by Katie May
Gerald has been arrested, but for how long? He had a weapon—probably illegally bought—and was attempting to sell another. I don’t know if Deluca was in the right or wrong when he arrested Gerald. When he shot him.
I don’t know anything.
Roman’s lips press into a thin line—evidence he doesn’t appreciate my non-answer—but he concedes with a bob of his head. Without another word, body radiating tension, he strides upstairs.
I watch him go with a hammering heart.
Phillip is much slower than Roman was pulling himself off the couch. His steps are measured as he stands in front of me, an envelope in his hand.
“This is for you,” he says softly.
I take the offered envelope, but keep my hand on his.
“I truly am sorry I didn’t tell you where I was,” I whisper. “But I promise you, I did it for a reason.”
A reason that will hopefully help us both move on with our lives.
“I know, Angel.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “We were just worried sick. Next time you disappear, will you promise to at least text us?”
I nod silently. They deserve more than that, honestly. I should’ve considered them when I concocted a hair brained scheme. I should’ve relied on Roman’s legal expertise. I should’ve allowed Phillip a say on how we handled Gerald.
I’m not alone anymore.
With a squeeze of my hand, Phillip climbs the stairs after Roman, leaving me alone. I take the moment to stare at the letter in my hands, my name written in familiar script on the front. Feeling the beginnings of tears well in my eyes, I rip the envelope open and unfold the white parchment.
Mallie,
I hope this letter finds you. If it doesn’t, then blame Roman. He’s an asshole who loses things as much as he finds them.
I hope you understand that I don’t regret my decision. None of it. The thing is, if I were to regret my decision to turn myself in, that would mean I regret falling in love with you, and I don’t. Not at all. Loving you is the one thing that I can never regret.
I don’t know what the future’s going to hold, but I do know that the second I’m out of here, I’m going to find you. And not in a creepy way. I promise. Though now that I’m reading this back...yeah, it kind of sounds creepy.
I truly believe that they’ll find the true murderer and bring him (or her) to justice. This isn’t the end of our story. It’s only the beginning.
See? I can be cheesy and romantic when I want to be.
I miss you. A lot. I miss your smile and laugh. I miss that adorable snort you do when you laugh too hard. I just miss being with you.
You don’t have to say I love you back. I mean, I hope you will, but I don’t need that confirmation. Not yet. It’s okay to be scared. And it’s okay to not feel the same way for me as I do for you.
I love you. I do. And I will continue loving you until the day I die. I’ll try to write to you as much as I can, but can you write back to me? Is that weird to ask?
Okay, well, I’ll let you be. But I love you. I have loved you for awhile.
I’m sorry I wasn’t always the man you needed me to be.
-Byron
Tears drip down my cheeks, and I scrub them away before they can touch the paper. My sudden surge of feelings for this man consumes me.
He loves me.
And I…
I love him.
The same way I love Roman and Phillip.
The realization sends my head—and heart—racing. I want to run to the jail he’s being kept in, take his face between my hands, and kiss the shit out of him. I want to tell him that his friendship helped me through some of the darkest moments of my life. And then, I want to tell him that I love him, that maybe I always have.
But I can’t.
Fortunately, there are two guys I can admit my feelings to.
Feeling small and self-conscious, I ascend the staircase. One glance confirms that neither of them are in the bathroom. Only when I reach the end of the hall, the doorway of my bedroom, do I freeze.
Roman is sitting in a chair at the edge of the bed, and Phillip is lying on top of it. Both men turn to stare at me when I enter.
“You’re here,” I whisper. My feet stall, but I will them to move, to enter the bedroom, to face the men.
“We were talking,” Roman begins darkly. “And we decided that you need to be punished for scaring us like that.”
Phillip’s smile is pure sin.
“Punish me?” Apparently, I’m only capable of repeating random words back at them. Me have brain cells no.
“You’ll like our punishment, Babygirl. Promise,” Roman says huskily.
