Twisted Marriage
Filthy Vows Sequel
Alessandra Torre
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Alessandra Torre
Introduction
Let’s be blunt for a minute. Let me open the door and bring you into my marriage.
We thought we could branch outside of the norm. Explore my sexual fantasies. Dip our toes in a kinky pond just to see how it felt.
But you can’t have sex with your husband’s best friend in front of him without consequences. Ripples in the pond. A subtle shifting of events and feelings and triggers that will eventually affect every core molecule of your marriage. Your friendships. Your life.
Once I knelt down between the two of them, everything changed. And now, I’m faced with wading in deeper or drying off my pink manicured toes and trying to pretend it never happened.
They say that three is a crowd, but what about four?
What about more?
This is the truth of what I started when I confessed my desires and my husband gave them to me.
This is the sequel to Filthy Vows. If you have not read Filthy Vows, you can purchase it here.
1
Easton undid his belt and dragged the zipper down, moving closer so that I could reach him. “Take it out.”
I obeyed, self-conscious under Aaron’s gaze as I worked Easton’s jeans and underwear down, then ran my hands softly up his muscular thighs and over his cock. It was already stiffening. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and squeezed it, smiling as it quickly went from pliable to rigid.
“Jesus,” Aaron muttered from his spot beside us. “I forgot how fucking big you are.”
“She can take it all.” My husband’s hand closed on the back of my head and gently pulled. “Show him, Elle. Show him how well you suck my cock.”
I felt different when I woke up. It was a very similar feeling to how I felt the morning after my first period. Older. More worldly. Like I had secret access to an elite club that had finally accepted me as a member.
I rolled onto my back and stretched. The right side of Easton’s makeshift fort had fallen, and I could see a water stain on the joint of the ceiling beam. I studied the water stain with growing concern. Had it been there before? I propped up on one elbow and tugged at the wall of the fort, trying to get a better look. If we had a leak, so help me…
“Hey.” Easton ducked under the sheet and grinned at me, his aqua golf shirt a little crooked on his frame.
I reached over and straightened his collar, folding it into place and returning his smile. “Good morning.”
He leaned forward and planted a kiss on me. “Already taking down my fort?”
“I wanted to get to it before Wayland did.” I scooted to the edge of the bed. “You know him and sheets.” Our Great Dane had a vendetta against any white blankets, sheets, or towels—one that worked him into an immediate fervor at first sight. Easton’s grandmother wore a white wrap to last year’s Christmas party and he had knocked her to the ground, tug-o-warred it off her body, and was pouncing on it like he was giving CPR when I came around the corner and found the scene. Wayland was put in his crate and Grandma Ann confiscated his Christmas stocking out of pure spite.
He pulled a belt from the closet and worked it through the top of his shorts. “I’m going to brew some coffee and see if Aaron is up.”
“Okay.” I glanced around for further evidence from last night. With the morning sun beaming through the windows, the bathroom air vent on high, the cocoon of sheets dropping around me—it seemed crazy that this room had been the same place where Easton’s best friend had stood naked, his dick in hand, waiting to take his turn on me.
Easton stood at the side of the bed, his gaze on me, eyes burning with heat. “Put your fingers in yourself,” he ordered. “Show him how wet you are.”
I flicked my gaze to Aaron and slowly ran one hand down my stomach and across the thin strip of hair between my legs. I pushed a finger in, then a second, opening my legs and showing him the tight fit around my knuckles. His eyes followed the motion, and his breath shortened as he stroked his cock in rhythm with my fingers. “Fuck me,” I begged. “Please.”
What had we been thinking? We weren’t those kind of couples. We were the forget-trash-day couple. The ones who snuck a flask into football games and didn’t send Christmas cards. The kind who paid property taxes late and booked concert tickets early, and argued over parking spots and coupon usage and whether celebrity hall passes were allowed. We were Easton and Elle—not…ew…swingers. Not those creepy people who pressured their friends to join them in the bedroom. I knew those sorts of people. My first boss in real estate had been that sort of person.
We weren’t those people, yet we had done it. Ten hours later, and the memories were still crisp and vivid.
The possessive and aroused look on Easton’s face.
His hand tight around his cock.
Aaron’s fingers, trembling as they traced around my nipple.
His mouth coming down on my breast.
The drag of his teeth and the hot swipe of his tongue.
His rigid cock, pushing inside of me.
The hiss of Easton’s breath.
Their tight grip on me.
The groan of their orgasms.
The intense peaks of mine.
I fisted the sheet and pushed off the bed, needing to get onto my feet and away from the memories before my arousal got the better of me.
I met Easton’s eyes as I moved past him, toward the bathroom. His hand closed on my wrist and he pulled me back until I was against him. “Wait.”
