by Zoe Dakota
Then he was sliding his cock into Bryce, slowly, so slowly, Bryce’s head thrown back, Hudson’s arm holding him against his chest by his shoulder. Now they moved as one, back and forth, almost like dancers or something.
Lydia was nearly shaking with desire. She didn’t even understand what she wanted: to be there, in the room, watching? To be in the middle? To be Bryce, filled with Hudson’s long, hard cock?
That last one, maybe,
In the window the men bucked harder and harder together, Hudson now pounding against Bryce, both men’s mouths open in moans or grunts or something of ecstasy. Lydia gripped her camera a little bit harder, biting her lip. It took all her self-control not to put her hand down her pants, the arousal pounding through her.
Then, suddenly, Hudson slowed down. He reached around Bryce and took the other man’s cock in his hand, moving it in time with his own thrusts, his head against his shoulder. It actually sent a shiver up Lydia’s spine as she watched.
She couldn’t stop herself any longer. She put one hand against herself, outside her jeans, still, shifted her hips against it, and nearly moaned into the cedar tree. God it felt good, even if she was just touching herself through her jeans, a desperate, last-resort measure.
Through slitted eyes, she watched the two men, a surge going through her as she did. The feeling in her cunt rose and rose, she was gripping her camera so hard she thought she might break it, and then she came, still watching them, the wave breaking over her, standing there, in a field, behind a tree.
As soon as she finished Hudson drove into Bryce once, twice, and then buried himself in the other man, the two rocking together for a long, long moment. Then Bryce sagged down against the bed, obviously spent.
Hudson pulled out and flopped down next to him.
Instantly, Lydia felt guilty. She should never have watched that. She should have averted her eyes and kept walking, maybe made some veiled reference the next day at breakfast about the value of curtains.
And she definitely should not have masturbated to it.
As she walked to the house, head down, eyes on the ground, she suddenly remembered kissing Bryce in the barn a few days ago. She hadn’t known what to make of it then, and she certainly didn’t now.
The thought stopped her in her tracks. Lydia wondered if she’d just fucked everything up. She swore silently, to herself, to never say a word about that kiss, and to never try to get another. Aspen was full of men — rich men, cowboys, regular dudes, ski bums — and she could damn well have one of them instead of her benefactor’s partner.
Chapter Eight
Dinner, an hour later, was predictably awkward. Neither man looked mussed or tousled in the least, but Lydia figured they must have had years and years of straightening themselves afterwards. As she’d thought things through, she’d felt dumber and dumber for not figuring it out: two men, living together for twenty-odd years? Neither married?
I thought you had better gaydar than that, Lydia chastised herself.
“You okay?” Bryce asked, bringing a spoonful of chili to his mouth.
Lydia looked up, hoping her guilty face didn’t just give her away. “The pain meds are wearing off a little,” she said. “I’ll take another one after dinner.”
“When do those run out?” he asked.
“Tuesday. Then I switch to Ibuprofen.”
“You’re not still going backpacking?” Hudson chimed in.
Lydia shook her head.
“Good,” the two men chorused together.
Breakfast was about the same. But then, midmorning, as Lydia stood at her desk — standing was much easier on her back, she found, than sitting — Bryce suddenly swung the door to her office open and stood there.
He was obviously furious.
Dumbstruck, Lydia couldn’t think of what to say.
“Hi,” she said.
“You went to the rodeo,” he said with no preamble. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Lydia swallowed hard. It had taken him less than forty-eight hours to find out. Had Hudson told him?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I felt so much better.”
He lowered one finger at her, pointing, still standing in her doorway. “Don’t you lie to me,” he said. “I been thrown from plenty of horses.”
“I needed to photograph it,” Lydia said, trying a different tack. “It’s my job. It’s the last one of the season, I didn’t want to miss it.”
“You know what my job is?” Bryce said. “My job is to keep you alive out here. Did you think, at all, that I might be trying to do my job?”
“I’m not getting money to lay in bed and watch movies,” she said. “I’m fine. I can take a couple of pictures out in public without melting into a puddle.”
“And what do you think would happen to everyone else if you’d gotten hurt?” he asked. “I know he took you backstage, with the horses, with all the animals. What if you’d fallen over or something, gotten trampled?”
“I didn’t,” Lydia said.
“The fellowship would be over. The NEA and I would both be over a barrel, probably the same barrel. It’d be my name all over headlines, wouldn’t it. ‘Oil Tycoon causes death of young woman.’” A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched.
“I’m fine, though, aren’t I,” said Lydia. She was insulted that he thought she was dumb enough to put herself in enough danger to get trampled by animals or run over by a truck or whatever, exactly, he was imagining. Just because she was from the city didn’t make her an idiot.
“You’re fine because you’re lucky.”
“I’m not a child. I can be around horses and not get trampled.”
“Maybe when you ain’t taking pictures, but get that camera out and you’re oblivious to everything that’s happening around you.”
He strode into the room, stood maybe a foot from Lydia. She fought back tears of rage. How dare another adult tell her what to do?
“I can take care of myself,” she said, quietly. She was determined not to cry.
