by Fawkes, Sara
thinking and he chuckled. Eschewing alcohol because she was nursing, she hadn't had more than a sip
here and there since Jillian had been born. Drinking so much so fast would hit her hard. Loosening up
couldn't hurt, right? “Same old Laura,” Mike laughed. Her lack of appreciation for good wine had been
a joke when they'd met, and now it was a running tease between them.
The answering laugh came out of her unbidden, her muscles relaxing, the room like something out
of a fantasy, all a pale, creamy glow, with the darkened forest peeking in through the wide windows
like a protective mother, tree branches embracing the tall, circular building. It really felt as if this
cabin had grown out of the ground like a tree, the knots in the wood visible in the walls, the scent of
cedar filling the room.
Laura sipped the rest of her glass and said nothing when Mike, after pouring a glass for Dylan,
refilled hers without asking. The three stood and faced the large picture window, eyes unfocused and
lost in the splendor of the view as the dusky, pink-streaked sky faded with a sepia tone.
It was the most time she'd spent just being with them since the baby had been born.
The baby. Jillian. Motherhood. For a short half hour she'd somehow pushed all thoughts of the
baby aside and taken halting steps toward just being Laura again.
And it had felt good.
Reproach and guilt poured in. She batted it away. Jillian was fine. Fine. Alex and Josie could
manage just fine.
Fine.
And she still felt good. She felt damn good.
Speaking of things that felt good...Dylan's arm found its way around her waist and he kissed her
neck, the scent of wine and citrus mixed with his earthy, spicy aftershave. A deep inhale and another
kiss, this one below her ear, and she felt her heart pick up, her body responding with a finely-tuned
keening that made her feel empty, wanting him in her. The sudden rush of warmth and eagerness
surprised her, making her smile, for it also pleased her.
Maybe more of the old Laura remained than just her wine cluelessness.
Maybe she really could find her way back, for one night, to the way they were.
Dylan turned her toward him, finished his glass of wine in one big swig, and with a tight power in
his face that she would have thought was anger if she didn't know otherwise, reached for her hand. He
pulled her toward the bed. He didn't ask.
This wasn't up for discussion.
Mike – to Laura's deep amusement – finished the rest of his wine with an audible gulp and joined
them. The air in the room was suddenly cold and hot at once, the candles making the bed seem to float
in the middle of the room. Acutely aware of every muscle in Dylan's hand, the way the hair at the top
of his chest peeked out from the V of his shirt, how Mike's tall, lean body cast a shadow in the ever-
darkening room, Laura felt transported. Loved. Wanted.
Desired.
Four hands made ready work of removing her clothes as Laura closed her eyes, so vulnerable and
accustomed to the two men, yet hesitant and a bit shy. Dylan eased her heathered-lilac shirt up over
her head, hands sending the shirt to the ground, then cupping her full breasts with a sense of want she
could feel in her core, her body tightening and opening at the same time, ready for what he so
desperately seemed to want to give. Mike's fingers pulled at the zipper at her waist, letting her skirt
drop to the ground. She slid her shoes off, now in her panties and bra, hating how awkward and self-
conscious she felt.
It had been so long. Her fault, entirely – Mike and Dylan had asked plenty of times for more sex,
though over the last month they'd backed off, probably tired of her endless rejections.
Mind looping with all these thoughts, she couldn't just relax.
Even worse, she struggled to hide that fact. Because who gets uptight and awkward around the men
you've pledged to love forever? Their bond was sacred, the three connected and forged into one soul, it
seemed. If Laura had been told two years ago that she would soon meet two protectors who would love
her forever and unconditionally, and would give her the greatest gift ever in baby Jillian, she would
have scoffed at the sheer impossibility of such a life.
Yet here she was, now, living it. With Mike's intense eyes raking over her nearly-nude form,
Dylan's hands effortlessly unclasped her bra, sending shivers down her spine as he moved the lingerie
across her shoulders and let it slide, useless and unwanted, to the ground.
She froze, and it wasn't from cold. Looking at Dylan, Mike frowned and reached down, one arm
going under her knees, the other under her neck and then – she was in his arms.
“Put me down!” she gasped, impressed by the feel of hard muscle against the back of her knees.
You would think she weighed nothing, the way he held her, as if she were a hundred pounds lighter.
“I'm about to,” he murmured in her ear, eyes closed off, making her feel unsettled. What was this?
Depositing her on the bed, Mike nodded to Dylan, who appeared at the headboard with a small box,
the size of a laptop computer.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
And then silk scarves appeared, the same color as the netting that surrounded her now that she was
on top of the down comforter. The feel of the feather bed beneath her nude skin was like being reborn,
the comfort and sensuality a balm that cut through her trepidation.
“What's this?”
“You tell us,” Mike said, sitting on the bed next to her. A chill poured over her exposed skin, knees
bent and thighs pulled up against her waist. One nipple stretched, lazy and languid, toward the bed
spread, her body on display for her fully-clothed and – she now saw – very determined men.
