by Lana Ames
Javier leaned down and kissed me, deeply and warmly. I returned the kiss eagerly, saying everything I wanted to say with my tongue, taking more of his essence into me. It was as though I grew stronger, somehow, with each drop these men bestowed on me.
And what in the world did that mean? I finished the kiss, still smiling up at Javier even as I felt confused and…a little muzzy. Not worried, exactly; just puzzled.
Well, it was late, as Jorge had pointed out; and we’d all had rather more wine than I was accustomed to drinking.
At this thought, Javier withdrew, pulling gently out of me and sitting up on the divan. He reached down and stroked my thighs and legs, admiring me with his hands and eyes, as Mahlen kept caressing my head, brushing my hair gently back, sending sweet love into me.
Jorge finished the sketch he was working on and set down his pencil, then brushed his own damp hair out of his eyes. “Whew. I think maybe…we all need a little bit of a break.”
I sat up, making room for Mahlen to sit on the divan beside me, Javier on my other side. “Yeah.” I wasn’t even going to mention that I had to get up early and get to work tomorrow…I’d deal with that when the time came. Surely Monique wouldn’t freak out if I called in sick again…she’d practically insisted I take more care of myself.
Except I wasn’t sick, was I?
I had just completely lost my mind.
Mahlen leaned into me gently and took my hand. Jorge walked around the small room, gathering up the many fallen pieces of sketch paper and organizing them in a pile. “I’ll look these over in the morning. I’m completely spent right now, and I didn’t even…” He gave the three of us a wicked grin. “I got a lot of good material here, though.”
I grinned back at him. “Did you get what you needed for the sculpture? I wasn’t standing up, exactly…”
“Oh, I think I got some useful stuff. But I’ll know better in the morning, when I can see them under daylight. I might need you to pose for me once more…alone this time.”
“I might be willing to do that,” I answered, adding a sly invitation to my tone. Then I yawned.
It was contagious; both my lovers followed suit.
“Okay, I hear three votes for bed,” Jorge said. “And I cast the fourth vote, and so it is unanimous. Come on, sleepyheads.”
He headed out into his bedroom; the three of us padded, naked and barefoot, behind him. “Ooh, it’s cold in here,” I said.
Jorge laughed. “That’s because it’s about eighty degrees in the studio. You’re just not used to it.”
“Mm, okay,” I said, stifling another yawn.
“All right, the two of you are in here,” Jorge announced, leading Mahlen and me across the hall into a well-appointed guest bedroom. “You have your own bathroom, through there.” He pointed to the far side of the room. “And my bro will take his usual bed.”
“Perfect,” I said, looking around. Yes, I could be entirely comfortable here, although all I could really focus on was the marvelous bed before me.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Jorge said, standing at the doorway.
Mahlen shook his head, and looked at me. “Nope. This is great.”
“All right then. See you in the morning. Pancakes all right for breakfast?”
“Mmm,” I said, nodding.
“Great!” And he gave us both a wink, then closed the door and left us.
I fell down onto the bed, then rolled over, pulling covers up with me and sliding under them. “Get in here,” I said, patting the space beside me.
Mahlen complied, then pulled me close in a warm embrace. “You feel amazing.”
“So do you.” I yawned again. “But I don’t think I can…”
Mahlen was already snoring before I could finish my sentence. I lasted only long enough to feel grateful that Jorge had taken charge of organizing the sleeping arrangements, sparing us any awkward negotiations, and then I was out too.
Chapter Seven
I was being tortured by a demon.
I lay flat on my back on a hard stone floor, unable to move a muscle. A grey man bent over me, reaching into me…through me…reaching for my soul, pulling pieces of it out of me, collecting them to himself. It hurt, oh god it hurt.
No! I tried to scream, but I couldn’t move my lips. I couldn’t breathe, almost; my soul was in shreds, and still the demon wouldn’t just kill me. No, this was torture; he would feed on my essence, taking every last part of me, and keep me alive and conscious to it throughout.
