan, then delved deep inside her. All she could do was hold on as he thrust, her fingers digging into the carpet, while he took her that way for several minutes.
Alek moved to her front and she slid him into her mouth, working him with her tongue, while Byron replaced fingers with cock, pushing the crown deep within her. She was wet and very willing and he worked it back and forth easily until he was seated base-deep. She gasped around Alek’s cock at the sensation of being so spread and possessed.
Soon Byron began to thrust and all their movements fumbled. It took all three of them a moment to find a rhythm—Byron deep inside her sex and Alek within her mouth. Then they began to move together, each one part of a whole. Every inward thrust that Byron made carried her forward into a mouth stroke on Alek. Together they found a cadence of pleasure that allowed all of them to give and receive, Lilya as the centerpiece.
Alek’s cock jerked in her mouth and a hot rush poured down her throat while he groaned out her name. Once he’d moved to the side, Byron eased her to the carpet onto her back, spread her thighs, and entered her once again. His gaze fastened on hers with such intensity it made her breath catch as he pushed inside her root-deep. Closing her eyes as her body adjusted once more to accommodate his girth, her teeth sank into her lower lip. Alek watched them with dark eyes from his resting place near the fire.
Reaching up, Byron caught her hands and pressed them to either side of her head as he moved slowly in and out of her. In this position and at this deliberate pace, she imagined she could feel every bump and vein of his cock as he thrust. Every movement he made drove her closer to her climax. Her breathing quickened and her body tensed.
“Come for me, Lilya,” Byron murmured. “I want to hear you climax again. I want to feel your body as you come undone.”
Her body tensed and ecstasy rolled over her. Her body convulsed in pleasure, her inner muscles milking his thrusting cock. A hoarse moan ripped from her throat and she arched her back, toes curling, as it rolled through her. Her orgasm triggered his. Bodies straining together, they came at the same time, each of them sighing the other’s name.
When it was over, the men settled in on either side of her, cuddling against her, their hands moving restlessly over her body as though neither of them could get enough of the feel of her skin. They touched her breasts, delved between her thighs, sometimes both at the same time, one stroking inside her and the other caressing her climax-sensitive clit.
All at once another orgasm stuttered to brilliant, startling life, making her buck and moan out her pleasure between them on the floor.
Completely spent and exhausted, she eventually fell asleep cradled in their arms, waking up only once, briefly, when Byron carried her up the stairs and put her into his bed and then curled up beside her.
Lilya woke between two very large, naked men. She blinked, orienting herself, then remembered what they’d done together the evening before. Her body still tingled from it.
She shifted, noting that Alek’s arm was thrown over her waist and his leg was inserted between her calves.
In his sleep, Byron reached out and dragged her close, nuzzling her hair with his nose. She smiled happily, allowing herself a moment to imagine how it would be to wake up like this beside him every day.
Or, better yet, waking up with both of them like this every morning. It was a nice fantasy.
Alek cuddled closer to her back, his pelvis finding and cupping her rear. He mumbled something in his sleep and brushed his lips against her nape, making her shiver. His body was warm and strong. He made her feel safe.
A smile curving her mouth, she settled in against Byron and let sleep take her once more.
Sixteen
Lilya trailed her fingers in her hot, scented bathwater, closed her eyes, and sighed. Running heated water from a spigot right into the bathtub was a luxury she never passed up. The Temple of Dreams still didn’t have pipes, nor did the home Byron had given her. She’d soon have the wonders installed in there, though. Joshui bless the Tinkers’ Guild.
The water eased away the pleasant ache in her body left over from the night before. It had not been the first time she’d been with two men at the same time, but it had never been like that, so intense . . . never when she’d been so emotionally invested. It had made the experience exceptionally pleasurable.
This morning it frightened her to the center of all she was. These men were changing her, changing her life. She’d spent so long clawing her way back from her attack to create the life she had now that it was scary to see it transforming into something else. It was a loss of control she did not enjoy.
During the night the winter storm had intensified, drifting snow up against all the doors outside and making it impossible for carriages or even horses to travel the streets. The crossball game had been rescheduled and they were stuck in the house for the day, something Lilya hardly minded despite her edge of uneasiness. Not with these two men.
Her head told her she should run screaming from both of them, blizzard or no blizzard, before she got hurt. Yet her heart wouldn’t let her budge.
Her eyes opened when she heard the door open. Byron entered the room and crossed to her, his face grim. She watched him move, appreciating his body under his clothes. He pulled a chair up next to the bathtub and sank down into it. He searched her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Byron?”
He let out a slow breath. “Are you all right? I never planned for that last night. It just happened.”
She looked away, down into the bathwater. He meant the actual sexual act, she was certain. He could not guess the turmoil of her emotions the morning after. “Of course. You saw clearly that I was fine with it.” She glanced at his face and o
ffered a smile. “It was exquisite. A little unexpected, I’ll admit.”
“It was unexpected for me too.” He looked away from her, running a hand over his face. “I care deeply for you and I would never want to put you in situation in which were uncomfortable or that brought bad memories or feelings.”
Oh.
She caught his gaze. “Byron, I was fragile for a time, long ago, when you first met me. I’m not fragile like that anymore. I’m not a doll you have to fear might break. Believe me, if I’m not comfortable with something, I’ll tell you.”
He nodded. “Good. And I know you’re strong.”
She dropped her gaze to the water again and played in the soap bubbles with her fingertips. “I’ll admit I am a little confused, however. After you found me and Alek on the divan and deduced that we’d made love, you seemed jealous. You seemed as if you didn’t want him touching me anymore, then last night . . .”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I did feel that way, Lilya.” He met her eyes. “I still do.”
“Then why share me?”
“Because I care for you both. I see clearly that Alek is falling for you just as I predicted he would. I also see caring on your face when you look at him. I brought this situation on us all and I have no right to impose my will on it. It’s out of my control and it’s my own fault.” He pressed his lips together, apparently deep in thought. “Despite the feelings of possessiveness I have where you are concerned, what happened last evening felt right.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and wagered a guess that had been lurking in the back of her mind. “That wasn’t the first time you and Alek have shared a woman, was it?”
“No. We’ve been doing it since we were teenagers. We lost our virginity that way, with one of the maids in his house.” He chuckled. “We’ve shared many women, even—” He broke off.
