One Too Many

by Jade West

  Our customers were early-nighters in the main, the bar almost empty by the time we started wrapping up for the night and planning to make a move. The final couple finished up their drinks at shortly before ten and headed to their rooms semi-drunk smiles on their faces.

  They were off to get some, it was beaming all the way through them. Just as it was beaming through my Grace.

  She’d breathe out a puff of an exhale every time our eyes met, conveying nerves I knew were all genuine and no doubt strumming her body like a tight-bowed violin. There was more to it than that, though. The husky glint in her stare whenever it crashed into mine. The way she brushed against me every time she passed, hovering close for just a moment, the heat of her firing my skin up through my shirt.

  She wanted it. Now more than ever.

  Wanted us both. Wanted him.

  She’d wanted that slimy prick from the very minute he’d first laid his sleazy deal on the table, but now it was deeper, darker, entwined with her own fractured ego crisis and her desire to do better next time.

  That was the one remaining issue that vexed me deeper than the others. The others I could fight head to head, but this one, the way she held herself so responsible for his feigned indifference in bed with her, this one made me blister.

  Tonight should have been purely about two men facing off in their quest to thrill my beautiful wife, not about my beautiful wife doubting her abilities to bring off a man who’d made it his mission to deny her.

  He wouldn’t be denying her this time around. Not when the head to head pushed him outside his comfort zone. He’d be vulnerable just as much as we were and I knew it. He’d have to be. Winning’s done that way — pushing yourself outside your comfort zone and giving your all, and Thomas Heath fancied himself every bit a winner, just as I did.

  Grace’s nerves came right to the forefront as we got ready for the imminent replay. She was dithering between outfit choices as I stepped out of the shower, holding up her favourite lingerie sets to her naked body one after the other.

  “Which one?” she asked, a deep scarlet lace bra and knickers set in one hand and a white satin basque and thong in the other.

  I wouldn’t be drawn into expressing an opinion, knowing full well that my stunning wife would look divine in whatever she went with. I wanted her to seek out her own truth, and gravitate toward the option that would feel most like her own skin.

  “You already know the answer,” I told her. “You just don’t know you know it. Which one is it going to be?”

  It was red. I could tell before she said it, guided purely by the way her eyes moved over her reflection in the mirror.

  She fastened herself into the push up bra as I watched her, shifting those beautiful milky tits into perfect position in the lacy cups. It took everything I had not to rip her straight back out of it, my mouth already watering at the prospect of the feast.

  She shimmied into her knickers, pulling them high enough on her hips that the pretty red fabric packaged that silky mound like a birthday gift. No stockings, no slutty crotchless invitation for a prick like Heath. This was all her. Beautiful and chic, while being naturally understated. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she slipped on a tight black minidress and tugged the skirt down around her thighs. It didn’t come low, hugging the curves of her ass like it was sprayed right onto her body.

  She teetered as she stepped into black gloss stilettos, arms held out for balance as she found her footing. She settled into her groove in a beat. Her shoulders pulled back and high, her tummy up and under, showcasing those perfect tits like a dream.

  “Will I do?” she asked, with a hand on her hip, and I smiled. How I fucking smiled.

  “You’ll take his breath away,” I told her. “Just like you’ve taken mine.”

  She waved my compliment aside like I was bigging her up for the sake of flattery, but I saw the glow of pride as she gave a final turn to the mirror.

  I found I was dressing up for the occasion myself, picking out one of my finest black shirts from the wardrobe and pairing it with my best pair of dark jeans. I sprayed myself with quality scent — the stuff Grace bought me the Christmas before last.

  She breathed me in as she joined me at my side, slipping her fingers into mine as she pressed up beside me. “You smell good enough to eat, Mr Foster.”

  “My mouth’s the one watering,” I told her. “Soon you’ll have him slavering over a main course of Mrs Foster too.”

  “Shall we take anything?” she asked, nodding over to the now chaotic heap of sex toys on permanent display since I’d found my rhythm.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  No props. Not tonight.

