Something Special: The Three Graces Book Six

by Nia Farrell

  Grace had never been with a man, let alone two. I thought she might freak when she saw what she’d be trying to handle, my nine inches and Nico’s eight. Hoping to make her first time easier, I had Nico do the honors. She’d known him longer. She trusted him. They’d only just met me. I held her while he took her virginity, joined in once they got going, and let myself get lost in that virgin mouth of hers. I claimed her ass before the weekend was through.

  We were all clean. Because she was on the pill, we took her bareback. We’ve been doing skin to skin ever since. We thought she was protected. Then again, this is a woman whose bathwater defies the laws of physics and flows fucking backwards down the drain when she’s done soaking the shit out of her skin. If anyone is going to be the exception to the rule, it’s Grace.

  Raising her gaze, she looks from me to Nico and back again. “You guys seem pretty calm about this.”

  I shrug my shoulders, thinking of what’s inked between them. My only tattoo is a tribal take on a triskelion, symbolizing our relationship and my commitment to Grace and Nico. I had it done just days after we met.

  We made love that weekend. It was more than sex. More than a hookup. It felt like I’d known them forever. According to Grace, I have. She says the three of us come back time and again, stronger when we’re together, missing pieces when we’re apart. We’ve had good lifetimes, and then there are some I’m still paying on, working off the karmic fucking debt I feel I owe them. They say I don’t, but if half of what they tell me is true, it’ll take another dozen incarnations spent cherishing them to make up for the hurt I’ve done.

  I look at my soulmates, first him, then her. Nico cracks a smile. He’s vibrating with so much coiled energy, his excitement is fucking palpable. Grace looks as fragile as spun sugar. I can tell, the hold she has on her emotions is tenuous, as stable as a house of cards. She needs reassurance. She needs to know that we’re here for her, needs to believe that we’re happy with what’s happened, unplanned or not.

  “We love you,” I tell the woman who completes us. “This baby – our baby – is an expression of our love. Now that we know what’s going on, we can deal with it. Right now, a trip to Culver’s is in order, and it’s my turn to run. I’ll get your meds. Nico, take care of our girl.”

  For Grace’s sake, I focus on my breathing and try to keep my mind quiet until I’m out the door and headed to the next town over. By the time I’m down the half mile driveway and turning onto the road, the inside of my head’s a maelstrom, swirling with questions, doubts, fears. Two men love her. Only one of us can marry her. More than likely, Nico is the daddy.

  Where the hell does that leave me?

  Grace should be married. Posey’s small enough, she needs to get married. I want our child to have every advantage, and illegitimacy is never a plus. But here’s the thing. I’m a vet. Sure, I have issues, but I’m in counseling for my PTSD and I’m getting better. Better than I was, anyway. When I first met Grace and Nico, I’d wait until Grace was asleep, then slip out of bed and sack out on the sofa, or bed down in the playroom so I didn’t wake up fighting or screaming.

  So I didn’t hurt someone.

  Now I spend most nights with them, holding her, sometimes holding Nico. Being their Dominant helps. Come Fourth of July, when fireworks are exploding over the lake, sounding and looking so much like artillery fire that I find myself back in Afghanistan, I’ll need Grace’s submission and Nico’s compliant support to pull me back to the present and help me make it through.

  I can see Grace now, her gravid belly cradled in her arms, her exquisite skin luminous with the glow of pregnancy. She’ll be…she’ll be how far along by July? It’ll take a sonogram to figure her due date. Fuck. We need to find an Ob/Gyn. We’ll need a pediatrician, too – unless we stick with the family practice clinic here, and I don’t feel comfortable going there if it means exposing our child to Nurse Ratchett.

  Then there are the expenses. Grace works part time at the local bookstore, which helps, but she’s basically self-employed and her insurance is crap. Christ, she was worried how much the blood tests were going to run. She’s gonna shit a brick when she hears how much it costs to have a baby. And if anything happens…if the baby comes early and has to stay in the hospital…well, neonatal costs nearly bankrupted my cousin Lena and her husband.

  It just gets worse and worse.

