by Julia Kent
The orgasm was right there, deep inside her, his cock touching the perfect spot she rode against as he thrust up, again and again, his ass muscles a marvelous pleasure machine that made her blood pump faster, throat tighten, and her skin flush in a delicious tingling warmth.
Bending down, Lydia kissed Mike with the fevered lust of a woman on the edge, his fingers digging into her lush ass, his thighs riding against hers as she anchored her palms on his pecs and leaned back.
“Ahhhhhh,” she gasped, the slight change in angle so perfect she forgot what she was doing, Mike picking up the rhythm for her, thumb circling on her clit in that just-so way until she tipped over, holding her breath and squeezing into eternity.
“Lydia,” he groaned, his pelvis freezing as he went so deep that she felt as if she might split in two.
And might also die loving every second of sensation.
For as much as hot sex with two guys at once was extraordinary, sometimes she wanted the connection that came from making love with Mike and Jeremy separately. This was one of those times.
Another orgasm washed over her, sending her to a place where her mind fled, body moving with atavistic need, the friction of pleasure too great to hold back. Mike's teeth encircled her nipple, biting down hard at the exact perfect moment, making her clench down hard around him.
His groan mingled with her scream until it all blended together, her senses no longer separate.
She was nothing but pulse.
Mike's mouth didn't stop at her nipple, the teeth scraping down her breast, leaving little love bites along her rib cage, hard enough to leave marks. He liked it that way, she knew.
Liked leaving his mark.
Tomorrow, Jeremy would notice. He'd frown, kiss her hard, then bang her until the bite marks weren't the only parts of her that were sore.
And the piece of her that coiled in her belly, wanting more, even with one man in her, still wasn’t satisfied.
What was wrong with her? Why was she so fickle?
One was certainly better than none, but when she'd had two, and for so long, just being with one felt... different.
“You there?” Mike said in a low, deep voice, teeth encircling her nipple, the words more a vibration she felt than heard.
“Mmm?”
“You seem a million miles away.” He bit down hard enough for her to cry out.
And for her clit to jump, too.
“When you're with me, I want all of you, Lydia. I won't settle for less.”
“Since when have you ever settled for anything, Mike?”
“Exactly. Not about to start now. So come here. Come to me. And if you won't do it on your own, I'll make you.”
“You'll make me come?” she teased.
“Yes.”
Before she knew it, she was pinned on her back, Mike's fingers in her, thumb on her clit, then tongue. It was sensitive, too sensitive, the pain and pleasure mixing to make a sound deep in her she didn't know she could generate.
Flinging her head side to side, she pushed him away, the effort feeble, and then, oh -
And then she pulled him to her.
Guess Mike could literally make her come.
Mind shattered, legs weak and tingly, she flung her arm across the cool flesh of her chilled breasts as Mike crawled up her body, lips on hers, the taste of what he'd just done to her like a trophy he won in a competition that crowned him king.
King of Orgasms.
“That was – ” she gasped.
“Me.”
“You?”
“That was me, Lydia. And when we're together, I want you to only think of me.”
“I wasn't thinking about – ”
He kissed her again, harder, more demanding, the pressure a threat that thrilled her.
“Don't lie to me,” he growled in her ear. “If you lie, you get punished.”
Flames burst across her chest, up her neck, then down in a blazing trail between her legs.
“Punished?” she squeaked.
Bzzzz.
“Ignore it,” he ordered, glaring at the phone.
“I can't! It could be Mom. Could be an emergency.”
“An emergency at a campground in Maine in late November? What would the emergency be? A moose got its antlers caught on a string of Christmas lights?” he deadpanned.
“Don't you laugh. That actually happened back in 2005.”
Bzzzz.
Flailing with her right hand, Lydia stretched up above her head, searching for her phone on the nightstand. A palm of steel grabbed her wrist, rendering her immobile.
“I said, ignore it.”
“But...”
Words escaped her as Mike began to administer his punishment, indeed.
One stroke at a time.
“You're so hard,” she murmured against his ear.
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“We've been screwing for nearly two hours, Mike.”
“And your point is?” With a hard thrust upward, he hit a spot deep inside her, the kind that made two souls from one as she lived on multiple levels inside a body so aroused, she couldn't think.
Their tempo quickened, deepened, bodies moving against each other with an urgency that made her shiver, then shudder, gripped by an insatiable need to be owned like this.
Pierced.
Possessed.
All thought of anyone but Mike, his perfect body, his even more perfect will, disintegrated as heat radiated up from where their bodies joined and she vibrated from their motion, exploding in a frenzy of kisses and bites, bruised lips and clawed biceps, scratch marks on Mike's pecs made by a piece of Lydia that needed more of him than mere physics allowed.
And then, as he pulled out, he made a different kind of grunt.
“Oh, no.”
“What's wrong?”
He muttered a string of curses that made Lydia jump up on her knees.
And then look down at herself.
“Why am I so wet?”
He gave her a very piqued look.
“No, no, I'm wet from you! I know why I'm wet! I mean why am I so...” Her voice dropped as she watched him pull off the condom.