I could sense the purple fire all around me—it would save me, if I could only reach it—but I was caged away from it. It encircled us both, but the demon was strong, and he shunted the fire away with hardly any effort.
He bent closer to me. This was it: he was going to drain me, to finish me. I should be relieved, that my punishment was finally going to be over…but I couldn’t help it, I tried to fight back. I wanted to live.
I want to live…
The purple flames grew, and now the demon noticed. He turned his attention, just slightly. Now would be the time for me to fight back, or to escape…if only I could move. But I still lay splayed on the cold stone floor.
I was going to die here.
~*~*~*~
I gasped awake, my heart pounding from the nightmare. A very, very realistic nightmare, for all that it couldn’t possibly be real.
Because demons aren’t real, and one did not try to kill me last week.
I sat up in that big bed, trying to catch my breath, to still my heart. I was alone, and it was fully light outside; I could tell even through the thick curtains over the windows. They must be east-facing; sun tried to find its way around every edge, practically shouting at me: Wake up! You’re late!
“Oh no,” I muttered, rolling over and trying to think about where in the world my phone might be. Somewhere with my clothes, no doubt. Now, where could my clothes be…?
“Don’t worry,” came Mahlen’s voice. I rolled back over and looked at the doorway, where he stood holding two mugs of coffee. “I already called Monique and told her you need another day off to regain your strength. She said to take all the time you need.”
“My god.” I lay back in the bed, simultaneously relieved and chagrined at myself. “I can’t believe I just…slept.” No need to worry Mahlen about any nightmares. I took another deep breath, pushing the unpleasant thoughts away, and smiled at this delectable man. “What time is it?” I asked him.
“Hmm, I don’t know, morning time,” he said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. He handed me one of the mugs. “Jorge is working on breakfast, but he’s not going to put pancakes on the griddle until you’re seated at the table with a fork in your hand.”
I sipped the coffee: perfect. “Well, he might have to wait a while, then. I’m in desperate need of a shower.”
Mahlen sipped his own coffee, then set it on the nightstand and leaned in to nuzzle me: at the nape of my neck, between my breasts, further down. “Shower if you like, but you smell delicious to me.”
I giggled. “I do like to shower, thank you very much. I might even be interested in a little help. I seem to remember you’re pretty good at that.”
“You could probably tempt me if you tried real hard,” he teased. “But I’m rather hungry, I have to admit. What about we do breakfast first, then clean up? You might get maple syrup all over yourself or something. Bacon grease. Whipped cream. Who knows? It would be awful to have to shower twice.”
“Mm, that would be awful,” I agreed. “Perish the thought.” But I was hungry too, come to think of it. He had a point. And if the other guys were waiting downstairs for breakfast…
The other guys. Oh good god, I’d slept with Javier last night. Well, not slept. Most decidedly not slept.
Mahlen was watching my face, while carefully pretending not to. Now he gave me a gentle look. “You okay?”
I sighed. “Yeah. I think. I don’t know. I just…I’ve got a lot to think about, I guess.”
&nbs
p; He smiled and scooted up to sit closer to me on the bed, leaning over again to give me a kiss. “Let me echo your boss: take all the time you need.”
“Thanks.” I sipped more of my coffee. “Actually, what’s weirdest is that…it doesn’t feel all that weird. If that makes sense.”
Mahlen nodded. “It does, and I say that because I feel much the same way. When consenting adults all decide to do something together because they really want to—because it feels good, to everyone, and everyone’s entirely okay with it—well, it may be unfamiliar, but it shouldn’t feel weird or wrong.”
I frowned, still thinking. “That’s all true. But what makes it even more interesting is a really strange conversation I had Monday afternoon. Right before you, um, came in and had us make that big print for you.”
He looked at me over his coffee cup. “Oh? What was that?”
From downstairs, I heard Jorge yell up, “Hey guys! Everyone’s starving to death down here! Get a move on!”
I giggled; Mahlen was still looking at me, waiting to hear the story. “I’ll tell you after breakfast,” I said, getting out of bed and setting my coffee down on the dresser. “Right now we need to find me something to wear.”