“And you can tell us to stop anytime,” Phillip adds, flashing me an understanding look. I try to convey with my eyes that it goes both ways, but I’m too flustered to say the words out loud. You would think that after the day I had, I would be exhausted, but instead, I’m alive with energy. That energy strengthens, grows, when the two men stare at me intently.
“Go to him, Mallie,” Roman instructs, still leaning back in the chair with an insolent smirk. I obey, crossing the hardwood floors to sit on the bed beside a straight-faced Phillip. I want to touch him. I want to trace the sliver of skin exposed when his shirt rides up.
I’ve just seen a man get shot, for fuck’s sake, and one of the men I love is in prison for a crime I know he didn’t commit. Maybe I’m the villain everyone always accuses me of being. And yet…
I want this.
I want them. My feelings have solidified in my brain, bringing clarity to the dissonant chaos. Our bond is new, but it’s stronger than any I have ever experienced before.
I reach out to graze my fingers against Phillip’s bare skin. Just one touch. I want to feel him, taste him.
“Don’t touch,” Roman snaps, and my hand pauses in its pursuit. Addressing the other man, Roman adds, “Phillip?”
Wordlessly, Phillip unzips my dress, sliding it down my shoulders, taking my panties with it. With this type of dress, a bra hadn’t been necessary, so my breasts now hang free, peaked from the chill and their gazes.
“Fuck,” Phillip whispers reverently, one finger tracing my nipple.
“Isn’t she perfect?” Roman’s voice is raspy, breathless.
Without answering, Phillip ducks his head and takes my nipple in his mouth. His hand continues to pull my dress down—forcing my body to arch awkwardly on the bed—until it’s on the floor. Dressed in only a pair of black panties, I feel sexy and desirable.
Phillip pulls his lips away from my breast with a loud smack, and I moan.
“Fuck, that felt good,” I pant.
“And we’ll make you feel even better,” Roman assures me. His shirt is now unbuttoned, his sculpted chest and that tantalizing trail of dark hair on display. His hand palms his rapidly hardening cock through his pants. “Are you still doing okay, Babygirl? You know you can tell us to stop whenever you want.”
I nod, breathless and eager for Phillip to resume his relentless torture. Instead, both men stare at me with unreadable expressions.
“I need to hear words,” Roman says softly.
“Yes. Continue.” I hardly recognize my voice.
Snort. Hard.
There are two things very, very hard right now.
“Undress him, Mallie. Slowly. Take your time,” Roman instructs, and Phillip moves to lean on his elbows, a cocky smirk on his face. Still, I pause, my hand hovering over his shirt buttons with a silent question in my eyes. When he nods, encouraging me to continue, I begin to strip him down.
With each new swath of skin exposed, I lower my head to kiss it. His body is a canvas of ink—stars, flowers, gravestones, and what appears to be angel wings expand across his chest. I wonder if that tattoo has any relation to the nickname he gave me.
My tongue licks a path down his smooth, chiseled chest, stopping only when I reach the waistband of his pants. With his help, I remove the shirt from his shoulders, baring his upper body t
o me. His beautiful, perfect upper body. I take one of his nipples in my mouth, as he did mine, and graze it with my teeth. The tiny grunt he makes is intoxicating—pure and utter magic.
“Mallie…” he whispers my name like a prayer. His prayer.
Smiling in what I hope is a seductive manner, I wiggle down his body, allowing my breasts to swing enticingly, and pull his pants and boxer briefs down his muscular thighs.
His cock springs free, dripping with precum.
“Take him in your mouth, Mallie. Suck him off. Make him scream your name with just that pretty mouth of yours. Fondle those gorgeous tits for me to see.”
A glance out of the corner of my eye confirms Roman’s still in the chair with his shirt unbuttoned. His cock is now free, and his hand slowly—leisurely—strokes it.
If he wants a show, I’ll give him one.
Moving so my ass is in Phillip’s face, I meet Roman’s eyes as I lick the tip of Phillip’s dick. His eyes flare with banked fire, the heat and lust in them unmistakable.
