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

Chapter Nine

Mike held the smartphone's camera up and surveyed the soot-covered room slowly. Laura's apartment building had just been opened for him and Dylan to come down, the fire investigation completed enough that they permitted residents to remove vital items. The conclusion: an electrical fire that started in the breaker box in the basement, directly under Laura's place.

She was damn lucky. A few more minutes and...well, he wouldn't be holding a camera streaming live video to her on her smart phone, her sweet face asking questions and giving directions as she rested under a down throw on his couch, looking relaxed and healing nicely.

His couch. At the cabin. When the fire investigators told her she wouldn't be able to go back to her apartment for weeks, if not months, the structural damage too great for people to live there, the news had seemed to crush her. Quick to offer help, he and Dylan had both tried to get her to move in. Cabin vs. apartment?

She'd chosen the cabin. Who knew why, and he didn't care. Josie was with her, helping to acclimate her, and now he and Dylan were on a mission to bring back whatever she wanted. Life as he knew it was over. Not just the past four painful, grueling months, but the time before that as well. He and Dylan would never be the same again. It was less about hiding the truth from Laura (twice) and more about what seemed to be a strange role reversal, with Dylan calmer, more reserved, more mature and Mike more emotive, charismatic, and, well –

Alpha.

“Not my circle chair!” Laura groaned as Mike pointed his phone at it. Black. “That used to be a really nice mauve.”


“It's toast now,” Mike muttered.

“Laura, a restoration and cleaning company should really get in here before you take anything home,” Dylan interjected, arms crossed, brow furrowed, voice uncharacteristically stern and bureaucratic. “You shouldn't inhale any of the soot from the fire.”

“Mike said he'd wash everything three times before I wear it,” she answered, voice echoing from the tinny speaker. Dylan shot him a look of pure evil. Mike's saucy grin was his only answer.

“Suck up,” Dylan hissed.

Mike thought that over for a second. “I'll own that.” Deeper grin. Dylan's eyeroll felt like a victory.

Two hours later he and Dylan were straining to carry out a slew of choices Laura had made, from clothing to heirlooms to the cat beds, although he had repeatedly offered to buy her whatever she needed.

“Why does she want all this?” he asked Dylan as they crammed it into the back of the jeep. “Her coconut shampoo? Seriously?”

“It's comfort. Control. Fire victims need it, so it's good to do this for her. I've seen people cry over a dirty seventy-nine cent can opener. When your house catches fire and you survive, things take on more meaning.” Mike eyed a hand-knitted lap throw Laura had screamed about when found intact. Her grandma had made it. She wanted it for the baby's crib.

“Her things, you mean.”

“Right. It's not the same if you swoop in and just replace it all with a four-figure trip to Target.” Surveying the load, Mike started to understand. Laura hadn't asked for appliances or expensive electronics. She wanted photo albums and video cartridges and clothing. Personal stuff you couldn't really replace easily.

And the damn gallon jug of coconut shampoo.

“Gotcha.” Mike relished the drive back to the cabin, knowing she was there. Dylan had put dinner in the oven before they left, a slow-cooking roast, and tonight would be the first night they would all spend together.

As a family? The thought went through his mind so fast, like a blink, that he didn't dare dwell on it. If he did, it might not happen.

Please let it happen. For the first time in months, the drive up the mountain felt like he was really coming home, Dylan singing along to some '80s Christmas song, the late-autumn sun warming his skin as the prospect of creating a true home with Dylan, Laura and their baby warmed his heart.

“I still think you are nuts. And not warlock waitress nuts. Crazy. Cray cray. The baby needs to have a father on the birth certificate.”

Laura sat on the sectional sofa, butt sinking deep into the soft leather, a warm red down comforter keeping her toasty. Getting up would be harder than getting comfortable, but she had Josie to help. And, soon, Mike and Dylan. Snuggles moved a foot along the top of the sofa, chasing a patch of sun.

“Well, hello to you, too, Miss Merry Sunshine,” Laura cracked. She gratefully accepted the cup of decaf Josie offered.

“They'll be here soon and this is the first chance I've had in a week to talk openly with you. Those two seemed to have had a schedule for making sure one of them was always there in the hospital.”