~*~*~*~
Jorge’s guest room was very well-appointed; it had a supply of clothing for guests, though none of it was very casual. I suppose I could have hunted up my jeans and T-shirt and sweatshirt from last night, but I found myself falling in love with a form-fitting white tunic dress. It was an off-the-shoulder design; super elegant. “Most overdressed pancake-eating ever,” I said, laughing as I shrugged into it and stood before the mirror, smoothing it down over my hips. “It’s like going to a costume party all over again.”
Mahlen stood behind me, admiring me—first with his eyes, then with his hands as he pulled me to him. “Costume party?”
I smiled at him in the mirror. “That’s part of the story I’m going to tell you after breakfast.”
He nodded, looking suddenly thoughtful. “It’s not…something you want to talk about at breakfast, perhaps?”
I turned around in his arms, looking up into his eyes directly. “What do you mean?”
“These brothers are my best friends in the world. I trust them implicitly, all the way down. It’s part of what I meant earlier, about consenting adults and everyone being okay with things: I am not the kind of guy who wants to share his girlfriend with everyone. But Jorge and Javier? They mean the world to me. It made me feel closer to you, to see Javier making love to you. To see Jorge sketching you—sketching us—as we all connected that way. It felt…” He trailed off, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if the right words could be found written there. “It felt somehow magical. Like something bigger than all of us was going on.” Now he looked back at me, his eyes earnest. “Does that make sense? I’m not explaining it well, I know.”
I took his hands in mine, looking back at him as I bit my lip briefly, thinking hard. “All right. Maybe I do need to talk to all of you about this.”
“Then let’s go have breakfast.”
We walked down the wide staircase hand in hand, meeting the twins in the kitchen. Javier’s eyes widened as he caught sight of me in the white dress. “Oh, my.” He came and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. “More coffee?”
“Yes please.” I held out my mug, and he refilled it from a carafe on the counter, and Mahlen’s as well.
Jorge stood over the stove, holding a ladle over a bowl of batter; he too froze and stared at me. “I must sketch you in that. Say that you will pose for me in that dress, Grace. Right after breakfast.”
I smiled. “I think I could probably do that.”
He gazed at me another long moment, then shook his head and returned his attention to the ladle. “Okay. I’m gonna cook now. Is everybody ready?”
“Yes, cook, cook already!” Javier cried, giving his brother a gentle nudge with his elbow. “We’re dying here.”
“All right then.”
In a minute, the intoxicating aroma of cooking pancakes, followed soon by the even more delicious scent of sizzling bacon, filled the kitchen.
“If anyone is looking for something to do, mimosas need assembling,” Jorge put in, flipping a perfectly golden-brown pancake and pointing at four champagne flutes lined up on the counter.
“Your wish is my command,” Mahlen said, leaping into action. He found a sparkling bottle of something in the fridge and opened it expertly, then turned to Jorge. “Orange or grapefruit?”
“I have both. See what everyone wants.”
“I’ve never had a grapefruit mimosa,” I said. “I’ll try that.”
“Grapefruit for me too,” said Javier, walking back in from the dining room where he had been setting out plates.
“I think we have a quorum,” Jorge said. “Unless you want to be the odd man out, but you’re the bartender, so you do you.” He pulled pancakes off the griddle with a skinny spatula and piled them on a plate under the warming burner at the back of his stove, then started ladling out a second batch.
“Nah, I’ll follow the crowd.” Mahlen poured the flutes half full of champagne, then the rest of the way with juice. “Help me carry these to the table?” he asked me.
“Of course.”
“Fork in hand!” Jorge called out as I went, so I just sat down at my place and obeyed, as did my two lovers.
(Oh my goodness my two lovers.)
Two minutes later, Jorge walked in carrying a steaming platter with at least as much dramatic presentation as he had last night. “You should open a restaurant,” I said as he set the plate of pancakes and bacon in the center of the table.
