Rising, I walk over to where they are on the bed. “Untie her.” In only a couple of seconds, Austin has her arms unbound and helps her to slowly bring them forward. Each of us takes one of her shoulders and massages it gently until she’s pliant in our hands and we know she’s not aching from the restrictive position. “Feel better?” I ask.
“Yes, thank you,” she answers lazily. She must have climaxed like Mount Vesuvius after the orgasm denial, because she looks half-doped up. Somehow it made her look fucking sexy and damn adorable at the same time. Just another dichotomy to drop into the bucket.
Her sea-green eyes are at half-mast and bright with lust as they study my stiff cock bobbing in front of her. “You want to suck me off, baby?” Her tongue darts out subconsciously to wet her bee-stung lips, making my tip weep with pre-cum, and she nods.
I flick a glance at Austin, letting him know I want him to “help” her. He gathers up her hair in a makeshift ponytail and guides her head down. “Put that pretty mouth of yours on his cock, darlin’,” Austin instructs. Addison opens wide and slides half my length inside before locking her lips on my dick. “Now give him a blow job to erase all others from his memory.”
That won’t be hard since every blow job she gives me tops the one before it. Addison is fucking amazing at giving head, especially with my piercing. What it gives me and my partner during sex, it takes away with oral. A lot of women don’t like it because the metal clicks against their teeth, but it almost never gets in Addison’s way. It’s like she instinctively knows how to move around it at just the right times to avoid any problems, leaving her to focus on sucking me like a goddamn Hoover.
She raises her eyes to look up at me while her head is bobbing on my dick, mouth stretched and tongue swirling along the thick vein underneath. Christ, she’s killing me. I need to get inside her more than I need to breathe. But not before she gets another turn.
Pulling out of her mouth, I go around them and lay on my side across the middle of the bed. “Lay down and bring that sweet mouth of yours over here.” Austin helps position her the way I want, on her back with her feet on the floor. I grab the back of her neck, but I don’t need to encourage her to pick up where she left off. She eagerly swallows me and I move my hips to set the pace I want. “You know what to do,” I say to Austin. “Make her come again.”
Her eyes widen, like she’s about to protest, but the second Austin’s tongue licks over her pussy, she melts and moans around my cock, shooting delicious vibrations straight to my fucking balls. Austin doesn’t fuck around. He knows what comes after this and it’s the end goal we’re both craving. The faster he gets her to climax, the faster we can make it happen. For the next several minutes, or possibly eternity, we’re a mass of moaning, groaning, twitching bodies, until at last I can see her reaching that peak again. Pulling out of her mouth, I move down so my face is level with hers.
“Roman, I— I— I’m—”
“I know, baby, let it happen. Come for us again.”
She lets loose a keening cry, and her back arches clear off the bed as Austin works her through the worst—or best—of her climax. When he finally surfaces, he looks to me with a questioning arch of his brow. I want to shake my head no, which is why I force myself to nod yes. He climbs up her body, cups the side of her face, and kisses her with his lips and tongue coated in her essence. I ignore the gut-punch I feel when she opens to him and returns the kiss with a soft mewl of rekindling desire.
I wait for him to pull away, and then I make the announcement we’ve all been waiting for. “Time to find out what it truly means to be with more than one man at a time.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Addison
I’m too high on the aftereffects of my last orgasm to be nervous. In truth, it was never the double penetration that made me nervous—I enjoy anal sex and the thought of being so completely full turns me on. It’s the idea of having a man other than Roman inside me. But now, as I lower myself onto his thick shaft and feel the familiar stretch in my sex, it doesn’t even rate on the nerves scale. All I can think about is taking in every sensation he gives me, whether it’s through him or another man.
“That’s it. Now come here,” he says, pulling me down so that our chests are pressed together. Rowdy drizzles oil between my ass cheeks, and I love the way it feels as it trails over the sensitive skin and pools around where my body is joined with Roman’s. Four hands work the oil into the flesh of my rear and then fingers are probing my puckered hole. I have no idea who’s touching where, and not knowing somehow allows me the freedom to enjoy it even more.
