by Brit M.
“Paul's not good at verbalizing,” he said quietly. “So let me add while he's in there: I, for one, know that you may feel some intense emotions when we're working through having mind-blowing sex. Sex is a huge part of everyone's psyche, more than most people want to admit. You've already smashed so many of your barriers to get here. You're vulnerable. Don't be afraid of it.”
She nodded, thinking. “I was never the kind of woman who would do this, but I like it. I can't deny I've never felt like this before. Watching you together burns me up, and when you touch me, or Paul does, I just can't even speak.”
His arm around her shoulder tightened, rolling her in against his body in a closer hug. She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder, fingers creeping across his bare stomach to embrace him in return. The warmth and comfort of him there lulled her, eyes slipping closed and breathing smoothing out. She felt so good, so right.
“That's the barrier I'm talking about,” he murmured into her hair. “You keep telling yourself that you're not this kind of woman. What does that even mean? That women who do this are bad?”
“No,” she whispered.
“That wasn't convincing,” he said. His fingers combed through her hair, massaged her scalp. “You obviously know I'm bisexual, but I lean toward men. Coming out was hard. You're raised with all this paranoia and hate, and it gets inside you, so even when you want to be true to yourself it eats at you.”
“It's not that bad,” she said.
“Sweetheart, I think it is right now. You're afraid and you don't know what you want, but you want it so badly you can let go of your fear to try. And you're loving it. You're so responsive, you don't even know. It's like a sub who hasn't been ridden hard for a long time. They start to yearn for it.”
Adrian took a deep breath, and put his finger to her lips when she started to deny again that she was afraid.
“Hush,” he said. “Think of this like your personal sex therapy, not only a weekend retreat. The sooner you accept that you still have some ugly feelings about yourself, about this, the sooner you can let them go. Let them go and live it like you want to.”
The bathroom door opened and Marissa closed her mouth on the tip of Adrian's finger, flicking her tongue over it and tasting fresh water, the hint of soap. He grinned and pressed another kiss to her head, this time near her ear as she shifted. Paul's body bracketed her in a moment later, his pajama pants cotton like her shorts. His hands were so warm they were nearly hot as he snuggled close to the pair.
“Under the sheets?” he asked.
“We have to move, don't we?” Adrian pouted.
Marissa moved with them until all three were huddled under the covers and comforter, with the large LCD television on and a movie playing at a low volume. They were warm, and close, and perfect. She cuddled tighter between them, curling her fingers around Paul's arm where it lay over her and Adrian both and squeezing Adrian briefly with her free arm. They both moved, and she heard the sound of kissing. She looked up to watch them, lit by the television screen, and saw only tenderness and love in the way their lips pressed. Adrian fumbled for the remote on the nightstand and thumbed two buttons: the first turned off the TV, the second the overhead light.
The sudden dark made her flinch, but the moment passed, and she relaxed. Adrian rolled onto his side, and Paul nudged her, guiding her to spoon against his back. Paul did the same, hugging their bodies to his. Hair tickled her nose and she tucked her head in against Adrian's shoulder. Breathing and the shifting noises of the trio settling into comfortable positions, eased her asleep, held secure and safe between their strong, capable bodies.
Chapter Eight
Marissa woke to the subtle, easy movements of the man in front of her trying to sneak out of bed without waking anyone. She grumbled, pawing for him, and he laughed quietly. She blinked, squinting in the morning gloom. The curtains blocked plenty of light, but not all of it.
“Ssh,” he said. “I'll be right back.”
She let Adrian go, mind slowly clawing back to awareness, and wriggled back tighter into Paul's sleep-loosened embrace. His knees bumped against the backs of her and she pulled the covers over their heads, but she didn't think she'd be going back to sleep any time soon. What Adrian had said to her lingered in her mind and, after a night of rest, she wasn't too exhausted to think about it.
