by Cara McKenna
She eased herself from Jeremy’s cock, walking her knees back an inch or two. Rasul relocated, pushing both her and Jeremy’s legs wider as he knelt behind her. Clamping a hand to her shoulder, nearly hard enough to hurt, he rammed his cock inside. She gasped from the impact and the sudden change in their three-way dynamic. This aggression was something she’d not guessed Rasul might let their guest witness. He fucked her rough and fast, tugging at her shoulder to deepen the sensation and heighten the edge of fear this treatment always brought.
She looked down at Jeremy to find both his eyes and mouth open. His cock was still hard as steel, pressed against her navel. Her breasts glanced his smooth chest as Rasul’s hand angled her lower, trapping her between two men, one bossy, one surely near to pleading. Her mouth and Jeremy’s were mere inches apart, the separation feeling more intimate than a kiss. She wondered what he saw over her shoulder. A mercenary, or perhaps a cold, fearsome machine. Things she loved, and things she hoped Jeremy could bear to see. Still he stayed stiff.
“You see what she really likes?” As if to demonstrate, Rasul fucked her even rougher for a half-dozen thrusts.
“Yes.”
“This is how she likes to be treated. You think you can do this?”
“I’m not—sure,” Jeremy said between jolts, and Emily admired his honesty.
Rasul gripped her shoulder tight, his other hand taking hold of her waist and arching her back so she came upright again. She was dying to see her husband’s face, but Jeremy’s shocked expression was a fascinating replacement.
Then everything changed. Rasul pulled away, moving back on the bed and bringing Emily with him, dragging her until her legs were splayed before her, her butt against Rasul’s knees and both of her upper arms locked in his grip.
“Fuck her.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened and moved to Emily’s face. She craved to stay in victim mode, the role she liked best, but she broke character enough to nod at him, tendering the permission he clearly needed.
He moved close, edging his thighs beneath hers and pushing her butt up onto Rasul’s knees. Jeremy angled his cock, and before he entered her he whispered, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”
“Of course.” She offered him a faint smile and watched as his face relaxed. As he slid inside her the hesitance disappeared, lust taking its place. She dissolved back into her fantasy, gasping as he pushed deep.
“Better,” Rasul said, his dark voice behind her sounding so exquisitely like a stranger’s.
Circuits seemed to connect inside her body, the ones that lit her up whenever Rasul indulged her darker desires. Her brain and body sizzled with white-hot excitement, adrenaline filling her with wicked pleasure.
“Harder,” Rasul barked, her wishes spoken through him.
Jeremy obeyed and she could sense him getting into the part. The muscles in his arms and chest and stomach stood out as his entire body tensed, hips pumping hard. His face transformed enough for Emily to replace Jeremy her friend with a more selfish incarnation. But she held back the words she might say to Rasul—don’t, stop, please—fearing that was too much to ask him to play along with. Instead she let him see how much pleasure she was taking from this, suppressing not a single sigh or gasp.
“Take her wrists,” Rasul said.
Jeremy did as instructed, holding her hands tight to her thighs as he fucked. Rasul’s palms slid down either side of her waist, stroking her belly before sliding up to her breasts. She felt his warm breath just behind her ear, then he moaned.
The noise was like a match struck deep inside her, growing to a blaze. He let her hear everything she ached for but rarely got from him—groans and grunts and curses. He whispered low and scratchy Arabic words, only bits and pieces she could identify. It didn’t matter what he was saying. It only mattered that her husband’s voice was the single sexiest thing there was, perfect, filthy evidence of the pleasure he must be feeling in his body.
She turned her head to whisper, “Baby.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Watch him fuck you.”
She turned her attention back to Jeremy, his eyes barely open, palms warm and slick now around her wrists. She looked between them, to where his body was owning hers, and a feeling of deep, warm, happy decadence filled her to the brim. She’d conjure this moment when and if he sat across the bar from her, their secret.
More foreign words caressed her ear, raspy and dark. She spoke in turn to Jeremy, knowing how strange these two accents were together. “You feel so good.”
He broke character to pant, “I’m close.”
Rasul’s hand left her breast to pass over her belly, two fingers grazing her clit, and surely Jeremy’s driving shaft. The touch brought focus to the pleasure whirling in her body, drawing it into a tight ball of energy against her husband’s fingertips.
She turned her head. “Talk to me.”
Rasul leaned so close she felt his lips moving against her ear, forming words whose meaning she could only guess at from his ominous tone. For a minute she was held blissfully hostage between Jeremy’s demanding body, Rasul’s practiced fingers and thrilling voice. Then his lips left her ear to address their guest.
“Make her come.”
More Emily’s directive than Jeremy’s. She nearly always waited for Rasul’s order before she climaxed, as he did hers. Now that she had permission, the pleasure spread and grew, so pure it nearly hurt. She watched Jeremy’s cock, Rasul’s fingers, listened to them both, smelled their skin and felt its warmth against her own. She tugged and Jeremy freed one of her hands. She clamped it to his hip to feel the racing thrusts, clawed his skin and groaned when he made the correct translation and took her harder.
“Jeremy.”