“Not a tiny chance,” he said, taking his own seat and raising his champagne flute. “I can’t think of a worse job than trying to please the ungrateful hipsters of this town. I only cook for friends.” He smiled around the table at us all, his eyes lighting on his brother. “Well, and family too. Here’s to friends and family!”
“To friends and family!” we all echoed.
I took a sip of my mimosa: just delicious. “Mm, not as sweet as orange,” I said. “I like it.”
Jorge leaned forward and piled a short stack of pancakes on my plate, along with a few pieces of bacon. “As long as you’re holding your fork like such a good girl—dig in! Here’s heated syrup,” he added, handing me a small pitcher.
The table got really quiet for a while as we all scarfed down the amazing food. I guess we had been hungry… But then we eventually resurfaced, and began making conversation. Mahlen refilled our mimosas; the alcohol helped everything to feel nice and mellow and fuzzy.
And sent my nightmare further into the recesses of my mind…though I couldn’t forget it entirely. Nor the fact that I’d promised to talk about…things…with everyone.
“So,” I said, at long last, setting down my fork and rubbing my full belly. “I guess maybe we should all talk about…this?” I looked around the table at everyone, suddenly absurdly shy.
Javier reached over and took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He glanced over at his brother for a moment and then turned back to me. “Being twins, Jorge and I are accustomed to a greater degree of closeness than most people ever achieve in life, even with their spouses. We’ve literally always been together, from the womb onward.”
“Doesn’t mean everything’s always perfect, or that we don’t sometimes get competitive,” Jorge put in with a smile. “I know Javier’s chomping at the bit to cook for you. While I am eager to…”
“Don’t derail the conversation, bro,” Javier said. “The point being, we’ve got communication—and sharing—down to a science.”
I nodded. “That’s great, and I can actually tell that, with you guys. But Mahlen isn’t even related to you.”
“Mahlen is a special soul,” Javier said.
Jorge added, “But you probably already knew that.”
“I had a feeling…” I turned to gaze at
my new boyfriend, who was looking all adorable and bashful.
“I thought you were going to be telling us something, Grace,” he said, squirming a little in his chair. “Not putting me on the spot.”
“I’m working up to it,” I said. “This is…complicated.” I took a deep breath and looked around the table. “I love that you guys are so comfortable with each other—all three of you. I…um, loved last night, and everything that happened. I even…” I looked across at Jorge through my eyelashes, too shy to look him straight in the eye. “…maybe might consider, um…”
“Yes, I’ve been hoping so,” he said quietly.
“Oh jeez this is too weird!” I said, shaking my head, but unable to stop smiling. “Why was it easier to do…all that…than it is to talk about it?”
All three men busted out laughing. “One of the mysteries of the universe, I guess,” Javier said. “So, will it make it easier to talk about if we’re not all staring at you? We could start clearing the table or something.”
I took a deep breath. “No, this is dumb. Let me just do this.” I took another moment, sorting my thoughts, and remembering how Emma Foster had tried, and failed, to convince me. “Okay, it’s like this: I went to a fancy costume party up in the hills, just up there,” I pointed, “last week, and I met this nice woman. And then after that, I basically don’t remember anything for like four days, and I woke up at home all sick and weak, like I’d had the worst flu, and amnesia.”
All three men were looking shocked, and surprised, and not a little confused. Clearly this was not where they’d expected this conversation to go.
“So I recovered a bit, pretty much, and went back to work on Monday, and this woman Emma who I’d met at the party called me to have coffee, and at coffee she explained that a demon had attacked me, and almost killed me, and that magic is real and can protect us all against demon attacks, and the way to access this magic is through bonded sex-groups of a woman and, um, several men.” Four men. Emma had been real specific, that there had to be four men. “She said that she and her harem of men had saved my life, but that we’re all still threatened and that I needed to get with some men that she’d chosen for me, and then—I don’t know what exactly, because that’s the point at which I told her that I needed to go.” I turned to Mahlen. “So I went back to work and like two hours later you came in, with your print, and…then it went from there.” I clamped my mouth shut and looked around at all of them.