  My mind is made up. I’m marrying Grace. We’ll have a second, spiritually moving and totally illegal joining ceremony for her and Nico, but she’s going to be Mrs. Jesus Tomás Santiago, with all that the name entails. Thanks to my military service and honorable discharge, there’ll be veteran’s benefits for her and our children. Insurance that will help cover pregnancy, delivery, and beyond. I’m sure I can make Nico see the logic in it. He might not like it – Grace can only marry one of us and she’ll be taking my name when she does – but he’s a self-employed artist. He does well enough recording music and making courting flutes to pay the bills, but he can’t offer Grace what I can.

  * * *

  “Just pick a date, Grace.”

  My growl rolls across the dining room table where Grace sits, with the family calendar, her opened date book, and her laptop displaying voids of the moon, whatever the fuck those are. Bad enough I’ve had to learn about Mercury retrogrades, but I swear to God, it feels like it’s all just a fucking excuse to delay the inevitable.

  “For Christ’s sake, woman. You’ll be popping out a bouncing boy on the way to the courthouse if you don’t stop dragging your feet.”

  Standing behind her, Nico rubs the tension from her shoulders but gives me the nod. Brother’s in my corner on this.

  Grace has the good sense to blush. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice earnest. “It’s not that simple.”

  Fuck if it’s not.

  I flip a page and point to the third Sunday of February, two days after Valentine’s Day. None of us works that day of the week, and it’s close to the most romantic holiday of the year. Perfect.

  Grace looks horrified. “Oh. No.”

  “What?” I grate.

  “That’s the sixteenth.”

  Evidently, in her universe, the number sixteen is a very, very bad thing.

  Rather than roll my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to think like Grace. What she feels. How she reasons. Or not.

  I flip the family calendar to March. “Here,” I tell her. “March twenty-first. Spring equinox. It’s a Friday.” That gives us options that Sunday the sixteenth doesn’t. The choice of ceremony (public or private) and venue (courthouse, church, or somewhere else). I’m voting against outdoors in March, when we might still have snow on the ground.

  “You’ll be four months along,” I tell her. We think she got pregnant the night we first collared her. If that didn’t make us both feel studly. “Early enough to fit in a pretty dress and not so big we can’t take you six ways to Sunday. Nico and I have been talking to Cameron Colson, and we’ve got an idea for the honeymoon that we think you’re gonna love.”

  Grace blinks owlishly. Surprised is not a look I’m used to seeing on her. I’m guessing pregnancy hormones are fucking up her telepathy.

  “Spring equinox.” She sounds almost stunned that I suggested it.

  I run a hand across my three-day-old beard and grin. “What can I say? You’ve fucking rubbed off on me, woman.”

  Chapter Three

  I’m scheduled to teach today, afternoon and evening classes, mixed martial arts and women’s self-defense. Despite the rough weather we’ve been having, I don’t have to worry about things at home. Nico will be here in case Grace needs anything. We’ve bladed the driveway, there’s plenty of firewood inside, and the kitchen is stocked with the foods she’s been craving.

  If our kid doesn’t come out eggplant purple, I’ll be surprised.

  I leave early, my truck locked into four wheel drive. My dojo is forty-five minutes away on a good day. With drifts and patches of glazed ice, it takes over an hour
to go the distance. The highway ditches and shoulders are littered with wrecks from people who’ve spun out on black ice.

  I choose to not turn around – there’s too much paperwork on my desk demanding attention – but I decide to cancel all of today’s classes. I’d rather have a student pissed at me than hurt by some idiot driver when there’s no other reason to be out on the road. I put in Nico’s latest CD and feel my tension ease as I listen to the tracks, most of them co-written with “AJ McPherson” – Anna James’ professional name.

  As soon as I get to the dojo, I call the local radio station and the television station that’s closest to Franklin. I message students who are part of the dojo’s closed Facebook group and call the ones who don’t do social media. Done, I work on business month end, get everything on a flash drive for my accountant, then take some time to myself. I’m still processing what Grace told me last night while Nico was writing music over the internet with Anna and the Thomason twins.

