by Anthology
“Tyler.” I took both his hands in mine, standing before him, nude and ragged. “My orgasm is my issue. It’s not a new issue.”
“Huh?”
“My best friend is a sex toy party hostess. I have every device in the world to try to get off. It’s...me. It’s something I have to deal with. It’s part of the legacy of the rape, I guess.” I felt my mind start to tear away from the moment, like a balloon string you let go of for a second, then grab just before it’s out of reach.
Tyler’s warm hands on my shoulders anchored me.
“So you’ve tried.”
I shot him a look. “Wouldn’t you?”
He snorted. “I’m a guy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His face clouded with confusion. “Good point. I just mean I don’t have a problem coming. I can make myself come by brushing up against the cantaloupe stand at the grocery store.”
“I think Lena knows that trick, too.”
“Are we going to talk about cantaloupes and pansexuals, or are you going to let me make love to you for that second time?” he asked, kissing me deeply, his mouth urgent and his cock hard and throbbing against my hip as he pressed against me.
“Already?” I wrapped my hand around his shaft. Oh, yeah. Already.
“I’m twenty-three, Maggie. I’m ready about thirty seconds after I come.”
“A perk of dating a younger man.”
“Is that what this is? Dating?”
“What would you call it?”
“I don’t need a word for it,” he said, pulling me down on the bed on top of him, his fingers finding my swollen clit and touching them with a slow, slippery movement that made my core clench and my mind splinter. He rolled me onto my back and spread my wet legs slowly, his mouth headed down as his hands caressed my legs.
“Let me try,” he whispered against my knee. “Let me enjoy giving as much to you as you’ve given to me, Maggie. There’s something about giving to you that opens up a part of me that feels more whole.”
Well. When he put it that way...
And then his mouth was on me, teasing and soft, his lips and tongue so giving. The wine had loosened me up, but so had life. We were past the awkward (though compassionate) sex at the campground, had just plowed through a horny romp. Now that I knew Tyler’s feelings about my climax, it seemed I was a different kind of project.
I could get behind the Let’s Make Maggie Have an Orgasm project.
And yet, as his mouth made parts of me clench and pulse, my hands twisting the sheets as I lifted my hips to be closer to that magic tongue, I also didn’t want sex to be about a goal. Whatever thin shred of organized thought was left in me fixated on this as Tyler’s talents were being put to incredible use on the soft, sensitive skin between my legs, but I didn’t want to feel pressure to come.
I just wanted to feel pleasure.
His tongue teased layer after layer from my willing body, my hands uncertain. I finally threaded my fingers through his short hair as he gave, moving with me and stroking with tenderness and thought. The moment was so bare and intimate. So much about giving and accepting. Blood pounded through me, my skin flush with the heat of the bath and the fevered touch of his mouth and hands on my body.
My fingers tightened, then I moved my hands to his shoulders, pulling my legs up and feeling the scratch of his beard against my inner thighs, the sensation so alluring it made me blossom, unfolding before him, baring myself emotionally as well as physically in ways that were uncharted territory. His tongue moved with erotic precision and yet his hands roamed over me like a man spellbound. Bewitched. He wasn’t just on a mission to make me come.
He was on a journey to come with me.
My breath hitched and a wave of pure lust washed over me, making my legs quiver and my mind move as he rode with me, following my gasps and writhing, the soft interplay between my body’s instincts and his need to give growing stronger as the intensity of what Tyler gave spiraled ever higher.
I knew the wall was there. Could sense it before I even came close to it. That barricade was erected seven years ago, made of pain and vulnerability, of attack and violation. This time, though, it was weaker. It wavered. It simmered like a mirage, and as I moved my hands to each side of me, desperately pawing for something to grab as Tyler’s touch drove me to crest, the wall moved.
It...folded, fading to nothing at the exact moment I cried out his name and tipped over into a nothingness that was pure energy and sultry release.
“Oh, my God,” I rasped. “I’m...oh, Tyler!” I began to shake from within, a vibration without origin, a feeling of deep frequency that felt like I was a stone thrown into a pond, my skin and bones the ripples on the water, my pleasure riding out in concentric circles as Tyler made love to my body with a deep determination and a soulful need to make my orgasm a reality, as if he’d conjured it by sheer will alone.
And he had.
We had.
Pulsing with the extraordinary, feral climax, I groaned and moaned, twitched and twisted, the sensation too much to be contained in my body, crying out from my throat. I shattered over and over, as if all the porcelain and glass people had thought I was made of, needed to be broken by this ecstasy.
Tyler rose, breaking his mouth’s touch, and crawled up my body, giving me a kiss filled with my own taste. I reached for the condom I’d placed, this time, on the nightstand, and quickly dispensed with the ritual.
He moved me, gently, so that he rested on his back, then reached for one of my legs, pulling me on top.
