“You wanna know what’s really turning me on right now?” he growled as his fingers started working lube in and out of Allen’s ass.
“What?” he panted, amazed he could still find his voice.
Tatum rested his chin on Allen’s shoulder, those sinful lips inches from his ear. “You have Sidri’s cum on your cock, and my cum in your ass.” He laughed, a sexy rumble that rocked Allen’s body beneath him. “You’ve been claimed, baby. From both sides. Inside, and out. You’re ours, now. We’ll be putting that tattoo on your chest as soon as humanly possible.”
“God, yes,” Allen moaned. His cock was a solid steel bar, trapped between his stomach and the pillow beneath his hips, his body vibrating uncontrollably. “I want it.”
Tatum’s weight pushed him into the mattress, holding him captive. “What do you want, baby?” he purred. The tip of his glorious erection kissed Allen’s ring, and he started pushing inside with insistent downward pressure. “Tell me what it will say. Over your heart. Tell me what it means.”
Allen couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The stretch of Tatum’s cock breaching his entrance, the burn mixed with just a breath of pain that immediately morphed into something exquisitely addictive, had his mind spinning in a thousand different directions.
“Tell me what it says,” Tatum snarled, clamping one big hand around Allen’s throat, the other braced on his hip.
“Owned,” Allen panted. God, the stretch, the burn, the possession…
“And what does it mean?” Tatum whispered, his voice rough and heavy with lust.
“Y-yours,” he gasped, just as Tatum’s cock broke through his resistance, just as he toppled all Allen’s barriers, inside and out. “Yours. Always yours. Only yours.”
“Perfect,” Tatum said breathily. He rested across Allen’s body like a living, breathing, scorching hot brick. A sexy brick. Allen whimpered as Tatum licked behind his ear. “Am I hurting you?” That deep voice rumbled seriously.
Allen pressed his face against his arms, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to fly apart. “N-no,” he moaned, unable to catch a full breath. “It feels so good…when you push inside me…I didn’t know anything could feel that good…Ugh…” He lost the ability to form words.
Tatum chuckled, the sound vibrating through Allen’s body to settle in his rock-hard cock. “Good. I would never hurt you, Allen. Never.”
Allen nodded, overcome. Tatum rested his weight on his elbows, those huge, powerful arms encircling and surrounding him. He slid his forearms forward, underneath Allen’s chest, and covered Allen’s clenched fists with both hands.
He laced their fingers together, enwrapping Allen’s entire body with his own, and started to thrust.
Allen grunted with every inward push, moaned with every outward glide. Tatum wasn’t just inside his body, wasn’t just fucking his ass. He was pushing his way deeper and deeper into Allen’s soul. The pleasure, the bliss that radiated from Allen’s sweet spot out through his entire fucking universe was just a perk. What he really needed, what he really desired, was to be possessed, body and soul.
And this man knew just how to possess him.
With powerful, sure strokes of his hips, Tatum claimed him. The way he ignored Allen’s cries, ignored his pleas to go faster or slower, underscored the fact he was fucking Allen for his own pleasure, using his body to secure his own orgasm. Once upon a time, the word “used” had meant something sinister, implying an unfeeling, thoughtless act. Now Allen knew the truth, knew that Tatum used Allen’s body to slake his lust because he couldn’t satiate himself any other way.
He needed Allen just as much as Allen needed him. And because Allen understood that, because he could feel it with every touch of Tatum’s hands, every penetration of his huge cock, Allen could give him everything.
As he had the night before, Tatum rode him relentlessly. Without Sidri there beneath them, keeping Allen’s cock occupied, he had nothing to focus on but the burn and pull of Tatum’s cock in his ass. He felt every stroke, so long and so deep. What started as little sparkles of bliss turned into jolting bolts of lightning, shooting overwhelming pleasure to every corner of his body. He was gasping, crying, sobbing, mumbling incoherent praise, begging Tatum to fuck him, claim him, own him…
He was right on the edge of a profound, life-altering orgasm, when Tatum suddenly pulled out and sat up.