He stepped a little closer, and she noticed that he smelled the same way Hudson did: pine, hay, the clean outdoors.
“Apparently not,” he said. “You get yourself thrown from a horse your first week here, and it’s a goddamn miracle you won’t be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.”
He was standing so, so close to her. Lydia wanted to reach out to him, but she didn’t know if she wanted to slap him or pull him to her, crush their faces together. He had always been good looking, but she’d never been more attracted to him than now, when she was also furious.
“I’m a grown woman, and you don’t get to tell me what to do,” she said.
“You live in my house, so yes, I do,” he said.
Then he turned and left the room.
Lydia bit her hand and began sobbing, furiously. She hated that she cried whenever she got really mad. Crying only made her more angry, which made her cry more.
But still, he was wrong: Bryce wasn’t her boss. He didn’t get to tell her what to do, and if that was how he thought, maybe she should pack up and leave. Was he going to do this all the time? Was he going to start monitoring her coming and going?
Lydia sniffled and wiped her face off. She was still mad, but crying less now.
Maybe I should just fucking leave, she thought. I don’t know if I can live here with someone like that. I’ll tell the NEA why.
He thinks just because he’s rich he gets to control me? No way. No fucking way.
Lydia, still furious, stomped to her room and started throwing clothes into her suitcase.
Chapter Nine
Fifteen minutes later, Hudson showed up at the door to her bedroom, leaning against the doorframe.
“Lydia,” he said.
“What.”
“Don’t go.”
“He’s clearly not prepared to treat me like an adult while I’m here,” she said. From across the room, she threw a tank top into her suitcase.
&nbs
p; “He overreacted,” Hudson said. “I talked to him, and he calmed down some. He doesn’t think you’re a child, he was just worried about you.”
“And about having his name in the paper.”
“Less so about that.”
Lydia swallowed. “Really?” she said.
Hudson sighed and tucked one thumb into a belt loop. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but we’re not always the best at processing our emotions,” he said, a wry smile breaking through, onto his face. “That was an excuse. He’s worried about you, mostly.”
She looked down at the shirt in her hand. Suddenly, packing to go really did seem childish.
Lydia put her face in her hands and sat on her bed. “Fuck,” she said through her fingers. Hudson sat next to her and rubbed her back a little. His touch still sent a tingle through her, all the way up and down her spine.
“It’s all right,” he said, and then he brushed her neck, moving her hair to one side, the callouses on his finger rasping along her soft skin.
She thought of him and Bryce, lit up in the window, moving together like they were one person, and she closed her eyes and let him touch her neck. Whatever was happening was very confusing, but also very nice.
“Why don’t we go talk to Bryce,” Hudson whispered. “He’s up in his bedroom. I had to calm him down too.”
How? Lydia wondered. She wished she’d been able to watch that, too, even though the thought made her feel like a total pervert.
“Shit,” Lydia said. She felt like an asshole.
“Come on,” Hudson said, and led her up the staircase to the upper floor of the house.
She hadn’t been in Bryce’s bedroom yet. It hadn’t been part of the tour he’d given her when she arrived, but she hadn’t found that strange. Bedrooms were never part of the main tour. They were bedrooms, and showing them off to people might be weird.
It was gorgeous, though. The huge bed had a perfect view down the mountain and toward the east. There was a fireplace near one end of the room, but it was out in the middle of the room and on the other side was a sitting area with two couches and a TV. The furniture all matched the rest of the furniture in the house, the same “reclaimed wood” look. She could just barely see into a huge bathroom and walk-in closet, and of course there were no socks on the floor.
Bryce stood by the huge window, looking out.
“Hey,” Hudson said.
Bryce turned around.
“You’re leaving?” he said, his tone cold.
He’s still mad, thought Lydia. She stuck her chin out, instantly mad too.
“I might,” she said.
“So you’d give up this opportunity just because I wanted to keep you safe,” he said. He had the most patronizing tone Lydia thought she’d ever heard.
“I’d leave because I don’t want to be treated like a child,” she retorted.
Bryce stepped closer to her, stopping maybe six inches away. She could smell him from there, that incredible scent he had. Something deep inside her wavered, and she had the same urge before — to either slap him or kiss him.
“Maybe you are a child if you won’t do what’s best for you,” he said.
“I’m fucking done with this,” Lydia said.
Then Bryce grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and pulled her toward him, his mouth landing hard on hers. He was stronger than she’d thought, his hand firm on her shoulder.
She resisted for exactly one second, and then melted into him, her insides swirling. God, she’d wanted this so bad, and she could always just leave after they were done here. His mouth opened against hers and his tongue slipped through her lips, probing the inside of her mouth. She fought it with her own, wrapping them together, pushing back against him with all her strength.
Then she heard boots behind her: Hudson. How had she forgotten he was back there? Quickly, she pulled away from Bryce, turning her head toward the other man, meaning to apologize or at least say something, but instead he covered her mouth with his as well, his big, gentle hands at her hips. He was slower, steadier, not as furious-feeling as Bryce.
Lydia had no idea what was going on. All she knew was that she didn’t mind at all. She stood between the two men, one hand on each, at their sides, feeling the muscles there, hard from years of outdoor work, of rodeo, of riding horses. Bryce kissed her neck on one side, Hudson on the other.