“They did.”

Josie's face was agog. “All so I couldn't talk alone with you?”

Sip. “I don't think that's why.” Sip. “Just, you know, because we're – ” What words were supposed to come out next? Together? Were they back together? Laura didn't know where they stood, actually. Five days in the hospital had been long enough to learn that she was fine. The baby was fine. The polyhydramnios had actually improved a bit, though it wasn't gone. She would need constant monitoring for the rest of the pregnancy, but they hadn't found any problems with the baby that explained it. Being extra-big with added fluid would make it harder to move around, and could make the delivery a bit risky, but they'd ruled out birth defects.

Which had been the best news Laura had received in – well, ever. Diana had reviewed her chart with Sheri and the supervising obstetrician, Dr. Kalharian, and they'd agreed on a schedule for follow-up care.

Her orders: go home, rest, hydrate, recover.

Easier said than done, because she'd had no home. Until Mike and Dylan had offered her one. Josie, too. Deciding had been hard and easy at the same time. Josie was the easy choice, and her friend seemed to assume Laura would pick her.

But her heart, her gut – her womb – told her to go heal in the mountains.

She figured out pretty quickly that the guys would respect her, would treat her like a queen, and would wait on her hand and foot if she stayed at the cabin. Dylan had told her, with a quiet serenity and troubled demeanor that was so unlike him, about his and Mike's...fight? Breakup? What word do you use when there isn't one to describe the relationship in the first place?

So many strands of the relationship between the three of them had been snapped by someone deciding not to tell a simple secret, the kind of information that really wasn't a deal breaker, but that can become one if withheld for too long. Dylan and Mike really cared about her – she knew that, and knew that by screaming at them that day at Josie's months ago, she'd created a rift that needed mending.

And yet she absolutely was not the only one with some guilt to work through. The guys hadn't told her they knew each other, and she was still uneasy, in a tiny place deep inside, about how they had come to her, orchestrated that wonderful first night. Getting over that had been hard, but not impossible. Could she find a place for their other secret?

Staring around the room, she suspected she could. The vaulted ceilings, the knotty pine, the startling view of the snow-covered ski trails, and the cozy fire burning in the fireplace all made her feel like she could –

“ – eat shit?”

“Huh?”

Josie stared at her. “I still don't get why you didn't tell Mike and Dylan they could just go and eat shit, but I respect your decision.” Her tone of voice made it clear she did not. “How's little Josie today?”

“You mean little Laura?”

“Whatever.” Bzzzz. Laura found a text from Mike: “Need anything at the store? Ice cream and pickles?”

She read it aloud. Josie softened. “That is really sweet.”

Laura typed back: “Nope. Thanks! <3”

“You're going to regret that at midnight when you want salted caramel ice cream.” Josie stood and reached for her purse.

“You're leaving?” Panic fluttered in her chest. Or was that the baby kicking again? Touching her belly, she shook her head slightly, to herself. Nope. Panic.

“Four – er, five,” she pointed to Laura's midsection, “is a crowd.”

Reckoning. This would be it. Mike and Dylan would come back and they'd wash her things and she would need to find a rhythm here as she recovered, the three of them settling in to – what? What, exactly, were they to each other? And then there was the issue of –

“ – who the father is.” An expectant look covered Josie's face.

“Huh?”

“The baby is sucking your brain right out of your head, Laura.” Josie laughed. “It's like you're not listening to anything I say.”

“And that's new because...” she joked.

“Ha ha.” Josie shrugged into her leather coat. She looked like Captain America when he was little. “You'll talk to the guys about the birth certificate issue?” They'd cooked up a scheme they thought the guys would accept. Even Laura realized that as sweet as it was to share the baby, and for whichever man wasn't the bio dad to act as if he were, the practical legalities needed to be respected. Someone's name needed to be on the birth certificate.


“I will. I promise.” The two hugged, Laura clinging a bit longer than she normally would. As if crossing over into a new life, a new world, she felt unmoored, time starved, and unsure. The baby grounded her in that moment by kicking her, hard, in the cervix.

