Her Two Billionaires and a Baby(BBW Menage #4)

Chapter Three

Knock knock. “Wha?” Laura sat up. Who in the hell knocks at 6:11 a.m.?

Bang bang bang. “Laura?”

Josie does. “Lost my key!” she whispered.

I never gave you a new one, Laura thought, shuffling to the door. Daylight was a glaring bitch this morning, sunlight aggressively spilling through her apartment.

“You know, they have these places,” Laura said sharply as Josie walked past her, into the kitchen, and grabbed the coffee sack. “They're called coffee shops. Professional coffee people make it for you and you give them these green pieces of paper and you get to drink it.”

“Green pieces of paper?”

“Or silver coins.” She yawned. “Or plastic cards.”

“But they don't have stories about threesomes like you do.”

“Oh, I'm sure if you ask around enough someone will.” She scooped the coffee with a slightly shaking hand. Could you have a tiramisu hangover? Jesus, Dylan had used a lot of rum in that delightfully scrumptious dessert. Pressing a few buttons, she got the coffee going and plopped down in a kitchen chair.

“You're here to interrogate me, aren't you?” she said, resigned.

“So whassup?” Josie stretched the word out in an annoying mimic of an old beer commercial's frog actors. “You a little sore today? That Dylan might be short but I'll bet he has a dick the size of a coke can.”

“Ewwww!” Close, she thought. But she'd never tell Josie that!

“I just crossed over my own line.” Josie held out her palms in a surrender gesture. “Sorry. TMI. I blame caffeine deficiency.”

“Blame your genetics. Your mom's way worse. Remember how she announced to everyone in the marching band our freshman year that you needed to use non-chlorinated tampons because you couldn't bear to experience another rash – and then had pictures to warn other girls away from – ”

Josie shuddered and interrupted loudly. “No, yo mama.”

“No, yo mama!” Were they really back in seventh grade? Yeesh.

“I don't have a mama. She died that day.”

Laura chuckled. “You wish she'd died that day, because three years later when we graduated, there she was at commencement, under the bleachers, banging the band director.”

“She likes a little pomp with her circumstance.”

“She made it clear to the whole auditorium how much she liked his wand.”

“Topic change!” Josie shouted, leaping for the coffee maker.

“Her crescendo, too, was – ”

“Oh, my God, stop!”

“Oh, dear. Am I going too far?” Laura said facetiously, playing it up. “Have I crossed a decency boundary? Have I made you uncomfortable talking about sex?”

“My mother's sex – ”

“I wouldn't want to force you to talk about anything so prurient. That would be being a bad friend, now, wouldn't it?” Josie finally got the hint.

"Was it weird? Being with two guys like that? I mean, and not sleeping with them?"

Laura rubbed her eyes. Why was Josie getting on her last nerve lately? She was still angry with her for pouring everything out to Mike and Dylan. Why not make her walk around naked with a sign that said "Ask Me Anything"? If your best friend couldn't keep your secrets, who could? That night at Jeddy's had been one of the most stressful and surreal in her entire life, warlock balls and all. When she'd learned, later, what Josie had told the guys, after Dylan blurted it all out in a tiramisu-induced haze, she'd come home and nearly killed Josie.

The morning coffee routine was getting old. What wasn't getting old, though, was this developing relationship between her and the guys. The guys. Even that was surreal and weird. Ah, hell – nothing about this threesome wasn't bizarre, so she was getting tired of labeling it all as outside the mainstream. It just was. No getting around that. An internal argument deep within her raged on, one part telling her this was madness and a stronger, more settled part humming along nicely, ignoring the part that screamed "freak!"

Speaking of freaks, Josie was saying something through sips of java. "If you kiss one of them, do you have to kiss the other?"

"Huh?" Laura poured herself a cup. Might as well benefit from the fruits of her labor. That, and she needed the jolt. Yet another uncomfortable conversation with Josie, though she had to admit that the girl definitely helped sometimes, making her think about things she hadn't considered. Like this?

"Does it have to be 50/50? If you sleep with one, do you have to sleep with the other? Or is it always a threesome? Is there always double, well – you know?"

Freak! "You actually sit around contemplating these things, Josie? Seriously?"

She had the decency to pinken a bit. "Who doesn't?"

"Most of the rest of the world." Sip. If she didn't fill her mouth with something it would soon be full of words she'd regret saying. Please. This was devolving quickly into voyeurism. Laura was surprised by how annoyed she was becoming. Josie was always inquisitive. It was just who she was, and as aggravating as she could be at times, it had never troubled Laura this much.

Josie shot her a wary look. "I just...no, I don't sit around dredging up embarrassing questions to ask you, Laura." Her tone of voice conveyed hurt feelings. "But it's natural, I think, to wonder. Most threesomes are one-night-stand kind of deals. What you have is so out of the realm of normal that it makes me think. Philosophize and stuff, about what it means for the long haul."

Aha. And that was it. That was why this bothered Laura so much.

Because, damn it, Josie was right.

"What you're doing, Laura, is fascinating to watch from the outside. Plus, yeah, I am demented. So sometimes my mind just...goes there. And I found myself wondering what it felt like, eating dinner with two guys, snuggling on the couch with two guys, wanting affection – but not sex – and having to, what? Pick? Kiss both? Cuddle in a sandwich?"

That made Laura laugh. "I thought it would be weird, too. It kind of was, at first. Mike made a big spectacle of making sure I knew they didn't expect sex. I knew what he was doing. He really was just trying to be nice and to help me relax." She let out a puff of air. "And it was good and kind and all that, but it pissed me off. I still don't know what they were thinking, hiding the truth about their relationship from me."

"They're not gay." Josie started to unpeel a banana from Laura's fruit bowl.

Laura did a double-take. "Did anyone ever think they were?"

Through a mouthful of banana, Josie sputtered, "Ah, c'mon, Laura. Two guys with one girl? Gay, gay, gay."