In shreds.
“It broke,” he said flatly, staring at the limp rubber in his fingers as if it had torn just to personally offend him.
“The condom?”
“No, my penis. Yes, the condom.” Rubbing a hand through his thick hair, which he'd grown longer since moving from Boston to Maine, Mike's stone face stopped at his eyes, which were wildly emotional.
Calculating, too.
As emotion made her stop thinking, she felt a rush of shock, hand going to her belly.
They always used condoms, ever since she stopped using hormonal birth control a year ago. The doctor said it was the cause of some strange hormone shifts, changes that could cause vascular problems for Lydia, so they stuck to barrier methods. She'd meant to get an IUD but never found the time.
Why didn't she ever find the time?
Hold on. She could use Plan B!
Oh. Wait. That was a hormone, too. It was off the table.
She was at nature's mercy now. Nature's mercy and a defective manufacturing process at the condom plant.
“I'm sure it's unlikely,” Mike said slowly, beginning to pace, the torn condom still oddly in his hand. For some reason, she found his movements mesmerizing, a piece of her panicking self needing to watch his gorgeous, naked body.
Over time, he'd only gotten more attractive. Michael Bournham had left everything behind – the bright lights of the big city, the billion dollar deals that were second nature to him for so long as the founder of a Fortune 500 company.
Mike was a jerk when she first met him.
An even bigger jerk the second time.
And she had tamed him. Convinced him to move out here in the middle of nowhere Maine, away from the prying eyes of media vultures, surrounded by a slow pace of life that didn't fry your brain.
“What's unlikely?�
�� she asked, his comment finally sinking in, mouth moving before she could stop herself.
“That you'd become...” He waved his hand at her, as if he couldn't say the word. Chest rising and falling as he took in a deep breath, she watched the muscles realign around his whim.
“Become what? A dolphin?”
“Lydia.”
“Say it, Mike!”
“Fine. That you'd become pregnant.”
“That we would conceive,” she stressed, heavy emphasis on the word we. “There is no 'you' in pregnancy.”
“No, but there is a penny.”
“Huh?”
“And cannery.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Anagrams. You can make those words by rearranging the letters in the word ‘pregnancy’.”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“Nothing.” He sighed, then stormed into the bathroom, the sight of his muscled ass making her pause in her stunned state. The man had a fine, fine backside, and a condom blowout wasn't enough to make her not admire Mike's form.
Even if he may have just unexpectedly knocked her up.
A flush, the sound of running water, and then another long exhale mixed with her own reactions.
“Lydia?” He came back into the bedroom but remained standing next to his dresser, a wide-pine beauty they'd bought from a local craftsman last year. Old Archie was working on a raw-edged counter for their kitchen next summer.
Just waiting for some oak to age properly.
“Hmmm?”
“Where are you in your cycle?” A tilt of the head made him look professorly.
“Oh! Right! I'm...” After almost twenty years of periods, she had this down cold, the calendar math as much a part of her psyche as knowing how to breathe or walk. “Day fourteen.”
“Since the first day of your last period?” He sounded like an OB-GYN asking questions during an exam.
“Yes. That's how you count cycles. Day one of bleeding is day one.”
“And you're most fertile in your cycle from days...?”
The way he asked the question made her sigh, the long, drawn out sound mirroring his.
Because he knew.
The question was rhetorical.
“Right now, Mike. I'm most fertile right now.”
Still on her knees, she was completely naked, the cool November air making her cold, but it didn't matter.
That's not what was shocking her most.
As they spoke, Mike's sperm was making its way up the path inside her vagina, crossing through the cervix, moving up the womb where her eggs would release. Like a roller coaster, she imagined, the egg would find itself on a journey it never expected, thrown to and fro until it landed where biology dictated, and chance decided the rest.
Mike came to her, a half grin on his face, eyes evaluating her. “Then we have a situation.”
“A potential child isn't a 'situation.'” Her nipples hardened. His eyes darted down.
Mike noticed.
“It's the very definition of a situation.”
“You're dehumanizing this!”
“I'm operationally managing an unexpected set of circumstances so we can have an optimal outcome.”
“I THOUGHT YOU LEFT THIS VERSION OF YOURSELF IN BOSTON!” she shouted, making him move back from the enormous bed the three of them shared.
“Version? There's only one 'version' of me, and it's me. Just me.”
“You're deluding yourself if you think that's true, Mike! You used to be this cold, calculating asshole CEO. Here in Maine you're laid-back, sporty, intense but present.”
One eyebrow went up in an expression she considered his You've got a point look. “I'm also focused on handling a situation we didn't anticipate, Lydia.” Unblinking, he stared at her, those sapphire eyes hypnotic. While she never chose favorites between her two men, she was often struck by how perfectly each met some part of what she needed most. Jeremy's eyes were pure chocolate warmth.
Mike's were icy spears, strong and bold, challenging and firm.
“Situation,” she repeated, crossing her arms, hating herself for feeling pouty suddenly. “I'm full of your sperm, mister. You made this situation.”