“See you tomorrow.” Click. The front door closed and Josie walked out on the porch, the same porch where, nearly five months ago, Laura had slunk out, Mike bringing her her purse, her fear so overwhelming it had almost crushed her heart.

Almost. And then...why hadn't they told her? Why? They were billionaires. Her baby's father was a billionaire. Josie had joked about child support (“You could get more than you make in a year. Hell, in a decade, per month. Can I get the other one to impregnate me?”) and Laura reeled from the implications of all.that.money.

Some dish Dylan had in the oven simmered and filled the cabin with a luscious aroma that made her belly start to eat itself. She was hungry.

The guys were on their way. Her stomach dropped. Because this time she'd be alone with them and it was time for some long overdue conversations.

Why was it always, indeed, so complicated?

A palpable tension sat between him and Mike on the car ride up the mountain, a third partner who wasn't nearly as appealing as Laura. Unresolved emotions, unspoken words, and a sense of uncertainty made the air thick, kept Dylan's nerves on edge, and finally forced him to blurt out, “I was a total douche. I should never have made us wait to tell her about the money, and I almost blew it, and now here we are with maybe – kinda – sorta – a chance with her, and I don't want to f*ck it up again.”

Cringe.

“If you're a douche, I'm a bigger one. Mega douche. Thor the Douche,” Mike bantered back, his voice jovial, but his face serious. Eyes on the road, he seemed to feel the change in the car. They were talking. Really talking, once again.

“How do we make this right with her?” Dylan's words had an urgency, a plaintive tone he could hear in his own voice and hated.

Mike shrugged. “I think this time we actually listen to her and Josie and do what Laura wants.”

“That easy?”

Mike picked up Route 2 and they prepared for the long drive. “If it were easy, we wouldn't have f*cked it up.”

“Twice.”

“Yeah. Twice.” Mike blinked, revving up to sixty-five mph. “Dylan, I'm sorry about the glass and all that.”

“It's OK. You sent that cleaning crew and replaced everything.”

“That's not what I mean.” Mike's jaw flexed and twitched, his stubble glinting in the sunshine.

“I know. And it's OK. As long as we're OK.”

Mike laughed, a sputtering sound of surprise. “We're f*cked, man.”

“Yeah. We're about as far from OK as you can get.”

That made Mike swallow and blink hard. “True. But as long as we're not OK together, I think we'll be fine.”

“What if it's not your baby?” Dylan said rapidly, as if saying the words fast would somehow make them less provocative.

“What if it's not yours?” Mike's answer was a growl.

Silence. A dark cloud of confusion and suspicion, with an undertone of something sinister he'd not felt with Mike, ever, slithered about in the Jeep. Dylan decided to let down his defenses and simply said, “I don't care. I care, but I'm not invested in whose she is. I'm invested in loving who she is.”

Mike's head jerked back in surprise. Shoulders relaxing, he drew in a deep breath. “Same here.” He took his eyes off the road for a second and gave Dylan a look that made him fight to hold back tears. “I just don't want to be left out of the greatest love I can imagine.”

Nodding, Dylan tapped him on the shoulder with a gentle fist and said, “Impossible. Because that love can't exist without all three of us.”

“Four. Four now.”

Four.

Laura woke to the sounds of laughter in the kitchen, deep men's voices guffawing and teasing, the room's light telling her it was past sunset and somehow she'd fallen asleep in place, curled up and warm. Her stomach growled and her mouth felt like cotton, parched. A glass of water on a coaster, inches from her hand, was a pleasant surprise. A few quick gulps and she finished it off, yawned, stretched and – ouch! – sciatica flared up, necessitating that she stand and stretch more.

Little muscles in her hips and along her ribcage needed to be treated with kid gloves, stretched slowly and with great care, or she'd have a stitch in her side and a major spasm. Pregnancy really wasn't for wimps, all the blessings aside.

Walking with a slight waddle, she made her way into the kitchen. Mike was making a salad, Dylan checking on a roast, and both turned to her, smiles at the ready, so amused and playful she almost burst into tears at the hope it all inspired.

“She rises!” Dylan exclaimed, drying his hands on a dish towel and planting a kiss on her cheek. Mike kept his space, reaching for the empty glass in her hand. Without asking, he filled it from the water dispenser on the fridge door and handed it back, full.