When two fingers breach the tight ring of muscle, I automatically clamp down until I remember to breathe and push out. “Yeah, just like that, baby. Keep doing that so Rowdy can fit his big cock in there.”
Fingers are replaced with the blunt tip of a sheathed cock. Thanks to the oil and a slow, constant pressure from Rowdy, he slides in easily. But not without notice. “Holy fucking shit,” I whisper, my eyes widening. Feeling “full” is the goddamn understatement of the year. Both of these men are huge by themselves, but put them together with nothing but a paper-thin barrier between them and holy hell, I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“Christ, she’s tight,” Rowdy rasps. “Almost there.”
“Good girl, baby.” Roman smooths the hair away from my face and stares intently into my eyes. “Just a little more. It’s going to feel so good.”
“It already does,” I reply.
Roman kisses me quick and hot then I see him exchange a quick look with Rowdy over my shoulder. And then they start to move.
Holy God, I’ve never felt anything like it. I hold my hips in place several inches above Roman to allow him to thrust up while Rowdy makes counter-thrusts from behind. Four hands roam my entire body, squeezing, caressing, pinching, and pulling. Two mouths devour me with hot tongues and blunt teeth. Sensory overload is a very real thing, and it’s virtually impossible to tell where one man ends and the other begins.
It doesn’t matter, though, because with Roman in front of me, I am completely lost in him. My brain knows there’s a man other than my boyfriend pressed against me, trailing kisses over the backs of my shoulders and down my spine. That a man other than my boyfriend is entering my body, filling my ass, and thrusting inside me.
But my body recognizes everything—every touch, every graze—as coming from Roman. He’s everywhere all at once, his claim on me so complete, so absolute, that I can feel our souls fusing as one. I can feel him in every cell of my body, filling the cracks in my armor left by people I’d disappointed because I hadn’t been enough. Because in this moment, I know I’m finally enough for someone. Maybe even more than enough.
I can see in his eyes that he won’t give me the command to come, won’t demand that I give him this piece of me. Not this time. He thrusts deeply and coaxes sweetly, building my climax and leading me to the sharp edge of rapture where he leaves me balanced on the precipice…and waits for me to choose to fall.
And so I do.
I’ve been half in love with him for weeks now, doing my best to maintain what’s left of the walls protecting my heart. But now, as my body flushes with the white-hot chills of the most intense orgasm of my life, I feel the last of those walls crumble and fall, and I tumble head over heels in love with Roman. He now owns my heart and my newly bared soul.
A riot of contradictory emotions floods my system. I’m hopeful and scared, anxious and hesitant, an open book and a closed door. Then, with slow, measured strokes he draws out the last fluttering waves of my orgasm, until I collapse on his chest. Utterly wrung out and blissfully replete, I bask in his whispers of praise, his hand stroking over my hair, and the way he holds me as though I’m something precious.
I’m floating somewhere between awareness and conscious dreaming, cocooned in Roman’s embrace and the wispy fog of multiple orgasms. Distantly, I register the brush of a kiss on my cheek and hear a faintly whispered, “Thank you, darlin’.??
? I want to respond, but I want to sleep even more, and just as I give in to the weight of it, I think I hear a murmured, “This one’s special, man. Don’t fuck it up.”
…
I don’t know if I was out for five minutes or five hours, but when I rouse enough for brain function to return, I open my eyes to take stock of things. The room is silent except for the soft sounds of Roman’s breaths, which I can feel stirring the top of my hair. I’m afraid to raise my head to see if Austin’s still here, but I don’t sense anyone else in the room, which means I don’t have to deal with any awkward “moments-after” with him. Not yet, anyway. Relief spreads through me, relaxing the muscles I wasn’t aware I’d tensed. This brings with it the realization of how sore I am, but they’re the aches of a woman thoroughly, if roughly, loved. Invisible badges of honor that will remind me of tonight for days to come.
