John and I froze as an unholy racket erupted from his sitting room. Glass shattered. A man swore, low and angry.
“Hide,” John said.
I released my grip on his robe. He shoved himself back and rose to his feet. I flipped over and scrambled toward the bed. My pulse roared in my ears. I could barely feel my injuries anymore. A wild energy suffused my limbs, driving away my pain, and the resulting euphoria paired strangely with my fear.
I scuttled sideways and slid beneath the bed skirt, shoving myself backward with my hands. The skin of my knees burned over the hardwood. From my new vantage point, I watched John stride quickly toward a table, flip open the lid of a box that sat upon it, and pull out a revolver. He cocked the hammer back with practiced fingers and leveled the pistol at his bedroom door. His arm was steady, expression unforgiving. If some unknown intruder barged in, I had no doubt that he would pull the trigger.
A loud knock reverberated through the room.
John hesitated, frowning.
Would an intruder knock?
“Who is it?” he called.
“It’s me,” came a familiar, if somewhat muffled voice.
John lowered his pistol and strode forward.
I dropped my forehead to the floor in relief, shaking with unspent energy. My ragged breaths echoed around me in the confined space. The sound of a latch being thrown reached my ears. I looked back up. The door opened to reveal Henry, standing with his hands on his hips, looking absolutely baffled. His brows drew down when he noticed the gun in John’s hand. They rose back up in surprise as I scrambled out from beneath the bed.
“What the devil is going on?” he asked.
John uncocked his revolver and set it down on a table. “Help me with this mess first.”
The men disappeared into the sitting room. My thin slippers would provide little protection from the broken glass out there. Instead of helping them, I grabbed my empty snifter and helped myself to more brandy. My fingers shook as I poured it, and I spilled a splash onto the drink cart. I was sopping up the excess with a towel when the men reentered the room.
“The bottles are back in place by the door,” John told me. “I believe we swept up all the shards of the broken one, but to be safe, one of us will carry you across the room when you leave.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
John turned to Henry. “I thought we agreed you’d spend the night in your own apartment?”
Henry shut the door behind him and turned to face the room. “Displeased to have me back?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Henry let out a heavy breath. “My rooms were in disorder when I returned home.”
A wave of alarm rolled over me.
“Are you all right?” John asked, closing the distance between them.
Henry took him by the shoulders, as if steadying the smaller man. “I’m fine. No one was there when I arrived.”
John stared up at him. “You’re certain?”
Henry nodded, gave his shoulders a squeeze, and released him.
John stepped away. “Was anything taken?”
“Not that I could tell, but I didn’t linger for an in-depth inspection, not alone. I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t return. I sent a note for McNaught, changed, and waited at a nearby tavern until he arrived. He, Doruk, and several men I’ve never seen before are in the apartment now, giving it a closer look. I left them to it and set about making my way back here.”
“Were you followed?” John asked.
Henry shook his head. “My route was long and labyrinthine, and I all but slunk the last quarter mile to the house.”
I doubted he’d been followed. At least not successfully. He wore uninterrupted black, and with his dark hair and coloring, he must have faded into the night like a creature born from its depths.
“From the looks on your faces, I’m not the only one to have suffered an unpleasant surprise tonight,” Henry said. “Care to fill me in?”
We gathered together around the fire. The men took the two chairs while I sat cross-legged by the hearth on a cushion. Both offered me their seats, but I declined, needing to be close to a source of heat. That strange energy from earlier had fled from my limbs, and I was left cold and stiff in its wake. My knees stung something fierce, like I’d scraped a layer of skin clear away when I’d slid beneath the bed – another injury I didn’t need.
I sipped my brandy while John filled Henry in on everything he’d missed. Every now and then I chimed in to add details, but I was glad that John did the brunt of the work. I was exhausted, and no wonder. What a night I’d had: receiving another note, Marcus seeing it, McNaught’s inability to find the messenger, the dreadful hour that passed before I could escape the theater, our strained discussion with the spy, my fallacious affair with the man, Marcus’ arrival on our doorstep, and finally, the discussion John and I had before nearly consummating our marriage on his bedroom floor.