She felt like she might explode with desire. Without letting herself stop and think, she gathered a handful of Bryce’s shirt and tugged on it, not managing to move him at all. She felt his breath and he laughed into the space between her collarbone and neck. Her other hand tightened on Hudson’s lower back, right above the waistband of his jeans.
The two men responded by taking off her t-shirt, whisking it over her head and tossing it somewhere else. She was out of the back brace, finally, and just wore a bra which was gone as well in a few seconds. Then she was turned so her back was against Bryce, his shirt soft against her skin, his belt buckle cold, and felt his hands move up her torso to cup her breasts, fingers playing over her nipples, puckered and standing out.
She arched her back, moaned softly. She couldn’t help herself: she had the vague notion that she ought to still be angry, and that angry people didn’t immediately get naked with one another, but sandwiched between the two cowboys, she didn’t care about anything.
Hudson grabbed her thighs right below her ass and pulled her to him, hard, Lydia not understanding what he wanted. Then he lifted her and she wrapped her legs tight around his hips, feeling the swelling hardness below his pants, doing her best to rub herself against it.
Hudson chuckled, his hands tightening around her. Bryce was still fondling her nipples, cupping her breasts in his hands, and then, over her shoulder, the two men came together in a hard kiss, Lydia crushed between them. One of Bryce’s hands left her body to tug at Hudson, bringing the three of them even closer. She thought that she could watch them make out forever, maybe.
Then they separated, she was tossed on the bed, rose up on her elbows so she could watch as Bryce and Hudson ripped each other’s clothes off. They did it so furiously, with such focus that she half expected to see buttons flying in all directions, but in mere moments there were two plaid shirts pooled on the hardwood floor, two big belt buckles clanked down, two pairs of jeans were kicked away and before she knew it there was Bryce on top of her, his hardness grinding against her upper thigh, long and thick.
She absolutely ached with desire. In another moment, her pants were off, her underwear tossed elsewhere and they were rubbing together, naked.
Lydia arched her back and moaned, thrusting her hips forward into him. All she could think about was one of them entering her, the way she’d feel when she was finally filled, even as they writhed together on the bed. She felt like a teenager, almost desperate for the two men.
Hudson’s hand reached around, wrapped around Bryce’s cock, and pulled. The three pressed together again, Lydia on the bottom, still moaning, barely able to process what was happening. Then there was a hand on her clit — she didn’t know whose, didn’t really care — rubbing her into a further frenzy. She hooked one foot around both men, pressed them down.
Anything to get them inside her.
Then Bryce was off her, Hudson was pulling her to his feet and she had his cock in her hand, filling it, she was held tight against his big, muscular chest and then he moved her away, gently.
Bryce was sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed now, cock sticking straight up into the air, his own hand stroking it, from root to tip, over and over again. Hudson took her by both hips and gently guided her over to the other man, and Bryce guided the tip of his cock right to her wet, waiting entrance.
Then she sat on him, taking his whole member in one smooth motion, moaning as she did. She wasn’t usually this noisy during sex, but right now, she couldn’t help it. The sounds came out, despite her better intentions, filling the big room. Bryce grunted into her ear, his breath making he
r shiver.
Lydia felt herself stretch around him, just a little, and she could feel him pulsing in her cunt as he filled her completely, lighting up every nerve ending. His hands were on her hips, and as he squeezed, he began moving her back and forth subtly, just enough to move his massive cock around inside her. She gasped, and at that, Hudson kissed her, hard, then moved his head down, kissed her beck, then licked each of her nipples.
“This feels so good,” Lydia half-moaned, half-whispered.
“You feel how hard you make me?” Bryce whispered again in her ear. He held her hips to his and moved inside her as Hudson bit one of her nipples. She cried out, wordlessly, unable to remember how to even say yes.
Hudson moved down, her belly, her bellybutton, then to her mound. Bryce spread his knees far apart, forcing Lydia’s thighs wide, the better to give Hudson as much access as possible. His stubble tickled her a little, and she gasped with the pleasure of the new sensation — and then, as he began licking her in long strokes, she groaned.
Hudson flicked his tongue across Lydia’s clit, gently, as she bucked and moaned under the double sensation of being filled and being licked. She could feel him gently explore the intricacies of her cunt, beginning with her clit and working his way down to her lips, pushed apart and stretched by Bryce’s big cock. She found her hands in his hair, grabbing onto it desperately.
“Oh god, oh god,” she said, over and over, as though she was chanting.
Hudson licked them both at the same time: her cunt, the root of Bryce’s shaft. Lydia could feel his tongue on her stretched pussy lips, forcing itself inside the tiniest bit, before he moved lower to suck gently on Bryce’s balls.
“Mmmm,” rumbled Bryce from behind Lydia. He moved her up and down a little on his shaft, Lydia making a deep noise of pleasure as he did. Just as the head of his cock was about to pop out of her, Hudson moved his mouth up the shaft, sucking and licking the whole way, up and then back down, as Lydia was lowered again, taking the whole shaft inside her.