“No!” Allen whimpered, flailing his arms, trying to bring Tatum back on top of him to finish what he started. But the big man only chuckled, circled Allen’s hips once again, and flipped him back on his back, this time with his ass perched on the pillow that had supported his hips. God, the man was so fucking strong. Some part of Allen’s brain whispered that Tatum kept manhandling him on purpose, making it clear that Tatum was the one in control. It made his head spin even as his cock begged for release.
With one hand on each of Allen’s thighs, braced beneath his knees, Tatum spread him open wide. He tucked his cock against Allen’s quivering entrance, and shoved himself inside to the hilt in one long thrust. Allen convulsed, back bowing off the bed, feeling that penetration all the way down to his toes. Of their own accord, his hands reached up for the headboard, searching for an anchor even while acknowledging that the position provided his lover unobstructed access to his body. Tatum rumbled his approval even as he began fucking in earnest, powering in and out of Allen’s body with long, hard thrusts.
Allen managed to open his eyes, desperately wanting to watch Tatum fuck him. The big man kept his gaze locked on the joining of their bodies, his expression intent and burning with lust. He was doing it again—making sure Allen understood that his body was Tatum’s, to do with as he wished, fucking him for his own pleasure. The thought sent jets of pure ecstasy winging through his veins. Allen released the headboard and reached for his cock.
Tatum moved faster than a striking cobra. Before Allen could fully process what was happening, Tatum had him pinned, those big hands wrapped around both of Allen’s wrists and holding him down effortlessly even as his hips continued to move.
Allen closed his eyes, moaning, and licked his lips. “Damn you, let me touch my cock,” he grated between pants.
“No,” Tatum growled. Allen opened his eyes and found Tatum’s hard blue gaze fixed on his face. “You belong to us, Allen. Your pleasure belongs to us. Your body belongs to us. And that means your cock belongs to us.” His fingers tightened around Allen’s wrists, his thrusts speeding to epic levels. “And you need permission to touch what belongs to us,” he finished in a hot, sexy growl.
Allen’s mouth fell open in shock. Then his eyes rolled back in his head. Pinned to the bed by Tatum’s greater weight, having no choice but to let Tatum fuck him, hard and fast, sent him spiraling back to that place he’d discovered last night, the deep inner well of pure bliss where he floated in ecstasy. He would do anything, be anything, so long as Tatum and Sidri kept bringing him here, forcing him to accept the pleasure they gave him.
And Tatum wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t let him have even a moment to catch his breath. Hips working overtime, he slammed into Allen over and over again, riding him for all he was worth. Allen was so far gone, words like pleasure and ecstasy didn’t even factor into it. There was no description strong enough, no adjective powerful enough, to describe the sensations powering through his body. He lay there, poised on the edge of an orgasm so intense, so shattering, it might very well kill him.
But what a way to go.
And then Tatum did something Allen would remember for the rest of his life. Forget getting fucked solo by a man for the first time. Forget sexual submission. When Tatum switched his hold from Allen’s wrists to his hands, lacing their fingers together, still holding him captive but now really, truly holding him…
Allen’s heart burst. Just burst.
“I–I–I love you,” he whispered brokenly, staring up into Tatum’s face with earnest, overwhelmed eyes.
Tatum’s hips hitched, his mouth falling open. Then h
e lay down on top of Allen, pressing him full length into the mattress, buried his face in Allen’s hair and whispered, “I love you. So much.”
They came together, Tatum bathing Allen’s chute with burning jets of seed, Allen decorating both their stomachs with hot, sticky strings of cum. And they lay there, shuddering, holding each other, for a long, long time afterward.
