I never knew what a turn-on knowing that could be. She knew she was shaking and wondered if her grip was going to fail her. She was so damn horny. She needed to come, but she needed to obey this man more.
Marc slid his arms around her, taking over for her, and then carried her into the bedroom. Jeremy had pulled down the sheet and comforter. She saw lube and a hand towel set to the side. Jeremy stood, his cock sheathed in a condom. As she watched, he fisted his cock and began to pump. The sound of wet and the glistening caught in the light told her he was applying lube.
Marc set her on the bed then crawled up to the middle. He eased her into his arms, arranging her so she was half on top of him with her legs open, her ass partially in the air.
One finger—a finger that carried the scent of her cunt—lifted her chin. “I’ll be watching you, April. We both know you wouldn’t tell either of us to stop even if you were in distress. But we will stop if we decide it’s too much for you.”
“Please, Marc. I need Jeremy’s cock in my ass.” She didn’t mind begging for what she wanted. These men would never hold her vulnerability against her.
The bed dipped. Jeremy crawled to her on all fours, his gaze sharp and feral. Her gaze shot to his penis, which stood harder and looked bigger than she’d ever seen it. Then he kissed her ass.
“Eyes on Marc, sweetheart.”
April met Marc’s gaze. How surreal to feel the heat of one lover tenting her while holding the gaze of the other. Jeremy ran his hands over her, from the small of her back to her nape. His touch increased her arousal, a familiar touch now, one her body craved. He stroked her like that two more times before bringing his attention to the plug Marc had inserted into her.
“My lover prepared you nicely for my cock. He’s given you to me—for my pleasure, yes, but for your own, as well.”
Jeremy’s verbal seduction wound its way through her libido, wrapped around her heart, and warmed her blood.
April shivered when Jeremy licked her right ass cheek. She moaned when he moved the gel plug, twisting it right then left, and whimpered when he removed it.
He edged closer and his hands came into her periphery as he braced them on the bed on either side of her. Marc lifted his gaze. Jeremy placed his cock on her anus and began to push. Burning, an exquisite burning, and then a glorious, all-consuming pain drenched her as Jeremy pressed his cock into her ass.
He leaned forward, and she watched her lovers kiss over her. She couldn’t have stopped her pussy from gushing in that moment if she’d tried. Seeing their love, their connection, was just the hottest thing as far as she was concerned. That kiss ended just as she felt Jeremy’s balls brush against the bottom of her slit.
“Oh, baby. So. Damn. Good.”
Jeremy moved in her, slowly, cautiously fucking her, easing out, pushing in, over and over and over again. She heard the sounds emerging from her throat and recognized the need, the begging, and knew her men did, too. Marc’s gaze glittered hotly, and his nostrils flared. Beneath her, she felt his cock heat and harden. This moment might physically belong only to her and Jeremy, but Marc was a part of it, as much a part of it as they were. This was a facet to ménage loving she’d suspected but not fully felt until now. The three of them were connected, and their triad was as much a single heart as any other couple who loved.
I love them both so much. Pride had kept the words locked inside. Pride and some unnamed something she didn’t understand, some fear that seemed insubstantial just then.
“I love you. I love you both. I need you both. Fuck me. Please, Jeremy, fuck me hard.”
“I love you, April Bixby. Take what I give you, my woman.”
Marc cupped her cheek. “I love you, April, as much and as deeply as I love Jeremy. You’re it for me. You’re both everything to me.”
Marc’s kiss started tender and turned voracious. He suckled her mouth and stroked her tongue. His rhythm matched Jeremy’s. He lifted his lips and grinned. He could likely see Jeremy’s cock moving…an electric shock crackled all over her body as her arousal exploded into orgasm. Swell upon swell of punishing pleasure swamped her. Her hips thrust back, a triggered, feral response, as Jeremy gripped her hips and plunged deeper and faster.
His curse, his total loss of control shoved her off the cliff of reality into the free fall of seismic ecstasy once more. Shimmering wave after shimmering wave of orgasmic bliss invaded and controlled her. The heat of Jeremy’s semen, expelled into the latex, hit a spot deep in her ass that transformed her waning climax into a live, exploding brand-new one.
