Luscious Beginnings [Love in Luscious, Kansas 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting ManLove)

by Mia Ashlinn

  His room was dark, the lack of light every bit as blinding as the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t see a thing. Not that it mattered. After listening to Brett, Ethan, and Kimberly fucking in the bedroom next to his, he didn’t want to see or hear or even think. He just wanted to sleep and pretend that he wasn’t spending another night alone, that his heart wasn’t breaking from the pain he couldn’t and wouldn’t define.

  Shit. Is it morning yet?

  Rotating his head, Sam checked the time. One o’clock? Fuck, this was going to be a long-ass night. Either he was going to have to endure listening to another few rounds of his best friends fucking their on-again, off-again girlfriend Kim. Or he was going to have to deal with the fact that she would leave and the two men would be left alone, snuggled in each other’s arms, while he was stuck in his own room—by himself.

  The worst part of it was Sam preferred Kim stay. And that was seriously fucked up. Well, hold on. He didn’t prefer it. That would be like him saying he preferred a stake through the chest to someone sawing him open and pulling his heart out with a pair of pliers. But if she was in there with them, he knew it was about sex and nothing more. His friends liked Kim a lot, and they enjoyed dating her. But they weren’t in love with her any more than she was with them. The three of them were just having fun together. And like a bastard, he was comforted by the knowledge of their lack of love and commitment.

  Only he didn’t know why that mattered so much to him. Whether they were fucking the girl or one of them was planning to marry her shouldn’t be of any importance to Sam. He wasn’t involved with them—not that way. He had no rights to them. And he didn’t want to. Did he?

  No. He didn’t. They weren’t his type. They were manly men, and they were all muscled and hard-as-nails. They weren’t soft and sweet like the women Sam preferred to date. And they had penises between their legs, not pussies. God knew that was a deal breaker for straight men. And he was most definitely straight. Right? After all, he’d never thought about fucking a man in the ass. And by God, he’d never considered getting ass-fucked himself. Hell, he couldn’t even remember a time he’d found a man’s body sexually appealing. That meant he wasn’t into men, which meant he wasn’t into Brett or Ethan. He couldn’t be—even if he wanted to be. Not that he did, of course.

  Sam let loose another drawn-out breath, the whistling sound loud in the noiseless room. He was tired, so damn exhausted from spending one night after another lying here, wishing he was with them and wondering why the hell he cared so much. They were his friends. Key word—friends.

  Like every night, Sam couldn’t fall asleep. He couldn’t relax long enough to sleep, which only amped up his stress levels and in turn, kept him awake even longer.

  Damn it. He groaned. Where’s the Sand Man when you need him? Probably in Barbados rubbing suntan lotion on all the bleach-blonde bikini babes or frolicking in the water with all the buff men wearing nothing but swim trunks—depending on his sexual preference. The traitor.

  Giving up on sleep, Sam threw his covers back and lifted himself from the mattress then slipped on the pair of sweat shorts he kept by his bed. When he heard the snick of the front door shutting, he frowned. Shit. Kim’s gone. And they’re alone.

  Still, Sam headed for the door, cursing up a blue streak when he tripped over his shoe. Then he snuck into the hallway and tiptoed toward the living room, hoping that neither Brett nor Ethan would hear him. If he could just get by Brett’s bedroom, he would be scot free. And he could grab a book from the bookshelf before returning to his bedroom.

  But of course, when he passed Brett’s room, Sam noticed the door was ajar, and he stopped. As he stood in the dim hallway, he debated over whether or not to take a peek inside. Part of him knew better. And the other part of him—the tiny, foreign part that made no sense whatsoever—was desperate. It was desperate to see them, desperate to live vicariously, and pretty much desperate in fucking general.

  Eventually, desperation won out, and Sam peered through the crack in the door. He saw Brett and Ethan lying together in bed, the two of them cuddled close. Occasionally, they leaned in and kissed, some kisses scorching hot while others amazingly tender. They touched, a few fleeting caresses but mostly long, languorous strokes of their masculine hands. And they whispered to each other, sharing smiles between their indiscernible words.

