by Kizzie Hayes
“Come here,” She instructed.
When both men obeyed, she looked at their strong manhoods and tried her best to not feel intimidated. She started off easy, caressing Michael and Ian with each of her hands. When they began to respond she once more turned her attention first to Michael, not just because Ian had given permission, but because of the two, she was more comfortable around him. She peered up at him before kissing his member. While she continued to pump her hand around Ian, she took Michael into her mouth and began to bob up and down, not falling into a rhythm as to keep him on his toes. One minute, she would go as fast and as deep as she could, the next she would go slow and use her tongue to draw patterns on him. She’d alternate until he hissed and even groaned with pleasure.
Making sure that he wasn’t feeling neglected, Maya turned her attention to Ian. Knowing that he would be expecting a similar performance to what he just witnessed with Michael, Maya made sure to change up her technique. This time, she started out slow and attempted to take as much of his penis into her mouth as she could manage without choking, eventually increasing the speed until she focused primarily on his tip, and tried to use enough pressure to make Ian want to lose it.
There was one thing about her dream coming to fruition that made her feel very proud. In both realms, she loved the way it felt to pleasure a man, and she couldn’t believe that while she took care of one with her mouth that there was yet another that was enjoying what she was doing with her hands.
Knowing that she didn’t want to all the work, she eventually let them both free and laid down on the floor. She pushed her hips up in offering as she laid with her arms above her head. She let her eyes do the talking, she didn’t know where this confidence was coming from, but she ran with it. Michael knelt on the floor beside her as he cupped her breasts, continuing what he had started a few nights earlier. Ian made his way down to where she had spread her legs and very carefully he touched her close to her entrance until he finally placed two of his fingers inside of her and mimicked what would be happening to her shortly.
Maya laid there with her eyes shut and rode the waves of pleasure. She could feel the arousal in her body growing, and she reveled in the fact that she wouldn’t have to hold back. She could be as loud as she wanted with no fear of judgment. So when she began to feel hot, and Ian’s fingers began to slide in and out of her with ease, she let him know that she liked it. She mewed and moaned when Michael finally bent over her chest and kissed and licked her breasts.
Why had she been ashamed of this? God, she’d never been more ready for something in her life.
Maya wiggled away from her lovers and sat up, catching her breath for a moment. “How are we going to do this?” She gasped.
“Ladies choice,” Ian offered as if waiting with bated breath for what she would decide.
“Although, may I make a suggestion?” Michael said face flushed. “I’d prefer to not be super close to Lyall. Feud aside. I’d much rather focus on what you’re doing Maya.”
“Fair enough,” Maya replied. “Michael, I will bend over, and you can take me from behind. “Ian I will go down on you until it is time to switch.
Once they got into position, Maya couldn’t help but scream out with pleasure when Michael finally entered her. For a few minutes, she enjoyed the rush of finally feeling every bit of him, of finally getting past a mountain of desire. She hoped that she would get to experience this feeling again. After she was used to the rhythm, she took Ian into her mouth and the moments that followed were both ecstasy-filled and utterly surreal.
Michael made love to her until Maya could feel herself reaching her climax, she was reaching her peak and just like she had enjoyed having power over her lovers, Michael, in turn, seemed to enjoy being able to take care of her. Maya was nearly shocked by the way she screamed when she reached her climax. Michael’s thrusting had become so fast that she thought for sure that he would have been right behind her, but he pulled out of her, and the men quickly changed places.
Ian felt different, but in a way that still made Maya cry out as he slid every inch of himself into her womanhood. Where Michael had been consistent, Ian was full of tricks. He thrust in and out, he swiveled his hips, and soon Maya was cursing because it felt so undeniably good that she knew she wouldn’t last much longer.
She removed Michael from her mouth as hissed. “I want to finish you both.”
“Not before I finish you first.” Ian murmured behind her. “It wouldn’t be fair if one heir brings you pleasure, but not the other.”
Maya wasn’t sure if that was part of the prophecy or not, but she was not going to stop him from what was making her feel light headed and dizzy. Several moments later, it was too good to contain, and she screamed and began to speak in tongues as once more she tipped over the edge.
She slid way from them for a few seconds so that she could move to her knees. The heirs made their way over to her, and she pumped both of their throbbing members with her hands until they groaned and reached climaxes of their own. Then all that was left was the panting. It was like everything that had happened was finally taking its toll on her. She felt exhausted and spent, but at the same time, she was unbelievably happy. Having sex with the both of them was like taking a weight off of her shoulders. If she hadn’t discovered the truth, it would have been more crushing than ever, because the pleasure that she had just felt would have made it harder to pick only one of them. Thank god that sometimes the truth was stranger than fiction.
“What happens next?” She asked.
“You go back to how things were,” Ian whispered. “You can decide when you want to be with either of us. We never have to meet like this again.”