On and on it went until finally, eyes closed, she collapsed on Marc’s body. Surrounded by their masculinity and their strength, she simply, purely, surrendered to the moment, and to them.
* * * *
Sam Matthews had never necessarily considered himself a particularly intuitive man when it came to people. That didn’t stop him from feeling, in that moment, that he was teetering on an edge—and could end up taking a fall that would end up killing him.
He sat, back straight in the chair facing his boss. His shirtsleeves rolled up, his usual black ballpoint pen in his hand hovering over his clipboard, he looked like any other congressional staffer at the end of the day, touching base with his boss, getting his marching orders for the next day.
It was late. Darkness had fallen, but that wasn’t unusual. Many Capitol Hill staffers had left for the day, but not all. It was nearing ten in the evening, and while he was certain that there were other chiefs of staff, other general gofers still hard at it throughout the capitol complex, Sam knew for certain that of Congressman Kardigan’s staff, only he and the congressman remained within this assigned office space.
Matthews had just delivered news he’d put off giving. He waited, knowing his boss well enough to predict some, but not all, of his next movements.
“He failed to kill Jessop, as ordered?”
“Yes, sir.” Matthews kept his expression blank as Kardigan—a congressman who loved to portray himself as a good, clean-living, upright member of the community—let loose with a string of curse words that nearly had Matthews blushing.
“Is he dead?”
“No, sir. Not yet. He is in a coma and under police guard. That’s my latest update as of an hour ago.”
“I take it you have someone in Waco, monitoring the situation?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, I suggest that your ‘someone’ had best see to it your comatose would-be hitman doesn’t awaken to tell any tales against us. Do you understand me, Matthews?”
Matthews met Kardigan’s gaze. The congressman didn’t blink. In fact, he didn’t appear to even be breathing. The force of his will had become a visceral agent—an agent intent on burning away all the chaff between itself and the presidency.
Matthews knew two things for certain in that moment. The first was that the congressman now considered him chaff. And the second was that the man was, at the heart of it all, pure evil. He was also quite insane.
He hasn’t been sane for a long time, and you’ve known it for a long time.
Matthews nodded. “Yes, sir. I do understand your orders. I’ll see to them immediately.”
“I expect to be able to search online about the sad incident of a man dying from his injuries in a Waco hospital in the morning,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
Matthews didn’t waste any time. Neither did he rush. He simply put his pen in his shirt pocket, nodded, got to his feet, and left the congressman’s private office, closing the door softly behind him.
He stepped into his own office just long enough to gather his attaché case and slip into his suit jacket. He took his pen out of his shirt pocket, opened his case, and inserted the writing device into its special holder. Going through his usual routine, he turned off his office lights, locked the door, then cast a glance around the wider space. For more than twelve hours a day this area was filled with smart, hungry staffers, young ambitious professionals, swarming like a pack o
f hungry sharks, waiting, just waiting for their shot, their turn at the glory. Waiting to rip apart any who weren’t vital enough, or ruthless enough, to fend them off.
He wondered, absently, which one of those eager young men—it sure as hell wouldn’t be a woman—Philip Kardigan would promote to the position of chief of staff after him.
The identity of his imminent successor was not a matter Matthews should spend any energy on. At the moment, he had to get his ass someplace inconspicuous and figure out his next move. He had options, of course. As he made his way to his car, parked a few blocks away, he slid his hand into his pants pocket just long enough to fist his keys.
There was a watering hole he liked to visit every now and again, in an area of DC that was usually given wide berth by the myriad of government drones. Wannabes were there of course, and any number of folk who just wanted to drink, maybe play on their laptops, and pretend to be someone important.
The beauty of Denny’s Digs was the free Wi-Fi. Not that Matthews had any intention of using it, of course. Free Wi-Fi was just another advertising platform for corporate America. Use it and you never had any clear idea who the hell could be listening in or piggybacking on your signal. Matthews didn’t worry about that. He used his very own personal encrypted portable hotspot.