A lazy smile curls my lips. It’s only the two of us, Roman and me. I’m grateful Roman’s not pressuring me to talk right now.
I should probably move off of him, but I’m not in a hurry to lose this skin-to-skin connection, and he doesn’t seem to be, either. So I close my eyes again, lying perfectly still, content in the silence.
And that’s when I realize that Roman hadn’t merely touched my soul tonight…he’d claimed it for himself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Addison
It’s only Wednesday, and it already feels like the week has taken a year. A headache is throbbing in my temples, aided by the tight bun I fashioned my hair in today, and my muscles feel like they’re made of stone. I roll my head on my shoulders, trying to relieve the tension, but it’s no use. I’m so knotted up I’m probably 75 percent lactic acid at this point.
And I have no one to blame but myself, since all of my stress is from prepping for the case I literally begged Roman to give me. I mentally slap myself a sarcastic high-five for that one. Way to go, Addie. Oh, plus there’s that teensy-weensy secret I’m keeping from Roman at Austin’s request. That has me a little on edge, too.
Though my body feels abused, and my nerves are frayed beyond recognition, I know I’d be so much worse if it wasn’t for Roman. He’s been incredible these past few weeks, doing everything he promised. When I meet with the client, he stays silent until I look at him, indicating I’d like help, and then afterward he takes me through the places he could tell I struggled.
We’ve spent countless hours doing research and combing through files and reference cases, and he’s helped me build a damn strong case. In preparation for this Friday’s deposition, we’ve role-played—no, not the fun kind, unfortunately—where he pretends to be his father and does his best to trip me up.
I was terrible at first, nailing every rookie mistake known to man, but with every mistake I made, I learned, and now I feel more confident. You know, aside from all the vomit-inducing fear every time I imagine Bill Reeves staring me down from the other side of the table and metaphorically burying me under a mountain of legalese I’ll inexplicably forget like I never attended a day of law school.
Shit shit shit.
A quiet groan escapes my lips before I can trap it, drawing attention from Roman, who’s sitting next to me at the conference table answering emails from his laptop. His brows draw into a concerned V. “You okay, babe?”
The endearment is allowed because the door is closed to the room, otherwise that would be a huge no-no. “Yeah, just a little tense. I need to make an appointment for a massage before I end up a permanent hunchback.”
“I can save you the fifty bucks. Come on, turn that way,” he says, indicating I should face away from him.
Since John and Martin are in court and Maggie always knocks before entering, I don’t argue. “It’s cute that you think a massage is only fift—ohmigod, yes, right there, don’t stop.”
His deep chuckle is rich and warm and melts my brain like his strong hands melt my body with every second they’re on me. It’s always like that, whether it’s Ruthless grabbing me roughly during sex or Roman absently drawing lazy patterns with his fingertips while we’re chilling on the couch or in bed falling asleep. I basically embody “putty in his hands” when it comes to this man. The honey badger has been in hibernation for quite some time now, and at this rate, I’m not sure if she’ll ever be back.
“If it’s much more than that,” he says, referring to the cost, “maybe I should start charging you for services rendered.”
“Mmmm, you could do that.” I let my head drop forward and wince when his thumb presses on a particularly big knot. “And then maybe I’ll charge you for certain desirable services I render. I’m not sure what the going rates are, but I can head over to Rush Street and ask some of the nice women there what they consider fair.”
His hands still as he asks, amusement coating his indignant tone, “Did you seriously just suggest becoming a prostitute for me?”
I shrug and instantly regret the motion, but I hold back the pained groan. I really do need to make an appointment. Roman has magic hands, but it’s going to take at least a ninety-minute session with a professional to undo the damage I’ve done. “I’m a very progressive woman—I’m a firm believer that prostitution should be legalized and monitored—and if you’re going to charge me for something that I desperately want, then turnabout is fair play, is it not?”