I resisted. “I need to brush my teeth.”
“Is that what you need?” His gaze sharpened. “Because it looks like you might need something else.”
It was my body that betrayed me. Trembling with need and still naked from last night, no shirt to hide the diamonding of my nipples in the cool room. No barrier to stop my legs from parting when he ran his hand in between them to verify what he suspected.
His eyes darkened when his fingers easily dipped into me, my body warm and wet, a whimper sliding out of my lips as he curved his fingers into me. He nodded to the bed. “Get back on there. On your knees.”
“But—” He unzipped his pants and I forgot my excuse. He got behind me and pushed his way inside, and I couldn’t hold back my cry.
I found my first orgasm quickly, then triggered his with my second. By the time I stumbled into the kitchen, a silk blouse and linen pants pulled over lazy limbs, I could barely formulate a sentence, much less feel apprehension over Aaron. Which was good, since he sat front-and-center at our kitchen island, a mug of coffee in hand.
“Mor
ning.” He nodded at me, then slid a coffee cup toward E. “How’d you guys sleep?”
“Okay,” I mumbled, beelining for the fridge. Opening the door, I hid behind it and studied the shelves.
“Hey, Aaron. Why can’t you lose in a threesome with Vietnamese twins?”
I groaned and grabbed the orange juice, ignoring the slightly expired date. “Easton.”
“Shush, it’s funny.” He rested his weight on the counter and waited for Aaron to come up with the punchline. “Well?”
“No idea.”
I grabbed a short juice glass from the cabinet and filled it, my gaze pinned to the action.
“Because it’s a Nguyen-Nguyen.”
There was a beat of absolute silence, then Aaron chuckled.
I risked a glance up from the glass. “It’s not funny,” I chided him, then glared at Easton, who lifted his hands in innocence.
“Hey, it was a backup joke. The other was better.” He grinned at Aaron. “Want to hear it?”
“He doesn’t want to hear it,” I interrupted. “And listen.” I snapped my fingers at my husband, then Aaron. “Let’s talk about last night for a minute.”
“This will be interesting…” Easton muttered, pulling out the closest stool and straddling it. Aaron smiled, and it was dandy how amused everyone was by this.
“Get all of your threesome jokes and side comments out of the way right now, because we have about…” I glanced at the oven’s clock. “Five minutes, then Chelsea is going to be here and we are never ever going to talk about this again.”
“Can Aaron and I talk about it, just not when you’re around?” Easton’s brow pinched, as if this was a super important question worth sucking into our five minutes.
“No,” I snapped, then reconsidered, aware of how much I’d been turned on by them discussing me. “Only good stuff,” I countered. “You can praise my magical vagina but nothing else.”
“And your mouth,” Aaron snuck in with an almost shy smile. “Can we talk about your mouth?”
“Her hands are pretty good too,” Easton pointed out, and my ego inflated further. “Oh, and that middle toe on her right foot.”
“It was the left foot,” Aaron argued. “You have the sides confused because you were facing her.”
“I’m going to dump this orange juice all over both of your heads.” I lifted the carton off the counter to accentuate my threat.
Easton held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Your middle right toe is horrendous.”
If we were alone, I’d pour it. I’d pour it over his shoulders and watch his anger grow. I’d struggle against him when he knocked the orange juice out of my hand and pinned me against the fridge. I’d try to knee his balls, and he’d bite into the side of my neck. We’d end up half-naked on the juice-covered kitchen floor, his tongue and dick deep inside of me. It was who we were, what we did, and God, I loved him.
I let out a controlled breath and forced myself to return to the fridge, my hand slightly sweating as I worked it into an open spot on the second shelf. “Chelsea can’t know what happened.”
“Agreed,” Easton said. “Though, you’re the one who tells her everything.”
“Yeah, well.” I closed the fridge. “Not this. No side jokes, no weird looks, nothing that will make her suspicious. Okay?”
Aaron shrugged in agreement and Easton nodded. This was easier than I thought. Adopting a bossy role helped. It was like a shield between me and them, one they were cushioning with their teasing.
I tapped the edge of the counter, daring to take it one step further. “And that was a one-time thing. No getting drunk and trying to feel me up,” I warned Aaron.
“Come on, Elle Bell. I’ve never tried to feel you up.” He scowled at me, and that gorgeous mug could’ve been Instagram-famous if he’d ever wanted to.
“I think you did last night.” Easton smirked and I reached over the counter and poked him.
“That right there—those are the things you can’t say around Chelsea!”
“Speaking of my future roommate, any tips for living with her?”
I made a face. Late last night, Easton had shared the plan for Aaron to move in with Chelsea. I wasn’t in love with the idea, but did appreciate having some physical space from him, given that we’d just had a genital jamboree. “Got a chastity belt?” I said dryly.