It didn’t take long to get to the bar. Because it was a weeknight, the place wasn’t at capacity. Matthews grabbed a cubby-hole booth at the back. He lifted a finger at the bartender, who nodded. Less than five minutes later, his beer arrived, ice cold.
Matthews took a few minutes to sit, to calm himself, to let the cold ale slide down his throat.
There really was only one choice he needed to make. Not what to do next, but who to approach. There were a few agencies operating in the District, including a couple that weren’t supposed to. Some of them were more political than they were patriotic. He wanted the fuck out of politics, so he picked one that wasn’t particularly, as well as an operator he was pretty certain he could trust.
Decision made, Matthews took his laptop out of his case, powered it up, and inserted his hotspot device. Once it was up and running, he took his custom ballpoint pen out of its holder and laid it on his laptop. With a wall at his back and the certain knowledge he would be left alone, Matthews unscrewed the pen, plugged a standard cord into the tiny digital slot in the bottom of the top half of it, and then connected the USB to his laptop. He pulled out his earbuds, plugged them in, then accessed the file that had just downloaded from his listening device.
The conversation he’d just had with Congressman Philip Kardigan came in loud and clear. Anyone who listened to this would have no doubt the congressman had just ordered Matthews to commit murder.
Sam Matthews sighed. He had planned to be chief of staff to the President of the United States. Now he’d be the whistle-blower that saved the country from suffering a perfidious egomaniac occupying the Oval Office.
Not quite the glory he had been planning for, but the pay, he knew, would be damn good. As would the new life he’d buy for himself with shame.
Chapter Seventeen
When she’d been about nine, April’s parents had taken her to a performance at one of the local theaters, and it was a show unlike any she’d ever seen. The artist, who went by the name of Maury the Magnificent, was billed as a magician and a mentalist. He’d had a routine that, for her, had been at once captivating and eerie.
After he performed his magic tricks, which, April remembered, had seemed pretty cool to her, he’d switched gears and asked for volunteers from the audience. There had been a steady line of men and women who’d gone up onto the stage, one after the other, and Maury had either told them something about themselves or put them into what he called a “trance.” Even at nine, April had been cynical enough to wonder if that part of the show was all just a con.
One big burly man in the audience had raised his hand when Maury had asked how many there believed or knew for a fact that they could not be hypnotized. When Maury then invited the man up on stage to test that theory, he’d agreed—as long as Maury didn’t make him howl at the moon.
Maury had promised there’d been no howling, and there wasn’t. But he had made the big guy dance on stage like a five-year-old at a ballet recital, including having him brush at his imaginary “tutu.”
April supposed that was where her “knowledge” of hypnosis had come from. So, as she accompanied Marc into a treatment room at the end of one part of the inverted U-shaped hallway at the clinic, she really had no idea what would happen next.
Why the hell did I even suggest this? She told her inner imp to shut the hell up. Anything that could possibly help Marc, she’d be willing to help him try, if that was what he wanted to do. Biggest bonus, it was her lover’s big brother who was playing the part of Maury for this particular performance.
The treatment room they’d entered wasn’t like the other exam rooms she’d seen at this very well-appointed clinic. For one, it was larger, and it had a different feel to it. No medical instruments were in sight. This was more like a private lounge. The walls had been painted a soft peach, and artwork hung on two of them.
“That’s Rebecca’s work, isn’t it?” Marc asked.
“It is. She donated them.” Robert shot them a quick grin. “Good thing, too. If I’d had to purchase them out of the regular budget, it would have blown a half-year’s allotment. Little sister’s work is mad expensive.”
Marc stepped closer and examined the two pieces, soft scenes, one called Scene from a Beach and the other Forest Glen. The scenes had a quality to them that simply drew a person in.
“She’s crazy talented,” Marc said. “And to think I tossed out some of her crayon drawings back in the day.”
“Yeah, I think we’ve all had that thought at one point.” Robert gestured to the very comfy-looking chairs.
“Which one do you want me in?” Marc asked.
“Whichever.”
There were six chairs, all a soft-looking leather, set up in two groupings of three that faced each other. Marc picked the middle of one of those groupings. She and Jeremy, of course, flanked him.