“Thanks,” she said, looking around, blinking. Both men kept stealing glances of her belly. Obvious and trying not to be. She did a shimmy and said, “Lap dances, $25.”

“You undercharge,” Dylan said, mirth in his voice but something more sensual in his eyes. Her pulse quickened and blood flowed to places that had been deeply neglected by a man's touch.

“OK. $50. I'm lap dancing for two, after all.” She wiggled her belly. Mike groaned and Dylan winced. Topic change.

“Whatcha cooking?” She nosed over Dylan's shoulder. A big slab of delicate meat surrounded by carrots, potatoes, onions, and something unidentifiable. “What's that?”

“Celeriac.”

“Sell airy what?”

“Celeriac. It's kind of like the root of a celery plant. Sort of. It's really savory and complements the meat nicely.”

“Mmmmmkay, Rachel Ray.”

He looked offended. “I'm Gordon Ramsay all the way, babe.” Arms reached around her, his face nonplussed as he couldn't make it, the belly in the way. “Don't you forget it,” he joked, pulling back, bemused.

“More like the rat in Ratatouille,” Mike said, droll and patient.

“You two are getting Kraft Mac n Cheese if you don't stop.”

Her stomach growled audibly. Dylan pointed at it and said, “The baby speaks! She defends me!”

“Are all audible bodily functions a commentary on you, Dylan? If so...” Mike bit his lips, holding back.

“Let's just eat!” Laura declared. Her stomach growled again. “I'm starving!” No one had cooked her a homemade meal in, well – not since Dylan's meatballs. It felt good to be pampered, cared for, taken care of.

And the food was divine.

So was the company. Somehow, the three of them fell back into an easy banter, talking and laughing with abandon, yet comfortable with silence. So much to say. So little pressure to say it. Time might heal all, she thought, if they never said a word. Just living and being and coexisting might do the trick.

Not really. She could hope, though. Food, though – food had a universal language that said, “Dig in. Eat. Relax. Enjoy.”

And she did.

Beep! Something that sounded like a clothes dryer went off. “Oh! Your quilt!” Mike said, jumping up from the table and walking down the hallway.

“My quilt?”

“Your grandma's quilt. Mike's washing it a few times. Part of your stuff we hauled home.”

A grateful warmth filled her. Blinking back tears, she said, “Thank you.”


“Don't thank me. Thank Mike.”

She reached for Dylan's hand and squeezed. “No. Thank you. You saved me. Saved us.”

He shook his head, eyes serious. “I almost ruined us. And I hurt you deeply.” Hearing it from him made a difference; she had tried to convince herself it didn't matter, but it did. Mike returned to the table, a look of puzzlement, then alarm, on his face.

“Everything OK?”

“We're getting serious,” Dylan muttered.

Mike's face shifted to dawning understanding. “Oh. Got it.” He pushed his plate back and leaned forward on the table, chin in hand. “Is this the part where I get down on my knees and beg Laura to forgive me for being such a ridiculous, cravenly afraid a*shole?”

“That's my role!” Dylan protested. “I look really good eating humble pie. Lately, it's my specialty. Shows off my good side.” He tilted his face to the left, a sad smirk coloring the discussion.

“You can both play that role,” she joked. Except she wasn't joking. They all knew it. “No,” she added, shaking her head. “All three of us can play that role, because I did to you what you did to me.” She winced. “With higher stakes.”

No one argued. That made her feel even worse. Here we go, she thought. Cards on the table. Hearts on sleeves. It was now or never, and clichés aside, if she wasn't brutally honest with herself and with them, she could never, in good conscience, forgive herself.

Which was the most important person she needed to extend forgiveness to.

“Can I say something, Laura?” Mike interrupted. He stood slowly, with great deliberation, inch by inch rising to stand over her and Dylan, the table miniscule and unimportant, the air filled with intent.

“Sure,” she squeaked.

He looked at Dylan. “I need to say this to you, too.” Dylan looked askance, uncertain and a bit worried, mirroring Laura's own internal state.