“I thought you said there's no 'you' in pregnancy.”
“There isn't, but you know what is in pregnancy?”
“What?”
“Anger.” The tears began to hit her, fierce and full. “And 'cry.'”
“Oh, Lydia,” he said, softening as he rushed to her, arms around her in a split second, the same body she'd just been so raw and vulnerable with now a wall of protection and comfort. As she reached for him, too, her hands skimmed over the back she knew so well from scratching it in the throes of passion, the arms of thick muscle that grew over years of living here in the woods, the thick thighs that helped split wood, fix a broken tractor, move kayaks and canoes during a summer squall.
He was a far cry from the billionaire CEO she'd met years ago, and yet he was the same man.
The same man she loved to the core.
“We – we haven't talked about children!” she gasped as the crying took over full force, the implications of a faulty piece of latex making her mind race. “And Jeremy is going to be so pissed.”
Surprise turned those eyes to a smoky blue. “Pissed?”
“Because we weren't all together! Because you're the – the – ”
“Father,” he said slowly, eyes going wide with dawning understand. “Father.”
“Exactly! We're a threesome. We share everything.”
“We'll share this child. We'll raise him the way Laura, Mike, and Dylan raise their kids.” That threesome was the closest they'd ever have to having “friends in common,” the unlikely meeting of two billionaires sharing a woman a story rooted in Madge, of all people. She knew Laura, Mike and Dylan from their time as customers at Jeddy's Diner in Boston. Madge dated a guy named Ed whose grandson, Alex, was marrying Laura's best friend.
Madge had suggested they have their unconventional double wedding at Escape Shores Campground and the rest was history.
Lydia's grandmother was a maven, for sure. A maven who connected people in ways that enriched lives.
And made them a lot naughtier, too.
“Him? You're assuming the baby is a him? That's so sexist!” She punched a pillow. It rolled onto the floor with a plunk!
“No need to go all feminist on me at a time like this, Lydia.”
“You are so clueless.”
“And you're being hysterical.”
“Oh, here we go! 'Hysterical.' You're literally using my uterus against me!”
“I'm what?”
Seizing another pillow off the bed, she threw it, hard, at his head.
But Mike had excellent reflexes and dodged it easily.
“I love how your tits bounce when you throw like that.” Hip checking the dresser, he leaned against it and grinned at her, though his eyes were troubled.
“I can't believe I ever liked you,” she called out, scrambling to find another pillow to knock the smirk off his face.
And then she burst into tears again.
Mike's next sigh was one of compassion. Of realizing he was wrong.
Of regret.
“I know what we need to do.” He paused, looking at her with those ice-blue eyes, a flash of lust radiating to her like a nuclear hit. Even in the middle of a crisis, he could make her deliciously wet.
“You do?” she sniffled, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, wiping her tears.
“Or, rather, what you need to do.”
“I thought there was no 'you' in pregnancy.”
“There isn't. And I can't help you with the next step.”
“Which is?” Dread raced through her blood.
“I think it's obvious.”
“Spell it out for me, Mike.”
Bending before her, still gloriously naked, the scent of their sex wafting through her, hitting her brain with a prim
al note she couldn't put into words, Mike clasped her hands and said something so simple.
Yet so hard.
“You have to find Jeremy and sleep with him. No condom. Right now.”
3
Lydia
“Hey,” she said, Jeremy turning to her with a grumpy frown.
Oh, no.
This was already hard enough to explain, but now she had to try to convince an angry Jeremy to get it up and have service sex with her?
The universe was really messing with her.
Mike was right. The broken condom wasn't their fault. Not one bit. And Jeremy would understand and see that this was the best way to make something good – if not, at least, more fair – out of a random accident.
Right?
“What?” he snapped, turning his attention back to some tube he was feeding into an enormous glass jug.
Mead.
He was making mead.
The guy had become obsessed with homemade mead from honey he produced himself, ever since Miles taught him all about beekeeping. The two of them treated their bees like lovers.
Better than lovers, actually. Lydia bet Jeremy didn't glare at his queen bee like that.
“I need you.”
“Can't it wait?”
“No.”
Slamming the tube on the ground, he kicked the doorframe, lightly but with enough violence to make Lydia reel back. “Damn hole.”
“Hole?”
“It's too wet.”
Sensing an in, she joked, “I've never known you to find a hole too wet.”
Narrowed eyes met hers. For the past three months, Jeremy had been growing a beard. It wasn't the clean, perfectly trimmed kind Mike had toyed with for a while before shaving it off.
Oh, no.
Jeremy looked like a mountain man.
A tall, lean, and wiry wild dude.
One who made her hole very, very wet.
“What's going on, Lydia?” When he scowled, his eyelids rose, but his brow didn't. He looked older, meaner, and fear spiked through her.
But so did something else.
“You – you look really hot like this,” she said, stroking the scraggly ends of his beard. That wasn't a lie.
He snorted. “Didn't think I was so hot this morning when I made a pass at you in bed and you shot me down.”
Damn. He was still sore about that.
