FOSTER BROTHERS - A MFM Menage Romance
Page 2
I look to the door of the club again, taking a deep breath, hoping I’m going to see my dark angel making her way through the crowd, but there’s no one there. I glance around, thinking that maybe she’s watching me talking to this pixie-girl, but how would she know it was me, anyway?
My heart is heavy with disappointment. I’d vowed that Raven and I would never meet in person, but when she’d asked, I’d wanted to so badly there was no turning her down. I should have trusted my instincts. I should have realized that by agreeing, I was risking all these feelings of hurt and loneliness that I can’t fucking bear.
The girl sitting opposite me rests her hand on my knee and squeezes gently. There is such tenderness in her touch that I feel as though she has reached into my chest and wrapped her delicate fingers around my heart.
“All you have to do is say the words,” she whispers. Her eyes are bright with hope, but soft too.
It’s as though she knows my fears and wants to help me forget them. If I say the words, then I suppose I will, for just a while.
“This isn’t how it works,” I say, running my fingers through my hair, wondering what she must think of me. Does she care what I look like? None of the other women have wanted to see my face. Does she like what she sees? For a moment, I remember the me from before the news; indestructible, confident and brash. The man who could get almost any woman he wanted. Who would she like better? The old me or the man I am today. I don’t even know why I care.
“Aren’t you in charge? she asks softly. “Don’t you get to decide how it works?”
“It feels like you're the one running things tonight, though.”
Her lips twitch at the corners with the beginnings of a reluctant smile, and she leans back on her stool, considering me, her cute little nose raised in the air.
“Say the words,” she says softly. “I need it so bad.” There’s so much yearning in her voice and a crisp edge of desperation that makes me want to give her everything she wants and more. This isn’t how it’s done, but suddenly I don’t give a fuck. Who gives a shit about the rules? Not me. Not anymore. Everything’s changing.
“Go to the balcony and wait for me. We’ll do this right if we're going to do it at all.”
I expect her to do as I’ve asked immediately, but she doesn’t. Instead, she slips off her stool and stands between my legs. I can smell the soft floral scent she must have sprayed before she left home. This girl, whose name I don’t know, cups my cheek gently and strokes her thumb across my lips. I haven’t felt a touch like it in so long that I close my eyes as my throat tightens with emotion.
“Enough,” I growl. “Do as you’re told or you won’t get what you want.”
“Okay,” she whispers and walks away.
I inhale deeply, trying to slow the pace of my beating heart. Getting a rush from what I’m about to do is the whole reason I do it. The surge of adrenaline, of power, makes me feel alive. Tonight, though, it feels different. I have an urge to walk away. I could slip out of the front door and make my way home and there would be no consequences outside of leaving that girl hot and bothered on the balcony. It’s not like I owe her anything, except I told her I would follow through, and I don’t like not making good on my word.
I gaze around the bar area again, hunting for someone that might be Raven, but there’s no one by themselves. She’s well over an hour late and I know in my heart she isn’t going to show. Raven is braver and stronger than she would ever give herself credit for, but I’m not really surprised that she has decided to stay away.
I take another deep breath and finish my drink, then set off towards the balcony. It’s quiet out there as usual, with a few patrons sitting around at small tables and a few others gazing out over the city. The heavy beat of the music is a low throb that seems timed with my heartbeat. I spot little Tink with her arms resting on the edge of the balcony in exactly the right place. The way she’s standing, bent over slightly, makes her curves even more pronounced. In another lifetime I’d have wanted to take her home and make the most of all her body has to offer. I might have even taken her out on a date, if it was good between us. Tonight, all I have to offer is a finger and promise of a short burst of ecstasy.
Every step I take feels huge, and I don’t really understand why. She’s just another woman who’s looking for some relief. But it takes more for me to get up close behind her than it ever has before. When I’m there, I stand and wait. When I speak, my voice seems to crack with emotion.
“Every night when I go to sleep, I die,” I say.
“And the next morning when I awake, I am reborn.”
She nods just once, and I step forward, pressing my hips against the softness of her ass. The column of her neck is as graceful as a swan's and her short blonde hair tickles my lips as I curl myself around her. When I put my right hand on the outside of her thigh, she tenses and I stop. If nothing else, I need to know that she’s okay with what we’re about to do.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, shifting against my cock. It’s hard as an iron bar and throbbing for relief I won’t allow it. Her short dress is made from a tight, stretchy fabric which moves easily as I run my hand upwards. The inside of her thigh is soft and warm and I get the familiar rush, knowing I’m so close to feeling her most private of places. I wonder how many others have been before me, but I don’t really give a fuck. Tonight she’s given me access. Tonight she trusts only me. Tonight I’ll give her what she wants.
Maybe I’ll make her fantasy come true.
Her leg trembles as my hand rises, her breathing quickening as her ribcage moves against my chest. A rush of protectiveness surges inside me and I stop again. I don’t understand what the fuck is wrong with me. This girl is a stranger who’s prepared to use me for pleasure, so why do I feel like I want to hold her tight and tell her everything’s going to be okay?