"Not gay!" Holy smokes, not even close to gay. Laura knew gay. Gay men, that is. Her high school boyfriend her senior year had turned out to be gay. He'd come out when they were juniors in college, home at Thanksgiving and hanging out in a piano bar with a group of friends. Ding! A million little questions had been answered with one big answer. What other hot-blooded seventeen-year-old teenager wanted to cuddle and kiss all the time instead of banging wherever they could get a shred of privacy? Or knew all the words to the disco songs? Or liked to go clothes shopping with her?

And eyed the same guys Laura surreptitiously checked out as they had wandered the mall?

Her gaydar wasn't pinging with Mike and Dylan. No way. it was just...complicated. That's all.

Why was it always complicated?


Josie swallowed hard, trying to clear her mouth. "I know that. I asked."

"You asked?" Laura's turn to sputter.

"They closed right up. That Dylan is one scary dude when he's being cold. Mike, too – but Dylan was worse. I felt like the ice king had just cast a spell over the booth."

"You asked them that at Jeddy's? Jesus, Josie. You have some – "

"Balls. Yeah. I know. I had to ask, though. If you're just some bed toy for them, then I'm not letting anyone do that to my best friend, because that is some f*cked up mental shit right there. If two gay guys are just out trawling for a chick they can bang to get off their jollies, it won't be you."

Laura started peeling a clementine. "I'm touched." She frowned. "I guess. In your own extremely convoluted way, you mean well."

"And, by the way, no foursomes. Dylan shut that one down." The orange wedge in Laura's mouth went flying across the room, landing in the sink as she did a spit take.

"You asked about a foursome?"

Josie winked. "I was just testing them."

"Oh, my God." No wonder Dylan had made a funny face when Josie's name had come up last night. Mike's arched eyebrows without a smile had made her wonder as well. What in the ever-loving hell did they think of her best friend? And how did this reflect on how they viewed her? The night had been nice. Just nice. And just nice was exactly what she'd needed after far too many nights of surprise, shock, passion and boundary pushes. Breaks. Annihilations.

Having a few boundaries in place where affection, banter, food and fun were all that were expected of the night had been refreshing.

And now Josie...

She wagged a finger in Josie's face. "No more foursome tests. Or jokes. Or – ewww." She shuddered. "And no more going behind my back to tell them how I feel."

"Someone has to."

"Has to what?"

"Tell them how you feel. And frankly, if you won't do it, I will."

Laura plunked her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. "Why? Who appointed you the keeper of my feelings?"

"Ryan."

Jolt. "You don't see me sabotaging your relationships!"

"I'm not sabotaging anything, Laura! I'm saving your relationship. S. relationships. Well, it's one, but with two guys. Where is Miss Manners' Plural Guide to Threesomes?"

This was getting out of hand. "To answer your original question, no. I don't have to kiss one and then the other. I asked."

"You asked!" Josie clapped her hands gleefully. "Did they hand you a neatly printed manual on how to have a perma-threesome?"

Glare. "I wish you came with a user's manual so I could find your off switch."

Smirk. "You're not the first person to say that to me."

Sigh. "And I won't be the last."

Josie reached for her hand, the gesture one of caring. "Laura. Seize this. Accept it. Yes, it's crazy. No, no one has words to describe it. And yes, I did go behind your back and tell them about you – because someone needed to. They're really great guys. You know that. Don't blow this." She released her hand and stood.

"Are you really jealous?" Laura squeaked out, surprised by Josie's tenderness.

"Jealous? Hell, yes. I don't want to take it away from you, of course." She grabbed an apple and headed toward the door. "I just wouldn't mind finding two guys like that for myself."

The door shut on her words. Sip. The coffee tasted better than normal. Calming and soothing yet putting her on alert to start the day. Stretching, her arms reached high and her shirt rode up a bit, exposing a thin expanse of belly flesh. Not wearing a bra, her breasts rubbed against the thin cloth of her cotton jersey, her pajamas loose and comfortable. The day was about to start and work loomed large.

Last night she'd left their apartment after watching a stupid comedy she'd picked simply because she'd already seen it the previous week, with Josie. Picking something she'd seen made sense, giving her the mental space to go through an hour and a half squished between Mike and Dylan, trying to figure out how to just be as, well – three.

Those ninety minutes, followed by gorging themselves on an amazing tiramisu Dylan had hand crafted, were like living in parallel. Half of her just enjoyed every minute, the domestic normalcy easier to sink into than she'd imagined.

The other half was the problem: judging. Questioning. Analyzing. Poking.

Doubting.

If she could just quell that half of her then this could work. Really work.

Where was her off switch? Her user's manual? All she needed was the good half. The half that believed, that turned toward healing and tenderness and love in whatever form it took.

Meanwhile, both halves needed a shower. She had another threesome in mind right now: her, Mr. Showerhead, and Bob, her battery-operated boyfriend. That was a threesome both halves of her could get behind.

And now she didn't have to fantasize about faceless lovers with their hands and mouths all over her. She had a very real memory to draw on.

And a very real promise of so much more. Hers for the taking, in fact, if she just reached out.

She reached out, alright. Turned on the shower, grabbed Bob, and slipped out of her jammies as the water heated up. The first spray of water hit her, tickling her shoulder with little wet pin pricks, and soon her head was under the water, her hair soaking fast as the water wended its way down her body. Ah, how different her hands felt against her own skin today. No sex last night; they'd ended the evening with warm hugs and tentative kisses, each man waiting his turn for a moment with her. It had been sweet. Mellow.

Just right.

As a smile played across her lips and she reached for the shower head, she marveled that something so simple – dinner, a movie at home, a homemade dessert, two kisses – could compete her so readily. She inhaled deeply as the spray tickled her *, the shower head doing its magic as she balanced it in her right hand, left reaching for good old Bob. This Bob (ah, she had a drawer full of electronic boyfriends...) was purple and shiny and sleek. No need for a * attachment when she had a shower head. And now, she no longer held Bob and the spray nozzle, but instead that was Dylan's mouth.