Good God, what had I been thinking? What had John? How would Henry feel if he knew that we had kissed each other without him here? The parameters of our agreement hadn’t been fully defined, and I didn’t know if what had just happened between me and John was a betrayal.
As if sensing my thoughts, John turned his gaze to me. Firelight flitted across an expression that gave nothing away. He had retreated again. What was he hiding? Or was he girding himself from his lover’s displeasure? It was clear from Henry’s reactions that he hadn’t known about John’s thoughts on who was behind the letters.
“No more lies,” Henry said.
John nodded. “No more lies.”
“I mean it, John. I love you, but there’s only so much I’ll put up with.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I only meant to-”
Henry made a slashing motion with his hand, signaling for silence. Like me, he’d clearly had enough of the “I only did it to protect you” excuse.
“In that case,” I said. “You should know that John and I were engaged in an…intimacy before you arrived.” If there was a better way to phrase what had happened between the two of us, I didn’t know it.
Henry arched a brow at his lover in question.
“I may have tackled her,” John said. Only the slight shift of a shoulder betrayed his discomfort.
Henry sent him a chastising look. “And you call me a brute.”
I winced, feeling the need to defend my husband. “To be fair, I welcomed it.”
Henry frowned at me. “You…welcomed being tackled?”
I squirmed beneath his gaze. How to phrase this and still sound sane? “I shouldn’t have, I’m sure. I don’t know what it says about me that I did.”
“Why did you welcome it?” John asked. From his expression, it seemed like he knew my rationale better than I did, but instead of speaking his assumptions aloud, he instead intended me to discover them for myself.
“Because…” I took a deep breath. “Because I knew you wouldn’t truly hurt me. Or if you did, that it wouldn’t be in the way that my father once hurt me. I never had a choice in his household as to who touched me or how hard.”
Henry stiffened in his seat.
“Not in that way,” I said. “Molestation was one of the few deprivations I managed to escape. For all of his barbary, Father wasn’t incestual. And since my future match to a man of importance was paramount to progressing his own advancement, he guarded my virtue with ferocity.”
Henry relaxed back into his chair, but his hand trembled slightly as he raised his drink to his lips and took a large gulp. His jaw clenched as he swallowed, the muscles in his cheeks standing out. He was angry, I realized. Infuriated. My father would need to take care at the next function we all attended.
“I think…” God help me for what I was about to say. “I think that part of me craves being…manhandled. The first year of our marriage, you both walked on eggshells around me. You especially, Henry. And I’m sorry for that.”
“You have no need to apologize to me,” he said.
“Nor to me,” John added.
“You may not tread as carefully now, but you still treat me as though I’m a delicate thing,” I said. “I’m not made of porcelain. Part of me wants to be handled rough, just so I can prove it to myself. Another part of me wants to be handled that way to prove it to you too.”
“And lastly?” John pressed, sensing there was more.
I looked away from him, back into the fire. That churning, tormented melody Lady Hartford had played ran through my mind, reminding me of the feelings it had awakened within me. “I want to be reckless,” I said, the words slipping from my lips like a confession. “I want to be overcome with passion. I want you two to touch me like you’re not afraid to break me. I want you to make me come so hard that I scream my release.”
Behind me, one of the men sucked in a harsh breath.
And then I was airborne. Henry grabbed me up off the ground and turned me, so that I landed in his lap, facing him, my knees on either side of his thighs. It happened so fast that my head spun.
“Like this?” he rumbled.
“Exactly like this.”
He bunched the lapels of my dressing gown in his large fists and hauled my mouth down to his. The kiss was hard, the pace he set insistent. Instead of gently plying my lips open, he demandedentry. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, opened my mouth, and let him in.
He released his hold on my dressing gown and dropped his hands to my thighs. His fingers dug in, holding me in place as he stood. I thought he might carry me to the bed, but instead he turned, leaned down, and deposited me back into the chair, breaking the kiss as he pulled away. Both of us were breathing hard. His chest heaved as he undid the buttons of his coat. The black shirt he wore beneath it flattened over his muscular torso as he shrugged out of the garment, serving as a glorious reminder of the body beneath.