Robert took a moment to dim the lights slightly. Just barely there, in the background, soft music played. Pan flutes, but soft, like a summer breeze in Pennsylvania. The combination of chair and music and soft lighting was definitely relaxing.
“You know you’re safe here, Marc. Everyone in this room loves you.” Robert sat directly across from Marc. Behind Robert, above his head, was his sister’s Forest Glen.
“I do know that.” Marc scrubbed his face with his hands, and then he sighed. He looked at her, and she met his gaze steadily.
“It’s up to you, Marc. I can be here, or I can wait out there. You’re in control here.”
“What she said,” Jeremy said. “Just give us the word. We won’t be offended or hurt if you’d rather do this alone.”
His gaze softened. Picking up her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. Still holding her left hand in his right, he turned to look at Jeremy. He grasped that lover’s hand, too. He held them both tightly. “I know. Thank you for that. Both of you. I want you both here. No, I need you both here.”
“This can be a daunting thing to do for those of us who are, shall we say, a bit more wedded to being in total and complete control of every damn thing than the average person.” Robert’s insight was spot-on.
April supposed the very fact that Robert Jessop was a Dom, and, from all accounts, a fiercer one than his youngest brother, would give the two of them a connection that would be important for this process—whatever it was—to work.
“No kidding,” Marc said.
“When I trained for this, I had to put myself in the hands of my mentor.” The look on Robert’s face said it all. He’d likely experienced the same emotions she knew were coursing through Marc.
Torn between a soul-deep need to hang onto control and a wrenching need to let go and allow the past to surface had to be, for a D
om, the ultimate example of being stuck between a rock and a hard place. She understood that it didn’t make it easier for Marc that it was not just any past incident he wanted to remember but a recent one that, in and of itself, had been traumatic and essentially life-threatening.
The final words of that Kipling poem floated through her mind. You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din. She meant that with all her heart. She didn’t know if, in his position, she could do what he was about to do.
She didn’t know if she could do this herself under any circumstances.
Marc Jessop was one of the two very best men April knew. Of course, Jeremy was the other one.
She brought her attention back to the moment.
“Have you undergone hypnotherapy before?” Robert asked Marc.
“No. The company takes the better-living-through-chemistry approach to these sorts of things.”
“Well, the good thing about hypnotherapy is it teaches relaxation techniques. You’ll remember everything you say, and when we’re done here for the day, you should feel less tense than you do now.”
“I notice you didn’t guarantee any results.”
“I noticed you noticing,” Robert said. “It might take a couple of sessions to unlock all the secrets you’re looking for. If we accomplish nothing else today, hopefully you’ll be able to ease some of your tension about that.”
The look on Marc’s face said, “Yeah, good luck with that.” In response, Robert just grinned.
April continued holding Marc’s hand as Robert’s voice changed subtly and he began giving Marc instructions. She felt a strong pull to obey the man herself. She blinked and met Jeremy’s gaze. They traded a silent smirk.
Should I let Marc know his big brother has a more compelling Dom voice than he has? Probably not. She settled into the chair, determined to keep her focus on her lover. She couldn’t block out Robert’s voice. His tone was deep and his cadence…soothing.
“Nice deep breath, Marc. Exhale and feel the tension begin to seep away. Let yourself settle into the leather beneath you. Feel the air around you. Sense the heartbeats of your lovers, here with you, holding on to you, a part of you. When I count down, you’ll feel yourself sinking deeper into relaxation. Three, two, one, zero. That’s it. You’ve got this. This is a nice, serene level, isn’t it? Protected, safe, you can let go of the control, just let it go for a little bit. There’s no danger here. Nothing can hurt you here, and there is no pain. Everyone is safe here. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to anyone. Yes, that’s it. Three, two, one, zero. Just enjoy the experience. There’s a corridor stretched out before you, going as far as you can see. Every door leads to a memory, a moment in time. You don’t have to open the doors. You can just peer through the windows. You know what you’re looking for is here. You can find it. You can look in the windows. They can’t see you. Did you find the room you needed to see?”
Love Under Two Bad Boys Page 15