Almost two weeks later, Allen could still feel the big man shuddering on top of him, still hear the hitch in his breathing as he whispered those fateful words. There was nothing in Allen’s life that meant more to him than that moment—the only thing that matched it was when Allen said those words to Sidri. Which he had, that same day, the moment she walked in the door with a grocery bag in each hand. Allen had walked up to her, cupped her jaw, and whispered, “I love you, Sidri.” Her eyes had widened, her mouth dropping open in utter shock—then she attacked him, kissing him so forcefully he lost his balance and they went tumbling ass over appetite, right over the back of the couch. He had laid on the floor, laughing, as she showered his face with kisses liberally laced with words of devotion, of everlasting love. When she had finally let him get to his feet, he’d stood with his arms around her waist, his face buried against her hair while she held him. He and Tatum had exchanged looks over her head, and Allen could do nothing but repeat his vow again, to both of them.
And he meant it. He loved them. Both of them. Equally, and without qualification. And somehow, someway, Allen had been lucky enough to earn their love in return. His life would never be the same.
Chest tight, he looked over at Tatum to find the big man watching him, as if he knew what thoughts were spiraling through his mind. Slowly, deliberately, Tatum wrapped his arm, the one that had been acting as Allen’s pillow, around his shoulders and drew him close. Tatum kissed him, gently, sweetly, promising the world. When he drew back, Allen was near tears. He looked across the deck, only to find Sidri watching them with tears in her eyes. She smiled, blew them a kiss, and returned to her grilling. Allen grinned, swallowing hard, and settled back against Tatum’s side.
The last two weeks had been perfect. Heaven on earth. He only hoped that, when they got back to the real world, things would stay the same. And that the sex would continue blowing his mind.
Speaking of blowing…
“Can I ask you something?” he inquired of Tatum, his voice unsteady with the force of the emotions running through him.
Tatum smiled, his blue eyes sparkling with lust and love. He squeezed Allen’s shoulder, pressed a kiss to his temple. “Of course, baby. Anything.”
Allen cleared his throat, glanced at Sidri to see if she was close enough to hear. Then again, it didn’t really matter if she heard. She owned Allen’s soul, just as Tatum did. She had a right to hear anything he said, any time he said it. There were no barriers between them anymore.
Taking a deep breath, Allen blurted out, “How come you’ve never asked me to suck your cock?”
Chapter 18
Tatum, who had been caught in the act of taking a swallow of Coke, nearly choked to death as Allen’s question hit him right in the solar plexus. He sputtered, coughing, trying to get the damn bubbly liquid out of his lungs. Allen pounded on his back, grinning like a loon.
“Jesus, Allen.” He coughed. “Warn a guy.”
A too-fucking-cute smile lit his face as he chuckled. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to what you were doing. Next time I’ll wait until after you’ve swallowed before I drop a bomb like that.”
Tatum’s shoulders heaved as he sucked in air. When he was sure he wouldn’t start coughing again, he sat back against the edge of the hot tub and studied his lover seriously. This was dangerous territory—not for Tatum, but for Allen. The younger man didn’t realize how easily he and Sidri could read him sometimes, how much of his inner turmoil he gave away. There were a lot of things they still didn’t know about him—things they were looking forward to learning, demons they hoped to help him fight—but it needed to be Allen’s decision to let them in. Let them help. If he thought, for even a moment, that they were trying to manipulate him, he’d be gone so fast they wouldn’t even see him leave.
Tatum flashed Sidri a look, letting her know she would be needed soon. She gave him a brief nod, started gathering up her cooking implements. She’d join them in the hot tub as soon as she could.
It was easier for Allen to fight his demons when both of them were present. They’d found that out the hard way. It still tore something in Tatum’s gut whenever he thought about it. It had been his fault, after all. His stupid insecurities that set the whole thing off like a goddamned cherry bomb.
You would think he’d know better. Allen had claimed him, called him “Mine,” told him in no uncertain terms that Tatum would sleep with them, period. He should have listened, should have trusted the younger man. Especially after the events that took place the next morning—fucking Allen solo, the exchange of the words “I love you.” But Tatum had been dealing with his own issues for so long, it was almost habit to assume he wasn’t wanted, wasn’t needed, unless sex was part of the equation.
Allen taught them all differently.
