Ménage à Music (Rock Starz Book 3)

by Lily Harlem

  I began to buck upward for it. Wanting deeper invasion as I sank up and down on Tim. My breasts jiggled, my heart raced and my clit was getting ready to fly.

  “Can I?” Dean said hoarsely. “Now, do you think you can take me now, Sylvia? It won’t be much different.”

  “I don’t know,” I whimpered, blood rushing through my ears and mixing with the song belting out from the ceiling. “I…I don’t know.”

  “It better be soon,” Tim moaned, clenching his jaw.

  “It will be even more sensational,” Dean murmured, pulling the plug practically out and then smoothing it back in. “My dick will feel so much better, it’s hot and hard and will send you to a very special place where orgasms last forever and wash over you like fine champagne. Every nerve will be transported to ecstasy and you’ll come hard and long until satisfaction is like a warm cashmere blanket wrapped around you.”

  His voice and words soothed my hesitation, sending me into a trance. The plug felt comfortable now, my tight anus looser, more relaxed, and I missed the full sensation when he pulled it practically out.

  “Okay,” I said, beginning to tremble with the anticipation of coming, coming luxuriously hard and long the way Dean had just described. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

  “Thank fuck,” Tim said, trapping my face and pulling me into a hot open-mouthed kiss.

  The plug slipped from me and clattered to the floor. Within a second, Dean pressed the wide, smooth head of his cock against my quivering anus. I broke my kiss with Tim and dropped my head into his neck. Confidence in my ability to take Dean had wavered now it was about to happen.

  “You can scream if you need to, the place is soundproofed,” Dean said.

  Scream! I hoped to hell I wouldn’t need to scream.

  He exerted forward pressure with his hips. I lifted my head from Tim’s neck and stared down into his green eyes. They were still full of desire but they also held concern now. Concern for me.

  I had a sudden urge to make this work. For all three of us. This is what they wanted and now it was exactly what I wanted too.

  Concentrating on relaxing, even though instinct made me want to buck away, I kept still and urged my anus to relax for Dean’s invasion.

  “That’s it, let my dick in,” Dean said as he pushed harder, hard enough for the lubed head of his cock to pop inside me.

  I held my breath, waiting for a searing pain. But it didn’t bite. I was just overwhelmed by stretched fullness in my back passage.

  “Keep rocking against me,” Tim urged, pressing his hands on my waist. “It’s all pleasure, not pain, just pleasure.”

  I did as he’d asked and resumed my rocking. My clit was alive and desperate and as I rode against Tim’s hard body his buried cock hardened further. The tug of an orgasm pulled my attention again. “Yes, pleasure,” I panted before kissing him desperately.

  Dean took advantage of my movements, pinned his hands around my hips and when I glided backward onto Tim he made sure I also glided backward onto him.

  My body trembled as I rode onto his impalement, sucking up his cock into my dark, virginal hole. I kept on going, still kissing Tim, and didn’t stop moving until Dean was seated, like Tim, as far inside my body as he could possibly go.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” Dean hissed. “I’d never have believed you could be so perfect for us, Sylvia.”

  I couldn’t reply. I was consumed, owned, invaded. Two enormous cocks penetrating me had taken away my ability to speak. It felt so wonderful, so erotic. My pussy was extended every which way and my anus was clinging to Dean as though it would never let go.

  “It’s so fucking snug inside you,” Tim said breathlessly onto my lips. “And it’s just doubled in tightness now Dean’s in.”

  “I can’t hold off,” Dean said, taking over the rhythm. “It’s too bloody good.” He shunted me forward and back, not sliding out of me just rocking me harder, more insistently onto Tim.

  “Ah, yes…Dean,” I gasped. “Tim, it’s so…ah…ah.” I exploded. It was as if my orgasm were another living, breathing part of me. It spun me upward, balanced me on the precipice of pure bliss for an achingly long moment before crashing me down. I called out as my body shook violently. My pussy clamped Tim’s cock and my asshole squeezed Dean.

  “Fucking hell,” Tim cursed into my mouth as he pulsated within me. “Sweet, mother of mercy, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tight against his chest, plunged his tongue into find mine.

