Three if by Sea: MMF Bisexual Romance

by Nicole Stewart

  He waited for a moment, and as the last spasm was rolling over her, he grabbed her and turned her onto her back, pressing her down into the cushions as he thrust into her, hard, his hips pounding against her as he did what he’d wanted to do since she’d started to undress him. “God, I can’t hold out much longer,” he groaned against her ear. She arched her back, her nipples rubbing against the curling hair of his chest, a novel sensation that she knew she’d be thinking about for some time. “Then don’t,” she whispered, her breath coming in small, short gasps. “Fuck me, Adam. Just fuck me.”

  He moaned, his fingers curling into the couch as he increased his pace, his cock hammering into her, her legs coming up to grip his waist as he fucked her mercilessly. The harsh groans spilling from his mouth mixed with her soft moans and gasps, and the fire crackled just beyond them as he suddenly tensed, his face burying in her shoulder as he thrust into her erratically, his large body convulsing above her. She could feel him, hot and solid, spilling into her as he thrust once more, hard, his mouth pressed against her, muffling the sounds he made as he came.

  He was a solid weight on her for a moment afterwards as he caught his breath, and then he sat up, sliding away from her. Amelia felt momentarily empty, her body still pulsing softly with the echoes of what they’d just done, and she sat up too, her hair falling over one shoulder.

  “My god,” he murmured. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like…that.”

  Amelia felt a burst of pleasure at the wondering tone of his voice, his accent thickening as he relaxed back into the couch, his body loose with contentment.

  “You should stay the night,” she heard herself saying. “It’s too dark and windy out there.”

  He turned his head sideways to look at her. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.” His hand drifted down to her bare thigh, his fingers skimming along the side of it. It was a touch that was less sexual than it was comforting. Amelia found herself leaning against him, her head falling onto his shoulder as he stroked her thigh, resting in the comfortable heat of the fire.

  At some point, she dozed off, only to be reawakened by the rattling of the window in a particularly heavy gust of wind. The fire was starting to die down, and she gently shook Adam’s shoulder. “Hey,” she murmured softly. “Let’s go to bed.”

  He sat up, shaking his head sleepily, and got up to put the fire out. The long line of his body, nude and glowing softly in the dimming firelight was almost enough to make her wet all over again. He smiled as he caught her gaze running over him.

  She was too tired to even think of doing more than sleep. The warm weight of the blankets pulling her back under, but just before she fell asleep she felt the warmth of Adam’s body curling around hers, the pressure of his arm slung across her waist, and she had a moment to think how she’d missed that—just the solid presence of someone else in her bed.

  Chapter 7

  Adam gently shook her awake. She opened her eyes, half-expecting him to still be naked, but he was dressed and his hair was pulled back away from his face again. She took a moment to admire the sharp, clean line of his jaw, and then blinked up at him.

  “I made you breakfast,” Adam said. “It’s been ready for a while, I thought I’d wake you before it got cold.”

  Amelia sat up, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She saw Adam’s eyes flick to her bare breasts, and for a moment she thought he might push her back onto the bed and go all in for round two. Her heart leap at the thought. The memory of his nude body stretched over hers, thrusting into her, was still very fresh in her mind. He did nothing more than touch her arm, though, his hand leaving her shoulder and trailing down the slope of it, before turning away. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said.

  Amelia sat for a moment, shivering slightly from the chill in the room, wondering why he suddenly seemed so distant. She shook herself, trying to clear her head. If he was regretting the night before, he wouldn’t have stayed, surely?

  The smell of breakfast wafted into the bedroom, and she scrambled out of bed, hurriedly digging through her suitcase for fresh clothes. The previous night's activities had given her one hell of an appetite.

  Dressed in jeans and a wool sweater, she ventured into the kitchen. Adam turned to hand her a plate with two fried eggs,a sausage, and toast. She grabbed it and poured herself some orange juice before sitting down at the table. Adam joined her and they ate in companionable silence for a minute or so before Adam set down his knife and fork.

  “I enjoyed last night, I don’t know that we should do it again, though.”

  Amelia felt her stomach tighten, disappointment rushing through her. She was surprised at how quickly she’d embraced the idea of sleeping with Adam as being a part of her new life.

  “Okay,” she said. “I think you owe me an explanation though.”

  “Of course, ” he said, reaching across the table for her hand. “I just…” he paused. “I like you Amelia, but you’re only here for a little while so I don’t want to get attached.”

  “I get that,” Amelia said. She felt another stab of disappointment. He still had hold of her hand, and she curled her fingers around his, enjoying the warmth of his palm against hers. She felt comfortable with him, here, like this, and she didn’t want him to leave.

  Amelia got up and cleared the plates off the table. Adam walked up behind her, and she felt his hands gently touch her waist. She shivered, a sudden picture of him pressing her up against the counter flashing into her mind. She resisted the urge to lean back into him. “I’m going to head out,” he said. She turned to face him, aware of how very close he was to her. “Come by the Moose sometime, yeah?”

