by Cara McKenna
“Don’t let him come,” Rob tells me.
I slow my mouth, concentrate on every tiny sensation as I give Noah light, teasing head. I flicker my tongue over his slit and fondle his balls, make him moan.
“More,” he begs. His hands urge my head closer. I ease my lips down his cock, worshipping him, wanting him to feel big and powerful, all the things he is to me when we fuck alone. Another slap from Rob pulls me out of the hormonal clouds, lands me back on my knees on my living room rug. I’m torn between the undeniable hotness of what’s happening and an urge to protect Noah, the sanctity of me and Noah. But the impulse is ridiculous, and it has no place in what’s happening in this room or in my arrangement with either of these men. I push it away, let myself get lost in the taboo.
“She’s so greedy,” Rob says. “She wants us both.”
I do. I’m filled by these men, but I want more. I want to drown in them, in their desires and sounds and smells, in their simultaneous pleasure and in mine. I moan around Noah’s cock.
“You want us both?” he whispers, gathering my messy hair back from my face.
I moan again.
“What do you think?” he asks Rob.
“Let’s give her what she wants.” Rob pounds me hard for another minute before he withdraws. I let Noah’s cock go as Rob helps me to my feet. He peels my shirt up as I feel Noah’s hands on my skirt, easing the stretchy waistband down my hips. As Rob kisses me, Noah undoes my bra clasp, palms my freed breasts, and tweaks my nipples to hard peaks. I feel Noah’s smooth chest and stomach against me, his cock at my lower back. He pulls my hair to one side and kisses my neck. I feel lost between their two bodies, my attention yanked between too many hands and mouths and rumbling voices, mind swimming. I feel drunk, as though my body’s not my own: just a pleasurable vehicle taking my brain along for the ride, too fast to allow for questions or hesitation. Rob leads me past the kitchen by the hand, Noah close behind. Rob lies on the bed, and I let him pull me down and press his sweat-slick chest along my back. I don’t know exactly what he’s got planned, but I won’t deny him. Tonight I trust him with my pleasure the way I trust Noah with everything else.
“Bring your leg up,” Rob murmurs in my ear. I swivel my hip, and he grabs my leg behind the knee, propping it up as his cock slides into my pussy from behind. “Yeah.”
Noah watches from beside the bed, silhouetted by the light from the kitchen. He sits on the mattress and draws close, stretches out facing me, putting his hand to my waist as Rob sets his rhythm. He kisses me, deep and sweet. The contact feels so odd, one man’s sensual tongue teasing mine, the other’s cock pumping into me, rough.
“You feel good?” Noah asks. I sense his gaze boring into mine in the relative darkness.
“Yeah. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Do you want me too?” His hand holds me tight, and his hips close in until his erection presses against my mons and belly.
“I think so.”
“She wants us both,” Rob moans, cock sliding in and out, so hot. So wrong. Still, we’re the only witnesses to what’s happening here in my bed, and my body’s telling me the only way I’ll regret this evening is if I back out now and miss my chance.
Noah kisses me again. He sucks me into him, into his desire, into this gift. I take hold of his dick between us, stroke him, measure his girth again with my hand, wonder if such a feat would be possible, let alone pleasurable.
“Try it,” I say. “There’s lube in the bedside table.”
Noah pulls away and grabs the bottle from the drawer, squirts a measure into my palm. “Get me ready.”
I rub the slippery liquid up and down his length until he’s panting.
“She’s so tight,” Rob says over my shoulder. “Let’s make it tighter.”
Noah’s mouth drops open, and I know he wants this too.
“Go on,” I say. Then I lower my voice so only he can hear, put my lips to his ear. “It feels so empty without you.”
“Come on,” Rob grunts. “Let’s spread her wide open.”
Noah reaches down and takes his cock from me. I hold my breath as he guides himself close. He’s watching—watching Rob already fucking me. Rob pulls out so just his head is penetrating.
“Do it.”
Noah puts himself there, eases his head inside me alongside Rob’s. The pleasure, the fear, the sheer nastiness of it is a drug.
“You ready, Abby?” Noah whispers against my lips.