“Have you ever seen a man fully nude?” John asked.
I tore my gaze from the sight of Henry unbuttoning his shirt. John sat looking not at me, but at his lover, and with an intensity that Henry must have felt upon his skin.
“I haven’t,” I said.
I heard the flutter of fabric and turned to see Henry’s shirt fall to the floor. I’d only seen him shirtless once before, and now that I glimpsed the sight for the second time, I could never be satisfied with so few viewings. He had a body that was built to be seen in its natural state. His shoulders were wide and well defined, his biceps nearly as big around as my corseted waist. A smattering of dark hair covered the heavy muscles of his pectorals, before trailing down, lower, and disappearing in a fine line beneath his waistband. His arousal strained against the front of his trousers.
“Touch me,” he growled at my husband.
John stood and went to him. Without preamble, he flattened his hand over Henry’s erection and stroked downward, his fingers pointed toward the floor, palm pressed intimately against his lover. Henry took a shuddering breath in and reached for him. His long fingers loosened the tie holding his robe together.
I sighed when it fell open. John, as a male member of the ton, lived every day with the very real prospect of being called out in a duel – a prospect he didn’t take lightly. Each morning he spent an hour with a sword master, and made a point to ride out through one of the nearby parks afterward, pushing both he and his mount hard. Henry might be the larger of the two men, but John was more defined. With his pale skin and carved physique, he looked like a Roman sculpture come to life.
He removed his hand from Henry and shrugged out of his robe. The loose linen pants he wore beneath it sat low on his hips. His stomach looked like a washboard. Just above his hips, a V of muscle drew my eyes down, straight toward his own arousal.
I’d never seen anything as beautiful as the two of them standing side by side in lust. I don’t know how long I stared at them, thinking of angels and seraphs, of light and darkness.
“Katherine?” Henry said, his voice sounding far away.
Has he been calling my name all this time? I wondered.
It took me several attempts before I finally managed to answer him with a whispered, “Yes?”
“Do you wish to continue?”
He jerked his head to the right. “The bed.”
I rose from my chair, called by the siren song of his words.
I sank back down, deflated.
He came over to me and kissed away my disappointment. Then he pulled free and grabbed the arms of my chair. The heavy muscles in his shoulders strained as he used his strength to turn the chair – with me still in it – toward the bed.
“John was forced to watch last time. Now it’s your turn,” he said. His tone brooked no argument.
John strode into my sight. “That means next time it will be you who watches me and Katherine.”
Henry let go of the armrests and stared down at me. “Saving the best for last.”
I glanced away from him, to John. My husband met my eyes with a look that smoldered. I felt as though I might catch on fire within his gaze. “Do you want to touch him?” he asked.
I nodded. This close, Henry’s arousal was within reach and hard to ignore. I longed to stroke him as John had. “Can I?”
In answer, Henry took my hand in his and guided it forward. Beneath my palm, his erection was large and unyielding. I wondered what it looked like. If it was as smooth and touchable as my husband’s appeared to be.
It was then that John stepped up behind him. His arms snaked around his lover’s stomach. Henry dropped his hand from mine, and John’s took its place.
“Like this,” John said. “This is how he likes it.”
He pressed our hands tighter to Henry, creating friction between his arousal and my palm. With a languorous shift of his hips, Henry gently thrust into me.
More. I wanted more. I wanted to hold his arousal in my hand. Take his erection into my mouth as he had John’s in the carriage. I wanted them to show me what to do. Teach me everything they liked.
Henry reached out and caressed my cheek. Then he slid his fingers to the back of my neck and used his grip to turn my face up to him. Their light pressure seared into my skin, setting it aflame. My breathing turned thready as he stared down at me.
“Kiss her,” John said.
“Kit?” Henry asked.
That was all the encouragement he needed. With a ferocity that took my breath away, he leaned down and covered my mouth with his own. I opened my lips for him without hesitation this time, and he plied my mouth with an expertise that set my heart racing. Too soon, he broke away. His hand was still fisted in my hair, and he held me in place and stared down at me as he thrust into my hand again.
