He parked one foot at his shoulder now, giving himself a free hand. He looped his finger into the band of her thong. Watching her face, he yanked on it. It was a good, hard pull, dragging the silk along her clit and chafing the thin line in the back along her ass. Moving his gaze, he took a look at the havoc he’d caused.
The thong cut into her, still covering her clit but pressing into her pussy so she knew all but the very center of it was exposed.
He liked what he saw. He growled in appreciation and tugged at the thong again, milking her with it.
“Very pretty, baby.”
Evangeline was heating up again. He noticed and flashed his gaze up again. “You like what I do to you, don’t you, Ev?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Anything I do. Everything.”
“Yes. Everything.” She was giving away the farm and didn’t care. Yes. He could do anything to her, and she wouldn’t object. She would want it.
Three powerful, sexy, and sexual men. An eight-year drought. Apparently, a perfect storm for no-holds-barred, hot sex.
“Good.”
That one, highly satisfied word sent a thrill through her.
He’d toyed enough with her underwear now. He pushed her knee up again to slide the elastic over it, then ran it down her other leg. When he was done, he ended with both of her feet pressed into his shoulders.
He pushed up, bringing her knees high, lifting her ass up off the bed.
It was an extremely vulnerable position, and he gave her a little time appreciate that fact. She took in his face, meeting those hot, determined eyes. Then his chest—hard muscle rippling down to his abs.
And then his cock. Hard, long, thick. Thrust up, suspended over her pussy. It held her attention, and he let her look, let her think about what was coming.
After a long moment he took hold of himself and placed the tip of his cock right at her opening. Her breath caught in anticipation, in expectation of a hard taking. But he just held there.
“Take me in,” he said.
Surprised, she looked up at him. But, like hers, his interest was really in that place where their bodies touched, almost joined.
But not joined, though that was what he wanted.
And he wanted her to do it.
She could hardly imagine managing it, the way he had her trussed up.
But he seemed to think it could happen. “Fuck me with your pussy.”
Jesus Lord.
She huffed out a little breath—excitement tinged with a touch of panic. Then she tried and found she could do it. Pressing her feet into his shoulders and her upper back into the bed, she learned she could rock her pelvis up, riding herself onto his cock. She managed a couple inches.
He liked it. He murmured encouragement, not gentle, sweet words but harsh, hard fuck words. And instructions, commands. He wanted more. There were still inches to go. Many inches.
It seemed impossible to do more, and impossible not to.
With a whimper, she took him in. It was wicked, impaling herself on him like that, having the process of penetration an active one rather than passive. Not one of acceptance but of self-determination. Self-destruction.
Her pussy was stretched tight, her body invaded by his. Somehow, this deliberate, self-rending act was more powerful, more enthralling, than anything she’d ever experienced.
He knew it, too. She met his gaze and saw triumphant pleasure.
He hadn’t taken her. She’d given herself.
Leaning further over her, he found that last bit of penetration. He circled one hand around her thigh to grasp her clit and the other her nipple. Watching her with wicked intensity, he pinched both.
“Come on. Fuck me.”
She did. Suddenly and with complete loss of control. Her body bucked, driving herself onto him, thrashing and grinding.
He didn’t shake loose but kept his hold on her sex parts. He tugged and stroked, driving her higher until she started coming.
He took over then, falling down onto her and thrusting, pummeling himself into her. It was a prolonged come, spurred on by the sudden force of his need. Her feet fell from his shoulders, but he still held her legs high and splayed out.
She was open and vulnerable and his.
Their panting breaths meshed, rising in volume and urgency. Until he was roaring and she was screaming, and she felt the jerk of his cock inside her, filling her with his cum, making those last thrusts slick and hot.
He held over her, looking down at her, still breathing harshly. He pulled out but left his cock hanging along her thigh. Gently, almost idly, he nestled himself against her and, incredibly, she felt him filling again.
“We’re not done.”
“Chase.”
“Roll over.”
There was no resisting him. He used his hands on her hips to help her turn, and tucked a couple pillows underneath.
He was on his knees between her legs again, spreading her, propping with the pillows so her ass was elevated, displayed for him.
“I fucking like this look, babe.”
She wasn’t sure herself, but she could tell he was stating the truth. He grabbed a cheek with each hand and massaged, giving her a good squeeze and then rolling, separating, making her entirely open to him. “You’re so pretty here.”
He nipped her ass and then came up over her. He ran his lips along her spine and used his teeth at her shoulder. All the while, his cock rubbed against her ass, getting harder.
And his fingers—his fingers were there, circling her anus.
At her ear, his voice whispered. “I like to fuck a woman in the ass, Evvie.” He pressed a little in, and she shivered. His words, his touch. All of it.
“Chase.”
“Let me. Let me,” he said. “I’ll make it good.”
Maybe, she thought. It was tantalizing, feeling his cock brush against her, the earthy, grinding feeling of his finger dipping in, circling that tight ring.
Like yesterday with Giovanni, she couldn’t say no. He was stirring her, making her need. She knew he could tell, could hear the change of her breathing, the tension in her body.
