In the enormous, extremely modern kitchen, Tatum headed straight for the freezer instead of making good on his offer to get them all food. He yanked open the door and shoved his face inside, a hard gasp shuddering out of him as the ice-cold air washed over his over-heated skin.
Too much. He wanted Allen too much. Fuck, the taste of his lips, the smell of his cologne, that too-fucking-sexy touch at Tatum’s waist. He’d wanted to slam him against the door, rip those clothes off his gorgeous body, and fuck him until they both collapsed in utter satiation.
He stood with eyes shut tight, letting the frigid air try to cool the raging inferno of lust inside him. God help him, how would he ever manage to control himself?
A tentative, light-fingered touch on Tatum’s shoulder had him jumping and whirling around instantly. Allen stood behind him, eyes soft even as his hands trembled at his sides. As Tatum watched, Allen licked his lips and swallowed hard.
“I may not understand all this,” the smaller man said in a deep, sexy rumble that had Tatum’s balls drawing up tight, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here.” He paused, laughed self-consciously. “I feel like a teenager out on a first date. I don’t know what to do with myself, what I’m supposed to do.”
Tatum melted instantly, but Allen cut him off before he could offer reassurance. “This is all new to me, Tatum. Until last night, I didn’t even think anything like this was even remotely possible. So I’m nervous, and jumpy, and scared as all get-out.” He took a deep breath. “But I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t something I wanted. And right now…” Allen looked down briefly, then speared Tatum with suddenly hot, chocolate-brown eyes.
“Right now, I want you to kiss me the way you kissed her,” he said in a hushed tone. Then he gulped, licked that bottom lip again, and whispered, “Please.”
Tatum pounced.
He mashed their lips together almost violently, shoving both hands through Allen’s thick black hair so he could grip the man’s skull and control the angle of penetration. With deep, sure strokes of his tongue, he explored every inch of that hot mouth, the sweet taste mainlining sugar straight to his bloodstream. Allen whimpered, his trembling fingers threading through Tatum’s belt loops as he sought an anchor.
Tatum groaned, forcing Allen to step backward until he fetched up against the door to the pantry. Tatum used his greater weight to hold Allen captive against the unforgiving hard surface, kissing the man desperately. That Allen responded, kissing him back for all he was worth, just made Tatum that much hotter. Harder.
With both hands, he reached down and took hold of Allen’s muscular thighs. He lifted the smaller man straight up, raising him to a level where Tatum didn’t have to bend so far to reach those sinful lips. Then he slammed their chests together, holding Allen suspended between himself and the door, his feet off the ground. Allen gasped into his mouth, both hands flying up to circle Tatum’s shoulders as he held on for dear life.
Tatum reached up with one hand and pried Allen’s fingers from his collar, kissing him all the while. Then he guided that hand up and out, finally wrapping the other man’s fingers around a convenient hook on the pantry door. It was supposed to hold bags of potatoes or other such ordinary kitchen items. Now it gave his soon-to-be lover an anchor that wouldn’t move. When he had Allen’s fingers firmly in place, he squeezed gently, letting him know Tatum wanted them to stay there. Allen complied with a deep, guttural groan that Tatum swallowed hungrily.
With unencumbered access, Tatum ran his free hand down Allen’s arm, over his chest, and made for the button on his jeans. Allen convulsed in his arms, panting between kisses, obviously reeling from the savagery of Tatum’s assault on his mouth and body. But Tatum couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He needed to do this.
With a growl of imperative male frustration, he ripped the fucking button clean off Allen’s jeans. They both heard the small piece of metal clang on the Italian tile floor, listened to it roll and hitch up against the far counter. With that out of the way, all that was left was his zipper. Tatum yanked it down in one swift motion and reached his hand inside Allen’s shorts.
Allen shouted into Tatum’s mouth as he finally, finally got his hands on that long, thick shaft. Jesus, the man was hung, his cock a perfect handful for a man Tatum’s size. Allen was painfully aroused, dripped pre-cum everywhere, providing Tatum with more than enough lubrication to begin the quick, fast hand-job he’d intended from the start. Allen’s whole body jerked with every hard stroke, his thighs clenching against Tatum’s legs where the taller man held him up. Tatum pulled ruthlessly, holding nothing back, jerking the man in his arms off as if his life depended on it.