  Dean upped the pace as my butt tilted higher. He pulled his cock backward, almost out, then he pounded in, twice, three times, his fingers viselike around my hips and his grunts of satisfaction tangling with the wild rock music raining down on us. I called into Tim’s mouth at the new sensation Dean created and felt another roll of pleasure wash through me, this time from nerve endings I didn’t even know I owned. I grabbed and claimed another deeply satisfying orgasm that erupted from the core of my pelvis.

  Then Dean too was riding through his climax. “Ah, ah, yes, yes, Sylvia, fuck,” he groaned. I could feel him throbbing inside my back passage, flooding the condom. “Yes, fuck it, yessss.”

  He stilled, buried to the hilt. He released my hips and bent and kissed my sweat-laced shoulder blades. “That was awesome,” he whispered breathlessly.

  I twisted in Tim’s grip for his kiss. Dean leaned farther up to reach me and we all groaned in unison at the deep sensations the movement created.

  “Are you okay?” Tim whispered into my ear as Dean nibbled at my bottom lip.

  “Never better,” I managed on a pant. “I can honestly say, I’ve never felt better.”

  “Good,” Dean said, lifting up and sucking in a deep breath. “’Cause that was the plan.” He kept on lifting and I was aware of his cock slipping from me. My tight muscles contracted the instant he was out. My anus felt scorched—scorched but satisfied.

  “Let me help you,” Dean said, raising me from Tim’s body.

  Tim’s cock slithered out of me and I stood on weak knees next to the chaise. Tim got up, snapped off the condom and aimed it at a bin. Perfect shot. His chest was rising and falling with his rapid breaths.

  Dean peeled off his condom and as he walked to the bin, Tim swept me up in his arms. Pressed my weak, sated body against his.

  “Bedtime,” he said as I locked my arms around his neck. “Or you won’t get any presents delivered down the chimney.”

  Chapter Five

  When I opened my eyes on Christmas morning I stared straight up at my own reflection. Even the ceiling of the bedroom was mirrored.

  My hair was stuck up at all angles. Falling into a deep, exhausted sleep after our fun in the bathroom and with it still damp had ruined my sleek new look. The gray duvet was twisted around my waist and my nipples poked upward. My lips were bruised and swollen, as if I were pouting at myself.

  I ran a hand over my breasts and reminded myself of Tim and Dean touching me. Of how glorious they’d made me feel. As my nipples beaded at the memory, the low strum of a guitar rumbled from the living room.

  I spread my hands over the sheet, one on each side of me, and sensed lingering heat.

  The men hadn’t been up long.

  I sat, rubbed my eyes and padded into the bathroom. I showered in the same sweet gel we’d used the night before, found a toothbrush still in packaging and dragged a comb through my hair. Briefly I searched for my panties then remembered the last time I’d seen them they were abandoned and twisted on the kitchen floor. I glanced at my tight skirt and sweater in the corner of the bathroom—not really what I wanted to squeeze myself into this morning.

  Making a sudden decision, I pulled on Dean’s t-shirt. It smelled of him, musky and woody, slightly smoky. It hit halfway down my thighs and hung loose on my shoulders and over my breasts. That would do: the apartment was tropically warm and it felt nice to be free of stiff clothes, a holiday feeling.

  Placing my hand on the door handle to the living room, I hesitated.
Would things have changed between the three of us? What we’d shared last night had been intense, mind-blowing. We were no longer band and artist relations manager; we were something new, something uncharted.

  I swallowed a lump of nerves and pushed open the door. I would have to face them sometime, so may as well get to it.

  Dean sat alone on a soft leather chair in black jeans, his feet and chest bare and his hair shower damp. His shoulders and neck were hunched over a sleek silver guitar. I paused in the doorframe to admire his golden skin and the intricate swirls of his tattoo.

  He strummed several notes and then lifted his face. “Hey, sexy,” he said. “Happy Christmas.” He smiled, flashing white teeth and sending creases darting from the corners of his eyes.