Mike's hands roamed her back, soaping her as his torso slid along her rib cage, hard muscle hot and wet, the spray bouncing off skin the color of sun-kissed honey, his face wet and eyes intense, mouth reaching down for hers as his fingers slipped between her legs and began to stroke her.

Now Dylan's mouth was on her, kissing her hips, her ass, desire pooling and expanding deep inside, eager to clamp down on him as he thrust inside her, little sighs and groans in need of a reason to be made. Ah, those abs, wet and slick and rubbing against her breasts, lips on hers, tongue exploring as Mike's hands did their magic on her *, tracing lazy circles that took her breath away again. Again. And again, hitching higher as he built an orgasm from scratch, like a fine artisan plying his trade, infusing the final work with a delicacy and craftsmanship only one, lone man could spin. A lone man with eyes that cut through her flesh like a hot knife in butter, hands melting her skin to a core of need that pulsed, red and eager for more of him. Of them. Of all three as one.

Bending slightly, Mike used his muscled thighs to pick her up, water making their skin slick, the friction adding to her craving as he pulled her p-ssy to his erection, lifting her enough that she could wrap her legs about him as Dylan's mouth made its way down her collarbone, over her pink rose petal nipples, down to her abdomen and around to play with her back. Completely taken by surprise, the pressure of Mike's eager rod nudging her * was what she expected but instead he slipped fully within her passage, her body stretching to take him in as she was weightless, arms wrapped about his neck and face pressed against his wet pecs, gasping for time and air and a split second she desired to accommodate the new –


Thrust. She arched her back, consumed by this, her eyes catching Dylan's hands on Mike's shoulders. Nodding, Mike slipped out of her as she moaned, "No!" Dylan's warm mouth took hers as they turned her about, Mike's slippery front to her back, Dylan dropping to his knees, mouth descending on her womanhood as if it were the source of oxygen and all life. His tongue flicked up boldly as Mike's pulsing rod entered her from behind, the twin sensations making her nearly slip and fall in the water's embrace.

Tickling her labia, Dylan used his hands to roam her ass, her legs, her knees and feet as Mike pounded her from behind, his hands on either side of her, pushing into the shower wall, she jolted up, slightly, with each thrust, the press against her cervix maddening and layered, building a climax she knew would make her gush. Her body expanded, limbs combining and morphing into one big pleasure center, the division between her body and Mike's and Dylan's becoming less distinct with every tongue touch, every impaling, every caress. As Dylan zeroed in on her * with tight, quick laps and Mike's legs grew thicker with exertion she felt an implosion beginning, her hands raking Dylan's hair as she began to scream.

"Oh, God, just right there. Like that. Oh! Oh! Oh!" Mike lifted one leg onto the side of the bathtub and shifted her hips just so, the new focus making her entire body seize up and then explode with a scream she had never heard, a rush of water from her p-ssy the gush she knew would come, her squirting erratic and a sign of intensity. Mike groaned, too, then jerked, his body pouring its seed into her, though he pulled out abruptly as she flailed and moaned, too caught up in a climax that was now out of her control.

Dylan slipped in her, filling the hole Mike left, his cock sure and enormous, angled differently and touching on a spot that –

"Ah!" she cried out, amazed there was more. "More?" she rasped, Dylan's thighs holding her up, her face kissing him as his arms snaked around her, Mike slumped against the wall, his orgasm finishing as Dylan took her now, the two sharing her and –

Bob shot across the bathtub and skittered to the drain. She threw her head back as the massive orgasm wracked her body, her legs no longer trustworthy, her arm grabbing the safety bar just in time as her neck tightened with the force of wave after wave of orgasm, anus clenching and opening as her p-ssy pushed against it, the deep muscles exorcising her pent-up desires. She imagined the three of them, spent, all sitting under the spray and twitching as the leftover neurological impulses wiggled their way out of their bodies, this drawing of three giving life to fantasies most people could only nurture, well –

like this. The shower head hung on its hose now, the spray aimlessly pointing here and there, Bob resting on its side, half dead, buzzing uselessly against a metal drain circle it could never make come.

She slouched down and pulled her knees against her bare, wet breasts. Hands combing her long, wet hair, she sighed.

When she really could have both Mike and Dylan right here, right now, like this, what on earth was she doing with such pale imitations? Was that part of Josie's point? Reality was scary. Far safer to whack off in the shower and imagine it all.

Reality, though, had given her this – the most intense shower experience of her life. Drawing on what she knew was real, was possible, was achievable had made her – well, it had made her want the real thing.

God damn it.

She hated when Josie was right.

The phone rang. His phone never actually rang these days; just texts. The ring tone was so unfamiliar he ignored it the first three times, then realized what it was. A comedic moment of bumbling to fish the phone out of his pocket, then he answered.

"Hello?"

"Mike?" Laura. Ah, Laura's voice. It had been a week and they were trying to find a time they could all get together. Fall was approaching and ski prep was in the first slow, languid stages. Ad campaigns and supply orders and a host of issues he'd never dealt with as just an employee were keeping him busy on the mountain. Man, did her voice sound nice.

"Hey, there," he answered, voice going low and sultry. Lots of parts of him felt sultry suddenly. Good thing he'd already run a quick six miles today.

"How're you guys doing?"

"Dylan's working out right now. Lifting. I don't know much about his schedule beyond that."

"Where's he lift?"

"At the Y in Cambridge."

"That's not far from my apartment." He'd never seen her apartment, he suddenly realized. His admin brought him a spreadsheet with a bunch of numbers and pointed to a place for him to initial. Tucking the smart phone between his shoulder and cheek, he listened while he scribbled.

"Yeah? Maybe you can go catch him and outlift him." Laughter greeted that one.