“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”
She shivered once more and cried out when he put two fingers into her, not deep but there, where it counted most, reaming her.
She liked it. It was gritty and just a little debasing, but sweet and hot at the same time. Compelling.
He still stroked his cock along her ass, and she flexed a little. Somehow, he’d made her want it.
“Good girl. Stay put. Just like that.”
He shoved his thigh up between her legs, giving some good pressure there. Then he reached over to the supplies at the table. Not a condom, but a small bottle of personal lubrication.
She wasn’t distracted for long.
He kept his thigh pushed up against her, chafing at her pussy. Then he lubed his fingers and started toying with her again.
The lube made a difference. It wasn’t quite so gritty when he pushed in, but slick and more erotic, enticing. She hummed out a little breath, and he reamed her more aggressively.
“You like that, don’t you?” He shoved deeper, an invading, taking feeling now, and she groaned. “You like it.”
She did. Unexpectedly, compellingly, she loved it. Involuntarily she was rocking up, rubbing her pussy against his thigh, answering the thrust of his fingers.
“Good girl. Good girl,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
Then he shifted. His thigh went away and his fingers, too. She felt the touch of the bottle of lube and a wicked thrill as he shot some into her. It was all followed by a lot of pressure, very good pressure, right at her ass.
His cock, so big, so much wider than his fingers.
“Oh,” she said. “Wait. Oh.”
He didn’t withdraw, but he didn’t go any further, either. He just held there, letting her adjust, letting that tight ring accommodate his huge cockhead.
It was evocative, powerful, intense
. Each breath was a moan, a little wail of fear and excitement.
Like a shaman, he knew exactly the right moment. At just that exactly right time, he pushed into her, filled her, deep, all the way.
Her breath caught, and she screeched a little, panting at the base taking.
He murmured to her, good girl, good girl. He encouraged her—relax, let him in. Take it. And best of all, he slipped one hand around to her clit.
Wet with his spit, or her own juices, or the lube, he rubbed her.
He was incredibly, freakishly good at it. Within minutes her moans were all hot desire, and a minute after that, she rocked her hips.
The motion reminded her that he was sunk down into her, cock buried balls-deep in her ass.
She didn’t care. Didn’t object when he started fucking her. Might have even encouraged him, egged him on.
“Chase. Fuck me, Chase. My ass. Fuck me.”
He howled out in victory, giving the words back to her. Yes. He was fucking her ass. Her hot, tight, fucking great ass. He had her. He was going to come. She needed to hurry up, dammit. She needed to come now. Now.
They got there together, with feral growls and hard, wracking spasms. He blasted his cum into her, a blessed, wicked debauchery.
He hollered out his come just as she did, in triumphant, untamed conquest.
He collapsed on top of her, taking many harsh breaths before he disengaged and rolled to the side. He held her tightly around the waist.
“Holy shit, Ev. Holy fuck.”
Indeed.
She was still on her belly, and he burrowed in at her shoulder. “I have to sleep, Ev. Don’t go.”
She raised a hand up to cup his head. “Sleep, Chase.”
He was already gone. After a few minutes she slipped away from him. She pulled the canopy over the bed frame and brought the drapes around, leaving the darker, north side open for air. Then she made use of his swank bathroom—great hot tub, multi-head shower, heated floor—dressed, and took herself home.
Chapter Five
Briggs’s heart was still pounding when he hammered his fist on Chase’s door. The drive from Gorham, where Evvie lived, to Chase’s place on East Ave in Rochester took about an hour and a half.
And still, he hadn’t settled. Not in the least.
It was early evening on Saturday, and he was just back from Scotland. He’d flown there after the MFF ceremony and dutifully tried to immerse himself in the activities of one of the biggest international science fiction conventions.
He usually enjoyed these events, but this time his heart wasn’t in it.
He thought it had been a nice little interlude, seeing Evvie like that, basking in that sweet Evvie-feel of positive regard. He’d always wallowed in it, though he’d never have admitted it when they were young. Evvie loved him, as she did Shep and Chase and Gio. It felt good, oh so good, to dwell in the light of Evvie’s love. Even just standing there in the parking lot with her was remarkably good.
He’d seen her and realized in a blink of a moment that she’d always been important to him, even in these eight years he hadn’t seen her. It was a remarkable relief to see that she was well, that she had thrived.
And was a fan of his work. Yeah, that meant something.
So even just that moment of seeing her had been great.
But then there was the freaking hot sex. That had been like nothing he’d ever imagined with Evvie. Fuck, with anybody.
On the plane, thinking about it, he told himself he really hadn’t ever imagined sex with Evvie at all. The minute the thought formed he knew it was a lie. Of course he’d imagined it. They all had. That was why they’d needed her to stop coming to the tree house.
It was why, on the night of Shep’s funeral, he was pulled to her like her own personal tractor beam had locked onto him.
So, yeah, okay, he might have thought about it. If he had, he’d imagined something sweet and gentle, loving. Girly.
Not hot, rocking, mind-blowing, freak-all sex. He’d gone over the top with her—fucking her up against the door, taking her from behind, thumbing her ass. Teasing her hard.