Not once did he stop kissing him. Tatum was dizzy, light-headed from lack of air, but he couldn’t bring himself to release those intoxicating lips. He pressed his full weight against the man pinned to the door and growled with pleasure every time Allen jerked in his arms.
When Allen was panting, gasping, mewling, Tatum used his own hips to brace them both and used his other hand to yank his polo shirt up, exposing his abs. He pressed the head of Allen’s cock to his own stomach, tore his lips away, and whispered, “Come.”
Allen detonated.
Fiery blasts of cum decorated Tatum’s belly even as his own orgasm shot molten lava through his veins. He moaned, long and low, his forehead jammed against Allen’s as they both panted and shook with the force of their mutual release. He held onto Allen’s cock while the younger man pulsed and released wave after wave of hot, sticky seed all over Tatum’s body.
When it was over, they were both panting, trembling with the aftermath. At last, Tatum reached up, pulled Allen’s still-tense fingers from the hook over the door, and let the man slide down his body until his feet touched the ground. He stood there, panting, holding them both upright even though every one of his muscles wanted to melt into a puddle on the kitchen floor.
When he could breathe again, Tatum opened his eyes to find Allen watching him with utter shock. Sighing inwardly, Tatum made sure the other man was steady on his feet before taking a step back. If Allen ran now…
But he didn’t. Allen licked his lips, swallowed twice, and whispered, “What about you?”
Tatum couldn’t help a grin as he pointedly looked down. Allen’s gaze followed, eyes widening as he noted the very large, very obvious stain marring the upper left quadrant of Tatum’s khaki-colored shorts. When those gorgeous brown eyes returned to Tatum’s blue ones, he rumbled. “You did that to me.”
Allen whimpered.
Smiling, Tatum kept his eyes fixed on the younger man’s as he slowly, pointedly, lowered his shirt, covering the evidence of Allen’s release while making it very, very clear he had no intention of wiping it off. Allen blinked. Then he shivered.
Tatum took a step back, taking a deep, calming breath. He hadn’t meant to lose control like that, but hearing Allen beg... No way could he have resisted that plea. He watched for signs of fear, of discomfort, but gratifyingly found none. With an inward sigh of relief, Tatum gestured toward the dining room with his chin.
“Go on, join Sid. I’ll bring us some food.”
Allen nodded, eyes still hazy, looking rumpled and just-been-fucked sexy. Tatum quickly turned away before his own libido could get the better of him again.
One loss of control was more than enough for one day.
As he turned to the refrigerator, Tatum stopped and looked Allen straight in the eye. “What just happened…” He paused, noting Allen’s gulp. “That’s who I am. Inside, outside, doesn’t matter. If that’s not what you signed up for, not what you want, then…” He trailed off, closing his eyes briefly, but returned his gaze to the other man’s un-self-consciously. “Then I’m glad I got the chance to meet you, at least. But I won’t stop you if you decide to leave.”
Quickly he turned away again, unable to watch the play of emotions on Allen’s beautiful face. He could not stand to see the man walk away.
But Allen, who was already tur
ning out to be far more than Tatum ever dreamed he could be, surprised him.
“Tatum.”
He stopped, turned, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.
Allen took a deep breath, then very slowly, very pointedly, looked at Tatum’s stomach, where the evidence of his desire was still drying on Tatum’s skin, though now hidden from casual sight by Tatum’s shirt. Then he looked back up, speared Tatum with those hot chocolate eyes of his, and whispered, “I want.”
And he walked away.
Tatum stood in front of the refrigerator, just breathing for a moment. Then he turned to the business of getting the three of them fed.
Chapter 15
If this was what it meant to be wanted by two sexually Dominant people, Allen was all for it.