She felt him coming apart, and that weakness was hotter than either man’s impressive strength and stamina. Her climax came, owned equally by his cock and Rasul’s caresses. Heat pooled and burst inside her, a spike of pleasure that lingered after it peaked, keeping her moaning and twitching between their bodies even once they each slowed. She felt proof of reality—Rasul’s knees beneath her butt. Jeremy’s cock inside her, one or both of them pulsing. She touched his face and offered a smile that was probably more cheesy than seductive, with her mind so thoroughly blown.
Rasul broke through her fog. “Come,” he said to Jeremy.
Those blue eyes shifted beyond Emily’s face. “Last, you told me—”
“Do as I say.”
Jeremy asked for no further confirmation. He released Emily’s other hand and seemed to gather his wits before he began moving again. The post-release stupor left her as she watched his face, reading in his flushed lips and heavy lids how badly his cock must be aching for this.
“Inside me,” she said.
He nodded.
She tried to guess what twisted aspects of this experience were surely darkening his pleasure—Rasul’s eyes on him, their knees touching. The wrongness of enjoying another man’s wife made acceptable by invitation.
“Fuck me,” Emily whispered.
He took her harder and she hoped those two little words lodged in his brain, zapping him when their eyes locked across the bar.
Before her, against her, inside her, he came undone.
“Emily.” Her name left him in a breathless huff as he grasped her waist, holding her immobile as he pumped his cock into her for the final time. He held her tightly through his release, shutting his eyes and not opening them again until his breathing slowed. She touched his face and ear, memorizing that shade of pink she’d brought to his skin.
“Perfect,” she said.
Jeremy mustered a woozy smile and pulled away, sitting back on the covers. Rasul urged her from his lap and he too pulled away, though not to recover. He stood and beckoned her.
“Follow me,” he said, already taking her wrist.
He led her down the carpeted hall to the guest bedroom. It still smelled faintly of paint, and of sawdust fro
m the brand-new furniture. He closed the door quietly behind them, a gesture unmatched by his demanding body as he pushed her onto the bed. He was atop her in seconds, hips forcing her legs wide, cock sinking deep.
The room was dark and it felt unfamiliar, a perfect complement to Rasul’s greedy thrusts. He hadn’t fucked her like this in ages—not since they’d first begun exploring her kinks together, when the dynamic of that sex had driven him wild with its seeming wrongness. He took her fast, still letting her hear his sounds. She’d never known him to be this desperate for release, and it made her feel invincible. Running her palms up and down his back and sides, arms and ass, she soaked it up, this feeling of power.
“Come,” she said.
He turned them onto their sides, moaning against her lips as he hammered into the homestretch and obeyed. Seizing her thigh, he held her hard against him as he came, the orgasm evidenced by his sudden silence and the three pangs as he ground his hips to hers.
“Good,” she whispered.
His body relaxed, cock slipping from her as his arms circled her waist.
She realized then that of course he’d never let Jeremy see him come, or witness his post-climax haze. Surely no man had seen Rasul so unguarded and helpless since he was a child. Surely only Emily had been allowed that most intimate of things—evidence of his humanity. He relaxed against the never-before-slept-on bedspread, breaths growing longer and deeper.
She lay beside him and stroked his chest. “Beautiful.”
“You go to him,” he murmured.
“Are you staying in here?”
She saw him nod in the sliver of moonlight. “He’s yours until the morning. No sex, but you may sleep with him if he wishes to stay. I’ll be back from my workout no earlier than nine, but have him gone by then. Enjoy him before this is all over.” There was no bitterness in these rules, only a presentation of facts.
“If you’re sure.”
He touched her hair, mussing it fondly. “I’m beyond sure. Go to him.”
She kissed him first, lingering for a minute or more. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For tonight.”
“Thank you for every night, for the rest of my life.”
Chapter Nine
Emily yelped at a tap on her shoulder.
“Whoa, jumpy.” It was only Danielle, wanting to pass behind her with an armload of empties.
Emily put a hand to her chest and laughed. “Sorry. Guess I’m a bit wound up.” It was Tuesday once again, a good half-hour after she might normally expect to see Jeremy. And nearly three days after she’d hugged him goodbye on her front step, following a quiet breakfast for two while Rasul was out for his morning exercise.
“Good weekend?” Danielle asked, loading the dishwasher. “Do anything exciting while I was stuck here working?”
“Nothin’ much.” She touched her fingertips to her cross at the lie. Nothing special indeed. “You know Jeremy?” She nodded to the spot he most often sat.
“Of course.”
“He came over for dinner on Saturday, like we’d talked about. Sure hope he shows up tonight so I’ll know I didn’t give him food poisoning.”
Danielle shook her head, smiling. “Southern hospitality. That’s so cute.”
Oh yes, adorable. Emily went out back to slice limes and replenish one of the ice buckets. When she returned, that familiar face smiled at her from right where it ought to be.
“Hey, regular.” She dumped the lime wedges in their bin and rinsed her hands, giving Jeremy a covert smirk.
“Hey yourself.”
“What’s new? Anything?” It was strange going back to the innocent banter, considering all of the intimate things she now knew about this man.