“You’re in control,” he whispered, my hand guiding him in me, the feeling exquisite after the enigmatic emptiness of my orgasm. “You.” His eyes traced my body, the moon peeking in and shrouding us in a grey glow that gave an ethereal feel to the moment. I was transcendent, a goddess, and Tyler made me feel like we were the only people in the world.
We were.
Instinct drove me to move against him, my thighs still shaking from his ministrations moments ago, his hands on my hips, urging me through a rhythm. His hands reached up, cupping my breasts, and I leaned over him, now moving faster, feeling the deep clench of muscles that came from that core where I’d been vibrating earlier.
“What is this?” I hissed in his ear, my hair dragging over his shoulder and neck.
He missed me, open-mouthed and with a groan, the kiss of a man about to lose control. “Whatever it is, go with it. Lose yourself in it. I’m right here. You can grab me when you fall.”
“When I fall?” Those were the last words I could say or think as I did, indeed, fall. Floating in a space where my body and his stopped having boundaries, where our hearts no longer beat separately, where skin brushed against skin and it felt so good, so hot, so uncontrolled and frantic that I soon lost my words once more, finding solace in his breath, his cries, his taut athleticism and a rhythm that carried us through our separate climaxes, the joint push of so much want turning into something sweeter than love.
Hours passed.
Maybe just minutes.
My breath came into focus first, then the brush of hair on his chest against my cheek, my eyes opening, lashes fluttering against his ribs. I’d gone completely limp, crashing into his body with the abandon of someone who...well, who falls.
He stroked my hair and whispered, “You okay?”
I laughed. “Better than okay.”
His palm cradled the back of my neck, moving down to follow the lines of my ribs, my torso. “I don’t even have to ask my other question.”
I lifted my head and moved up his body to taste him with a kiss that made arousal stir in me once more. “No. You don’t.” He took a kiss and brushed my mussed hair away from my damp cheek. We were enshrined in sweat, the air redolent with sex and fun.
“Good.” his single word rang out like a victory cry.
He reached over to the bedside and casually poured a glass of wine, handing it to me as I sat up. The other glass was across the room and h
e shook the bottle, peering at it with one eye.
And then he took the bottle and held it up to me.
“A toast.”
“To...?”
“To breaking down walls,” he said.
I dinged my glass against the bottle. We finished our respective wine in a few gulps, then set the glass and bottle on the nightstand. I had to lean over him and as he pivoted, he took my overhanging breast in his mouth, the cold from the wine lingering on his tongue.
I yelped.
He laughed.
We both sighed.
“That was amazing,” I said, over him and peering into his eyes.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” My body had lost its normal tension. I was loose and free, and as I bent down for another kiss, I realized:
I was ready for more.
I reached down and found him wearing the condom.
“Let me take care of that,” he announced, moving me off him and striding to the bathroom. I stretched, blood pouring into muscles that seemed to accept it faster. Sex—my orgasms—had changed my body.
For the good.
I heard the toilet flush. Then the water faucet. Then Tyler, humming one of the band’s songs.
By the time he came back, I had taken up the whole bed.
“Room for me in there?” he joked.
“How about round three?”
His eyebrows flew up and his smile turned seductive. “Again? Already?”
“Didn’t you say you could go again thirty seconds later?”
“Yeah, but...”
I looked at his cock, which stirred in return.
He looked down. “Huh. I guess I was telling the truth.”
“You guess?”
He bit his lower lip and looked up at me under his lashes. “I was pretty sure.”
I threw a pillow at him and said, “But we have a problem.”
“What?”
“We’re out of condoms.”
“You’re serious,” he choked out. “Now?”
“Now.”
Tyler
When a woman makes an offer like that, you jump. I had my pants on and room key in my hand before Maggie could finish her sentence. I was the king of the world, man.
I’d made her come. She’d let me.
And she was asking me to do it again.
I knocked on Trevor’s door. He answered.
Completely naked and high as a kite.
And wearing a “Service, Please” door tag on his very erect cock.
“Hey! It’s Frown! Frown!” before I could step back, he had me in a hug. I could feel how excited he was.
Very excited.
I jumped back as fast as I could.
“Dude.”
“What’s up?”
“Your cock.”
He looked down and laughed. “Hah! Yeah. That was Darla’s idea.”
“Who’s there?” she shouted from the darkened room.
And then:
Bawk bawk bawk
“Is that...a chicken?” I asked. I shouldn’t have asked. I really shouldn’t.
“Mavis is in here,” Trevor explained.
“She’s...what?”
“You here to party with the three of us?”
“No. No.”
“Then what?”
“You got any condoms?”
He reached out for another hug, I didn’t need to feel his sword again.
A blue box came flying through the air, nearly clipping my head. It bounced against the wall behind me in the hallway. A twelve pack, unopened.