“I warn you,” I said. “I don’t have John’s self-restraint. You might need to tie me to this chair to keep me here.”
The men froze. Surprise registered across Henry’s face. It was chased away by a slow, sensual smile. “That can be arranged.”
John let go of my hand. His arms disappeared from around Henry’s waist, and he came back into sight. “We can use cravats to tie your ankles. That way you can strain against your bonds without hurting yourself. Your hands, however…” his gaze tripped down over me and landed in my lap “…I imagine you’ll want them free.”
Were we truly doing this? Was I about to be tied in place and forced to watch them from afar? Pleasure coursed through me at the thought of it, followed by a thrill of something else, danger paired with unruliness perhaps – to take part in what so many others would think of as a depraved act. Or was it more akin to anticipation?
I’d been helpless to many of the events that took place this evening. Had been predated upon by our enemies, forced into victimhood once more. To willingly cede control of my own volition instead of having it wrested from me, and to have the result of that loss of control be something beautiful instead of terrifying…that was what I wanted. That was why I suddenly felt powerful and reckless and even a little bit dangerous.
“You don’t have to agree to this,” Henry said, his tone gentle.
I lifted my gaze and met his eyes. “Make sure to tie me tightly.”
His answering grin was a wicked thing.
John chuckled and turned away. He came back a moment later, holding two silk cravats in his hands. One, he handed to Henry. The other, he kept to himself as he dropped down in front of me. Henry sank down beside him. I drank in the sight of them there, on their knees at my feet, feeling like a queen on her throne.
John’s hand was the first to touch me. He slipped it beneath the hem of my dressing gown and wrapped his fingers around my left ankle. Henry followed suit, and together, they drew my feet apart and pressed my heels to the legs of the chair. Their motions were swift and sure. They tied the knots without having to watch, as though they’d had plenty of practice. When Henry was done, he dropped a kiss onto my knee. I hissed in a breath. The pressure of his lips had been gentle, but it still stung.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I burned my knees on the floor when I slid under the bed.”
John’s lips twitched. “Ah yes, your imitation of a spider monkey.”
I grinned despite myself, feeling a little foolish now. “You’re the one who told me to hide.”
“Who knew you’d be so good at following orders?” John said, his eyes sparking with amusement.
Henry gathered the hem of my dressing gown in his hand. “May I?”
He pushed it up, fingers stroking deliciously over my skin, until my right knee was revealed. The skin on it was red and angry and slightly shiny. He dropped another gentle kiss there.
“I’ve seen worse,” John said. “No broken skin, so it should heal just fine.” He slid his gaze sideways to Henry. “As long as she’s kept off her knees.”
I nearly moaned at the innuendo in his tone. In my mind I saw Henry on his knees in the carriage and imagined myself in his place. Pray God I healed quickly.
“Alas,” Henry said. He let my dressing gown fall back to the floor and then stood, towering over us for a moment before he moved away to light the candles near the head of the bed.
John stroked his finger over my calf, distracting me away from his lover. I brought my focus down and met his eyes. Without breaking my gaze, he shifted so that he knelt between my spread legs. He pushed his fingers up, short nails scraping over my skin, skirting around my knee, before coming to rest on the outside of my thigh. My nightclothes bunched at his elbow. I wanted to sink down in my seat and push my legs apart to ease his way, but my restraints prevented me from it.
I wore nothing beneath my chemise, so he met no resistance as his hand moved toward the top of my thigh. He curled his fingers into the flesh of my backside and leaned closer.
“I like you like this,” I told him, feeling brave. “Undone. Mask gone. Laid low by lust.”
In answer he surged forward, closing the distance between us. I welcomed him with fervor, reveling in the feel of his strong hands on me. I kept my own fastened to the arms of the chair when our mouths met, because I had a feeling that if I let myself touch him now, I would never be able to pry them off.
It was only when my head swam that I realized I’d been holding my breath while we kissed. I was forced to wrench my mouth away from his and gulp down air. He gave my backside one last squeeze and then pulled away, a look of satisfaction on his face.
“Come,” Henry said from behind him.