“Big news, actually.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “Called my landlord with the heads-up. Apartment’s up for grabs as of September first.”
“Wow.” She felt a mix of things—happiness for her friend and his upcoming adventures, sadness that he’d no longer brighten her evenings here at the bar. Though shortly after his departure, she’d begin a new adventure of her own. “Well, congratulations. That must kinda make it real, huh?”
“Yeah. Next step is plane tickets.”
“Where to first? Oh, sorry—Guinness for you?”
“Please. And I don’t know,” he said, watching her pour. “I’m a bit overwhelmed by choice. I think the frontrunners are Spain and Portugal, or South Africa.”
“Golly, that’s so exciting.”
Danielle came by again. “Hey, Jeremy. Guess she didn’t poison you after all.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows at Emily.
“Dinner on Saturday,” she said.
“Oh, no. It was delicious, whatever the heck it was. Very exotic,” he added, with a mischievous glance at Emily.
“Maqluba,” she reminded him, hoping Danielle wouldn’t notice her cheeks coloring.
“Right.”
“If your travels take you to the Middle East, maybe you can find out what it’s supposed to taste like.”
“Oh right,” Danielle said. “When are you leaving us?”
“End of the summer.” He accepted his beer. “Thanks.”
Danielle shook her head melodramatically. “Too bad. You’re the nicest guy we get in here. And very easy on the eyes…in fact you’re the only guy who gets sexually harassed by us, and not the other way around.”
“I’ve never harassed him,” Emily said. Propositioned, perhaps.
Jeremy smiled. “I’m not complaining. But anyhow, I’ll send postcards.”
“Like you’ll have time to,” Danielle teased. “You’ll be too busy cozying up to way more exciting, foreign barmaids than us.”
“Impossible.”
Danielle left them to greet a group of customers.
“That is awful exciting,” Emily said quietly, pretending to organize the garnishes.
“Nursing school’s exciting too.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Emily couldn’t begin to diagnose the silence that fell between them…awkward, nervous, comfortable, lazy? She was itchy inside her skin, now so unsure how to feel toward her friend. It felt very slightly like a breakup, as she knew that there would never be a repeat of Saturday night. Such indulgences had to be one-time-only, or at least one-time-only with a given guest. Anything more went beyond a gift to a proper modification of the shape of her marriage, Emily felt, and she wasn’t looking to do that. Plus if Christmas came more than once a year, surely its specialness would be cut in half.
“Everything all right?” Jeremy asked.
She met his gaze and smiled as casually as she could. “Oh, I’m fine. Bit tired is all.”
He sipped his beer. “Nothing eating away at your soul or anything? Any regrets?” he added in a mumble.
She shook her head. “No, definitely not. Maybe just a little sad that the weekend’s over. You ever get like, a Christmas hangover? Or on a birthday, when you were a kid, after all the excitement’s over for another year?”
“Sure. I always get that after vacation, when life goes back to normal. But I hope… You know, I hope that everything’s okay.”
“Everything’s fine. In fact everything’s better… I got a gift I really wanted, and it’s made me so grateful it kinda hurts, right here.” She made a fist and rubbed her sternum with it. “I think maybe I feel a little undeserving.”
“Don’t feel like that. Giving people gifts that you know they really want feels even better to the giver, usually.”
She considered that, recalling that, yes, Rasul had seemed notably self-satisfied the last three days, made more lively than normal with some quietly bubbling pride. Cocky, in his own understated way. “I suppose that’s true.”
“So just enjoy it. It’s okay to be spoiled once in a while. You deserve it, anyhow.”
“Thanks.”
Jeremy laughed then, and she knew he’d reached his limit with this cryptic discussion, given that he was
the indulgence they were speaking of.
Emily grabbed a rocks glass and filled it with ginger ale. She held it over the bar between them. “To your upcoming tourism.”
Jeremy withheld his participation in the toast. He spoke quietly. “Not sure where I could end up that’ll be much more thrilling than Saturday’s adventure.”
She lowered her glass and offered a playful frown. “How about to tourism in general, then?”
“Let’s just toast to your husband,” he murmured.
She nodded. “Indeed.”
Jeremy smiled and tapped her glass with a “cheers” and they drank. Two friends on the threshold of personal change, keepers of a shared secret and this small patch of shiny wood, a tiny scrap of this generic bar made intensely personal.
She turned away to attend to her job, full of warmth. She felt Jeremy’s gaze on her, conspiring and familiar.
When she got back from work that night her husband’s eyes would alight on her, seeing someone slightly different than they might have a few days ago, but miraculously loving that woman no less. She’d be home, in a house and a city neither of them was yet at ease in. Then she’d feel his hands, possessive and stern, and she’d know there was no place on the face of the earth made so exactly with her in mind.
About the Author
Cara McKenna writes smart erotica: a little dark, a little funny, definitely sexy and always emotional. She lives north of Boston with her extremely good-natured and permissive husband. When she’s not trapped inside her own head, Cara can usually be found in the kitchen, the coffee shop or the nearest duck-filled pond.
Cara welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Cara McKenna
Backwoods
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