“Tell you...what?” she asked, sitting up, pulling her knees to her chest. This felt wrong. Different.
Not what she'd expected.
Dylan fingered a silver silk scarf, pulling it between his fingers, the action so powerful and
suggestive she found herself licking her lips for no conscious reason. “Shall I be Gideon?” he asked,
looking at Mike.
“Sure. And I can be Cooper.”
Fuck.
They knew.
“You’ve been reading my eReader?” she squeaked, taking a stab in the dark.
Dylan snapped the silk like a cord, making not so much a sound, but a gesture that left her
confused. He didn't answer her question, but instead asked one of his own, dark hair mussed,
mahogany eyes bold and in control. “Do you want a contract?”
“Contract?” Laura repeated, brain on fire.
“And a safeword?” Mike crooned.
“A what – ?”
“Because Laura,” Mike said, interrupting, his own hands now filled with a different silk scarf, this
one bright, China red, “we're the ones who should be your book boyfriends.”
“And only us,” Dylan growled.
Book boyfriend? How did they know that term? How did they know what she'd been reading? Did
they read her eReader and find all those erotic romances on it? Gideon? That meant they'd read Sylvia
Day's BDSM books. Cooper? The extraordinary Dom? Oh, God – they'd found Their Virgin Princess –
and oh, holy mother of – what was Mike pulling out of that box?
Was that a vibrating butt plug and a bottle of lube?
Uhhhh. Her mind went blank. Completely, hopele
ssly empty.
Both men now sat on opposite sides of her, twenty throw pillows in various hues of cream piled
around them, the netting thrown back so that they lived in a little bubble. A tense, sexually-charged
bubble of her own making.
“So, I can draw up a contract if you'd like,” Dylan said.
“Why would I want – ”
“Because, Laura.” Mike cut in, his face serious. “You're getting every fantasy tonight. Right now.
Here. You get to have ultimate control by handing over every shred of it to us.”
Every cell in her body turned from hot to cold, her skin like a live wire.
“I don't – they're just books,” she laughed, her voice tinny and utterly unconvincing. The promise
of what they were offering was readable on their faces, both men hard and ready to play out what she'd
only read. What they, too, had read. It made her wet to think about it, and she squirmed, trying not to
be obvious. “Just something to read while I'm bored,” she choked out.
“We won't make this boring,” Dylan whispered in her ear, making her jolt. They were serious. This
was real. What they offered her was...
Impossible.
Neither of them had shown the slightest inkling of interest in BDSM in the bedroom before. Why
now? What was this?
“I, I'm sure you won’t,” she stumbled, face bright red with a flush of embarrassment and
incredulity, breasts smashed against her knees, her panties her only clothing, “but we don't need this to
be intimate,” she said, her voice trailing into a hush as she gestured toward the box by Mike's hand.
“We don't need it,” Mike agreed. “But you want it.”
“I never said that!”
“You didn't have to.”
An excited rush of embarrassment filled her. Telling her deepest desires to Mike and Dylan should
be part of their relationship, right? If you can't share that central part of yourself with the person(s)
you choose to spend the rest of your life with, then who can you share it with? Inhibition was normal;
being mildly shy and a bit hesitant made sense, because sexual fantasy was a funny thing. Dreams and
wishes didn't have to make sense. They were hers. And if they asked too much of her guys, or seemed
silly or self-indulgent or – her greatest fear – were something they found unappealing, then the risk of
asking and being rejected was too much.
Letting the mind wander to places where you lost all control, where a man wanted to dominate
your body and completely pull your sexual strings muscle by muscle, gasp by gasp, was a kind of
world that she should be able to access with a single request to her men.
So why was it so hard to look Mike in the eye right now? Or to even glance at Dylan? They offered
her a willingness to give her some wonderful sex play that she'd been too...something...to request.
And now...they'd read her mind.
Or, at least, her eReader.
“Laura,” Dylan said gently. “We love you. We want you. We desire you. Tonight isn't just about
the sex. It's about being intimate and feeling whole with you.” He took her chin in his hand and tipped
her eyes up to meet his, pupils dilated and so full of heat she felt her skin tingle. “When I touch you,
the connection makes me feel like a better Dylan. Stronger, more real. And when the three of us are
together, we go places none of us can go as individuals.”
“Let us make love to you the way you want to be loved,” Mike added, stroking her back.
Bzzzz. The sound of a phone interrupted before Laura could answer. Her phone. The phone! Jillian!
Something was wrong with the baby. Laura's sexual self died in half a second as Mommy Brain kicked
in.
“Where's my phone?” she shrieked, the moment ruined as Mike and Dylan deflated, Dylan's
disappointment registering in her mind briefly, while Mike appeared to be angry. She couldn't think
about them; something might be wrong at home. Heart racing, her chest suddenly chilled with a flush
of sweat, she fumbled for her discarded skirt, dropped the phone, picked it back up and answered,
running for the sanctuary of the bathroom.