  I knew something had been bothering him but couldn’t put my finger on it. He’s a loving, caring man who sees to my and Grace’s needs, but everything’s shifting in a major way with the baby coming and a wedding to plan. Grace, psychic that she is, told me that it’s the baby. More specifically, what we’ll call the baby.

  It’s eating Nico that he might be the father but his son won’t have his name.

  I get it. I do. It’s unfortunate as fuck, but, hell, she can only marry one of us.

  I shake my head, remembering how sweetly Grace agreed. And smiled that secret smile of hers, like she knew something I didn’t – which is usually the case. She’s got it all figured out. After we get married, she’s legally changing her name to Grace White Santiago.

  “I’m marrying both of you,” she said. “One in the eyes of the law, one in the eyes of Spirit, but this way, all the babies who come will have their daddies’ names, regardless. I wanted to run it by you, see what you thought, before I say anything to Nico.”

  Nothing’s perfect in this world, but I agree with Grace that it’s the best solution to the problem at hand. I gave her permission to tell Nico today, while I’m gone, let the two of them have a little alone time. Her pregnancy hormones have made her extra horny. I’m sure there’ll be love enough to go around when I get back and join them.

  I’ve texted Grace and Nico that evening classes are cancelled and I’ll be home early. Nico’s text comes when I’m five miles out to let me know they’ll be in the bedroom.

  Fuck, yeah.

  I’m quiet when I slip inside the house, pull off my boots and socks and head down the hall toward the back of the house. Through the open door of the master suite, I hear: “How hard do you want it, Grace?”

  “Hard, Sir. Please. I want to come on your cock.”

  Trust Nico to give her exactly what she wants. Hearing them go to it makes my blood rush south.

  God. Damn. My erection tents the front of my jeans, demanding release as I listen to the slap of flesh on flesh. I can only imagine how he’s taking her. I open my zipper, pull out my dick, and fist it, getting myself ready to join them.

  Grace moans. Nico swears. “Jesus, sweetheart. Your pussy’s so wet. So fucking tight. I want to pound it, but I don’t want to make you sore.”

  She begs him to do it anyway. “Please, Nico.”

  A handstroke later, I hear Nico’s day-yum. Hmm. I wonder if she’s doing Kegels or squeezing him with those killer thighs, toned tight from the Irish dancing she does.

  Time to find out.

  When I step through the opened door, Grace is on all fours, her palms planted in the middle of the bed, her knees on the edge, while Nico stands on the floor, pile driving into her, taking her from behind. The muscles of his naked ass bunch and flex, beckoning me with a pull on my pole that’s goddamn magnetic.

  “Fuck.” The single word escapes me, letting Nico know I’m here. It also lets him know exactly what I intend to do. I never had sex with a man until Nico. He’s never begrudged sharing Grace with me, but I know for a fact that between us is where he’s happiest to be. Given the angst he’s been dealing with, I decide to give him a treat.

  I stroke his back and grab his cheeks, feel the flex and play of his muscles. I shuck my clothes and grab the lube from the bedside table, slicking both of us up, preparing him for what’s coming. I press my cockhead against his pucker. He pauses long enough to let me in, before thrusting into Grace, then shoving back on me. I latch onto his hips and go deep, loving the feel of his heat squeezing my length.

  I pump my hips, pushing into him, pushing him into Grace. Goddamn it’s good. Now that I’ve found them, I can’t imagine being without Nico and Grace. I love them. Love them both so fucking much.

  Looking over her shoulder, Grace meets my gaze, hers soft and knowing, then looks at Nico between us. “Holy fuck,” she whispers. “Jesus, Nico, you should see yourself.”

  I can only imagine the look on his face, being taken by me, my nine inch cock tunneling in his ass. The first time I took him, he was on his back, hips propped on a pillow, knees pulled up, offering himself up for the rough sex I needed, that Grace, newly deflowered, was too sore to endure. Nico’s sculpted features were shaped by pure, carnal pleasure as I pounded into him.

  He says I spoiled him for other men. If I hadn’t stayed, it would be just him and Grace, and I wouldn’t have this. Have them. Us.