  Just him, and me.

  I could hear her every breath as we left our private turf and made the ascent. Her hand was trembling in mine, but I was solid, unmovable, jaw gritted firm at the prospect of what was to come. My rap of knuckles on his door was as fierce as I felt, thumping loud in the quiet of the corridor before I stepped back to face him square.

  When he answered it was with the same fire, swinging the door open wide and seeking out my glare with his for a full, hard second before stepping aside.

  “Punctual,” he said. “Just as well, since I don’t tolerate timewasters.”

  His eyes were eating my Grace up as she stepped on through. I wished she could see how much he wanted her, but her shyness kept her head down low, her smile so self-conscious that it panged my gut.

  “Let’s not waste any fucking time then,” I told him, and he stopped in his tracks on the way to the minibar at the other side of the bed, smirking like the same callous sonofabitch as always when he gave a single nod.

  “Have it your way.”

  “Always,” I said.

  Grace dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress closest to me, looking back and forth between us all the while we stared each other out. I didn’t take my eyes from his, my hands without a hint of nerves as I went for my top button.

  His were as composed in return as they went for his. Working his way down his shirt without a flash of fear as he exposed his chest.

  I’d seen it all before, in so much fucking detail it was burned into my memory. His solid frame, toned without an excess of bulk. The ripple of abs so pronounced as he shrugged his shirt aside and went for his belt.

  I had the upper hand as I shrugged off my own, knowing full well how much bigger my chest was than his. My own bulk was broader, my own abs more than fit enough to hold their own against his gym-toned physique. I was darker, hairier, every bit a caveman next to his smooth pampered skin. I felt like one too.

  I dropped my pants comfortably, making no move to conceal the raging hard on I’d been sporting since arriving in his corridor. And there we were, naked, his own dick just as fucking proud as he kicked off his trousers and stepped to the side.

  There was a surrealism to this competition, no reservations about sporting a throbbing dick in front of another man. If he was feeling any awkwardness, he didn’t show it. We were strangely composed as we viewed our opposition across the bed, our pretty prize positioned between us, right where she needed to be.

  “How’s it fucking feel to have a rival on the pitch?” I asked the cunt. “No free runs this time, Heath. I’m in it to win it.”

  “You people always are,” he replied. “I’ve seen off hundreds of your type.”

  You people.

  Your type.

  And there it was again, that deep-veined spite.

  His laugh wasn’t genuine as it sounded out. “How the fuck do you propose we call the winner? First to three? Every climax counts?” He shook his head. “This is a fool’s game, ill thought out. Cash terms bring structure.”

  “Cash terms aren’t worth shit,” I told him. “It counts for nothing.”

  He shrugged, his dick still rising tall. “I’ll say it again. How will we know who wins?”

  My smirk was all genuine. “We’ll know.”

  “Fine,” he said. “L
et’s see how desperate your pretty wife’s cunt is for another man’s cock, shall we?”

  He was on the bed in a flash, stealing the moment, and she was ready for him, in body if not in mind, shifting toward him so eagerly as he came for her, even though her eyes flashed back to mine.

  I didn’t stop her, not even breaking a sweat as his mouth claimed hers and guided her backwards. She fell willingly, dropping onto her back and letting her knees open wide. And there you had it, the impact he’d had on my woman, too great to have glossed over, even if we’d never seen him again.

  He was running through her veins. Burned into her thoughts. Wants. Memories.

  He’d claimed her deep enough in that one night that he summoned her like a ringmaster calls his acrobats, forcing her into tricks without so much as barking an order.

  She lifted her hips as his knuckles swept her slit through her knickers, and she was wet for him, the lace damp enough to darken as he stretched it tight between her pussy lips and tugged hard against her clit.

  Her moan was instant, fingers clutching at the sheets as she tensed.

  “They always miss me,” he said for my benefit, but he didn’t need to. I could see it clearly enough for myself.