Was he right? Did she still have what he'd called ugly feelings about what they were doing here? A part of her protested. If she did, why was she comfortable sleeping between them, being nude with them, fucking them at all? Another, quieter part seemed to nod its agreement: she was still embarrassed of what she was doing, even if her body ached for it and it made her feel so free. How would it feel to go down to breakfast arm in arm, kisses all around, and have the wait staff know she'd spent the night with not one but two men, who were also together? She shuddered at the thought, but that firmed her resolution to work through these issues. Maybe with Adrian's insightful, incisive commentary along with the mind-blowing sex, she'd be able to. She hoped so, at least. She wanted to be proud of what she had going on. She wanted her reaction to the knowing looks they might get in public to be pride, not shame.
So that was a goal, beyond discovering what she really, truly liked.
Her squirming woke Paul after another moment and he made a snuffling, curious noise, his hands patting the bed in front of her to find Adrian gone. She heard the bathroom door open and lifted her head, blearily looking at Adrian as he emerged, his blond hair sticking up in every direction.
He climbed back in with them, this time face to face with Marissa, and his legs tangled in with Paul's over hers. It was close, and almost too hot, but she relaxed into the pressure of them holding her. A shift, and the pressure was an entirely different kind—Paul rubbed the noticeable length of his morning erection against her butt, humming his enjoyment into her ear. She stiffened, then found herself melting into their hands as Adrian ran his fingertips down the length of her torso, between her breasts, ending at the waistband of her shorts.
“Food first, or this?” he asked.
Paul made a noise of sleepy complaint and rolled away. “Be right back,” he said.
“Probably food,” she said. “I want to freshen up, too, and my mouth tastes awful, I can tell.”
“Spoilsports,” Adrian murmured but his smile said otherwise. He kissed the tip of her nose and hugged her tight against his body, letting her feel the beginning swell of his growing erection through his soft pajama pants.
“We'll come up again after breakfast,” she replied, sitting up slowly.
It was almost impossibly difficult to extract herself from the teasing of his little touches, but she managed, and finally stood on the other side of the bed rummaging through her suitcase for clothes. She chose a soft blue cotton T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, then made a point of dangling a bright green lace thong from her fingertips as she turned. Adrian sprawled on the bed, his pants riding low on his hips to reveal the suggestive lines of his lower stomach, smirked at the sight.
Paul emerged from the bathroom a moment later, his hair combed into a more manageable tangle of curls and his pajama pants balled in his fist. Marissa's breath caught at the sight of his nude body, soft cock drawing her eye. She wanted abruptly to drop to her knees and take him in her mouth when it was so small and seemingly delicate, not like the steely hardness of his erection the night before. The need ached in her in a surprising, sudden wave. She licked her lips. She'd never taken a man soft into her mouth before, never felt him grow between her lips and on her tongue.
So, with a giddy sensation of relief, she put a hand on his hip, dropped her clothes on the floor and sank into a crouch on her heels to put her head at level with him. His breath hitched audibly and his hand found the top of her head, gently tilting it back so he could look into her eyes.
“Let me,” she asked.
“Go ahead,” he said, low and interested.
He was starting to swell already and
she leaned forward, heart pounding, to take him in her mouth. It was a unique feel on her tongue, her palate—loose and soft enough that she could flick her tongue around and over him, pressing and tasting. She could intimately feel the thickening of his cock as he hardened, until she could no longer breathe with her lips against the coarse, trimmed triangle of hair at his groin. He rolled his hips, pushing against her throat, and she shuddered, holding her breath. Could she take him further? She knew he was bigger than this fully erect, and still growing in her mouth.
Paul's hand found the back of her neck and she let her hands slide down his legs to rest in her lap, letting him guide her. He tilted her head back a bit, whispered something in a comforting tone that she didn't hear over the pounding of her pulse in her ears, and pushed again. She swallowed convulsively as the head of his cock stretched her throat, scarily new but not painful. It felt like he was fucking her mouth as he would her pussy, working his hips slow and easy to open her up more, make her take him deeper.
She tapped his knee after another moment, lightheaded and now feeling a scrape and soreness in her throat, and he let go. She pulled off with a gasp, mouth full of saliva and throat aching slightly. Paul's dick bobbed in front of her face, fully erect and slick with her spit. She had to gasp for a few breaths. Her lungs protested how long she'd kept them without air.
