“Yes,” I whine, opening my eyes to gaze down at him as he worships my body with his mouth. “Yes, I want you.” And, dammit, I do. I want this man. I’ve never stopped wanting him, as difficult as that may seem. I may have developed a taste for more, but I never stopped desiring him. He’s my husband, and I love him. Nothing or no one can change that.
My head falls back as he makes his way down my torso, with hands caressing what his lips cannot. I missed this—this attentive, gentle lovemaking. I feel beautiful in his arms. He cherishes me with every kiss, every touch, and every heated whisper across my humid skin. With Tucker, I don’t have to guess or worry. I know I am loved. And considering that he knows what I’ve done—he knows the depth of my perversion—and can find it in his heart to love me anyway, truly makes my heart swell with gratitude. Tucker is the best man I’ve ever known, and he is mine. And by some act of divine intervention, I am his. He still wants me. After all I’ve done to soil my marriage, he still loves me.
“Tonight is all about you, baby. You’re in control,” he rasps as he slowly parts my legs, unveiling my sex. “I want to please you in every way. I just want to make you happy.”
His words catch my attention and I meet his lustful stare. “I am happy, Tuck. You make me happy. Every day.”
He responds with a nod before sinking between my thighs and pressing his hot tongue against my mound. The room seems to get dimmer . . . less solid. Lines blur and colors swirl and the air hums around me. I gasp his name as the wet, gentle scrape of his tongue fondles my sex with expert precision, mapping his way to my entrance. I reach between my legs and fist his hair, holding on to this feeling. Trying to keep us here in this moment for as long as we can. I’m on the brink of orgasm when Tucker pushes up to rest on his knees. Sex still gleams on his lip, along with a sinuous smile. I fix a finger to beckon him closer when a chill whispers across my dampened skin.
I part my lips to protest but my breath is barren of all coherency when I allow my eyes to focus on the dark figure slowly stalking toward us, drenched in shadow. My body responds immediately, vibrating with exhilaration and fear. This was what I was afraid of. Not having sex in front of strangers. Not being completely naked and vulnerable in front of Justice. I was afraid of this . . . this feeling. Of wanting another man so badly that his mere presence makes my sex tingle with expectation and my heart break into a drum solo. I’m afraid that he’s right, that I do want him for more than just some premature quarter-life crisis. And I’m afraid that within these dark-stained walls and under the thin veil of candlelight, I won’t be able to hide it anymore.
Ransom approaches with the cocksureness of a bullfighter, taking his time to circle the bed so he can see us from all angles and plan his attack accordingly. His eyes are like a moonless midnight, his too-sensual mouth a tight line of concentration. He isn’t dressed in the navy blue Oasis robe, but in a pair of ripped jeans and nothing else. I want him completely naked, like me. I want him to be just as exposed and aroused as I am.
I watch Tucker watch Ransom with expressionless eyes. When the younger man finally pauses to place a knee on the bed, I feel the air escape my lungs. I feel Tucker shift upright between my legs, yet I’m too captivated by Ransom’s presence to see what’s happening. There’s pressure at my entrance, and before I can brace myself for impact, Tucker is filling me.
“This is what you want, baby,” he grunts out, pushing in to the hilt. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”
I nod, too overwhelmed with eroticism to speak. This time, the roles are reversed. Ransom is watching Tucker fuck me. But I want him as more than just a voyeur. There’s no way I can not touch him with him being so close I can smell clean sweat and smoke on his skin. But then again, if I touch him—if I feel his skin on mine, our combined heat creating an inferno of lust that’s hot enough to melt the paint off the walls—I’ll never be able to stop. I won’t be able to kick this nasty habit that causes me to keep running from the safety and love of my husband into emotional anarchy. So I shouldn’t touch him, as badly as I want to. As badly as I need to.
As if he’s crawled into my mind and played Scrabble with my disjointed thoughts, Ransom crooks a wicked grin and utters in that voice on the cusp of a moan, “This is what you want too. Isn’t it, H?”
I look up at my husband who still appears unshaken, only his brow furrowed in concentration. He’s inside me yet he’s not moving, his restraint causing a sheen of sweat to bloom across his forehead. He stares back at me, but answers to Ransom. “Yeah. Yeah, she does want that too. Why don’t you give it to her?”
Without hesitation, Ransom makes quick work of his fly and zipper, but hesitates just before letting his jeans slide off his hips. I’ve been so captivated by the sight of his chiseled body, that I didn’t realize that our threesome had become a foursome.
“Whatever you want to do tonight, Heidi, it’s your choice” Justice says from the other side of me, his smooth, deep voice adding a new dimension of excitement. “If you want both Tucker and Ransom, you can have them. They are here for your pleasure. But if you choose to do this—if you push the dynamics of your relationships—be absolutely sure you’re prepared to handle all that comes with it.”
Through the haze of hedonism, a contradicting mix of insecurity and arousal clouding my judgment, I take a beat to consider his words. I’ve had sex with Ransom, and I’ve obviously had sex with Tucker. But both of them? Together? Could my marriage survive it? Shit, could I? And do I even want to?
“I’m sure,” I hear myself reply, the certainty behind the words as shaky as my current moral ground.
Everything seems to move all at once. Justice steps away yet stays nearby. Ransom lets his jeans hit the floor, unsheathing a hard, proud cock. And Tucker . . . Tucker moves inside me with deep, languid strokes. The kind of strokes that remind me of forgotten lazy Sundays spent in bed making love. I relish the feel of him and the sight of Ransom as he moves closer to me on the bed. He’s nearly hovering over me, the tip of his erection so close to my lips I can taste him. He reaches over to graze my nipples with the pads of his callused fingers while Tucker continues his unhurried thrusts.
I want more. I want so much more of him . . . of this. So I do what any sane, hot-blooded woman would do with nine inches of hard-as-steel male in front of her.
I take it.
I’d wanted to taste Ransom since that very first night in his suite, but it was Tucker calling the shots. So since it’s my turn to take control—to demand my own pleasure—I’m going to have these two beautiful men every way I can get them.
He’s pulsing in my palm, little ripples of vein and flesh quivering as I caress it gently. A low growl rumbles in his throat and I look up to see that Ransom’s eyes are closed and his head is tipped back. I turn my gaze to Tucker, who is watching me—watching us—intently. How would he react to the sight of another man’s cock in my mouth? Only one way to find out.
Ransom trembles on my tongue as I take as much of him as I can. My eyes still trained on my husband, I start with gentle licks up and down his shaft before falling into a rhythm that matches Tuck’s strokes. He thrusts, I suck. It’s fiercely erotic and soon I feel myself tightening below, overwhelmed by this new level of pleasure. Ransom takes it even further by pinching and twisting my nipples with one hand and reaching down between my legs, down to where me and Tuck are connected, and rubbing small circles in my clit. It’s the devastating blow that does me in, and with me moaning wildly around Ransom’s thick length, I come apart.
Tuck’s never been able to hold on for long after I’ve orgasmed. The feel of my body greedily sucking him deeper always sends him over the edge, so he quickly pulls out. We’re in motion again, and while I’m still trembling with aftershocks, I still want more.