John pushed himself off the floor and stood in a fluid movement. He turned and paced toward his lover, throwing over his shoulder as he went, “Feel free to touch yourself.”
The words went straight to my core. Perhaps I truly was a “scandalous slattern”, because the thought of pleasuring myself while watching them pleasure each other unraveled what little restraint I had left.
Henry lifted his hands as John approached him, framing the smaller man’s face. He leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on John’s lips, and I felt the ghost of their warmth on my own. Henry broke the kiss and turned John’s face toward the ceiling before trailing still more kisses over his jaw. John’s eyes fluttered shut. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath in. Henry’s lips fell to his neck, and John let it out with a shudder.
As if sensing my regard, he turned his head to me and opened his eyes. His full lips were pillowy from their recent use. A look of deep contentment softened the hard lines my husband usually forced his features into. The only other time I’d seen him so undone was in the carriage with his lover’s mouth around his cock.
“If you looked at any of the ladies I keep company with like this, you wouldn’t need me to spy,” I told him. “They would do murder for you.”
John half-lidded his eyes and sent me a lazy grin. “They don’t get to see me like this.”
Henry pulled his lips from John’s neck just long enough to murmur. “Only we do.”
A fierce thrill of possession rose within me to hear such words. In that moment, I began to understand my husband. What would I do to keep these men safe? How far would I go to protect them? I feared I might go as far as John if forced to.
Something on my face must have given away my thoughts, because John’s grin widened into a savage smile. With a few deft flicks of his fingers, he had Henry’s trousers unbuttoned. Henry’s erection sprang free. I dropped my gaze and greedily took in the sight of it. His member was much larger than John’s, and though the skin looked just as soft, it was several shades darker. Near the base, a vein stood out in bas-relief.
Henry continued to ply my husband with kisses. John wrapped his fingers around the base of his lover’s member and then slid them to the top. When he reached it, he rubbed his thumb slowly over the head before pressing his hand back down the length of it. Henry made a low noise when John repeated the motion.
“Tighten your hand when you reach the base,” John said, “and he’ll make that noise for you too.”
I filed the instruction away, learning still more about how to pleasure Henry from sight alone. John began to set a steady rhythm. Henry’s hands fell to my husband’s shoulders, and he stepped forward, closer, narrowing the space between them until John had to angle his arm sideways to continue to stroke him. John hastened his movements a moment later, and Henry closed his eyes and tipped forward to rest his forehead against his lover’s.
I dug my fingernails into the arms of my chair. I wanted to memorize the sight of them, as I had in the carriage, commit every detail of it, so that I might see their shared rapture again and again, if only in my mind.
Henry let out a shaky laugh. “Enough, John.”
John gave him one last lingering caress before releasing him. “Let me take you in my mouth.”
In answer, Henry stripped off the rest of his garments. The long muscles of his legs bunched and flexed, on full display as he went to the side of the bed and turned his back to it. I sat just a scant meter away from the foot. My view of him was unencumbered as he used his powerful arms to push himself up onto the covers. The bed could barely contain his large body. His legs spilled off the side at the knee, feet dangling toward the floor. He leaned back on his elbows, muscles rippling, and looked over at me like a dark god staring down on one of his supplicants. I would gladly clasp my hands in prayer to him. Worship him with my words and my hands and my mouth and my body. If not for my restraints, I might have risen from my chair and offered myself up to him on the altar of the bed.
His member lay flush against his stomach muscles. John stepped between his spread knees, took it in his hand, and dropped his lips to the tip of it. As I watched, he angled his head sideways and met my gaze. His tongue slipped from between the seal of his lips and he licked a slow circumference around Henry’s manhood.
Henry let out a groan. The low masculine sound of male pleasure pulled a hard shiver from my body. John caught sight of my expression, and, looking darkly satisfied, turned his full attention back to his lover. He licked him again, slower still, and then dropped his head, drinking down Henry’s girth.
Feel free to touch yourself, he had told me. In that moment, I didn’t need his prompt. My desire had turned into need. I lifted my hands and untied my dressing gown with fingers that trembled. The chemise I wore beneath it was sleeveless, made of whisper-thin cotton. A fire still burned in the hearth, but a chill draft caressed my bare shoulders as I shrugged out of the garment, raising goosebumps on my skin.