  “You too, Happy Christmas.” His smile told me everything was good between us. Very good. I inhaled the scent of roasting coffee and glanced at the giant windows. “Hey, it snowed,” I exclaimed.

  “Yep, all night by the looks of it. Good job we were warm and cozy in bed, eh?”

  Blinking at the dazzling brightness, I stepped up to the window. The staggered rooftops of London were coated in a deep blanket of pristine white snow, as if they’d been doused in icing sugar. St Paul’s Cathedral, in the distance, sparkled against a crystal clear blue sky. Several ribbons of sooty smoke snaked from pot-shaped chimneys and below me, parallel tire tracks lined the—for once—quiet roads.

  “It’s magical,” I said.

  “Yeah, it’s cool,” Dean replied. “The perfect Christmas morning.”

  “Oh good, you’re awake.”

  I turned at the sound of Tim’s voice. Like his brother he wore only faded black jeans as he strolled out of the kitchen. He was carrying a tray laden with coffee mugs and Danish pastries.

  “I made breakfast,” he said, placing the tray on a low table strewn with newspapers and copies of New Music Express.

  “I’m ready for a coffee,” I said, admiring the way the muscles and tendons in his back rippled as he stooped.

  He walked over to me, a big red mug in his hand. “Merry Christmas, honey,” he said, pressing a kiss to my cheek and the mug into my palm.

  My heart fluttered at his closeness. His hair was damp. He too had showered. His eyes sparkled with a new depth to them. It had changed between us but it was good change. I could tell, I could feel it radiating from them both.

  I took a sip of coffee.

  “We made page three of The Daily Herald and page five in News Today,” Dean said, pulling a pencil from behind his ear and scribbling on a piece of paper that lay between his feet.

  “What do you mean?” I glanced up at Tim.

  A small crease formed between his eyebrows. “We probably shouldn’t have hinted that we both liked the same girl on The Claudia Tate Show.”

  “Oh, it was only a bit of banter,” Dean said.

  Tim gave an amused huff. “Yeah, we know that.” He reached down for a newspaper, flicked it open and handed it to me. “It’s just every damn thing is taken and twisted and played with. That’s why I keep bloody quiet most of the time.”

  I looked down at page five. “Could sibling rivalry signal the end of Britain’s biggest band?” the headline read. There was a photo of Tim and Dean facing each other on Claudia’s couch—each had a belligerent, determined expression on their face as Claudia leaned forward gleefully.

  I read on. “After lead singer Robbie Harding announced his engagement to childhood sweetheart Dr. Jenny Calahan, sparks flew between the Coltrane brothers. Tim, the eldest and the band’s drummer, clashed with Dean, bass guitar, when they appeared to have set their sights on the same mystery girl. Not only are Manic Machines soaring high on a string of hits including “Slip Knot”, the Christmas number one, they also scooped all the industry’s major awards this year. But could this battle of the brothers cause the bubble to burst? Could this be the end of the dream for the boys and their fans? Watch this space for updates on what could be a cataclysmic love triangle for lovers of rock and roll.”

  “Well they say no publicity is bad publicity,” I said in a slightly shaky voice. “But I’m not so sure about this.” I was used to the guys’ publicity but I wasn’t sure how I felt about being part of it.

  “It’s all cool,” Dean said, shoving the pencil back behind his ear. “What’s going to happen? It’s all hypothetical. The band’s not gonna split over you, Sylvia, is it?”

  “Yeah,” Tim said, running a hand over my shoulder and down my back. “What they say is true about us liking the same girl and being in a love triangle. But it’s hardly the sort of triangle they think it is.”

  “Mmm,” Dean said, smiling and twanging out a rapid set of chords. “And the cataclysmic explosion is probably not quite what the reporter imagined it to be either.”

  Tim gave a huff of amusement.

  I took another sip of coffee. My mind was whirring. The paparazzi would up their game to get shots of the boys and the “mystery girl”. I would have to give extra attention to organizing outings.

  “Don’t stress it,” Tim said as if reading my mind. “Everyone has seen you out with us plenty of times. You’re one of our managers for goodness’ sake.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I calmed. They were right, it was just speculation on the papers’ behalf. I’d been hanging out with the band for six months and nothing had ever been made of my presence.