“What's wrong? What's wrong?” she shouted into the phone.
“Shhhhhh!” Josie hushed quietly. “You'll wake Jillian. She's right here and sound asleep.”
“THEN WHY ARE YOU CALLING? WHAT HAPPENED?” Laura bellowed.
“Did I interrupt you guys?” Josie said, the sly tone in her voice making Laura want to rip her ears
off and wear them on a chain around her neck.
“Why are you calling?” Laura snapped. “And no, you didn’t interrupt anything,” she lied. “We’ve
only been here for what? Half an hour?”
“Shit,” Josie said, “it sounds like things aren't going well there.”
And with that, Laura burst into tears, sat on the toilet lid, and realized she was wearing nothing but
panties.
“Aren't going well is...oh, hell, I don't know,” Laura whispered through a sob.
“Oh, honey,” Josie said, her voice so comforting it made Laura cry harder. “Are you guys having a
hard time?”
“You told them to read my eReader?” Laura asked quietly, wiping her tears with a piece of
lavender-scented tissue from the box built into the log-cabin wall.
“I...shit.” Josie blew out a long sigh that gave Laura a chance to blow her own nose. “Yes, I'll own
that. I did.”
“Why?”
“Because Mike and Dylan told me and Alex you have only had sex twice in six months.”
The hand holding the piece of tissue curled into a tight fist. “They WHAT?” she hissed. The
distinct sound of a champagne cork popped in the distance, and Laura heard Dylan's muffled voice say
something with urgency.
“And they said the only thing you seemed interested in were your books, so...” Josie's voice faded.
A sharp inhale came through the phone. “I never realized how good a baby's head can smell,” Josie
said, as if naming an embarrassed confession.
Snorting, laughing, and fuming all at once, Laura felt like a vortex of too many emotions crammed
into one body. What a mess. Her two amazing men were out in the living room of this gorgeous cabin,
getting champagne ready, with hundreds of candles lit and an assortment of pleasure-driven sex toys
purchased based on her deepest desires, and here she sat sniffling into the phone and berating her best
friend, who was watching her precious baby.
Could she be any more screwed up?
“She's really OK? No problems?” Please say yes.
“Laura,” Josie ventured, “don't ever tell Alex I said this, but I think I like this whole baby thing.
Jillian is adorable and even when she cries – ”
“She cried? Why?”
“Because she's a baby.” Josie snorted. “But don't worry Alex just stripped his shirt off and latched
her on.”
“Ha ha.” Even that cut through Laura's malaise.
“I swear the man would lactate if he could,” Josie joked.
“You like the whole domestic thing?” Laura wasn't surprised. She knew Josie had it in her.
“I like the baby thing more than I want Alex to know. Yet.”
“OK. Shhhh. I won't spill your secrets.”
“Touché. I'm sorry.”
“So why did you call?” Now Laura was flushed and mussed, confused and overwhelmed.
“We couldn't remember whether you said to use the butt cream on her rash or to just let it air out.�
��
“You called me for that?” Laura said through gritted teeth.
“The way you gave us instructions made it seem like we'd have nuclear bombs shoved up our asses
and your foot would trigger the explosion if we didn't do exactly what you said,” Josie replied in a
sing-songy voice.
“Is Jillian awake?”
“No. But your angry voice made her stir.”
“Air first. Butt cream second.”
“M'kay.”
Silence. But Josie didn't hang up.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.” Pause. A quiet, softer side of Josie came out in her words. “Laura, what are you doing to
those guys? But most of all, to yourself, honey?” Josie didn't use words like “honey.” That was the
second time in one conversation. Either her niece, Darla, was rubbing off on her or Laura was in worse
shape than she ever possibly realized.
More tears. “You're the one who called,” she sniffed.
“And you're – what? Sitting in the bathroom talking to me?”
“How could you tell?”
“The echo.”
Laura looked around the bathroom and laughed. “I don't know what I'm doing, Josie. It's not that I
don't want Mike and Dylan. It's just that – ” she choked on her next words, but forced them out
anyhow – “what if they don't want me?”
“Why wouldn't they?” Josie whispered. “According to both of them, they're slobbering all over
themselves to get you in bed, but you're not interested.”
Gah. Even more tears. “Because...” Her mind rushed with excuses and reasons why she wasn't
interested, and then – like a wrist flicking away a gnat – she shooed her own flimsy rationalizations
away. “Because I don't know. Because I don't feel desirable.”
“Maybe you should just fake it.”
“Fake it?” Fake what? An orgasm? No need to do that – they were plentiful when the mood struck
and she was really into sex.
“Make it 'til you fake it. Wait. No – got that backwards,” Josie chuckled. “Basically, be willing to
start having sex and see whether your interest catches up.”
“You mean pretend I want something I don't?” Laura could hear her own voice go flat.
“I mean be willing. Show up for your own sex life. The guys are there with a fucking 20-foot
billboard that says “Make Love to Us” and hard-ons the size of tree trunks, all pointed at you! Be