  As Sam spied, he didn’t blink, not even for a second. His eyes burned from the stress, but he continued to stare fixedly at Brett and Ethan. God, he despised himself for his weakness. He resented his unwillingness to leave and his inability to tear his eyes away from them.

  Sam gritted his teeth. He felt like an intruder, an unwanted voyeur. Only he was a hundred times worse than someone sneaking a peak of an unsuspecting couple. No, he was trespassing on a private moment between two men who were obviously loving each other, not merely fucking.

  Sure, they’d obviously been fucking earlier. Sam had heard them. And even if he hadn’t, the whole room screamed Sex! And damn good sex at that. The smell still clung to the air, hanging heavily over Sam. Their naked, sweat-coated bodies had yet to be covered, every inch of their muscled flesh on full display. Their skin was flushed, their chests rising and falling rapidly with obvious exertion. And there was an opened tube of lube lying on the nightstand and ripped condom wrappers on the mattress.

  God. Sam inhaled a groan as his heart clenched, and his dick hardened in his shorts. He didn’t know what was worse—the inexplicable pain in his chest or the throb in his dick. All he knew was that he wanted to barge in that room. Then he wanted to crawl between Brett and Ethan. He wanted to beg them to fuck him, to hold him, and to look at him the way they were looking at each other.

  Sam was tired—tired of being on the outside looking in and tired of pretending not to notice the things they stirred inside him on the most basic, primitive level. It was too hard. It was too much work to ignore the attraction he felt, to pretend it didn’t exist at all. Acting? Ignoring? Pretending? Sam’s heart fell to his feet. How long had he been doing this to himself? How long had he been living a lie? He wanted them. He didn’t know when or how or why. But he did.

  And damn it, Sam was tired of walking away. Crawling out of bed and leaving the room after sharing a woman with Brett and Ethan was agonizing, especially when he knew the woman would inevitably slip away like Kim had, and Ethan and Brett would be left alone. Sam wanted to stay. Just once, he wanted to be in there, to see what it was like to bask in the afterglow with Brett and Ethan rather than being alone. He didn’t understand why that was. Frankly, he didn’t want to find out, either. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

  So he might as well chalk it up to the fact that he despised being the brute who got off then disappeared before sunrise. He loathed it. He hated it almost as much as he detested the jealousy and possessiveness that had consumed him the last time they shared a woman. Ethan’s ex-girlfriend, Jessica, had been wild as the wind. And really, she’d been one hell of a lay. But Sam had been ready to pull his cock out of her mouth and walk out the door when she’d screamed, “Mine,” as Ethan came inside her pussy. Even Brett had seemed put off by her possessiveness of Ethan.

  At the time, Sam had figured it was because he wanted a woman to feel that possessive of him. But now, he wasn’t so sure. Now, he was beginning to think he wanted the woman to belong to all of them rather than one of them. Or maybe, he just wanted it to be the three of them. He didn’t really know.

  That confusion was why he allowed his best friends to believe he was involved with Brooklyn, even though they were just friends. True, he’d been interested in her in the beginning. She was gorgeous and smart and had the most beautiful soul. And sure, he’d hoped against hope that she was the one for him. But she wasn’t. A handful of dates and one shitty, sexless night had shown him that. It was sad but true. He couldn’t fuck Brooklyn, or any other woman for that matter, without Brett and Ethan. And after the last time with them, he was beginning to believe he couldn’t
fuck a woman with them, either—unless something big changed, something life-altering like if they actually fell in love with the same woman. No. Stop right there. Don’t you dare think about how right it would feel to have a woman between you, Brett, and Ethan, a woman who loved all of you, not just one of you. And don’t you even consider that she could give you three what you want—a wife and kids. And really, don’t imagine what it would be like if you got to fuck Ethan and Brett, too. No, not fucking happening. None of it. That would be a train wreck waiting to happen. Right? Yeah, uh, right.

  God knew Sam didn’t have performance anxiety. He could get his dick up. That wasn’t the problem. He just couldn’t bring himself to do anything with the damn thing because Brett and Ethan weren’t there with him. He couldn’t see them or share the moment with them. And that made sex nothing more than a bodily function, a physical release that left a hole inside his heart once he was done.