“Do you like seeing me suck his cock, professor?” I ask coyly, licking a line down Phillip’s shaft. The man in question bucks his hips up, a low moan emitting from his chest.
“I like seeing you in control,” Roman rasps, hand wrapped around the head of his cock. “I like seeing you sexy and confident. I like seeing you loved.” His eyes hold me, ensnare me. I’m his helpless prey...and I wouldn’t have it any other way. “Now. Suck. Him. Off.”
With a groan, I take Phillip completely inside of me, making sure to hollow my mouth. I lift one of my hands to my breast, fondling the heavy mound and flicking the nipple. My other hand wraps around the bottom of Phillip’s shaft—where my mouth can’t reach. I begin to suck him in earnest, utterly mindful of Roman’s watchful eyes flickering from my bouncing tits to my lips around another man’s cock. I know Phillip himself has an unrestricted view of my glistening pussy.
When one of his fingers spears my folds, I practically scream around his cock. Another digit joins the first, scissoring in and out.
“Stop,” Roman demands, and both Phillip and I cry out in protest.
But we immediately stop.
Beads of sweat drip down Roman’s sharp face, and he bites his bottom lip seductively. The things I want to do to that man…
To both men...
“Fuck him,” he instructs. “Fuck his cock.”
I’m too turned on to even speak. I’m desperate for him—for both of them. I don’t know if I’m even capable of moving. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open, demanding some sort of dick to enter it.
Phillip helps position me so I’m beneath him. His eyes are dark with lust. I lose myself in them.
“I’m clean,” he whispers, too low for Roman to hear. “Gerald required all men to wear a condom. And I...I checked. I’m clean.” I press my lips to his to stop his babbling.
“So am I.”
I know it might be stupid, but I don’t want anything impeding this connection between us. I love Phillip. I don’t want a condom to get in the way—I want our flesh to connect, making us one.
Phillip searches my face for a long moment before his hands grip my hips and his cock spears me. I groan at the sensation of fullness, of completeness. He feels so damn good inside of me.
His eyes holding mine, he begins to move. It’s slow and indolent. The sort of love you would make if you have all the time in the world.
And that’s what this is: love.
I can see it emanating from his gaze as he stares down at me. I don’t know how I’m able to recognize it; for years, it has been absent from my life. No one has ever looked at me the way Phillip has. The way Roman has. The way Byron has.
The way even Deluca has.
I feel safe and treasured. Precious. All of my worries dissipate until it’s just Phillip and I, in our tiny version of forever.
When his tattooed finger travels to thrum my clit, I lean forward to kiss his lips. “I love you,” I whisper, seconds before exploding. My confession is the detonator for Phillip’s own release. His hips begin to move more erratically above me, and his lips part in a silent scream.
When we come, we come together. Two souls finally becoming one. His love wraps around me like a warm blanket.
We continue to stare into each other’s eyes. In a matter of seconds, everything has changed.
I love him.
And he loves me.
But he’s not the only one.
I tap Phillip’s shoulder, and he falls onto his back beside me.
I appreciate Roman giving Phillip and me that moment, but now, I need to thank my handsome law professor.
He has discarded his clothes completely, eyes dazed and hand still gripped firmly around his cock.
“Come here,” I order throatily. His eyes flare briefly at being bossed around, but he obediently comes to me like a besotted dog.
And…
Maybe I shouldn’t compare the man I love to a dog.
When he’s at the edge of the bed, I lean forward, wrapping my lips around his cock the way he saw me do for Phillip. As I suck him off, his hands play with my tits, whispered words of love and awe escaping his lips. I pull my lips away from his cock, kissing a pathway up his chest, to his jaw, and then to his lips. My hand resumes stroking his cock. As we kiss, and he explodes onto my stomach, I whisper, “I love you.”
And it’s the truth.