I’m having a hard time keeping the smile from my face, so I know he can hear the playful curves softening the sharp edges of my words. But then he slips one hand forward to wrap loosely but possessively around my throat as his thumb strokes the sensitive skin below my ear, and my smile falls like he physically pulls it from me. A slight tremor rolls through me when he leans in so close his breath stirs the fine hairs at my temple. “We don’t subscribe to that idiom, do we, baby? If we did, I’d be fucking other women. That what you want?”
I’m caught between arousal from his dominance and rage at his suggestion. I choose my words carefully, wanting to drive my point home despite knowing he didn’t mean what he said. “You can strip and dance for other women, let them grope at you, and even let them suck whipped cream off your body. None of that bothers me even the slightest. But the day another woman touches you outside of a P4H job is the day I cut your balls off for letting it happen.”
Laughing, he wraps his arms around me, the chair back between us making the hug somewhat awkward but no less wonderful. “I’d expect nothing less from my little wildcat.” He presses a kiss to the place his thumb had caressed mere moments ago, then releases me to continue rubbing my shoulders. Oh, he is soooooo getting lucky tonight.
We’ve both been so busy lately that sleep has been trumping sex more often than not. Part of me worries that we’re falling into a rut, or that things are becoming routine. Another part of me is all, “Yay, things are becoming routine!” Because there has to be a high level of comfort and a certain sense of permanency in order for that to happen. It means what we have is still progressing, growing.
And that’s not all that’s growing. Roman’s feelings for me have deepened since the night of Janey’s party a couple of weeks ago. It’s not like he’s dropped the “L” word or suggested we go puppy shopping, so I can’t offer my logical side any concrete proof—I know, it’s very unlawyery of me and makes said logical side weep—and yet I’m just as sure about this as I would be with a bucketful of tangible evidence.
The more confusing puzzle, in my opinion, is the why of it all. Like I said, I noticed a definite change after the graduation party. Which is a nice way of referring to the night Roman directed a man on how to fuck me before tag-teaming me in their other friend’s guest bedroom.
Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy.
I ignore my subconscious’s sarcasm and remind myself that for millions of people it is perfectly normal and healthy. I have nothing against polyamory or ménage or swinging or anything else that gets people’s rocks off. As long as they’re of age and everything’s consensual, I’m a huge advocate for letting your freak flag fly. I’
m just not sure how I feel about making something like what we did with Austin a forever kind of thing.
Christ, presumptuous much, Addie?
I need to stop because I’m assuming that Roman and I are a forever kind of thing, but as stated earlier, I have no evidence that points to that outcome other than something that boils down to nothing more than a hunch.
The truth is, the experience was crazy hot—there’s no denying how turned on I was—but I doubt I enjoyed it for the same reasons I suspect Roman does. As a man who craves dominance, it’s easy to understand why the ménage combined with control over everything pushes his hot buttons. Men are visual creatures, and watching a live porn acted out mere feet away, with him in the director’s seat, is probably sexual crack.
For me, though, it wasn’t as much about the physicality of things. Not the visual of me between two men or the indescribable sensations created by twice the kissing, licking, fondling, and fucking. Don’t get me wrong, all of that was obviously a big factor in the numerous orgasms I had. As clinical as it sounds, there’s no getting around the fact that our physiology is hard-wired to react to pleasurable stimulation.
Roman told me once that the other man was merely an extension of his own body, and I didn’t get it until I experienced it for myself. He made sure my gaze was trained on him whenever my eyes were open, and when they weren’t, it was him I saw on the backs of my eyelids. It was his voice I focused on, listened for, waited on. Austin spoke, but only in small, concentrated doses. It was never enough to pull me from Roman’s spell—though admittedly, not much can.
So, even with how insanely phenomenal everything felt, when I think of what it truly comes down to, the mental connection I shared with Roman while he and Austin fucked me is what shot the entire experience into the stratosphere. And the emotional connection I shared with Roman afterward, when it was just the two of us, is how he ended up owning me, heart and soul, whether he knows it or not.