  Sam had always told himself he shared with them because the women found unparalleled pleasure when he did. But that was a lie. He shared for his pleasure. He shared so he could connect with Brett and Ethan. Oh God. How could I be so selfish, such an incomprehensible asshole?

  Frustrated, Sam ran a hand through his hair. This was getting out of hand. He wasn’t gay. Hell, he wasn’t even bi. He’d had plenty of girlfriends, and he’d been attracted to each and every one of them. Men, on the other hand, were a different story. He’d never been with a man. He’d never wanted to. Until now. No, until them.

  Sam swiftly shut down his thoughts. He was treading into dangerous territory. Clearly, something had changed in the past few months. Obviously, something was different since they’d stopped sharing. But he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Or maybe, he didn’t want to.

  No, no, no. I’m being nuts. I’m just lonely. After listening to them going at it with Kim, anyone would feel lonesome. Right? Yeah, that’s what it is. It’s not that I miss sharing women with them. Nope. It’s not that I want to be in the middle of an Ethan and Brett burger. No way. It’s not like I love them as anything more than friends. So, that’s not it. And holy hell, I don’t want to bang those delicious bodies. Not really. I’m confused. I’m mixed up. They’re handy. That has to be it.

  But Sam knew better. He could say what he wanted. He could think what he wanted. But he couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Not after tonight. And he refused to continue to lie to himself like he had been for the past twenty-nine years. The undeniable truth was that in his heart, Brett and Ethan were more than friends. They were his soul mates, the loves of his life. And the rub was he wasn’t theirs.

  Sam couldn’t be their soul mates or the loves of their lives because it was impossible. They didn’t know who he was, not the real man inside, and they didn’t truly know what he wanted out of life or what he yearned for from them. They only knew the lie he’d been living.

  And Sam couldn’t live that lie any longer. He had to find himself, and he couldn’t even begin to do that with Brett and Ethan in his life. He’d been a part of them so long that he’d never be able to separate himself, not when he lived with them and worked with them and spent practically every waking moment with them.

  It had always been Brett, Ethan, and Sam against the world. But Sam couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t do that anymore. He had to go, to get away—away from them, away from Serenity. And he didn’t know whether or not he could ever come back.

  * * * *

  Brett’s booming voice yanked Sam out of his memories and dropped him back into the present. “Is Tate why you left us?” Brett demanded to know as he shifted on the couch cushion beneath him. Sam couldn’t miss how his best friend’s body was tensed, his face tightened, and he appeared to be holding his breath in anticipation of Sam’s answer.

  “No,” Sam snapped. The accusation in Brett’s venomous voice pissed him off. “Tate had nothing to do with me leaving.”

  Brett expelled a lengthy breath, the air hissing like steam escaping a tea kettle. “What a relief,” he mumbled as his body visibly relaxed. Or at least, that was what Sam thought he murmured. He couldn’t tell too well because he apparently wasn’t meant to. Otherwise, Brett would have sounded surer, clearer, and a lot louder.

  Silence swelled over him, Brett, and Ethan. The lack of noise was disturbing, deafening, and it went on far too long.

  When Sam couldn’t take another second of the quiet stillness, he sat back in his chair as casually as he could manage and asked, “So what brings you to Luscious?”

  “You,” Brett replied immediately and without artifice.

  Sam’s heart clenched at the honesty he saw laid bare in Brett’s beautiful espresso-colored eyes. “Me?”

  “Yes,” Ethan agreed. “You.” Vulnerability contorted his friend’s face, and Sam nearly flinched from the sight.

  “Why?” Sam inquired. His one-word responses were starting to annoy him, but there was little he could do. Words weren’t coming easy to his mind, let alone his mouth.

  “Because…” A red hue slashed across Brett’s faultlessly carved cheekbones. “We wanted to see you.”

  Duh. Amusement popped up in Sam’s head. But he didn’t show it outwardly. He thrust it to the back of his mind. “Really?” There he went again with the inane one-word answer. Damn, damn, damn.