“Yeah.”
He pushes, forcing himself in, forcing me open. Rob pushes too, and as they sink deeper, I stretch, my body cautious.
“Slow, boys,” I mutter.
“Just relax,” Noah says, and I do, because it’s him. His voice, a stranger’s only days ago, calms me. He pushes in another inch, surpassing Rob for a moment. It feels amazing, their cocks sliding against each other inside me.
“Yeah,” Rob moans, and he forces himself deeper. “This is so fucking tight.”
“Yeah,” Noah echoes.
“You’re so big. Both of you.”
“That’s what you like, isn’t it?” Rob teases, voice right in my ear. “Nice big dicks?”
“I love it.”
“How does it feel, taking us both?” He starts to pump at a slow pace as Noah holds still.
“It feels…really fucking dirty.”
Noah pumps too now, two pairs of hips pinning me, two hard dicks filling me, two men’s strong legs tangled between mine. I squeeze Noah’s shoulders and push my face against his throat, lost. “God, fuck me.”
“Can you come?” Noah asks. He asks it quietly, a private whisper. The intimacy of his voice and question thrills me as much anything else happening to my body.
“I can try,” I whisper back.
His hand leaves my waist, slipping down between our damp bodies. His two fingers find my clit amid the crush of hot flesh, and I groan at the touch. I lean back enough to meet Noah’s half-closed eyes.
Rob pumps faster. Noah keeps his thrusts steady and predictable.
“We’re fucking you,” Noah tells me, and the words light a trail of fire from his fingers through my clit, up my belly to my breasts and cheeks. “We’re fucking you, Abby.”
“Yeah,” Rob moans. The bossy self-assurance has left his voice, replaced by desperate excitement. “Do you like it? You like two cocks?”
“I love it.” And I do…though perhaps not for the reasons I let Rob assume. I love this for more than my own selfish pleasure, but as an exploration, something I’m sharing with the man whose sex-addled face is just an inch from mine.
Noah’s fingertips tease me toward rapture.
“Maybe we’ll both shoot together,” Rob says. “Would you like that? Both of us? Filling you up with our cum? Just like we’re filling your pussy with our big cocks?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Yeah, you want that.”
I only half understand what he’s saying. I’m falling over the edge. Noah’s expert fingers are dragging me down into the dark, beautiful oblivion of my pleasure. My feet twitch and kick, toes curling.
“Come on. Come on,” Noah urges. For him, I will. I let go, falling away. For a few beautiful, suspended seconds, I feel nothing but our three bodies as one, our smells, our sounds, our shared desire, their cocks impossibly big inside my clenching cunt.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Rob joins me. I feel him, frantic and needy, hips slapping my ass. He pushes deep and holds, his body pressed rigid and damp against my back as he comes.
“Good,” Noah murmurs, and he’s saying it to me. He’s still. As Rob slides out, he does too. He kisses me lightly, and I feel his cock—stiff, slick from me and from Rob—pressed against my belly.
Rob runs a hand down my side, and his voice is breathy behind my ear. “Beautiful.”
I turn my head to smile at him. “Thank you.”
Rob seems suddenly unsure of what to do, the dynamics between us three so different with the intoxication of the sex stripped away
.
“I’ll leave you two,” Rob finally says. I assume he knows where to find the envelope. I don’t want to say it loud. Not now. Not in front of Noah.
For a couple minutes I listen to him gathering his clothes, using the bathroom, letting himself out. I feel Noah release a deep breath against my neck.
He pulls away and looks me in the eyes. “Would you come with me a minute?”
I get up and follow him to the bathroom. I feel Rob’s cum dripping down my thigh, as though he’s still with us. Noah leans inside the shower and turns the taps, fusses until the temperature’s to his liking.