"I'm pretty fair at it, but no way I can match him."

"Can you bench your weight?" Few women could.

"Nope. Close, but nope." She hesitated. He could feel some sort of change in the conversation's tone, from light-hearted and just touching base to something more guarded. Was it something he said? Weightlifting didn't seem to be emotional minefield territory, so he doubted it was that. Why did everything these days have to be so rife with issues? Breathe, Mike. Breathe. Just wait her out.

His silence provoked her. "I can bench about fifteen pounds less." Again, that weird hesitation. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and pointed a delivery guy with boxes on a dolly to his destination. This sort of split attention drove him nuts. Focusing on one thing at a time was key to feeling more grounded, and right now he needed to be centered. Whatever was going on in some subtext he didn't understand with Laura, he needed to be on his game.

"I used to bench double my weight," he added, then stopped short. Weight! That was it. They weren't talking about abstract numbers here. She thought he expected her to say how much she could bench? Which would clue him in to her weight? Women really were that sensitive some times. Diffuse it, Mike. Diffuse it.

"Dylan can bench about a thousand pounds," he said, grinning.

"What?"

"Yep. Carrying that ego around..." She laughed. Score.

"It's almost a fourth partner," she joked back. Warmth spread through him, unexpected and welcome, his throat thick with emotion. If she was going to make threesome jokes, this was deepening nicely. Jill had told him a long time ago that she began to really accept their relationship when she could wisecrack about it.

"Hey, Mike? The wax guys are on the line – they said there's a problem with the order," his admin, Shelly, interrupted. Full-figured, energetic, and highly opinionated, she was only nineteen but had been in the back office for three years, practically running the show. Now she tapped her foot and managed somehow to convey urgency and ignore him all at once as she worked on her smart phone. "Seriously," she added. "They won't talk to me. Only you."

He held up one finger in Shelly's direction. "Shit," he muttered. "Sorry, Laura – I've got a work problem here."

"A work problem? As in, you have no snow and can't work?"

"No, a supplier needs some attention."

"I didn't know you were so heavy into the business side of things."

You have no idea. "Oh, I help out with inventory sometimes," he explained. Shelly shot him a "what the f*ck" look and he started to feel unmoored. This was veering into dangerous territory, fast. He wasn't ready to tell Laura about the money. Soon, but not just yet.


Torn, he paused, wishing he could just take a thirty-mile run and think. Think it all through. Telling her was the obvious, right choice, so why not just say it? What was holding him back? A part of him feared, deeply, that he would regret this one day. That she would find out the truth and hate him.

That these secrets were eating away at his soul.

"I'll hurry then – I just need a few seconds more. Can you and Dylan come over to my place for dinner tomorrow night?"

The warmth returned. "Of course," he gasped, surprised by the offer.

"I'm not as good a cook as Dylan," she added. Shelly twisted her wrist in repeating circles, pushing Mike to get off the phone. Hell of a time for this!

"Whatever you make, we'll savor," he said. "What time?"

"Seven?"

"We're there. See you tomorrow." As he said the words, Shelly reached up and plucked the phone from him, slamming the red button to end the call.

"Hey!" he shouted, pulling himself up to his full height. Who did she think she was?

Shelly didn't even bother looking at him. "Yeah. Right. Like that'll intimidate me." Her snort followed him as he marched away to talk to the wax dudes. Madge's granddaughter was a chip off the old – well, the old.

What caught Dylan off guard most was how pink her apartment was. He hadn't pegged Laura as one of those pink girls, but the apartment practically glowed. Not in a sickly-sweet Barbie dream house kind of way, but more like IKEA had decided pink was the color of the season and Laura had happened to decide to decorate her entire place that year. Even the bathroom had some shade of pink that dominated.

It wasn't a show stopper. Chuckling as he dried his hands on a pinkish bath towel with blue and lime highlights, he paused to stare at himself in the mirror. This was really happening. Mike had been wrong. Mr. Doubt Everything had come back this morning from one of his killer runs and declared that the situation with Laura was tenuous at best, and that they needed to pour their hearts out tonight at her place and just tell her about the billions.

"You're nuts," Dylan had told him flatly. He was off for the day and ironing work shirts while deciding what to wear that night. The ratty Rush t-shirt or the ratty Dead shirt? Hard to decide.

"Not nuts," Mike retorted. "Sane. Rational, Reasonable. We're skating on thin ice here by not telling her. And if it comes out before we're the ones to sit down and talk about it with her, all hell will break loose."

"How will it come out, Mike? She doesn't know anyone we know."

"The workers at the ski resort figured it out."

"That's because there are financial people there who had to know who owns the place, and they sniffed the money trail back to you. But they don't know about the trust fund, right?" Mike's uncomfortable silence had sent a chill down Dylan's back. "Right?" he said sharply.

Mike had looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. "Someone there knows. They had to. I couldn't buy the entire resort outright and I needed to give financial statements proving the steady income. I'll finish paying it off next year, but there was no way to do this without disclosing it."

"Shit." Dylan hadn't known that.

"So we need to tell her."

Dylan argued back. "Not yet. We need one night to just...be. Last week was perfect. Tonight can be more perfect."

Mike's skeptical look had nearly broken him. Truth be told, he just wasn't ready to look into Laura's sweet face and declare he was a billionaire. That Mike was, too. Oh, yeah, we lied about this one little thing...we make more money than most major movie stars do in a career. Only we make it per year. You'll never have to worry about money again with us.

And – smack. He imagined the slap. Because it felt like one, in his gut. If roles were reversed he'd feel betrayed and pissed and all the things he imagined she had felt until last week. The roller coaster of their relationship was making everyone queasy, and taking a break was helping to settle everyone into a comfortable place where they could just proceed. That's what he wanted more of. Not secrets and reveals and heart-felt explanations and angst-filled pleas.