“You and Maggie have fun!” Darla shouted from behind Trevor.
“Did you save enough for us?” Trev pouted, spinning around, the hang tag flying like a little petticoat. I tried so hard not to look, really I did, but the fluttering of that ridiculous white tag drew my eye when he spun around.
“Yep, Got three boxes like that.” Her voice was suggestive and Trevor just sighed.
“I fucking love you.”
He slammed the door in my face.
I bent down, got the box, and raced back to Maggie.
Who was sound asleep in the bed, a smile gracing her lovely lips, her body slack with sleep and, I hoped, the joy of sex.
I looked at the clock. Just past midnight.
I got naked again, pulled the covers off the second double bed, and climbed in with her, snuggling up.
We had all night, a twelve pack of condoms—
and the rest of our lives.
The End
Want more?
There are FIVE other full-length books about the band!
Learn more about the Random series here:
Random Acts of Crazy—FREE! A New York Times bestseller
Random Acts of Trust
Random Acts of Fantasy
Random Acts of Hope
Random Acts of Love
About Julia Kent
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
She loves to hear from her readers by email at [email protected], on Twitter @jkentauthor, on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor. Visit her website at http://jkentauthor.com
Unconventional
Avery Aster
Unconventional
by Avery Aster
From the NYT Bestselling author of The Manhattanites series and for fans of such films as Vicky Cristina Barcelona and Wild Things comes a ménage romance posing the question; can two men share the same woman forever?
They are the best of friends and the greatest of lovers. Two men and one woman, searching for fortune and fame, bound together by an eroticism their money and power can’t buy them. Luigi, the romantic alpha hunk. Rocco, the exotic bisexual. Jemma, the insatiable beauty who possesses them both.
From their first rendezvous in Milan, the three set out on a wicked course, jet-setting from the kinky underground sex clubs of Berlin, to the lavish palaces of Moscow, to New York’s high society in pursuit of pleasure. They have only each other to care for. That is…until a baby comes along and changes their destiny. But which of them is the father? And will they continue their poly relationship or give in to convention?
Hold Up. Not So Fast!
Reader Warning
Often while reading Avery Aster’s books, readers have been known to experience hot flashes, orgasms, and laughter to the point of peeing in their pants.
It’s suggested that you have a bucket of ice nearby, along with a chilled glass of champagne and your favorite sex toy—fully charged—before reading this story.
Please note that Avery’s writing is not suitable for prudes, slut-shamers, or uptight readers who don’t have a sense of humor about money, sex, or fame. Avery’s books are not intended for anyone under the age of 18.
Have fun!
Praise for Avery Aster…
“If you enjoy witty erotic romances by such authors as Alice Clayton and Tara Sivec then you’ll most likely devour Avery Aster!”—The Kindle Reader
“Never did I think I could love an author as much as Avery Aster. The Manhattanites are obscenely fabulous.” —Book Boyfriend
“The most original series I've ever read. The Manhattanites is expertly crafted like diving into a soap opera.” —Miss Construed
“A throwback to Judith Krantz, Avery’s writing is salacious glitz, drama and glamour.” —Talk Supe
“I took a cold shower after reading Unscrupulous.” —Books Are Love
“Avery's voice is fresh and witty. Something not found in the market.” —Same Book, Different Review
“Plotted like Jackie Collins, the bitches are super-bitches but underneath their tough exterior is a good heart.” —I Love Romantic Fiction
“Sex and t
he City on steroids but younger and sexier, Avery Aster equates to fun erotic romance.” —Ever After Romance
“The Manhattanites live an extravagant lifestyle. I want to be a part of it.” —Blissful Books
“The shock value is high and hot flash-inducing. Trust me, I've suffered a few.” —Ripe For Reader
Connect with Avery
Newsletter http://eepurl.com/CQ665
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Website: http://www.AveryAster.com
Special Gratitude to Pamela, Susan, Lisa, Brittany, and Risa!
Your brave journey with breast cancer is most inspiring. I’m honored that you beta-read UNCONVENTIONAL. Thank you! If you’re ever in the Big Apple, I owe you cocktails.
Your new friend, Avery
Main Cast of Characters
Luigi Bova: (39) Jemma and Rocco’s rich and powerful lover who operates the Girasoli Garment Company. He’ll do anything to have Jemma’s hand in marriage and give her the stability she’s always yearned for. But will it be at Rocco’s expense or his own?
Rocco Cazzo: (29) Hunk du jour and making no apologies about it, he’s the House of Tittoni’s estate manager. Enjoying being with his first and only girlfriend, Jemma, he desperately wants to have children and start a family.
Jemma Fereti: (37) A former supermodel turned fashion designer at Girasoli Garments. As a breast cancer survivor, she lives life to the fullest, especially when it comes to loving two men at the same time.
Supporting Cast of Characters