“You're a natural,” he whispered hotly, combing her hair back from her face with his fingers. His thumb swiped over her lower lip. “I don't think I want breakfast anymore.”
“I want to try,” Adrian murmured.
She looked at him over her shoulder. He was lying on his stomach on the bed, chin propped up on his hands and eyes focused singularly on them. His face had the telltale pink blush of arousal that she'd begun to think of as unbearably cute. Her body felt limp but somehow electrified with desire, kneeling there, both of their gazes searching and hungry on her.
“You're feeling it today, aren't you?” Adrian purred as he rose from the bed.
“I don't—” she said, then coughed.
He knelt behind her, gathered her hands in his, and yanked them behind her back with a little more force than was necessary, enough to sting her skin. She cried out, sharp and surprised, back arching and fingers clenching as the lightning shock of it slammed through her like a bite but a thousand times stronger. Adrian let out a husky laugh at the intensity of her reaction.
“You are such a sub,” he murmured into her ear.
“I—”
“Hush,” he said. He kissed her neck sweetly. “Let us do this to you. Say stop if you don't like it.”
She felt him nod, his cheek moving against her hair. Paul took the cue and stepped forward, thumb guiding his dick so it pointed straight at her mouth again. She met his eyes and saw not just lust but also a sort of tenderness there, though heated. She wasn't afraid to be restrained at their mercy, not when he had that look.
“You like to be talked to, praised,” Adrian murmured as she opened her mouth again and let Paul slide himself in. “Don't you, sweetheart?”
She moaned. The hot glide of Paul's cock over her tongue and the roof of her mouth made her shiver. Adrian's fingers tightened around her wrists. He held her hard while Paul shallowly thrust, drawing himself in and out in short strokes, rubbing himself over her tongue more than anything. She licked him as well as she could, being immobile, and let them do the work.
“Does it make you hot for Paul to fuck your mouth like this?” he whispered. “Using you to make himself come, while your pussy aches to be touched and we ignore it?”
Paul was the one who groaned, and Marissa dizzily remembered Adrian saying how much he liked dirty talk, too. Her jaw was stretched and her lips tingling, the velvet steel of the man's dick going a little further now with each smooth roll of his hips. She tilted her head the fraction he'd shown her before, relaxing her throat as much as she could, and didn't choke when he slid further in once more. The slickness of her saliva made it easier, smoother, so the stretch didn't hurt.
Paul's voice next came as a shudder-inducing growl. “I like using you like this. Like a wet, hot little fuck-toy.”
She did groan around him then, swallowing hard as he slid deep, deeper, cutting off her noise until it was a vibration instead. He gasped, gripping her hair in his fists, and she writhed in Adrian's hold. They were right, so right—her skin was on fire, too small for her, every inch itching with need to be stroked and licked. Paul began to pant above her, his hips moving jerkily, shoving in harder as his control broke. She was along for the ride, trying not to lose the rhythm or choke, her chin wet and hair sticking to her face where it had escaped his hands. It was messy, hard, hot.
“Is it okay for him to come in your mouth?” Adrian whispered.
She had no answer but to moan again, hips shifting against nothing, craving touch and receiving nothing. That was enough for Paul. He gasped out a quick, “Oh, yes—”and pulled out far enough that he came in hot pulses on her tongue, letting her taste the rich salty musk of him. She was shaking as he pulled out. Her eyelashes were damp. Her throat hurt in the best way, and a man had just fucked her throat until he came. It sounded like something Adrian would say.
“Good job,” Adrian said. “You made him feel good, darling. Do you deserve a reward for making him come with your sweet mouth?”
Paul smirked, dropping to the floor with them and lifting her by the thighs so she could uncurl her legs and spread them across his lap. His softening cock was damp against her inner thigh. He pulled her shorts down, his attentive eyes tracking the wetness darkening them.
“You're soaking,” he said.
“Please,” she whispered, raw and scratchy.