And sex. He wanted sex. Letting that be secondary had been hard. Hell, he was hard. All the time now. And lavender-scented hand lotion wasn't the best girlfriend these days, no matter how nice it smelled. It couldn't sigh, or groan his name, or dig its fingers into his shoulders at the just perfect moment when –

Damn tight pants. That helped with one clothing decision for the evening – looser jeans.

Mike had accepted that they should wait, though his reluctance was clear. And now here they were, in her homey, pink apartment, ready to take things to the next step. The second he and Mike had entered her apartment the air had crackled with anticipation, the atmosphere a 180 degree difference from dinner at their place the week before. Laura had shifted a bit, wearing something loose and diaphanous, a little more sultry and open than last week.

They were all ready for more.

But not Mike's level of more. Not yet. Having luscious sex with her and Mike in the next hour, spread out and spread eagle and licking and laving and loving and touching and thrusting? Sure.

Bare his soul and reveal the money and experience the unsettling feelings he still didn't know how to cope with?

No way.

"Mmmm, what is that incredible aroma?" he nearly shouted as he came into her tiny kitchen. White tile floor, white formica counters, a cheap kitchen table and vinyl-covered chairs. Red and pink, of course. It looked like any kitchen in any apartment you'd expect a twenty-something corporate worker to live in, especially someone likely still paying off student loans.

You could fix that, a voice whispered. He quashed it.

"I'm no Italian cook," she joked, pretending to be humble, "so I made chicken satay and pad Thai."

"From scratch?" he and Mike said simultaneously, both with an incredulous tone.

She shrugged. "Sure. Just have to follow a recipe."

Could they have found anyone better? She was already the whole package but add in the fact that she made her own Thai food and – wow.

"I, uh – you do like Thai food?" An alarmed look crept over her features.

"We love it," they said.

Dylan looked at Mike. "Jinx!"

Everyone laughed. The pink shrimp Laura was throwing into the noodle dish matched, exactly, one of the stripes of pink on the dish towels. This was getting to be a bit much. He looked at her and realized she was staring at him, eyebrow cocked.

"What?"

"You keep peering around my apartment as if you were in a museum, surveying it." Her eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"

Shit. Caught. "It's nice!" he said, a bit too cheery for everyone's tastes. Mike grabbed a bottle of red wine he'd brought and began to uncork it, pretending not to pay attention to the interaction between the other two.

"Nice." Uh, oh. There was no way to come out of this one on top, was there? He had to fess up.

"It's really...pink."

"Too pink?"

"Just right pink."

Mike interrupted. "Laura, where are your wine glasses?"

She pointed to an upper cupboard. "Up there. The not pink ones," she added dryly. Now he knew this was just a game. Two could play...

So could three. "Next time I'll bring a rosé," Mike muttered.

Dylan and Laura both did double takes. All three burst into laughter. "It is quite pink. Josie helped me decorate," Laura explained, her smile so deep it made her cheeks look like apples, dimples forming and her eyes lighting up. Dylan loved that smile. Wanted to make her have it every waking moment.


And in her dreams, too.

As the guys set the table, Laura put the finishing touches on the meal, and the three dug in. "No dessert," she announced.

You can be our sweet ending, he almost said. The rice noodles were perfect, flavored with the right touch of fish sauce and something spicy, red flakes mingling with crushed peanuts, chicken and shrimp. It was pad Thai like he'd never had – fresh and flavorful, without that bogged-down, MSG feeling. He ate three plates full, giving Mike a run for his money.

"Hungry?" Laura asked, agog at his appetite.

"It's so good!" he groaned.

Mike nodded, working a bit slower through his food. "It could use a nice white, though," he pointed out, referring to his wine glass. "I'll bring some next time."

She grinned. "Rosé would be fine. I have a feeling you'll learn to enjoy my pink."

Whoosh. Dylan felt his eyes go wide. Mike bit his lips. Laura seemed to realize her double entendre and everyone avoided eye contact for a few seconds until Mike let out a little snicker. He poured the last of the wine into their glasses, giving each a few final ounces, before peals of laughter and an uncontrollable folding made Laura slip to the ground in a crouch, her body shaking with mirth and giggles.

Now that was the kind of pink he could get behind. Er...now he lost it, too, until all three huddled on the ground in a cluster of jovial hilarity. Laura wiped her eyes and resumed her gigglefest whenever she looked at either of them. Mike dragged himself to standing and tried to shake it off. Long ago, Dylan had given in, abs aching from laughing so hard.

It was nervous laughter, but from a place of truth. And now, now was the test as he slid his hand up her back to her neck, the touch decidedly sensual and a complete change in tone from where they all were, ensconced in chuckles that belied the underlying tone of sex and hope and desire in her innocent joke. Dylan would be the one to reveal it, because Dylan was the only one in this breath who could cut through the worries and the hesitancy and the what-ifs and get to the heart of what they all really wanted.

The only sound they heard was Mike's deep breath as he watched, enraptured, his eyes on Dylan's hand as Laura arched her neck just so, responding to the intensity of this searching caress. Would she? Would she not? Hers to answer, the question hung in the air like a fourth partner, needing to be included and welcomed, answered and accepted.

Like Laura.

Like all of them, really, for this was what spoke to the center of their beings, the need to find someone else who understood, who cared, who could navigate the slippery emotional landscape of want and love and need that was so fraught with confusion. In this space, though, as his hand lingered on her neck, now sliding up to feel her cheek, his torso twisting to face her, open and ready, the negative side of it all washed away, and they were just three people in an apartment, alone, forging their own reality stroke by stroke, caress by caress, look by look and breath by breath.