Henry, seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, pulled his gaze from the sight of John pleasuring him and turned to look at me. His focus fell to my chest, where my peaked nipples pressed against my chemise. Wanting to keep his attention there, I lifted my hands and cupped my breasts through the fabric, offering them up to him. I rolled my thumbs over my nipples. The thrill of pleasure that shot through me had my head falling back against the chair. I leaned against it, teasing myself as Henry watched. As John’s head rose and fell over his manhood.
I was no longer cold. Heat suffused my body, born from my desire. My breasts were full in my hands. With every stroke of my thumbs, my pleasure swelled. I shifted my hips just to feel the friction of my sex sliding over the fabric of the nightgown beneath me.
Henry echoed my movement, shifting his own hips up into John’s mouth. John sucked him down nearly to the base. Henry collapsed flat on his back, stomach muscles flexing as he thrust again. His knees fell further open, giving John greater access to him. John lifted a hand and gently cupped the heavy balls that lay against Henry’s thigh. From Henry’s reaction, it was more than welcome. He gripped the sheets in his big hands and broke our gaze, gasping as he stared up at the canopy of the bed.
“John,” Henry said, a hint of warning in his tone.
John released him with a pop. “I want you inside me.”
Henry let out a guttural sound and sat up. He grabbed John’s shoulders and pulled him forward. Henry used John’s unbalance to his own advantage, dragging him up onto the bed. Their mouths crashed together.
I dropped my hands to my lap and tugged on the fabric of my nightgown. A draft of cool air rushed over my legs as I drew it upward. I stopped when I had enough freedom to spread my thighs. If either of the men looked my way right now, they would see straight up it, to the most intimate part of me.
On the bed, Henry rolled them over, pinning John beneath him as he ravaged his mouth. John surged up to meet him, the two of them looking like a pair of gladiators wrestling for dominance. An image surfaced in my mind of me pressed in between them, surrounded by sweat-slicked muscle as they rolled.
When they broke apart, John scooted out from under his lover and turned his back, rising up on his knees. Henry took his time following suit, kissing his way up my husband’s spine.
Without looking at me, John spoke. “Now is your last chance to beg off, Katherine.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I shot back at him.
Henry chose that moment to turn his face toward me. Our eyes met as he put a hand on John’s shoulder and eased him forward onto all fours. Without breaking our gaze, he tugged John’s trousers down until they bunched around his knees. He looked away then, leaning toward the night stand. With quick motions, he tugged the top drawer open and pulled out a small glass bottle.
I could guess what it contained: oil. My banned books had taught me why it was needed. The anus was too tight to accept a man’s member without some coaxing first, and unlike a woman’s cunt, it didn’t produce the proper slickness on its own. Oil and other mediums were used in its place.
Henry unstoppered the bottle and coated the pointer and middle fingers of his right hand. He looked over at me again, but this time, instead of meeting my eyes, his gaze dropped lower, staring between my open legs with a look so searing, I felt it. I shamelessly widened my knees, baring myself to him. The wicked smile he gave me in response made it well worth it.
He looked away and moved his oil-slicked fingers toward John. I watched as he circled them over the crease of his backside for a moment before slipping them slowly between his cheeks. John’s reaction was immediate. A shudder ran through him, and he pressed back into the larger man. Henry placed a hand between his shoulder blades to hold him steady as he continued to ply his entrance with his fingers. John’s manhood stiffened beneath him and darkened in a flush.
I’d been frozen, watching them, but as Henry continued to work his fingers in and out of John, I dropped my own and slipped them beneath the raised hem of my nightgown. My skin felt feverish to the touch, evidence of what these men were doing to me. I slid my hand higher, taking my time like Henry took his. My fingers traced over the inside of my upper thigh, much as his had just yesterday. Finally, I gave in, sliding them into the slickness of my arousal.
John looked over at me from the bed. “Lift your skirts higher.”