“God, that's hot,” Adrian moaned into her ear, moving close with his thighs spread around her waist. The hot press of his cock against her lower back bowed her spine. She needed to be touched, couldn't wait any longer. “Your fucked-out voice. Say some more.”
She opened her mouth but found no words, eyes locked with Paul's. She felt limp still, loose in their hands, content to be molded and maneuvered despite her burning arousal.
“It's an order,” he corrected. He smirked. “Tell me what to do and I'll do it. But you have to ask for exactly what you want. Otherwise I won't do a thing and Adrian will hold your hands so you can't touch yourself.”
Marissa panted, resting her head on Adrian's shoulder. He kissed her cheek, searching for her mouth, and she turned her head to find him. He licked into her open mouth, groaning low in his throat, and she wondered if he was tasting Paul's come. The thought made her gasp again.
“I want to come,” she begged into his kiss.
“More specific,” he whispered, blue eyes sparkling with desire and pleasure. “Tell Paul.”
He helped her shift to look down the length of her body at him, legs propped open over his lap and shorts dangling from one ankle. His hands never left her wrists. Paul waited, patient and darkly amused by her struggle, her debilitating arousal. His mischievous look made things low in her body tighten.
“I want—” She wavered. “Put your fingers in me. Lick my cunt.”
Her face flamed, her body seared with heat and lust at the way Paul's eyes narrowed and his smirk widened, obviously enjoying her embarrassment. She was, too, if she were deliriously honest with herself—it was good, it was sweet and pure in a way that shame never was. She just liked to be made to feel dirty.
“As you wish,” he murmured.
She wanted to cry with relief as his hand moved between her legs, fingers stroking down her pussy and spreading her. He crooked two, pushing them inside with a powerful movement of his wrist. She gasped instead, hips rolling and moving eagerly as he pushed his fingertips up and stroked her insides until he found just the right spot, and her vision went gray at the burst of pleasure.
“Yes!” she cried out, Adrian's grip tighter on her and his breath panting in her ear. Their reactions encouraged hers, she knew—she could be louder, freer, need
ier with them because they wanted to see it. They wanted her to give up control.
“I think the lady asked to be licked,” Adrian growled.
“Yes, sir,” Paul said with a grin and bent his head, tongue flickering over her clit.
She writhed in their grip, Paul's free hand grasping her thigh hard and his other stroking two fingers constantly over that spot inside her that sent bolts of hard, sharp pleasure up her spine. It was almost too intense. The added, sweeter ecstasy of his tongue lapping broad, wet-hot strokes over her clit softened it some, and the crescendo built so fast between the alternating sensations that she was yelling, gasping her pleas for completion without a second thought.
“Yeah, that's it,” Adrian encouraged her. He was grinding steadily against her back.
As her legs began to shake and her eyes slammed shut, Paul abruptly pulled back. She bit down on a howl, body quivering and taut at the edge of orgasm but unable to crest. She fought to press her thighs together and end it but his body kept her legs spread, Adrian's hands pinning her wrists so she couldn't touch.
“Oh, God, God, please—” she panted.
“You're leaving out our Adrian,” Paul said. “And you didn't order me to make you finish, did you?”
“Your cock,” she begged Adrian, rolling her head back onto his shoulder.
He shoved her, and she toppled into Paul's embrace, shimmying up into his lap to press his half-hard dick against herself. She ground down with a moan, feeling him twitch against her with renewed interest. He wrapped his arms hard around her middle and lifted her, squeezing so hard her breath rushed out. His embrace pinned her arms held her above his lap so she couldn't rub against him.
“Adrian!” she cried out.
Slippery fingers pressed between her ass cheeks and she froze, stiffening at the wet touch where she'd never been touched before. He waited, Paul waited, she waited. She let her breath shudder out and said nothing. The fingers stroked over her there, teasing skin until she understood what he got from being fucked, if it was anything like being rubbed—ticklish but not, raw sensation, intimate in a way that even touching her pussy wasn't. It required more trust, more willingness to broaden her horizons.