That the word love was beginning to seep into his subconscious mind when he thought of Laura, when he considered the three of them, made his heart soar. In a few short weeks he had found her, courted her, lost her and won her back – they both had, he and Mike working as the partners they always had been and always would be. Love wasn't a word they used lightly, and he wasn't ready, consciously, to use it just yet. Instead, it hovered, watching and observing, taking in their new dance, their interactions and hopes and dreams, and he hoped that soon love would join them and help them, too, to create something new and wondrous, as delicious as her hand on his now, on her open face, searching and warm, asking him questions with her eyes that he and Mike could only answer with their hands, their mouths, and other parts that yearned to be used and included.

Laura had to take the lead now, though – and when she reached over and her lips brushed his, it unleashed a wellspring of, oh, everything that had been pent up these weeks, of wondering and hoping and assuming and thriving. Her lips were soft and eager, testing and nipping, tongue slipping between his lips and prying more out of him. She didn't need to ask twice; he used his mouth to take more of her, hands embedding themselves in her hair, stroking the soft waves roaming over her shoulders and down her back, palms filling with hot flesh he needed to squeeze to own.

She pulled back, breathless, eyes dark and serious, and stood, walking over to Mike. A tentative smile from her, a contemplative piercing from him, his hands reaching out to make the first move, hips leaning toward her as he embraced Laura, their waists touching first, hands almost an afterthought. Dylan halted himself, sensing he shouldn't walk near them just yet, that this was Laura's sequence, her lips and mouth and hands and body needing to pursue, to test both men separately before meshing with them as one.

Just when he thought he would burst in an explosion of craven, overwhelming need, Laura broke away from Mike, reached for both of their hands, and gently led them to her bedroom.

This was it. It was time. She'd been thinking about their hands on her all day, her body making little sighs, imagining the flutter of eyelashes against her belly, thinking of Mike's blonde hair and Dylan's thick arms. Before, when they'd surprised her at Mike's cabin, she'd said yes to a pre-ordained situation, one that caught her by surprise and tapped into so many fantasies – dreams she'd never imagined possible but, when suddenly offered to her, she felt compelled to accept.

Right now was different. Right now she was in control, making decisions long before they were pre-destined, assembling her own ideas and thoughts about how the night would go. Before she'd even started cooking she had let her mind wander to where it needed to go, and she'd known that she would invite them into her bed. It was inevitable, but more than that – it was her choice.

Her choice.

Time for them to enjoy her pink.

When did my bed get so small? she thought, staring at the queen-sized mattress. When Mike and Dylan are both on it, her mind answered as Dylan reclined, lazy and expectant, patting the bed beside him. His smile was impish and open. He was ready for anything. Anything.

And she was about to get anything as she slid on the bed, still clothed, and Mike laid down next to her. Captured perfectly between the two, she paused, enjoying this – the few seconds before anyone would touch her, before they would start what would end in release, before her brain shut down and nerve endings went into autonomous control. This frozen speck in time was still pregnant with possibility and as she –

Oh. Dylan's hands were so warm as he slipped them under her thin cotton jacket and tank top, the fabric pooling nicely on the bed, like little islands of cloth. Her legs twitched as Mike's hands rested, warm and soft, on her ankles, both riding up her calves, over her knees to the soft, supple flesh of her thighs, her tender * beginning to pulse already, so wantonly throbbing for them both. She moistened, her wet womanhood ready for what came next.

All three of them.

Four hands slipped her clothes off, her own hands practically useless, the two men knowing what to do and Laura being catered to with an intensity and focus that she found amusingly seductive. They were a well-oiled (and well-hung) machine, these two, serving her right now. As the chill of the air hit her back, her ribcage, her breasts, her nipples pebbled and she reached for the waistband of Mike's pants, unbuttoning the pants and reaching behind him, hands slipping under to grab fistfulls of ass, his fingers quickly unclasping her bra and making her shudder with the thrill of it all.


By the time she remembered to look at Dylan he had dispensed with his own clothes, his nude body a welcome and delectable sight. She chuckled and her brow furrowed. "Something wrong?" Mike's hands slid up and teased her labia, giving her just a hint of what she could come to expect and making her swell and blossom.

"Everything's perfect," she murmured, Dylan's mouth descending on hers again as he pressed the length of his body against hers, abs to belly, breasts to chest, rigid rod to pliant p-ssy. A quick flash of shower memory, her spray and Bob mimicking what Mike and Dylan were now doing in the flesh, in her bed, very real and warm and wanting. How could she have denied herself this? The scent and taste of Dylan filled her as Mike made sounds of disrobing, the bed shifting as he stood, threw off his clothes, then knelt back on the bed, the smattering of hair on his chest tickling her back, his fingers tantalizing with promise. He sighed into her neck and his hot breath made her belly clench, the tightening leading up to her throat, the body readying for both of them, for all of them, for explosion and release and love.

So much flesh. Her own, ample curves, which the moonlight streaming through the window, between the parted pink curtains, illuminated in a muted relief, the same lush handfuls she'd once found embarrassing now something her men luxuriated in, touching and grasping and caressing and marking with their pinches, their strokes, their licks.

Her men.

And they were, as Mike's finger slipped up to tease her *oris, giving it a "hello" and then retreating, his mouth dotting her back with small kisses and sighs, his cock pushing against the cleft of her ass as he journeyed across her flesh. Dylan, now, stretched before her, leaning her onto her back and carefully positioning a pillow under her hips, the two men exchanging a glance as Mike moved up the bed to Laura's side. Dylan moved down and then went down, his tongue catching her not so much by surprise but by relief, swollen desire clustered so neatly in these nerve endings made real by vulnerable, pink flesh, her * screaming out for him, for Mike, for any attention.

Mike kissed her, then, his hands on both sides of her jaw, his mouth both brutal and pleasant somehow at the same time, her own tongue rising to a threshold of near violence as she tried to take in as much of his mouth, his lips, his tongue as she could without hurting them. Yes, yes, yes, their mouths screamed, her hips lifting as Dylan slipped two fingers inside her aching emptiness, her wet warmth closing around him as he hooked one finger up to find a pitch-perfect place to call home, tongue zeroing in on her nub and making her tighten, ass clamping down, p-ssy folding in to a pinprick of pleasure as he slid in and out, finger and tongue f*cking her with Mike consuming her mouth, the multitude of sensations making her forget about climax, forget about orgasm, damn near lose all sense of purpose here as she just was – flesh, rolls, curves, tongue, p-ssy and – ahhhhhhhh.