“How can we ever go back to the way things were?” Maya asked.
Michael took her face in one of his hands and caressed her cheek. “It’s true, everything has changed. But the Lowell’s and Lyall’s will not fight. Not as long as you live.”
*****
“Have you heard? The five missing people were found in the woods last night?” An excited elderly woman said to Maya a few days later while she scanned her groceries.
“I did hear that, so sad about the three that were found dead, though.” Maya didn’t have the heart to tell her that the five people that had been found were all a show for the humans. Or that they were actually werewolves that had been released from the adversary’s land. “You saved forty-five dollars. Have a great day! We all can, the woods of Whitney are safe!”
As she watched the customer leave she smiled when thought of the Lowell’s and Lyall’s being adversaries. She was responsible for their peace treaty, though they would probably never see past their differences, and would be watching her until she took her dying breath. In the days since the three had made their consummation of the prophecy, she’d already seen black and red wolves watching her. She’d learned that her home sat on Lyall land, but that Catskill Grocery was on Lowell land so she’d seen red wolves outside her house and a black wolf lurking near the store. They were watching out for her, always guarding what belonged to them both.
It was the time of the full moon so she was alone while her lovers dealt with their alternate forms. She wasn’t necessarily sad about this. As much as she was at peace with the fact that she had helped protect innocent lives, and that she didn’t have to make a difficult choice, she still had many questions.
How was she going to explain to her mother that she had two boyfriends? Someday, how was she going to be able to explain that she couldn’t marry because the feud would probably start all over again? If she conceived a child who would it belong to? Would the Lyall’s and Lowell’s become one strange mutated family? Maya figured that she would have time to figure it out when it happened.
“Maya, Maya, sweetie, you can shut down for your break.” Her manager smiled at her, completely unaware of the inner conversation she was currently having.
“Great! Thank you!”
Maya had bought a drink and a muffin
from the bakery before she went up into the break room where she decided to check her phone. She wished there were text messages from her wolves but no such luck, they were stuck in their animal form until the moon began to change again.
Maya was determined to look on the bright side. She had two men to compliment her in very different ways, she had two lovers to satisfy her needs in ways that she never knew were possible. Everything would find a way of working itself out. Now she found herself more inspired to work than ever. Not only did she need to finish paying for college, but she really needed to get her own place. There would be fewer questions that way.
Even though she knew they wouldn’t be able to answer for a few days, she still typed out a text message and sent it to the both of them.
Hope you are safe and looking forward to seeing you when you return.
She smiled as she hit send. Who would have thought that a dream would have so much meaning? Who would have thought that her life would have come to this? She really was a human peace treaty.
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 19 of 44
Kissing a Scoundrel
A woman born to a particular rank, or status, is expected to take news, no matter how dissatisfactory, with a demure nod, or perhaps a fashionable turning of the head, and nothing else. The young Lady Crawford, fully aware of what was expected, attempted to do just this, but found that her hands would not quite cooperate. Nerves had always been her undoing.
Emily was not sure that she could handle this. Between her father's sudden death and the funeral that followed, everything was changing far too quickly for her to handle. She felt a familiar frightened tickling at the back of her throat.
Her father's study was suddenly too small. A strange occurrence as she had always thought it a well-appointed room, full of life and knowledge. It had also been her private sanctum when society had been too much for her, or when the bounds of politeness strained. She had always been able to find a certain comfort in the written word; the crackling of well-loved paper, and the scent of dry ink. In this moment, however, it was an inescapable prison.
“Miss Crawford, are you quite alright?” the sound of the solicitor's voice sounded very far off.
No, no this would never do. It was exactly this sort of behavior that had seen her through three seasons without even a whisper of a marriage proposal. She cleared her throat, and swallowed the fretting.
“Forgive me, Mister Quinn, but I am afraid that I do not entirely understand.” The shake of the tea cup was barely discernible to the small gathering, but to Emily Crawford it may well have been a Chinese gong. She clutched it harder. At least no one would see the white of her knuckles through the black lace gloves.
Mister Quinn, the solicitor, was in possession of truly prodigious jowls, which were only a shade lighter than the burgundy of his waistcoat, trembled with admirably contained frustration as he carefully folded the last will and testament of the late Lord Albert Crawford.
The crackling of the paper did nothing to soften his tone when he explained, “I believe it is all very plain, Miss Crawford, very plain indeed. The properties of your father, including all of those that were part of his business, and the private residences, go in their entirety to Mister Owen Harding.”
Even hearing it a second time, it struck like a blow. Her mother, who had been much loved by her father, had passed of an infection when Emily was still in swaddling-clothes. When it became clear that Emily suffered from the same delicate constitution, and tightly strung nature as her mother, her father had seen to it that she was well taken care of. He would not have done this. He would never have left her with nothing. Emily could not bring herself to believe it.