“I can handle Chelsea. Though, to be honest, I’m probably the only guy she’s never made a move on.”
“Never?” Easton raised his brows. “You’re kidding.”
“Maybe I’m not her type.”
I swallowed a snarky response about everyone being her type and searched for some helpful advice on living with Chelsea. We’d shared a dorm room freshman year, then an apartment in our junior and senior years. Other than an annoying obsession with reality TV, she was pretty easy to live with. “She’s not a morning person,” I managed. “I’d avoid playing loud music or using power tools before ten.”
“Not an issue.” He took his coffee cup to the sink and rinsed it out.
“And she doesn’t wear a lot of clothes around the house.” The first time Easton had popped by unannounced, he’d walked in to find her ironing butt-naked in the middle of our living room.
“Also, not an issue.” I saw a grin break his profile, one that gave me pause. I’d always heard Chelsea’s inappropriate comments about Aaron, but had never thought about his potential attraction to her. I’d had them in the friend zone for so long that cement had dried around the words.
“Oh, my GAWD, take this thing before I drop him off at the pound.” Chelsea’s entry into the house was punctuated by Wayland’s paws, which skittered across the wood floor at a frantic pace toward me. I crouched to receive his love and was knocked back hard on my right hip. His tongue swiped from my chin to my eyebrow and I craned away from the contact right as a paw plowed into my breast.
“Hey!” Easton said sharply, pulling on Wayland’s collar and getting the dog off me. The Great Dane gasped against the collar, his nose lifting in the air as he sniffed in my direction. “Here.” Easton held out his hand and helped me to my feet.
“Jeeeez, that dog is a pain.” Chelsea collapsed on a stool and eyed Wayland, who had latched on to one of Easton’s belt loops and was tugging on it with short jerky motions that would quickly snap it off. I opened the back door to distract him, then moved out of the way as he galloped through it.
“Don’t get an irrigation system,” Chelsea advised. “The sprinklers came on at seven and Wayland clawed through my curtains trying to get through the windows and attack them.” She spotted the coffee pot and stood. “Do you have any—”
“Almond milk is in the fridge.” I leaned back against Easton’s chest as he wrapped his arms around me. “We’re out of Splenda.”
“Let me guess, Wayland ate it?” She opened the fridge and grabbed the milk. “You guys owe me a box of Wheat Thins and a new head for my toothbrush.” She gave me a withering look, and I snorted.
“Hey, you’re the one who offered to watch him. I am ninety-nine percent sure I said it was a terrible idea.”
“He’s my godson,” she said indignantly. “I wasn’t going to have you stick him in a kennel. By the way…”—she glanced around—“did they fix the vent thingy?”
“Yep. All taken care of.” I picked off dog hair off my shirt and hoped the action would hide the telltale blush that crawled along my cheeks. We’d had to invent something that required Wayland to be out of the house. I had been the one to come up with some elaborate issue that required our floor vents to be repaired. Chelsea had half-listened to the flimsy excuse before asking if the Chick-Fil-A near our house was still closed for remodeling. “And thanks for watching him.”
“No problem.” She poured a generous helping of milk into her coffee. “Making everyone’s lives easier is what I do. Right, roomie?” She gave Aaron a bright smile.
“Don’t trust that smile,” Easton warned. “She’s about to ask for something.�
��
“I’m not asking for anything.” Chelsea gave E a withering look. “My friendly nature has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my thermostat control isn’t working right.”
We groaned and E let out a shout of victory. Chelsea smiled, and I took the moment of distraction to kiss Easton goodbye.
“Meet me for lunch?” he asked quietly.
“I can’t. I have an open house.” I gave him an extra kiss to make up for it. “But dinner tonight? That Mexican place with the half-price margaritas?”
“I’m getting Margarita Elle?” He smirked at me, and maybe I should lay off the drunk sexual antics if it was earning me my own drinking nickname. “Done. Six?”
“It’s a date.” I turned away and caught the look that passed between Aaron and Chelsea. “What?”
“You guys are obnoxious,” Chelsea intoned. “Seriously obnoxious. You have an old maid and a heartbroken handyman as an audience. Can’t you at least pretend to hate each other?”
“We hate each other on Wednesdays,” Easton informed her, his face earnest.
“It’s true,” I chimed in. “It lasts all day. It’s on the calendar and everything. It culminates in hate sex, where we shout really mean things at each other during the act.”
“I insult her life choices,” Easton added in.
“And my friends,” I contributed, pulling on a nude slingback that would be kicked off the minute I got into the car.
“She has really shitty friends,” he agreed. “Especially the rich blonde with the nice ass.”
Twisted Marriage (Filthy Vows Book 2) Page 1