Mike's fingers rolled one nipple with just a tad too much force, the nip enough to make her throat bleat with pain, which he took as encouragement, pinching a bit harder. She couldn't say no – between Dylan's lapping at her * and fingers thrusting in and out, the pain took her mind to a new place, and soon she gasped, unable quite to breathe enough, her hips out of control. Reaching for him, she grasped Mike's cock at the base and he inhaled sharply, the sound whistling through the night and joining her own rasping throat sounds.

He took her hand as an invitation, moving so he straddled her face and she welcomed it, giving her something to do as Dylan's tongue gave her such devoted attention. He was languid and attentive, giving her body the time to warm up, letting her feel the pleasure and live in the layers that covered each other, each bit of arousal building on the next, a warm, wet blanket of pending orgasm. Her mouth took Mike in all the way to the base, tongue flicking the tip and hardening to give him a concentrated point of muscled focus. Shifting his hips, he started to rotate and move in and out of her mouth slowly. Perfectly pinned to the bed, between Mike on top of her and Dylan below, she couldn't move.

Even if she wanted to.

She was trapped, and the thrill of the realization clouded her mind, because what if she wanted to get up? Get away from the sensuality of Dylan's cunnilingus? Move herself from Mike's blow job? She couldn't. And, for whatever reason, that fact aroused her even more. She had to give and had to receive right now, knowing there was so much more coming. Whatever Dylan did he did to give her more, and now she could take without guilt, could give without fear, could exchange these acts of love and lust and carnal knowledge on equal ground and know that it was mind-blowingly amazing and hers.

All hers to take and give.

Tall, long, lean Mike seemed to stretch up to the sky as she took her hands and moved up his ass to the small of his back, then maneuvered to get one finger on his taint, pushing up hard on the spot between anus and scrotum. He threw his head back and groaned, the vibration so intense she could feel it in her teeth, which were currently around the base of his cock, a light pressure but held back by tongue and lips that buffered. Slowly, he changed position and slid out of her, her hands fondling his balls now and his hands scooping her breasts as Dylan closed the deal.

And the Mike changed places with him. The sudden shift of men made her lose the rhythm, the near-orgasm retreating now and hiding a bit, though the different technique Mike used quickly coaxed it back into play. Dylan stood by the bed and watched Mike and Laura, one hand lazily stroking himself, waiting for what she knew would be next, the thought sending a shiver down her spine. Mike's mouth was so different from Dylan's, faster and more demanding, a personality change. He was aggressive and intense and her body rose to it, Dylan sauntering over to mouth her nipples, biting suddenly as Mike's tongue pinpointed and began to apply hard, friction-filled strokes just as her entire body clamped and flushed.

Her hands grabbed fistfuls of pink satin bedsheets, flailing and stretching out like a woman impaled by a tongue. "Oh, oh, oh!" she cried out, words long gone, her hips now thrusting up and down, seeking Mike's face and tongue, a sudden balloon feeling making her inhibited but too late –

She exploded. Gushed. Squirted, the stream flying through the air as Mike followed her gyrations, seeking to keep a steady pace on her * as she bucked and groaned and thrashed and turned all animal. Basic instinct was it – that was all she could be right now as she was the climax, was the orgasm, was the fluid that poured out of her, evidence of the drama of what these men had wrung from her.

And this was just the appetizer. "Oh, yeah, Laura. Let it all go," Dylan cheered quietly, his hand no longer on himself but his turgid member at attention and ready for orders. She gently pushed Mike's head away, the climax still in progress but the touch now almost painful, that post-* orgasm sensitivity that made her grit her teeth in a not-good way.

He sensed it and pulled back; ah, good, she thought. He knew enough to do that. Learning about new lovers' bodies was always a game of does he/doesn't he/will he/won't he that was new each time, and never reliably easy to guess. Lying on her back, hips still elevated, she felt an enormous wet spot under the cleft of her ass and just panted little breaths, letting her arms go liquid, her legs splay out, her body in some yoga position of complete contentment.

Yet still she wanted more. Needed them both in her. Rolling over, she chuckled at the sight of the wet spot, bigger than her ass, knowing she'd gushed and not at all shy about it. It had happened once or twice before, typically when she was so blindingly aroused and not looking for it. Squirting found her when it wanted to, and on its terms, and damn if Dylan and Mike hadn't summoned it.


"Well, that's new," Mike laughed, staring at the spot.

"Really?" Dylan puffed up a bit. "Never seen that before?" Clearly, Dylan had, and viewed it with his typical assertive self as something he had manifested. Proud of it, even. And damn if he shouldn't be, with that magic tongue. Mike's, too.

Their talk amused her. "I have, you know, in videos," Mike sputtered, his body stretched out. They seemed to know to wait, to give this a few minutes. Laura pulled back the wet sheet and crawled under, cuddling a pillow.

"G'night, boys," she whispered, then pretended to snore. "Thanks for that."

Her passage almost cried out in agony, needing to be filled by something other than two wholly inadequate fingers, fingers that had been fine when they were touching her and teasing out the climax but that needed to be replaced by Dylan’s cock, or Mike’s or –

Both.

Both in her, the double penetration right there, moments away, the thought of it sending her into p-ssy spasms that nearly brought her to orgasm from the mere thought. Dylan climbed on top of her and pulled the sheet back, his cock settling into the cleft of her ass, micro-movements from his hips making him ride her.