She barely kept her voice level as she asked, “Am I to understand that this includes my family estate as well as the London residence?”
Mister Quinn barely looked up as he placed several folded papers into his satchel, a worn thing that had been tattered and stained with use. Clearly he thought the matter settled. “Were they part of your father's holdings?”
“I...well...yes,” she managed. The shaking of her teacup was louder. A few droplets crashed over the brim and puddled on the elegantly painted saucer. Her chest constricted with the all too familiar rising of her nerves. “But surely this addendum that you spoke of...”
“Miss Crawford.” He fixed her with a patronizing smile. “I realize that your father's death was most unexpected. He was, I believe, very healthy for a man of his years. And I understand that this sudden shift in your own life is hard to reconcile, but I am not sure that I can be any clearer. By the decree of these papers, you will receive a very handsome stipend for living expenses during the course of this upcoming social season, and when you are married you shall receive a generous dowry as well. However, in order to receive either of these you must do so as the addendum states...”
Yes, she remembered that part as well. It was easily the most befuddling part of her father's will. “So long as I attend the entire season under the escort of Mister Harding?”
“Yes.” His thick lips tilted into a pleased smile, humoring her understanding. “Mister Harding you will be expected to maintain Miss Crawford through this season, with the intention of finding her a suitable husband. It was impressed upon me that Lord Crawford wished to see his daughter taken care of.”
“Naturally.” It was the first thing that the other participant of this unwanted meeting had offered. In truth it was the first thing that she had heard Owen Harding say since his eulogy, which she felt had been utterly economical in nature.
“I beg your pardon?” Emily demanded, knowing that her tone whispered with the hysterics she was fighting off. She shifted the bulk of her dark gown to better see him.
Harding was not unattractive, at least in appearance. His shoulders had the slender strength of an athletic man, and his hair curled in a charming riot around a poetically sculpted face. It was his eyes, she thought, that gave him away. For all they were a perfectly acceptable shade of blue, with a starburst of green around the iris, they were most ungentlemanly in nature. It was a gleam to them, wolfish and knowing. It was not a proper look, but Mister Harding had never cared much for proper.
There wasn't anything natural about this, and they all knew it. Tea, which had grown cool, sloshed over the edges and stained her fingertips. She could only imagine how she looked. Her ivory cheeks flushed a deep pink with her own frustration and the deep brown of her eyes, normally her best feature, rimmed with the red of her recent tears. It was not how she would have liked appear during the moment when her entire life changed, but one did not have complete control over these sorts of things. Some, she sighed inwardly, had even less control than others.
She closed her dark eyes and counted slowly to five, picturing each number carefully behind her eyelids. When she opened them she felt more settled, if no less upset. With great care she replaced the cup, and its matching saucer, upon the table, and let her gaze land upon Mister Owen Harding, her last possible hope.
“I beg your pardon,” she repeated, her tone far steadier than it had been. “You cannot possibly agree to this.”
“Why not?” His lips curled into a bemused smile.
How could he possibly smile at a time such as this? Well, she thought, if she had been informed she was willed a prosperous business and two well-appointed homes she might well have smiled.
“Mister Harding, it is no secret that you deplore polite society.”
“True enough,” he answered without any hint of shame. Owen Harding was well known as a man of low morals, who preferred drinking halls to dinner parties and brothels to galas. He, as far as she knew, had never made any apology for his deplorable behavior. Why her father had been so fond of him, Emily would never know.
“And especially parties and social gatherings,” she continued.
“That is true as well.”
His mild tone did nothing but irk her. She s
hook her head hard enough to set the golden ringlets beneath her mourning veil to dancing. What little comfort that her counting session had given her was evaporating quickly. “In fact, Mister Harding, I distinctly remember you telling my father that you would rather have your eyes put out by a dozen ravenous seagulls than to spend the season in London being...oh, how exactly did you put it...paraded in front of insipid matrons for their even more insipid daughters?”
His eyes nearly sparkled. He held out his hands in surrender, but continued to lounge comfortably in his seat. “One of my better musings, I think.”
“Then why do this?” To keep herself from balling her hands into fists, Emily cupped her hands in her lap, black lace on black cotton. She could not have an episode now, not here, and certainly not in front of him.
“Because.” He stood up in an elegant shifting of muscle and sinew. He reached out and chucked her under the chin in a most impolite way that set her cheeks to flaming. He turned those strange and magnificent eyes on her. “For all I hate of society, and the social season, I loved your father a great deal more.”
Emily was hard pressed to decide if there could have been an answer that would have surprised her more.
*****
As Emily had, thankfully, already been introduced to polite society three years previous she had no need to attend the ball of debutantes other than she wished to see everyone at their very best. There was nothing quite like a gala to show off one at one’s best.