The three of them were watching TV in the huge living room. The house was gorgeous, a seamless blend of modern architectural finesse and the classic style of an Italian villa. The whole back wall of the living room was a series of sliding glass doors, overlooking an enormous cedar deck with an outdoor kitchen, custom-built covered hot tub, and an unencumbered view of the lake beyond. The interior walls were white stucco, the exposed frame and beams stained a dark chocolate color. Stained-brass, chevron-shaped fixtures held living plants that trailed vines and star-shaped flowers the size of Allen’s hand. The fireplace was made of natural stone blocks, obviously hand-fitted by size and shape, and featured an enormous flat-screen TV over the mantle. High-tech speakers had been cleverly hidden in sheltered notches near the ceiling, providing modern sound enhancement without detracting from the overall décor. It was beautiful, stunning, a true marvel of interior and architectural design.
Allen could definitely come to love this place.
But that wasn’t the half of what he was coming to love. The man and woman who were quickly overtaking his entire world were climbing that slope with staggering ease. Which was amazing, when he started considering how little he actually knew about them. Sidri, he knew mostly from work and the few social encounters they’d had over the last couple of years. Tatum, he’d only spoken to via phone or e-mail. Sure, they’d had dozens of conversations over the years, and he had heard tons of stories about both of them. But he’d never had the opportunity to simply hang out with them, never gotten the chance to just talk to them. And he’d never had the experience of seeing them together—or seeing how they interacted with someone like Allen.
Allen smiled, laughing at himself silently. He honestly hadn’t known what to expect, what it would be like to be the sole focus of two über-Alpha individuals. He’d had brief, uncomfortable visions of being totally controlled, of having every thought and action dictated for him. Eat this, go here, do that—no decision left to himself. The thought had made him instinctively shy away. He’d fought hard for his personal freedom, after all.
Fortunately, those half-formed fears couldn’t be further from the truth. With the two of them watching over him, taking care of him, he could almost begin to feel…cherished. Respected. Desired.
Loved.
He shivered, and Sidri caressed his biceps without looking over at him. She was curled on the couch like a contented cat, watching reruns of her favorite show, The West Wing. He glanced over at Tatum, who sat in the easy chair closest to the arm of the couch Allen rested against, and received a small smile. Allen grinned, sighing with pleasure.
They were nothing like he expected. In the grand scheme of things, what they did for him didn’t appear to add up to much. But for Allen, it was a revelation of how wonderful his future could be.
Small things. Simple things. Like when Tatum brought them food earlier. He’d heaped two plates with Asian delicacies, setting them on the table with a wink and a flourish, before retrieving the plate he’d made for himself. Allen’s mouth had watered as he discovered Orange Beef, Kung Pao Chicken, and Happy Family vegetable medley. Then he had noticed that all the beans and sprouts had been removed from his portion—he’d glanced at Sidri and Tatum’s plates, just to be sure. Apparently, Sidri had told Tatum how much Allen hated beans and sprouts, and the big man had taken it upon himself to pick them out, one by one, before serving Allen his plate. It was such a small thing, such a simple gesture. But it rocked Allen to the core.
There were other things. Like when they settled in front of the TV after eating and talking for a good two hours. Tatum had snapped up the remote, earning a death-glare from Sidri, which he answered with a self-satisfied smirk. He’d flipped through the channels, obviously looking for something in particular, and eventually settled on one of Allen’s favorite guilty pleasures—a BBC crime drama. Allen knew—again, via Sidri—that Tatum absolutely detested crime dramas unless they featured lots of hot chicks wearing very little. He would never voluntarily watch one. Yet he’d stopped on the show without a single sign of discomfort, settling into his chair with a contented sigh.
Throat tight, Allen had snatched up the remote after the episode ended, quickly locating a sports show he knew both he and Tatum liked. The big man grinned appreciatively, and soon all three of them were arguing with the commentators and heaping ridicule on each other’s favorite players. With the Super Bowl happening tomorrow, everyone was focused on whose quarterback would make the most plays, which defenders would make the most sacks. It tickled him, listening to Sidri detail each player’s stats and list her ideas on how different plays should be run. That she obviously loved football just as much as her men made him love her that much more.