I did as he bade, and Henry looked over too. I clutched my skirts in my left hand to keep them in place, ensuring they had a front row seat as I slipped my finger into myself.
“Henry,” John said.
Henry slowed his movements and then removed his hand. He unstoppered the bottle of oil once more and slicked some over the length of his shaft. With one hand, he held John by the hips, while the other guided the head of his manhood toward John’s backside. I sucked in a deep breath and held it. The sight of them together like that, poised at the point of penetration, drove me absolutely wild with desire.
My breath came out in a near-sob as Henry thrust forward, gently, into John. God, the look on John’s face: vulnerable, open, damn near lethargic with lust. I mirrored Henry’s motion with my fingers, driving them deeper into myself. John stared at me as I drew my palm down over the most sensitive part of myself.
“Christ,” he moaned, pushing back into Henry.
The motion drew my eyes to the other man. He held John by both hips now. His gaze was fixed downward, at where they were joined, while he slowly worked his way in and out of him, preparing John’s body to accept even more. Would he take the same care with me when we eventually bedded each other? What would it feel like to have my most intimate part stretched around his manhood?
Nature took over as I wondered, the fingers of my left hand plying my nipples, while the fingers of my right circled the one spot on my sex that I knew would give me the greatest amount of pleasure.
Henry groaned and draped himself over John. He dropped a kiss on his shoulder as he pumped his hips forward and back. John arched into him, as if begging for more. Henry reached forward and wrapped long, dexterous fingers over John’s arousal. The way he stroked him echoed his thrusts. I slaved my own rhythm to it, my pleasure building with every pass of my fingers.
God, I was close. So close. I knew that if only I closed my eyes and let my pleasure carry me away, I would tip over the edge. But I didn’t. To do so would be to lose sight of them, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Not now, maybe not ever.
Henry turned his head and looked at me. His gaze dropped to my spread legs, and his tongue snaked out over his lips, as though he was remembering the taste of me on them.
“I’m close,” he warned, his gaze pinned to where I pleasured myself.
“So am I,” John and I answered.
John was the first to fall, shoving backward into Henry. He lost control of the rhythm, his seed spilling out over the sheets as he came. Henry gave John’s cock a few more lingering strokes and then released him and put both hands on his waist again, holding him in place as he thrust into him. The sound of flesh meeting flesh warred with that of our ragged breathing, spurring me to my own end.
Henry let out a low growl that rumbled through the room. It seemed I could feel the vibration in my very skin. My limbs began to tremble. Pressure coiled deep within my belly. I ground my hips down into my palm. My inner muscles clenched deliciously around my fingers, the sensation only spurring me on. I palmed my clitoris and drove a second finger into my sex. The arousal that had been building in my body came to a crescendo and crashed over me in waves. My entire being narrowed down to a pinpoint before exploding outward again as I came.
On the bed, Henry thrust into John in quick succession, once, twice, three times. Then he pulled out of him, wrapped his fist around his length, and pumped himself again. His seed spilled over John’s lower back as he groaned his release.
I spent several more moments tied to the chair, not that I was complaining. I didn’t trust my legs to hold me yet, and my head still spun. With release had come relief. The stress of the evening had drained away with the last of my pleasure. I’d needed this more than I realized.
Henry cleaned himself off and then helped John, who lay boneless on the bed, arms flung wide, expression sinfully sated. Afterward, Henry came over and released me from my bonds, then scooped me from the chair and kissed me as he carried me back to the bed.
“That was incredible,” he said.
He deposited me next to John while he stripped off the soiled blanket, and I rolled over, into my husband. John wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed, hugging me to him in a rare show of affection.
I dropped a kiss on his chest. “You’ll have to bind my mouth next time. I fear I might shout the house down in pleasure when I’m finally allowed to join you.”
Henry rejoined us, chuckling. “Move over.”
We squirmed apart just enough to make room for him between us.
I fell asleep tangled in his limbs, feeling safe and blissfully happy.
Copyright © 2020 by Navessa Allen
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This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, establishments, locales, events, and organizations are used fictitiously and only with the intent to provide a sense of historical authenticity. All other characters, dialog, incidents, and settings are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.