She rests her hand over mine, as though she can sense the war that my mind is engaging in and wants to help me. With slender fingers between mine, she presses my hand upward. I’m expecting to feel the fabric of her panties but my first contact is with bare skin.
She lets go of my hand as I slide my finger through the slickness between her legs, parting her soft lips and finding her clit. The sigh she releases when I press lightly hits me straight in the cock. My hips have a mind of their own, nudging against her ass, desperate for contact. I circle my finger slowly, feeling her little button swell under my touch. She’s panting and rolling her hips, chasing her pleasure with a ferociousness I didn’t expect. Just as her legs push together, crushing my hand, I stop, knowing she was on the edge of coming. My mind rushes, not really comprehending my actions. I’m not in the habit of denying pleasure. If a woman can come in seconds because I’m touching her, then that is all good with me, but for some reason, this felt too fast.
I tap her clit and her knees go weak, hands clutching at the railings to support her weight.
I’m usually silent when I do this but tonight I want to talk.
“You like that?”
“Fuck, yeah,” she gasps as I pinch her clit between my thumb and forefinger and squeeze.
“You want me to make you come?”
“Yeah. Do it.”
I slide my fingers downwards, finding her entrance slick and ready. My cock kicks, knowing how good it would feel to slide inside all that hot, wet heat. I can’t resist pushing a finger up inside her, and the way her muscles contract makes me pant. I want to stuff her full of my fingers, stretch her little pussy open so she’d be wide enough to take my big cock. Two fingers in and she’s up on the toes of her boots, legs straight as arrows. I push in a third and she grunts, dropping down to drive me in deeper. It’s only when I get a fourth in that she comes, pussy clenching so hard around my fingers that I feel it between my legs. My palm is wet with her juices, and my wrist. I think I made her squirt; not the first time it’s happened, but the first time I have the urge to lick myself clean. Her whole body trembles against mine.
T
4
Raven: Why do you do it?
River: What?
Raven: The anonymous hook-ups? What do you get out of it?
River: Why does everything we do need to be self-serving?
Raven: So you’re an altruistic orgasm provider?
River: You make it sound ridiculous.
Raven: Not ridiculous. I’m just trying to understand.
River: Why? Why do you care?
Raven: I suppose I like to unpick people. Find out how they tic. Why they do the things they do.
River: And what do you think?
Raven: I think that you want to help people.
River: I’m not that nice.
Raven: Yes, River, I think you are.
5
MISSI
I was given my name by the seven-year-old boy who found me next to a dumpster on one of the hottest days of the year. The nurse who treated me, when I finally reached hospital, had written in her notes that he hadn’t wanted to let me go. It had taken Dr. Forrester’s reassurance that I’d be taken care of to make him hand me over, and he stayed in the room while the pediatrician examined me. My umbilical cord and afterbirth were still attached to me, resting within the tartan blanket I’d been wrapped in. When they were removed and I was cleaned up and dressed, the boy had reached out to take hold of me again, as though I was a toy he thought was his.
When the nurses laughed, he had ignored them, picked me up in my bundle of blankets and settled into a chair in the corner of the room. I know this because one of the nurses had a polaroid camera and took a photo of the unusual scene. I still have it in the sparse file that details my early years. In the picture the little boy isn’t looking at the camera, he’s looking at me. Sometimes, when I really look at that photo, I can almost feel the innocence of his love.
Not much makes me cry, but that photo hits me hard.
When you’ve grown up without the love of parents, when you’ve drifted from place to place, rootless and lost, it’s difficult to look at something like that.
I feel as though I’ve been searching all my life, but it’s impossible to know what to look for when you’ve never really had the thing that feels as though it’s missing. I know I’m making shitty choices, but there’s no one around to warn me before I step too far. Tonight, as I stand on this balcony overlooking the city lights, with most of a man’s hand up inside me, I feel dead inside, but somehow more alive than I’ve felt in years.
I think that’s what makes me kiss him. I suspect he’s going to pull away so I hook my hand around the back of his neck as I slip my tongue into his mouth. He tastes of whiskey and sin. Forbidden, like the name of the club we’re standing in. It’s a surprise when he kisses me back, holding me to him with one of his big hands on my shoulder and the other still clasped between my legs.
I know that people must be able to see what we're doing, but I don’t give a shit. None of the people on this balcony are ever going to matter in my life.
He kisses me as though his life depends on it, and although it’s a desperate and messy kiss, there's something about it that feels so right. I feel heavy and languid, loose and limp. I want him to pick me up like a caveman and take me back to his lair. I know I’ll give him everything I have whether he wants it or not.
His grip on me is so strong that it hurts, but that only makes what we're doing feel sharper and more real. I like the bite of fingernails into my skin as much as the slip of his tongue over mine. His face is stubbly and I wonder if he came out in such a rush he didn’t think about shaving. I cup his cheek again and he moans into my mouth, as though that little touch, that small bit of affection, has affected him. I wonder about this man; what has happened in his past that has led him into this strange routine? What makes him seek sexual contact that he can take no direct pleasure from?