After sports, it was Sidri’s turn to hog the remote, a fact both men argued against vociferously. Grinning, she’d flipped through the channels, stopping on every chick-flick she found just to hear them groan. When she finally settled on The West Wing, he and Tatum quieted, content to let her have her way for now.
It was fun. Easy. Relaxed. Except for the thick undercurrent of constant, evolving sexual tension, he could almost believe they were just old college buddies, hanging out.
But that sexual tension was always there, under the surface.
When he’d returned from the kitchen, lips swollen and swimming in a haze of lust and anticipation, Sidri had taken one look at his rumpled state and said, “Damn, I wish I could have watched that.”
He’d blushed profusely and mumbled something about changing clothes—with his jeans’ button now lost somewhere on the kitchen floor, his pants were riding disconcertingly low. But Sidri and Tatum, who had just walked into the room carrying three Cokes, both instantly forbid him from doing any such thing.
“You’re so fucking sexy right now,” Tatum had breathed as Sidri nodded appreciatively. Both pairs of eyes were fastened to his waistline, where the now-zipped jeans still gaped at the top.
Sidri licked her lips, looked up at him through her lashes. “I want you to wear those jeans the whole time we’re here. Understand?”
A blush heated his ears as both of them voiced their approval of the idea, closing the subject as far as they were concerned. So Allen had been forced to wear the evidence of Tatum’s inability to wait to get his hands on Allen’s cock, the evidence of the man’s sheer brute strength. And every time he stood up, sat down, or simply walked across the room, his jeans, which were now loose enough to slip down to the points of his hips, rubbed against his hard-on.
The sun had long since set, the outside lights highlighting the exterior landscaping beautifully. Allen heaved a contented sigh, even as anticipation started rumbling through his body. He had no idea what they planned for tonight. But if the events of last night and today were any indication, he was going to love every minute of it.
When the show finally ended, Tatum stood up, flipped off the TV, and approached Allen’s place on the couch. He swallowed, seeing all that hard, virile male muscle angling toward him, but didn’t even consider moving away. Arousal, nervous energy, and sheer, unfettered lust skittered through his veins as he waited to see what came next.
Tatum stopped, inches away, towering over Allen and Sidri where they reclined together on t
he couch. His warm, electric-blue eyes held Allen captive, breathless. The man was gorgeous, fucking stunning, all hard muscle and burning charisma. Allen remembered—vividly—being held captive against the pantry door, being manhandled into whatever position Tatum saw fit. It was heady, liberating, to feel so wanted, so desired. After literally feeling how much sheer physical power Tatum possessed—and feeling him fight to control that power so that Allen wouldn’t become frightened by it—he knew, down to his marrow, that this man cared for him, wanted him, would never, ever do anything to harm him.
Breath hitching in his throat, Allen waited. Tatum watched him, eyes burning with lust and need, but didn’t move for a long, tense moment. Then he slowly, slowly, held out a hand, and waited for Allen to take it.
That rocked him. Tatum, so big and so strong and so very, very male, was standing there, trembling slightly, waiting to see if Allen would accept his invitation—or offer rejection.
Never. Not after what he’d seen, what he’d felt, being held in this man’s arms. Allen reached out, took Tatum’s hand, and allowed himself to be drawn to his feet.
Tatum smiled that knee-melting smile of his, laced their fingers together, and held his other hand out for Sidri. She ignored it, of course. Instead, she rose sinuously to her feet, jumped up, and wrapped her arms and legs around the huge man like a baby koala hitching a ride. Tatum laughed, wrapped his free arm around her waist, shot Allen one smoldering look, and led the three of them to the bedroom.
Allen was burning and freezing by turns. He had no idea what to expect, what Tatum would demand of him. All he knew was that he wanted it, here and now, in any way his two lovers saw fit to give it to him.
The bedroom door stood open. Tatum ushered them inside then closed it with a quiet click. Allen was trembling now, unable to catch a full breath. Sidri slid down Tatum’s body and approached him. She cupped his face with both hands, her thumbs stroking his jaw reassuringly. A breath away from his lips, she whispered, “Remember, nothing you’re not ready for.”
Demons Within [For Love of Authority] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) Page 16