He holds out a hand to say I should get in. He joins me in the steam and the warm water, kisses me lightly. He takes my soap from the caddy and lathers his hands. I let him run them over my shoulders, up and down my back, over my breasts, my hips, my butt. He kneels and soaps my legs, then turns the bar in his hands until they’re coated in lather. He coaxes me to stand wider, and he washes me. His touch is gentle against my savaged, sensitized lips and clit, intimate as he soaps my curls. I know what he’s doing. I let him. I let him bathe me until he’s convinced that Rob’s gone, that he’s the only man here with me. I study Noah on his knees, so reverential. We both know what he’s doing is a violation of the entire point of recruiting two men for this job, but I don’t stop him. I don’t want to. I want this intimacy as badly as I thought I wanted anonymity.
As the bathing comes to an end, he stands. He rests his chin on my temple, sighs deeply, clears his throat as the water rinses the soap from our bodies. No words come, so I take over. I shut the taps off and grab him a towel, and we dry off together in the silence left in the water’s wake. When we’re done I walk back to my bedroom, and he follows. I tug the bedspread flat, trying to erase the wrinkles and lumps from earlier, the evidence.
We lie on our sides on the covers, facing each other with our knees linked.
“Tonight was the craziest thing I’ve done, sexwise,” Noah whispers. “I didn’t actually know I was capable of anything like that.”
I study his chest with its faint spray of soft hair. “It’s the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done too. By far… I hope you won’t feel creepy about it. I hope you won’t feel weird at your boxing studio now.”
I glance up as Noah makes a face, a familiar glimmer of the man I’ve come to know. “I’m a grown-up.”
I let him think a while longer, combing his wet hair with my fingers as I wait patiently for him to speak.
“I’m sorry about what I did,” he says. “In the shower. That wasn’t fair. I know that’s not what we’re all about.”
I purse my lips, eyes glued to his chin as I mull it over. “I think you and me are probably equally guilty when it comes to fucking up the politics of this experiment. And to be honest, I thought it was sweet that you did that.”
He angles his head and kisses me lightly, apologetically. The room still reeks of sex, the smell hanging potent around our clean bodies.
“You can still make it up to me, Noah.” I hope the tease comes off as gentle and innocuous as I’m intending. I drag my lips along his jaw, kiss his ear, listen to his breathing. He tenses—first with caution, then excitement. His mouth takes mine, tongue explicit and deep as the groans rumbling in his chest.
He rolls me onto my back, grabs the lube, and gets himself ready. He spreads me wide with his knees and slides in, just the faintest sting from the gel on my tender lips. Noah grunts and holds himself still, savoring something—maybe the fact that I’m all his now. That’s what I’m feeling, at any rate. I want to spoil him, make him feel as if he’s only man on the face of the Earth.
“I need you, Noah.”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to fuck me, give me all your cum. You’re the only one I want.”
He starts to thrust, going from controlled to frantic in less than a minute, arms locked tight around my back. I grin unseen over his shoulder, loving his strong body above mine, his deep grunts, the flex of his ass under my palms.
“Come on, Noah. Come for me. Nice and hard.”
He answers with his hips, fucking me deep and graceless and greedy.
“Come on. Come on.”
“Fuck, Abby.”
“Shoot it deep.”
He hammers me hard, then freezes, holds, pushes his hips into mine so hard I feel the bite of bone on bone. I rub his back as his body melts and his breathing returns. He slides out and lies beside me, curls against my side as I hug my knees. I feel his lips on my shoulder, kissing idly for a couple minutes; then he’s out—asleep. I reach over and stroke his hair and cheek, smile at him.
Noah wakes just as I’m about to nod off. He makes an adorable noise, a soft, startled snore; then I see him blinking in the low light.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
We cuddle for ten minutes, exchange a few lazy kisses. Finally Noah clears his throat and breaks our silence.
“Hey, Abby…”
“Yeah?”
He kisses my shoulder, thinks for a moment. “How come you’re doing all this the way you are? The conception? And I don’t mean the sex.”
“What, then?”
“I mean, why me and him? Why strangers? Why…single? I know this’ll sound cheesy and probably a little patronizing…but I can’t imagine you couldn’t find a good guy and settle down and do this the…”
“Old-fashioned way?”
He shrugs and nods. “You’re pretty and smart and interesting, and you’ve got your life together. I’ve met you under the strangest circumstances imaginable, and you still don’t seem psycho at all.”