“Sure you don’t want more, Laura?” he murmured in her ear from behind. The groan that escaped her mouth came from another layer of self that was ready, teemed with intent right now, her thick throat the only sign of struggle in her, some part knowing all too well that she would be completely drained of all passion and sex by the time they were done with her.

Which was her form of nirvana, really.

No one bothered to make a pretense that they would do anything but double, so Laura rolled herself into a sitting position, completely uninhibited, as if it were routinely part of life to be naked in her own bed, wet spot testifying to an eroticism a few minutes ago she'd never thought possible, while her eyes feasted on the long, lean Mike and the shorter, muscled Dylan, both watching her with expectation and very, very obvious signs that they were eager for her.

Signs pointing up.

It was Dylan who gently nudged her to the side and slid under her, positioning her hips over him, guiding her to straddle. Her breasts, pendulous and full, brushed against his chest as she laughed, her hair falling over her shoulder and tickling his chin. His tip touched her *, an agony she inhaled her way through, the feelings so raw and exquisite she wanted to plunge herself with him.

So she did. Angling her hips just so, she rode him effortlessly, his rod filling her slick walls and making her cry out to Mike. “You, too!” she gasped, ready for the forbidden once more, but this time completely at her call, at her request, as she opened herself up to them on equal footing. No lies, no secrets, no omissions.

The bed seemed to tilt slightly to the left, then right, as she felt Mike climb behind her, his hands on her ass and then his voice. “Hey.” Hot breath on her neck, a kiss. “Do you have any lube?”

“There.” She pointed to the drawer next to her bed. She'd bought a new tube – and cleared out her electronic boyfriends – for tonight. Somehow, he managed to keep his knees in place, firmly planted on either side of Dylan's legs and her ass, and pulled the bottle from the drawer. In seconds she felt the delicious, wet, slippery warmth of fluid on her ass, her walls clenching with greed for all of him in her.

“Oh,” Dylan sighed as she tightened. And then Mike's finger sent an electric jolt through her as Dylan sat up and took her left nipple in his mouth, the combined sensations making her buck against Dylan and start to really f*ck him.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk!” he teased, his words mumbled through a mouthful of her bosom. Coupled with Mike's finger's making slow, snail trails along the edge of her puckered ass, she felt swollen and captivated by the anticipation of what was about to happen, to have Mike in her, both holes full, all three joined by her flesh. Mike's finger slipped past her over-snug hole, the feeling so thrashingly hot she almost came, though Dylan held her still, anchoring her to the bed as Mike prepared to enter her. His oiled-up hands roamed her ass and hips, a playful slap making her gasp finally break.

“God, Mike, just fill me. Please,” she begged, Dylan reaching up with his lips and fingers to bite and twist her nipples just as Mike centered the tip of his cock over her ass. Tapping at the gates, the feel of him perched on the precipice between in and not-in made her push back a bit, needing him to do this, wanting to be complete with them both.

Burning, Stretching, Fire. Then – ahhhh...

Like pouring something warm and enormous in her, she felt her body seize then relent, seize and relent, the dance almost too much, her throat yielding hitched gasps as she worked to hold both men. Mike's belly pushed against her lower back and ass, his hands on either side of her and Dylan, his balance perfect. It needed to be; one misstep and what was now a tortured pleasure would just be torture.

Taking Dylan's mouth with hers, she moved so carefully, Mike following her lead, until she felt them all tighten viscerally, as if nerves and pores and skin and need all pinpointed to the perfect climax. It was just standing there, as if summoned, and Mike pressed his stubbled cheek into her backbone and groaned.

“Ready?” Dylan said. It really wasn't a question, his face grimaced with excitement and the barely-held-back release he so obviously wanted. Her body utterly impaled by both men, thoroughly full and ready for explosion, they slowly moved, awkward at first and then finding their rhythm, the power of three bringing them all quickly to the edge, friction and sweat and slick and mouths and everything.

Her ass burned and hummed, buzzed and clenched as Dylan's thick rod worked in tandem with Mike's hands and his mouth on her breasts and hips and then she felt it – that imperceptible roar that came from nowhere and told her she'd soon burst blood vessels around her eyes, scream until her throat ached, and shoot neurons from parts of her that weren't supposed to have them.

Dylan's chest hair was matted with sweat, hers and his and Mike's dripping into a thin sheen as she caught his eyes in the moonlight, his face dark and ready. “God, Laura, I'm – ”

Tip. She just...tipped, her ass and p-ssy and body tightening, fingers digging into Dylan's shoulders then releasing as she drew long, deep scratches, etching some part of her pleasured agony into him, then releasing and grabbing the sheets, ripping them from the corners of the mattress as she howled. Howled. The sound was like a rutting animal and then she realized it wasn't just her, Mike's long form pushing against her haunches as she thrust harder, splitting her in two and finding a sweet spot deep inside that made her feel like a dwarf star, imploded and eviscerated, a climax of every muscle and of no unturned sensation.

Hot cream poured into her; she could feel the spurt, the rush, the bubbling overflow as her too-tight passages strained to accept what Mike and Dylan's bodies spat out. No one moved too fast or too hard, afraid to cause too much pain, in fear of ruining this sweet, primal moment as they just...howled. Laura's panting came first, her body going limp like a rag doll, collapsing on Dylan as Mike seemed to finish with one thrust and reactivated her *, gently pushing it against Dylan's groin and giving her a shiver of an orgasm that was like a tiny, ice-cold breeze in a heat wave, perfect for a few seconds but never quite enough.

Mike hissed out his own climax, his hands kneading her back and then tensing, the feel of him deep in her wet and viscous. He, too, rested as if turned to putty, and soon Laura really was in a sandwich. The thought made her chuckle, which pushed Dylan out of her as her laughter engaged her abs.


Dylan joined her, and soon all three were amusing themselves with chuckles of comfort, of coming home, of satisfaction and of satiety. This was what Laura had dreamed of all these years. This bliss.

And nothing more.