It was the third night. Tatum woke to pitch-blackness, suddenly convinced that if he didn’t leave the room, if he was still in bed with them at dawn, Allen would look at him with disgust instead of love. Tatum still had no idea where the thought came from, why he’d woken so convinced he needed to leave. But the urge had been so strong, he’d heeded it before his half-asleep brain really processed what was going on.
An hour later, he was lying on top of the covers in the bedroom across the hall, wondering if he was a fool, if he’d let a bad dream of previous rejections taint his time with Allen. He had half convinced himself to go back to bed, crawl back under the sheets and wrap himself around Allen the way he had been before he woke so convinced he needed to go, when a strangled cry echoed down the hall. Tatum was up like a shot, running down the hallway naked, and burst through the door to find a living nightmare in progress.
Sidri was desperately trying to wake Allen up. The beautiful man was tangled in the sheets, thrashing wildly, tears streaking his cheeks as broken screams pulled from his throat. He was still asleep—that was the terrifying part, that he was doing all this, making all this noise, yet still so obviously out cold. Sidri shot him a helpless look, unable to control Allen’s thrashing limbs, practically crying herself as she tried to calm their lover. Tatum, heart pounding, had dived onto the bed, wrapped Allen in a bear hug, and held him motionless. Allen continued to thrash, throwing his head back, his gurgling screams so pathetic and pained it made Tatum’s heart break a thousand times over. Even with Tatum’s much-greater strength holding him, he still fought, still shook. It wasn’t until Sidri wrapped herself around his other side, until she and Tatum had Allen cradled between them, that he finally calmed.
Allen’s eyes popped open, but they weren’t seeing Tatum and Sidri. Not really. He was still in his dream, still sound asleep. But eventually the sense returned to his eyes, and he sagged between them with a heartbreaking moan.
They held him while he cried for over two hours. When Tatum shot Sidri a heartbroken look, she bit her lip, wiping tears from her own cheeks.
“I got up to go to the bathroom,” she whispered brokenly. “He was only alone for a moment.”
The words hit Tatum’s heart like a shot to the chest. This was his fault. If he’d been in bed—where Allen had so pointedly told him he belonged—Allen wouldn’t have been alone. Heart heavy as a lead balloon, Tatum clutched Allen to him and held on tight for the rest of the night.
Sidri told him the next day, about the nightmare Allen had had their first night together. He remembered, of course—remembered her suddenly saying she had to go, that she thought Allen needed her. But neither one of them had realized that the reason he had the nightmare, the reason he slipped into it in the first place, was because he’d been left alone in bed. He hadn’t had one last night, or the night before,
when they’d been wrapped around him like puppies in a litter.
Only when he’d been left alone had the demons risen to the surface.
They were already in love with the man, already dependent on his presence in their lives. But to realize that Allen needed them so much, even while he slept, rocked both of them to the very bottom of their foundations.
They made a pact between them, a solemn oath, of which Allen knew nothing but which both of them were determined to honor as long as he welcomed their presence in his life. Allen would not be left alone, for any reason, period. And they would do everything in their power to make certain no nightmares ever troubled his sleep again.
Tatum suspected, as did Sidri, that the cause of some of those nightmares lay with the sexual demons that simmered just below Allen’s conscious mind. And one of those demons was about to be drawn out, by Allen’s invitation.
They were going to help him face it, together, no matter what.
Tatum cleared his throat, looked over to find Allen watching him carefully. He realized he’d been silent for a while, too silent. The younger man was starting to squirm, obviously wondering if he’d touched on some taboo, a subject he didn’t have permission to breach. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Tatum gave him a smile to let him know everything was fine, then shifted around the edge of the hot tub until he found the bench he sought. The tub was custom-designed, meant for lovers. There was a particular bench that had a double seat, where Allen could recline in Tatum’s arms without either of them experiencing discomfort. He made for it now, held out his arms in invitation.
“Come here, baby.”
Demons Within [For Love of Authority] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) Page 20