  She pushed the sudden pang of loss away. A silly feeling as she hadn't even known Adam for a complete day. It also didn't make any sense as she could feel the tension between them, drawing them together, and when she looked up at his face she saw that he could feel it, too. His hands rested on her waist, and for a moment she thought he was going to pull her against him. She could feel the desire vibrating through him, but he let go of her abruptly and pulled away. “See you soon,” he said, clearing his throat, and then he was gone, just like that.

  She leaned back against the counter, her fingers gripping the worn Formica. Her body throbbed softly as she recalled the night before, remembering the way he’d pressed her down into the couch, touched her, wanted her. Shaking her head, she turned to do the dishes, shoving the memory far back in her head. He’d made it clear that it was likely a one off. She’d have to file it away as a pleasant memory, and nothing more.

  Amelia decided to start with the farms nearest the house. She bundled up, notepad and pen in pocket, and map in hand, and headed out into the brutally cold weather to begin her research.

  She found herself enjoying the stark quiet beauty of the Scottish landscape as she walked. She’d always loved the noise of the city, the teeming press of humanity and the sense of being part of a bigger crowd, but there was something to be said for the solitude and silence here. Her mind seemed to quiet itself, to synchronize with the environment. It was comforting, she realized, to be free of all the chaos. She thought again of Adam’s hand, yesterday morning, reaching out for hers across the table. Her fingers twitched, curling into her palm, and she felt a sharp ache. She wanted to see him again.

  She considered whether to go to the pub that evening, but thought that would make her look needy. She resolved to put Adam out of her mind as she approached the first farmhouse on her list. She was here to work and right now she needed something to focus on that wasn't as rugged as the surrounding landscape.

  By the third day she had her routine down cold. To her relief, the farmers were happy to talk to her, if a bit confused about why a university in the United States cared about their economics. The ones who had email addresses had already been contacted by the department prior to Amelia’s arrival. Those visits were the easiest. She sensed some wariness from the ones who hadn’t been primed, but no one turned
her away. It was a pleasant job, sitting in the old farmhouses that had been there for a hundred years or more, in front of the fire, listening to the farmers talk about their stock and land and produce. Because it was winter, they had time to talk, and she was amazed at the depth and sheer richness of the information that was forthcoming.

  Amelia decided to cross one more off her list before heading back to her house. She liked to get back before it got dark, as she didn't want to get lost and stuck outside for the night.

  She trekked the half mile or so to the next farmhouse on her list. her boots catching the frozen ruts of the driveway. It had rained the previous night prior to the temperatures falling back to a number well below freezing. Hard, sideways, sleeting rain that had frozen into icicles along her doorway and steps. She had to concentrate to keep her footing. She made it up the driveway, and knocked on the broad wooden door, hoping that someone was home.

  The door swung open, and her jaw just about hit the ground.

  Adam was standing in the doorway as plain as day. He was dressed in jeans and a navy cable-knit sweater, his hair loose and curling softly around his face. His expression matched Amelia's.

  “Welcome to Macdonald Farm I guess, better come in out of the cold,” he finally said, swinging the door wider then closing it behind her.

  “Um,” she said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “Remember the research that I told you I was here to do?”

  Adam nodded.

  “Well, your farm is one of the ones on my list. I didn’t realize it was yours, actually.”

  “It is mine.” There was something in his voice when he said it that didn’t sound exactly pleased. Amelia shuffled her feet. “Do you mind if I talk with you for a while? Um, I understand if you don't want to. I can just take you off the list if you don’t want to be included.” She felt herself blushing as she looked up at him, and she hated every moment of it. This was awkward to put it mildly.

  “No, that’s fine,” he said. “Happy to help.” He gestured towards the living room. “Come on in and sit down, it’s warmer. Can I get you some tea?”

  Amelia started to refuse, already feeling as if she was imposing, but changed her mind. “Yes,” she said gratefully. “Sounds good.”

  The fire in the fireplace crackled merrily, and Amelia had to actively push away thoughts of the night he’d spent at her house. It would do her no good to think of that now. He’d made it clear the morning after that he didn’t intend for it to happen again, and his reaction to her turning up on his doorstep was hardly one of deep joy. He wasn’t interested in a fling with her, and Amelia knew she needed to stop fantasizing about the possibility.

  She looked around the room as she waited, taking in her surroundings. It was simple, like most of the farmhouses she’d visited—hardwood floors with an old rug here and there, exposed rafters overhead. The room was small but cozy, the fireplace and stone hearth the dominant feature. There was no sign of a Christmas tree or any other decoration for that matter. Even the mantelpiece was bare.

  Adam returned with a pot of tea and two mugs on a tray, setting the combination down on the small table between the two overstuffed chairs. Amelia recalled him making breakfast for her, and the touch of his hands on her waist as she’d stood at the sink. She wanted to reach for his hand as he poured the tea, but didn’t. It was amazing, she thought, the distance between them now when they’d been so intimate only a few nights before. It shouldn’t be strange, she supposed, since they barely knew each other. But she’d felt something she hadn’t felt since she’d been with David.