  His mouth was rougher more quickly this time than last, nipping at her jaw before sweeping down her throat. She stretched to offer him more, her eyes on him as I dropped onto the mattress on her other side.

  But not for long.

  Soon they’d be all for me.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Grace

  My mini dress was up around my hips in moments, legs spreading wide for Heath’s crazy skilled fingers. My belly was a mess of lust, fluttering with an ocean of tiny wings as his mouth found mine.

  He nipped me, sucked me, swept his warm lips across my exposed throat and it was pointless to fight the sensations. Pointless to fight him.

  I reached out for my husband as he joined us on the bed, his knees dipping the mattress at my side enough that my body moved towards his. His fingers brushed up the tender skin of my inner thigh, setting me alight with their close proximity to the other man’s.

  The fear was intoxicating, addictive, my thoughts tumbling as my heart thrummed wild.

  Two men.

  Two gorgeous men.

  I prayed I was up to taking everything they had to give. But more than that, I prayed I was up to giving them everything in return. I wanted them grunting out of control, lost to the pleasure I was delivering. I wanted every hole filled with the proof of what I’d done to them, what I’d driven them to.

  I wanted to taste him. Heath. I wanted to watch his expression shift from calm master of himself and the universe around him to a man swept up in me. Consumed by me. Pushed from his axis and reeling in the waves, desperate for everything I was giving.

  Just as I was desperate for everything he’d shown me last time around and left me wanting.

  I couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to. My arms snaked naturally around both guys, pulling them closer as the tension blistered between them.

  There was no chance for Brett to reel against the revulsion of another man’s fresh-on-my-lips kiss as I sought out his mouth and slipped my tongue out to greet his. It was crazy, a different man’s fingers grazing my clit through my knickers as my husband kissed me deep. The rhythm was mismatched in a way that was delicious, two hot bodies pressing tighter to mine as someone tugged my mini dress down at the neckline and freed my tits from my bra.

  And then there were two hands. One on each, pinching and pulling at nipples that ached for it. My heels pressed to the mattress and shifted my ass into the air, my pussy craving the same attention.

  It was easier than I expected to find my groove and ask for what I wanted. I didn’t speak a word, just let my fingers do the talking. Thomas Heath’s hair was soft in my grip as I guided his mouth to my nipple. He nipped sharp in what felt like a quick flash of punishment for my boldness, and then he swallowed me, sucking so hard I mewled into Brett’s fierce kiss.

  I knew right then that tonight would be rough.

  Brutal.

  Caught between the blows as two men fought for their pride.

  I felt guilty for wanting it that way, but I did. I felt like a traitorous little slut as I slipped my leg between Heath’s and angled my pussy in his direction.

  Please.

  I couldn’t have spoken it any louder if I’d have screamed it from my lungs. Another nip at my breast and his fingers taunted me, sliding down the ruched fabric over my stomach to tease my clit.

  I felt his hard on as he pressed his length to my hip, and there was no hint of reservation there about another man’s nakedness. Brett’s cock was throbbing just as proud when I sought it out with my sweaty palm, squeezing tight to feel the pulse in his shaft. There was no doubt about it, both guys were impressive in everything. From their dirty eyes to their firm abs, and lower. Their dicks were more than enough to reinforce their self-belief, swollen enough to deflate my confidence in taking them.

  Brett had pushed me hard through long nights, straining me to the hilt to make me ready for this. I felt anything but ready as the reality of two huge meaty dicks throbbed so threateningly against me. It didn’t matter though. I’d take them. Even if it broke me and left me an aching wreck for days. Even if they tore me open and left me sobbing, I’d still beg for more.

  It was in me. The fantasy too deeply ingrained to step down from the challenge. It was every dirty night with my hand down my knickers, mind spinning like crazy at the thought of being eaten up by two at once. It was the forbidden thrill of taking more than one man, more than my fill, more than most women ever got to experience, even if that one man proved beyond all doubt to be one too many.