I laugh. “Even after tonight?”
He nods again.
“Well, thanks. I guess I just don’t want to wait. Even if I met the right guy tomorrow, I’d still need a long time to know if he’s really right. Right enough to be my kid’s father. And at the risk of sounding a bit desperate, I don’t think I can wait another two or four or more years.”
“Sure.”
“I ended a serious relationship this summer,” I say. “I’d been going out with my boyfriend for almost three years, and we weren’t even living together yet. I think I loved him, but I know it would’ve taken me another three years to figure out if he was The One or whatever. The traditional way is just…too damn slow. For me, anyway, because I’m sort of cautious, believe it or not. But my body’s still like, tick-tock, tick-tock,” I add, tapping my middle. “Biological time bomb. But I knew I didn’t want to settle down with the most convenient guy just because my ovaries started calling the shots. That probably makes me seem obnoxious and wishy-washy.”
“It sounds like he probably just wasn’t the right guy,” Noah says, “if you still had all that room for doubt.”
“That was pretty much my thinking in the end. But you know how it is when there’s nothing actually wrong with someone but they still aren’t quite right. It makes everything really confusing.”
“Yeah,” Noah says. “Those break-ups are the worst. When you don’t have a good reason for why you’re ending it.”
I nod my passionate agreement. “So yeah. That’s why I’m doing this the crazy way.”
“Makes sense to me.” Noah kisses my forehead, shifts his body. Something about the drag of his sweat-damp skin against mine ushers reality in, tightens me up as rational thought drives away the lazy tenderness.
“I think I have to ask you not to spend the night tonight.” I say this to his ear since I can’t seem to look him in the eye. “Just because this whole evening was sort of…complicated. I think I need to just be by myself, sit around in my pajamas, and you know, come down from it.”
“Sure.”
“But I promise I’m not upset you came over.”
He kisses my temple again. “It’s okay if you are. Don’t worry about my feelings. I’m tough.”
I nod, wishing it were that simple. Wishing it was anywhere near as simple as I’d envisioned.
Noah rolls a
way and gets up. I follow suit, and we get dressed, both wearing polite smiles, a vaguely uncomfortable energy strung heavily between us. My stomach growls as he’s tying his shoes. I glance at the coffee table at the three identical half-drunk glasses of wine. I glance at the bare tree branches outside in the streetlight. I feel guilty sending Noah out into the dark and cold after everything that’s gone on, but I know if he stays and spends the night, I’ll wake up tomorrow not knowing what he is to me anymore.
I have a thought, jog to my tiny office space, and scribble him a check, a desperate little attempt to reassert the rules of this fucked-up arrangement.
I get back as he’s shrugging his coat on. “Here,” I say.
Noah winces, opens his mouth, closes it, stares down at the check with a blank expression. I worry I’ve insulted him, but I need something about this night to go according to the plan. He folds the paper neatly and slips it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Sure. Enjoy the movie,” I add.
“Yeah.” That one dispirited syllable tells me Noah’s not going to see Mean Streets tonight, maybe not ever again, now that it’s tangled up in the memory of the psychotic threesome he deigned to have with a sperm-hungry harpy and her other willing donor.
“See you later, Abby.”
I open the door and close it behind him, listen to him clomp down the steps. A car starts up outside, idles for a minute. I’m aching to go to the window and watch him drive away, but I don’t want him to look up and catch me. I hear an engine rev and ice crunch, listen to Noah pull out, heading back to Jamaica Plain and away from all the confusion I surely brought into his life—maybe regret, if the memory of this night greets him tomorrow with a hard slap as he wakes.
I rub my face, feeling about a hundred years old. I click on the TV so I’ll have more than just my cyclical internal monologue for company. I flip channels until I find a bad prime-time drama, consolidate the three glasses of wine into one, dig some leftovers out of the fridge and toss them in the microwave, embrace my spinsterhood. Flopping back down on the couch, I remind myself that this is about a baby, and that babies conceived during their selfish mothers’ impromptu threesomes aren’t any less deserving of love than ones from boring old happy marriages.