  “Come on,” Tim urged. “Sit, we want to give you your presents.”

  “Presents?” I asked, surprised.

  “Yes, presents, Sylvia, it’s Christmas and you…” his voice lowered, “have been a very good girl.”

  I smiled. “You think so?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Tim said with a sexy shift of his eyebrows.

  I glanced at my handbag, discarded on the end of the sofa. Luckily I’d bought them silver and black pens inscribed with their initials. I’d meant to give them out yesterday but had been wonderfully sidetracked.

  “Hang on,” Dean said. “First, tell me what you both think of this?” He strummed out a melodic intro then hit into a hard bass. “Sweet dirty mouth,” he sang in his deep, gritty voice.

  Sweet dirty mouth I dream of going south

  Several more beats rang out and he looked up at me and grinned.

  Sugar and spice keeps me going all night

  She looks so good but she’s gonna get baaaaaaaaaad

  Sweet dirty mouth

  Sweet dirty mouth

  Tim bobbed his head next to me, his right hand twitched as if counting a beat with his drumstick. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s got potential. I like it.”

  “Sylvia?” Dean asked, his gaze sliding to me. “What do you reckon?”

  “It’s good.” I sat on the sofa and was reminded of my lack of panties when my butt hit cool leather. “It’s catchy, could be next summer’s festival hit.” I paused and grinned. “You may have to make the lyrics a bit less suggestive though.”

  “You think?” He looked disgruntled.

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “But I love it and I think the others will love it too.”

  Dean grinned and ran over the intro again. “Sweet dirty mouth. I dream of going south.”

  “Here,” Tim said, sitting close to me. “Open this.” He placed a small turquoise bag with string handles in my lap. In black writing across the front were the words Tiffany & Co. “There’s two presents in there, one from each of us.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered. No one had ever bought me anything from Tiffany’s before and now here was a bag containing two presents.

  “Don’t say anything, just open it,” Tim said. “It’s about time you got spoiled.”

  I pulled open the mouth of the bag and reached in, took out a matching turquoise box and prised open the lid.

  Dean paused scribbling on the music paper. “They’re from me,” he said.

  “They’re beautiful,” I exclaimed, studying the diamond earrings. They were set in gold and dazzled from their soft cre
am sponge. “Thank you so much. I love them.”

  “Good,” he said. “You can wear them later, at Christmas dinner.”

  “Christmas dinner?” I didn’t think a microwave meal for one warranted wearing diamond earrings. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re coming to our home. Mum makes a fabulous roast and on Christmas Day she goes all out with the trimmings.”

  “But it’s family time, you don’t want me there.”

  “You really think we’d let you eat alone?” Tim asked, frowning. “And of course we want you there.”

  “But, but I can’t just show up.”

  “You’ve been invited,” Dean said with a shrug. “Who do you think I called last night when we arrived here?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”

  “Mum and Dad are dying to meet you,” Dean said. “Your name has come up in several conversations with both of us lately eh, Tim?”

  “Yep, they’ll be pleased to finally meet the face behind the name.”

  I reached for my coffee. My fingers were itching to open my other present but I needed to clear something up first. “If my name has come up in conversations with both of you, does that mean…” I struggled to find the right words. “Does that mean they get it if you both, you know, like the same girl.”

  Tim placed his hand on my cheek and turned me to face him. He let out a low sigh. “I ought to explain,” he said quietly. “When we were setting up the band, we both fell for Harriet Drew in a big way. She was a trainee journalist doing a story on up-and-coming groups. She liked us too, both of us. She dated Dean and then me over the course of several months until one day I came home from the gym early and found her in bed with Dean.” He paused and glanced at his brother. “She’d been with me the night before and I saw red.” His eyes darkened. “To cut a long story short, I punched the hell out of Dean—”

  “I punched you right back, asshole,” Dean huffed.

  “Yep, you did.” Tim rubbed his jaw as if remembering an old ache. “And then she walked out and we never saw her again.”