  Brett broke the kiss with a hiss of breath, thrusting his hips and working his dick between my tight fingers, hand plunging between my thighs and tugging the wet lace of my panties to the side.

  Please.

  Another silent beg. This one with needy eyes staring up at the man who’d delivered me to my ultimate fantasy for the second time over. He gave me what I wanted, two thick fingers to the knuckle as Heath’s fingers circled my squealing clit.

  Please.

  This time it was a whimper, coaxing my husband’s face down toward my tit, daringly close to the other man’s sucking mouth and the slurps he was making on my skin.

  He fought it, hovering rigid for a long moment as he stared at Heath’s mouth clasped so tight to my flesh. They must have both felt the pressure, because I watched Heath’s eyes flick up toward my husband’s, flashing with disgust before he responded with a bite on my flesh that took my breath. His teeth gripped tight and held, but it was the strength of the suck that had me whimpering.

  He was marking me, and the bruises would last for days.

  Brett must have realised it at the exact same moment, because his reluctance disappeared in a flash, his eyes wide on mine as he clamped his mouth to my bare skin and nipped with a strength of his own.

  Fuck, it was the most incredible soreness. I craved more, wanting enough bruises from these two delicious mouths to last a lifetime.

  My nipples cried out as they both broke the contact, and I surveyed the damage through hazy eyes, pink flesh blooming bright and glistening with fresh spit.

  Dirty. It was so dirty. And so was I.

  “Let me suck,” I breathed, and I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.

  It was Brett who answered me, positioning himself in a straddling kneel above my face and slapping the head of his dick to my cheek.

  I didn’t need encouraging, mouth open wide for the swell of him as I tipped my head back and drank him in. My hand slipped between my legs, but no sooner had my fingers landed on my clit than Thomas pushed them aside. His thumb pressed hard, still but brutal, making me gurgle around a throatful of dick.

  I knew this place from last time. The way he turned me into a slut with every touch and gesture. The way I couldn’t resist squirming in my bid
for more.

  “Dirty little whores earn their pleasure,” Heath grunted, and my soul winced. “Be a good girl and suck like you mean it.”

  I did mean it. I meant every lick around Brett’s dick, sucking hard enough that my cheeks caved in, throat retching wet and head bobbing under him.

  “Suck,” Heath growled and I whimpered.

  Brett took my hair and helped my head back and forth, fucking me like a ragdoll as his balls bounced on my chin.

  “Let’s hope your pussy sucks half as well as that slutty little throat,” Heath added, and thrust three fingers all the way in.

  I clenched with everything I had, muscles taut to aching as I gripped his fingers with every strain of strength in me. I coughed up spit all over Brett’s cock and groaned for Heath to fuck me hard, a glutton for punishment as his wrist became a terrible piston, his fingers a punch to my womb in their bid to open me wide.

  It was Brett who growled next time. “Suck me,” he told me. “Suck my fucking dick like the filthy little slut that you are.”

  I could normally read my husband like a book, every tense and strain of his balls was a language I’d learned my whole adult life, but not tonight.

  Oh fuck, not tonight.

  I scrabbled at the sheets as Heath’s thumb pressed to my clit and circled wide, and Brett seized the moment of my toppling excitement, digging his cock into the very depths of my throat to choke my cries.

  It was mute but loud, their timing impeccable as they struck together to make my climax vicious in its intensity. My clit spasmed and spiralled, hips wriggling as Heath finger-fucked me out of my mind. It was all I could do to snatch long breaths through my nose, throat filled to bursting by my husband’s pulsing dick.

  But he didn’t come. There wasn’t even a salty taste of precum as Brett tugged free, my mouth gaping wide as I caught my breath.

  I knew Heath saw it. He couldn’t not. Brett shifted himself in a heartbeat to face his rival, cock still proud and dripping with my spit as I gasped and recovered from my first explosion.