He pulls his hand from inside me and turns me roughly, pushing me back against the balcony railing and clasping my face in his huge hands. His lips move over mine so smoothly, sipping my taste and then delving in to drink more. My heart is pounding. This is what I hoped for, but I knew I was risking a lot by approaching him this way.
I clutch onto the roundness of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the smoothness of his arms. In his black t-shirt and jeans, he looks hard and mean; all rippling muscle and power. Every caress I give him seems to make him more desperate. Before I know it, my feet aren’t even touching the ground. He holds me up as though I’m nothing, hands below my ass pushing my pussy against the huge, rigid thing I can feel between us.
I draw back, wanting to see those sad eyes of his. I hold his face and kiss his lips gently while he pants, looking dazed. I know this wasn’t part of his plan. In a way I feel like I have stolen something important from him. His control. I’ve pushed his boundaries, so I shouldn’t feel surprised that he seems confused.
“I want more,” I tell him.
He shakes his head, but his eyes are burning with desire.
“Take me home,” I say. “I’ll make you feel good, just like you made me.”
He shakes his head again but when I grind down against his cock he groans.
“Just one night and you’ll never see me again.” It’s my final attempt. I want him but I won’t beg.
“Did you bring a coat?” he asks, and I know I’ve got him.
Now I just have to ride the wave.
6
FLINT
Commentator: That was quite a victory, Flint. How are you feeling?
Flint: I’m feeling pretty good. Saxon’s a good fighter and he didn’t go down easily.
Commentator: Yeah, he had us wondering if he might get the better of you a few times.
Flint: But you knew he wouldn’t, didn’t you?
Commentator: [Laughing] Well, your record does precede you, Flint.
Flint: I guess it does. Still, there are people up in here who think a guy like Saxon has what it takes.
Commentator: And you’re not worried about getting beaten.
Flint: I’ll tell you something, Eddie. I’ve been fighting for as long as anyone can remember. I probably fought my way out of my mother’s womb. It's in me, raging all the time. Some people do this for a living. I do it because if I didn’t, I think I’d go crazy. I live fighting. I breathe fighting. I dream fighting. This is it for me. Until I come up against an opponent like that, I won’t worry.
Commentator: So what’s next?
Flint: Training, eating, sleeping and more training.
Commentator: No time in that schedule for the ladies?
Flint: [Laughing] That’s considered training with benefits, Eddie.
Commentator: Well, you heard it here first, folks. Training with benefits. That’s gotta be new terminology for MMA. Back to the studio.
“Can I take this mic off now?” I ask the tech guy who’s standing next to the camera.
“Sure, I’ll do it for you.” He strides over and starts to unclip the audio equipment while the commentator fusses with his tie.
“Thanks, Flint,” Eddie says. “You were great. The viewers love you.”
“You mean the cocky act,” I say.
“That’s no act,” he laughs. “I’ve seen you without the camera on you. You love to be the center of attention.”
“Guilty,” I say beaming out the fake smile I know he wants to see.
He sees the bravado and he thinks it’s me. Maybe it is to a certain extent. When you’ve grown up without the kind of nurturing attention a child needs to thrive, you find ways of shining enough to collect the scraps. Who the fuck knows if I would have been like this if mom wasn’t such a loser and dad wasn’t banged up for life. If I’d been born into one of those picture perfect American families, you know the ones they show on TV, then maybe I’d have been a nerdy kid who liked comics and doing my homework. If I hadn’t had to defend myself from the scum that passed through my life, maybe I wouldn’t have this restless anger inside me.
“Hey, Flint.” I turn to find Red behind me with my stuff. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, I’m all done here.”
“Time to party, eh Flint,” Eddie says, giving me a wink. The dude is nearly sixty, and with his greased back hair and swollen red face from drinking, he looks like a washed up old perv.
“Yeah, man,” I say. I could tell him the truth, that I’m no use to anyone after a fight like that, but he doesn’t want to hear it. Nobody wants to know about the hard work and dedication it takes to do what I do. No one wants to know about the sacrifice.
No one wants to know the real me. When I shrug off the glamour of this job, throw on a t-shirt and jeans and kick back with my brother, that’s the real me. When me and Red jump in the car and head to the sports bar in the center of town for a burger and a beer, that’s the real me. When I get the urge to drive back into our old neighborhood because I’m fucked in the head and can’t let those days go, that’s the real me. When I wake up in the night because I’m dreaming of a time when my brother is dead and I have no family left, that’s the real fucked up me.
I follow Red through the crowds, hood up and head down.
Even though I’m dog tired, that urge to fight is still there. Maybe it’ll always be there while my demons are around to torment me.
7
River: If you had one wish, what would you wish for?
Raven: More wishes.
River: Funny. Seriously.
Raven: A family. A real family.
River: You don’t have one?
Raven: No. It’s just me.
River: But you must have had someone when you were growing up.
Raven: I had people who went through the motions for me. Cooked the chicken fingers and frozen pizzas. Bought me the cheapest clothes they could find. Pocketed the rest of the allowance they got for caring for me for their booze and cigarette habits.
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