  Nico shudders as he plunges into Grace’s warm, wet flesh. “Fuck,” he grates. “I don’t think I can keep going. It feels too damn good. J.T.?”

  He’s waiting for permission, and I give it. “Come for him, baby girl.”

  Nico helps her get there, wrapping his hands around her biceps and hauling her back on his upstroke. My command and the change in angle of penetration take her over the edge. Nico goes with her, pushing deep and pouring himself into her. I’m not far behind. I drive in, full bore, balls slapping, and hold. Stroke out and in again, deep, hard, and hold. Fuck. I bite Nico’s back and growl as I shoot my wad inside him.

  For a moment, all I hear is panting from the three of us. Hips layered and locked, we’re still joined when Grace says she needs a bath.

  Fuck that. There are things to talk about, dinner to cook, a fetus to feed, and she’s got no sense of time when she’s soaking. I’m not waiting a fucking hour or two.

  “Shower,” I tell her.

  Any hot water meditation, out of body experience can damn well wait till morning. Tonight, she’s staying with us.

  The master en-suite shower is huge, big enough for a party of eight, so there’s plenty of room for the three of us to get creative while we take turns washing each other. Not for the first time, I give thanks for the on-demand tankless hot water system that lets us take all the time we need. Now that we’re clean (again), once supper is cooked and dishes are done, we have a family meeting. Grace was right; the name thing that was bothering Nico is gone; the innate sense of peace that’s been missing is restored. We talk about what we’d like, for the wedding and for the joining ceremony. Grace and I were raised Catholic and Nico’s “spiritual” – three-fourths American Indian and a shaman. No priest is going to marry the two of us in the Church if he knows there are three in our relationship. We can always find someone to marry Grace and me; it’s finding an open minded someone who’ll go the distance and join Nico and Grace as well.

  Grace asks Nico about a ceremony in the tradition of his people, but he’s fine with whatever Grace wants. After making a few calls, she finds a spiritualist minister whose online ordination is accepted by the state where we live and who’ll do the two ceremonies, one legally recognized, one not. Nico will be my best man, and I’ll be his.

  Our bride wants to keep it simple. It would have been small by choice, but it looks like it will be much more intimate than we’d like because her family refuses to attend. My parents are coming from Chicago. They don’t understand my choices; they don’t think it’s “natural” to be in a relationship with Nico as well as Grace, but t
hey’re excited about the baby (even knowing it may not be mine), and, hell, their oldest child is finally getting married (though not in the Church). Nico’s parents have promised to be here, too. They’re slightly more enthusiastic than mine, now that their bisexual son is in a committed relationship with a woman who’s likely carrying his child.

  None of our siblings are invited. Nico and I saw what was going on with Grace’s family and want to spare her the grief of having some of ours come and none of hers. My cousin Lena’s the exception to the rule. She’s playing guitar and singing, and her two-year-old daughter is supposed to carry the flowers – if Ariana doesn’t try to eat them.

  Anna James has promised to return in time to be the “maid of dubious honor.” She’s still on the road with her rock star lovers, but that shouldn’t pose a problem, since Jackson and Jacob’s tour wraps up mid March. Anna hasn’t seen Grace’s baby bump yet. Grace wants to wait to show her. Meanwhile, the two of them have been exchanging emails, sending jpegs, pins, and links about everything from flowers to dresses and gowns. They seem to have found everything they wanted online. Grace’s only concern is that her dress might not fit her increasing bustline when the time comes.

  Grace and Nico know a New Age harpist who’ll provide most of the music. With her dad refusing to attend, and her mother unwilling to come without him, we’re left with the question of who should walk her down the aisle. Grace has a customer she’s fond of, but Mr. Harrelson is sidelined with a broken hip from falling in the bathtub. She thinks her boss Mona’s husband will do it. I’m skeptical but agree to have them for dinner and discuss it.

  The house smells like a trattoria when the doorbell rings. I open it to find not two but three dinner guests. Grace squeezes my arm, a silent signal that she’ll explain later, and performs the introductions. Mona, her boss. Beside her is Ron, Mona’s husband, and the man with his arm around Mona’s waist is Don, her brother-in-law.