  “So, what do you need to know?” Adam asked, settling back into the chair.

  “Um,” Amelia flipped through her notes. “Basic information about the farm—is it yours, when and how did you purchase it, the main crop, main livestock, what the average production is, that sort of thing. We’re gathering data about how the economics of small farms relates to the overall agriculture economy here.”

  “And the information I give you goes where exactly?”

  “Into a report that will be published for a journal, probably presented at conferences.”

  “So, anything I tell you is likely going to be written down and repeated somewhere else?”

  Amelia hesitated, wondering why he was asking. Most of the farmers hadn’t been overly concerned about the end use of her research. “Yes,” she finally said. “It will be published, unless you specifically tell me to leave something out. But I don’t think you need to worry about any negatives from this. There’s a lot of support for small farmers. In fact, the data is likely going to be used to encourage more awareness for it in the United States.”

  “Alright then.” Adam took a sip of his tea. “The farm is mine. In my name. Passed down to me from my parents.”

  “Does anyone else live here?”

  Adam shook his head. “Just me. I have some hired help of course, but they don’t live here.”

  “Does it get lonely?” Amelia asked, before she could stop herself.

  Adam gave her a long look. “Is that a research question?”

  Amelia felt herself flush and shook her head. “No. No, of course not. I’m sorry.” She looked through her notes again, trying to regain her composure. “What is your primary livestock?”

  “Sheep.”

  Amelia fell into the typical rhythm of question and answer, and she began to relax, paying less attention to who exactly it was that she was talking to and more on the familiar process of research. Adam explained the process of their wool production and the revenue it generated. She took notes as he talked, enjoying the sound of his smooth, accented voice as he explained it to her.

  When he’d finished talking, Amelia hurriedly finished scribbling down the last sentence. “It’s getting late,” she said finally. “I should probably head out. Thank's for all the information.”

  Adam was quiet, and she saw that look cross his face again, as if he were puzzling out the answer to a problem. “Why don’t you come back in a few days,” he said finally. “I’ll show you around. You can see some of the livestock, the barns and such.”

  Amelia grinned. “That would be fantastic,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Not a problem,” he said, smiling.

  Chapter 8

  David half expected to hear Amelia’s footsteps coming from the office, her cheerful voice calling out to greet him as soon as she heard the door open. But there was only silence.

  He thought that he would enjoy the solitude. He’d lived with Amelia for so long that he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be single. Wasn’t that something that couples always complained about? The lack of privacy, the competition for what music to play or what show to watch, the sharing of closet space. All the little things he’d thought he’d enjoy not having to worry about anymore.

  It was more than six months yet he missed those small things. Amelia’s clothes crowding his in the small closet of their old apartment for example. His new place had a walk-in, plenty of room for two people's clothes with some left over, and he felt her absence every time he saw the bare hangers and empty wall. It was foolish, he knew, but it was one of a dozen daily little things that he still missed.

  He knew he should have talked to her about the job offer. He should have sought out her opinion. He’d been so high-handed, and so sure that she would follow him willingly. To use the job offer as an excuse to test her love for him was a despicable act and he knew that now. Now, alone in the city, coming home to his empty, grand apartment every day, all that he could think about was the pain that her absence was causing him.

  She did contact him that one time of course, When she was en route but there had been nothing since that call. He’d still found himself checking his phone several times a day, on the off chance of there being a missed call, or message. Not hearing the sound of her voice was almost too much to bear.

  His mother said she was sorry about the breakup, but he knew that was a lie. He’d spent a long time defen
ding his mother, and was now realizing that Amelia was right. He was starting to see things more and more from her point of view. His mother, for her part, had barely suppressed her glee at his newly single status.

  “Now you can find someone better suited to your station in life,” was one of her less guarded comments and his blood ran cold whenever it resurfaced in his mind. He had never thought of Amelia as beneath him, and he has assumed that his mother didn't either but he was so very wrong and he knew that now.

  His mother had offered to set him up with several of her friends' daughters and he’d politely refused each offer. He had though, brought home a girl he’d met one night. It had been nice to have someone to share his bed and he’d enjoyed the novelty of being with someone new, exploring a new body for the first time. The sex had been good but that was it, nothing deeper. He’d talked to the girl a couple more times since then but he couldn’t imagine cuddling with her on the couch or sharing details of their days over dinner as he did with Amelia. The encounter was a pleasant interlude and that was that.

  He’d wanted to email her, telling her he’d been wrong, that he’d find a job back in Chicago if she wanted him to, that he now accepted just how awful his mother had been towards her. But every time he started to write it, the words wouldn't come. The thought of reaching out and being rejected was too crushing. At least this way he still had hope. She may even contact him and then, maybe everything would be OK.