There’s no rhyme or reason for it. No explanation. I’m in love with at least three different men, and I have strong feelings for a fourth. I don’t know what this means for me or my future, our future, but I'll never know unless I tell them.
Staring down the barrel of a gun has taught me that. And honestly? Confessing my love to these men is even scarier.
The two of us collapse onto the bed, sweaty and sated. Phillip is already asleep beside me, snoring softly. I’m sweaty and gross and covered in a lot of bodily fluids, but I’ve never felt happier before.
“We should get cleaned up,” I whisper to a sleepy Roman. He stares at me with heavily-lidded eyes.
“Later,” he murmurs, kissing my nose. “I love you. And Idonnaevencare…” He yawns, jaw cracking. Voice a whisper, he repeats, “I don’t even care that he loves you too.”
Before I can react to his declaration, he’s asleep.
Staring at his handsome face, my heart overflows with love. Love for him and the man wrapped around my back. So much fucking love.
I didn’t think it could be possible for a girl like me. A prostitute. A trophy wife. But…
But I’m happy.
Really, truly happy.
I press my lips to Phillip’s cheek and then Roman’s forehead before wiggling my way out from in between their hot bodies. I begin to smile when Phillip immediately cuddles Roman. Where’s a camera when you need one?
Throwing Phillip’s shirt over my head, I amble to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth. They might be okay covered in cum and sweat, but I’m not.
I’ve just entered the bathroom, a contented smile on my face, when I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist and a cloth cover my mouth. I struggle futilely against the iron grip, but he doesn’t release me. I can feel unconsciousness clawing at my brain, but I fight it. Need to fight.
Need.
To.
Fight.
Need.
To.
Darkness consumes me.
Chapter 23
I wake up with a throbbing headache. Everything hurts—my arms, my legs, my stomach. My mouth feels like I swallowed cotton, and pinpricks race up and down my legs.
As I attempt to open my weighted eyelids, I take stock of my injuries. Aside from a slight ache reverberating throughout my body, I know nothing’s broken or even sprained. My legs, however, tingle as if they haven’t moved in a long time. Something scratchy bites into my wrists and legs, but I don’t dare open my eyes to see what it is. I need to remain calm; I need to figure out what the hell is happening.
; Okay, what do you hear?
A roaring sound splices my eardrums, distinctly familiar. It takes me a moment to place the sound. An air conditioning unit. A vent, perhaps.
The cold air seeping into my skin further solidifies that idea.
What else do you hear?
In the distance, the sound muffled as if being heard through a door, is talking and raucous laughter. The words are nearly inaudible, the first indication that it may be a television turned on instead of real people. When soft music follows the laughter, I realize I’m right.
Head still lolling against my chest, I peel open one eyelid. My gaze is fixed on the ground, towards my feet.
My tied feet.
Thick ropes secure my ankles to the legs of a wooden chair—the source of the uncomfortable tingling sensation.
I reluctantly open my second eyelid. Slowly, tentatively, carefully, I take a moment to survey the room I’m in.
It’s empty, thank fuck, with a white fluffy bed and stark black dressers. I remember hating this room—the black and white contrasting colors made it seem masculine and harsh. Jared refused to allow me to add a splash of color. Eventually, I convinced him to get rid of the mahogany floorboards and replace them with plush beige carpeting. It made the room softer, more feminine.
Why the fuck am I in the master bedroom?
My brain struggles to relay what had transpired. I had been...making love with Phillip and Roman. No, we had finished making love.
And then…
I feel sluggish, unable to connect the puzzle pieces. The jagged, mangled puzzle pieces that have been chewed up and spit out. Try as I might, nothing clicks. I continue to futilely shove them together as if that could somehow get an image to manifest.
Think, Mallie. Think.
Byron was arrested.
Gerald was arrested.
Deluca…
He’d believed me. Saved me. Sent me away when the cops and paramedics arrived.
And then Roman and Phillip…
The memory snaps into place, and I jerk against my restraints. An insidious fear slithers through my mind and grasps my heart in an unrelenting vice.