And she’d been there with him. He was sure of it. There wasn’t a bit of it she wasn’t on board with. It had been fucking bliss.
He’d been a little pissed that she was gone when he woke. Maybe more than a little. Okay, so the invitation to join him in Scotland had been casually made. He got that. Maybe it was reasonable that she hadn’t taken it seriously. But you’d think it would have at least let her know that he wasn’t treating what they’d done as just a one-night, slam-bam fuck off. He wanted to see her again, wanted to be with her.
He reconsidered on the plane, high over the Atlantic. He thought maybe she’d had the right of it, that their night together should be precisely just a one-time deal. That it would make a sweet little memory he could tuck away.
But it hadn’t fucking tucked. It had stayed in his mind, niggling at first, just a wisp of that good feeling, a lingering of that hot desire. Then it took hold, coming front and center in his thoughts, almost to the extent that he couldn’t ignore it.
And then he absolutely couldn’t ignore it. She was there, in his head all the time. Demanding his attention, interrupting his enjoyment of the convention and worse, much, much worse, his ability to work. Each night when he settled into his room to write, she mucked it up.
He cursed her and pressed on but had little success. One night he tried drinking her away. He’d woken up Friday hungover and completely ineffective. So by that evening he was on a plane, heading west and bearing a grudge.
He’d tracked down old Miss Victory’s place. The English teacher had been important to him—she more than anyone in his life had helped him discipline his writing, taming the wild passion of his work into something intelligible. But he’d been a self-centered kid. He hadn’t known that she hailed from a Finger Lakes winery family, that she shared ownership in the vineyards and, when she retired, went to live in the old, original farmhouse.
Which was where Evvie was living now.
So he rented a BMW at the Rochester airport and drove. He stopped at the little country store in Gorham village for a drink and directions to the farmhouse. He had his head in the cooler when a bit of a girl tore around the corner from another aisle. She was laughing but screeched to a halt at his unexpected presence.
“Maisy! Get back here. We’re done, and I’m leaving without you in a minute.”
There was laughter, in that voice, and love. And a familiar, heart-stirring, husky tone.
Frozen, Briggs looked at Maisy.
At his untutored guess, she was seven. She had light-brown hair that was wildly curly, sweet dimples, and remarkable green eyes.
Green like an Irish spring, or so he’d always been told.
She looked back at him intently, still with the smile that formed those dimples, a natural charmer. Then her mother—her mother—called her name again, and she turned and ran.
Briggs left the store without his drink or his directions. When he pulled out of the gravel lot, he turned back toward Rochester.
* * * *
Chase sighed heavily when he answered that obnoxious pounding at his door and opened it to see Briggs in a state. This was all it needed.
He motioned him in wordlessly and walked through the house to his backyard. Gio was already out there, in his own state.
Chase was in one, too, though he was quieter about it than his buddies.
He pointed Briggs in that direction and stopped in the kitchen to grab a beer for the newcomer. He pried the top off and carried it along with him. He handed it to Briggs before the man started to babble. “Drink,” he said.
Then he looked at his two friends, the very good men that they were. “We’re all a bunch of idiots and deserve to be shot.”
Briggs still had that dazed look on his face. It was the same one Chase had seen on Gio’s face a couple hours ago. And, no doubt, the same one that had been on his own early that morning.
He’d figured out where Evvie was living and driven there, leaving almost before the sun was up. He’d spent the week kicking himself for the jerk he was—that night he was with her then those years of not thinking about her. Or, almost not thinking of her.
Then taking her to his bed last Sunday when he was post-work, sleep-deprived stupid. Fucking her like he hadn’t had a woman in a year. Fucking spectacularly fucking her.
That thing about it being a year since he’d had a woman was closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t found what he was looking for in a woman, and he’d gotten tired of settling for less.
He hadn’t realized how much Evvie meant to him, how much she was there in his head. That she was the standard.
In the last eight years he’d given occasional thought to her, in the same way he’d thought of Shep and the friendship they’d had. In that interval he’d got through med school and his residency. He’d dated women and had nearly, one time, proposed.
He hadn’t had a clue, during all those years, that what he was seeking was the feeling he’d had with Evvie. Like he was the world, and she was his orbit. The place he belonged, the path he traveled.
Last Sunday, he’d gotten a clue.
He was totally pissed that she was gone when he woke up. He’d asked her to stay. He’d wanted, really wanted, her to stay, dammit.
He’d tried to convince himself that it was okay, that it was for the best. They’d had a hot fuck, and that was enough.
It was a battle he knew he’d lost by Friday. He traded a shift—gave up his next holiday, in fact—to have Saturday off.
That morning he’d gone to find her. He was a bit of a cautious guy by nature—he didn’t like scenes, so he usually scouted out the lay of the land before he stumbled into one mess or another. He tested one step before he took the next, an ordered approach that served him well in the ED.
So he’d gotten in his SUV and taken that lovely early morning drive down to Keuka, watching the sun burn the mist off the lake and then off the grapevines in their tidy rows along the hillsides. From atop a small rise, he’d spotted the farmhouse with its little yard carved out of a field of vines.
Three Men and a Woman: Evangeline (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 8