  Ethan nodded. “We missed”—he paused briefly then gulped—“your clothes lying around.”

  Sam suspected that wasn’t what Ethan had been about to say. “You missed my clothes?”

  “And that crappy music you play too loud,” Ethan added with a jerky nod.

  Again, Sam asked, “You missed my music?”

  Brett reached out and smacked the back of Ethan’s head. “What birdbrain is trying to say is that we missed you.”

  The most inexplicable emotion sailed through Sam’s veins. He wasn’t sure if it was love, relief, or unadulterated happiness—or a mixture of all three. But he guessed it didn’t really matter.

  Sam swallowed his joy and muttered, “I missed you guys, too.” He felt his face heat. “A lot.”

  Relief flittered across Brett’s face, and he smiled. His grin was infectious. And the next thing Sam knew he was smiling back. “Good.”

  By his side, Ethan didn’t seem to be so sanguine. His face was red. But it could have been from embarrassment, hurt, or maybe even anger. Sam couldn’t tell—until Ethan’s eyes tumbled down to the ground and he whispered, “Why? Why did you leave us? Why didn’t you call us when you were hurt? I thought we were friends.”

  And right then and right there, Sam’s heart shattered.

  Chapter 8

  Ethan hated how his voice broke as he asked the questions that had been plaguing him. But he couldn’t help himself. He had to know. And sitting alone with Sam and Brett in Tate’s living room had seemed like the perfect time. Now Ethan wasn’t so sure. He was beginning to think he should have kept his big mouth shut. A trip to the moon never looked so good.

  Nervously, Ethan glanced at Brett. He hoped for a little reassurance. But he got none. His lover’s face was a mask of pain, which only increased his own. Then he turned his eyes on Sam, hoping he could gauge Sam’s reaction. Yet again, he got nothing. His best friend’s pale complexion and wide eyes gave away nothing—except maybe, his shock. Even then, Ethan wasn’t sure.

  In the end, Ethan tried to fix his faux pas. “Forget it,” he mumbled. “Forget I asked.” But his backpedaling lasted for all of a second before he changed his mind. “No, Sam. Don’t forget. I deserve to know the truth.” Whether it kills me or not.

  Ethan’s throat tightened until he felt as though he were suffocating slowly and painfully. “I want to know what I did”—he had to stop and catch his breath—“or what we did to hurt you. I can’t fix it when I don’t know what happened.”

  Sam gulped noticeably. For a second, Ethan wondered if he was going to deny him. Then he worried that Sam might lie. But he didn’t. Instead, Sam whispered, “It wasn’t you.”

  “Then it was me
?” burst from Brett’s colorless lips.

  Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, it was me.”

  Ethan didn’t like not being able to see Sam’s eyes. They were like windows to his soul, and he loved that soul. He didn’t want to ever be blinded to it. “Look at us, Sam. We want to see you.”

  At once, Sam raised his eyelids. But he didn’t look at Ethan or Brett. He kept his eyes low, his gaze hooded.

  Brett cursed softly. “What do you mean? It was you?”

  Ethan watched Sam lock gazes with Brett. “It was me. Not either of you. I just…I’m going through a hard time.”

  The giant teddy bear that was Brett rushed to say, “Let us go through it with you.”

  But Sam was already shaking his head. “No, you can’t.”

  “Why the hell not?” Ethan wanted to know. “We’ve been through everything else together.”

  They had. Since the day Ethan’s dad moved into the same town as Brett and Sam’s, the three of them had been inseparable. People in the town, including the kids at school, had thought it odd how close they were. And when they’d started sharing out-of-town girlfriends in high school, everyone had thought they’d gone too far with it. People had whispered about them being gay. And they’d gossiped about their perverted ways. But the three of them hadn’t given a shit because they didn’t need those people. They needed each other and their families. And that was it.

  Sam cleared his throat. “There are some things in life you have to do by yourself.” Ethan caught sight of the bitterness, the abject loneliness in Sam’s eyes before he shuttered them again, and his heart ached so profoundly for his best friend that he winced from the pain.