Mike sighed. “I love you both.” He bent down and touched Laura's belly. “And I love her, too. We have lots of words we could utter and exchange, decode and expunge, but none of those words matter as much as these: I'm sorry.” He looked deeply into her eyes, then Dylan's. “I love you.” Again, at both, careful and measured, meted out equally. “I love this. I've missed this.”

His hands swept over the table, gesturing at the room, trying to capture the love and laughter and comfort in his hands. Laura knew he couldn't, because it wasn't a thing. It was something the three of them created when they were together, an alchemy they couldn't force. It just was. “I want it all, for the rest of my life.” He bowed his head, releasing Laura's swell. “I don't have any better words.”

“There aren't any.” Dylan's voice was thick with emotion as he stood. He and Mike moved to Laura, who volleyed between them, head bouncing left and right to take this all in. With one on each side of her, she struggled to understand what was going on as they both knelt down.

“I don't know what to say,” she admitted. And she didn't. Nearly five months of wants and needs and luscious thoughts poured into her now, less from passion and more from a knowing love. A place of goodness and completion, of welcomed desire, of being treasured and assured not by words or by touch but by presence.

“Say you'll stay. Say you'll let us take care of you.” Dylan touched her belly. “Both of you.”

She frowned. “Take care of?”

“We have more money than we can spend in ten lifetimes. Quit your job. Be a full-time mom. Start a business or a charity or whatever your heart desires, Laura. Hang with us. Help me run the ski resort. Become a gym bunny. Open a bakery. Hell, buy Jeddy's and fire Madge,” Mike laughed, his face wide and open, body tense but eyes serene and raw all at once.

“In other words, let us take care of you, because we need you to take care of us,” Dylan said, getting to the point.

Oh, guys, she thought. Her heart should be racing, temples pounding, face flushing and heart swelling, right? Instead, all she could feel was a diffuse calm. An acceptance. An understanding.

And the baby did a somersault right then, her little foot practically poking a hole in Laura's belly. “Holy shit!” Mike shouted. “I could see the outline of her toes on your shirt!” She'd chosen a fairly tight, “slimming” light pink maternity shirt, with a little spandex, and it was pulled snugly over her belly.

“I saw it, too!” Dylan joined in.

“Maybe she was answering for me?”

“Was she?” they asked in unison. Laura closed her eyes, shoulders dropping, her breath even and mature. Yes. Yes yes yes yes.

In later years Laura would try to remember the exact moment she leaned down and took Mike's face into her hands, kissing him gently and with great passion, but try as she might she could never pinpoint it, would never find her recollection precise enough to discern when she made the decision. Like so many other moments in her years with Dylan and Mike it just was, a delicious shift of molecules and energy that moved her body, compelling her toward what her heart wanted.

Regardless, Mike's response was keen and matched, lips connecting, arms wrapping about her waist, sliding up her back as he stood, pulling her to standing, the belly making an awkward chaperone that separated them. Dylan stood back and watched, smiling. He wasn't left out for long, as Laura pulled back from Mike, breathless, and reached out.

The little, doubting voice inside her, the one that whispered insecure comments in her ear at inappropriate times, the saboteur of all that was good and whole in her life, tried desperately to wiggle its way to the surface as Dylan's arms wrapped around her, as his lips touched hers, as his mouth explored hungrily and apologized with little movements and sighs, hands saying "I'm sorry" in ways words and looks could never convey. Laura found herself not only not caring what that voice said, not actively pushing it away, but instead just not listening. Tuning it out like static, like traffic, like the sound of something so insignificant it becomes white noise after a while. You know it's there but it blends in with the rest of the world and takes its rightful place as something you don't need to attend to.

What she needed to give her attention was, in fact, right here, standing before her, both men here, now, for her. And she was here for them, all three together and hopeful and trying to find their way to a new truth. A new honesty. A new vow.

As she warmed to Dylan's caresses, their bodies awkward and accommodating, the reality of their earlier coming together very real – regardless of whose baby she carried – desire roared forth, a huge ball of need and hormones rushing to the surface, her mouth aggressive, hands not backing down. Wanting them both, needing time and pleasure, her skin's memory of the fear of nearly dying now straining for an expression of life, to conjoin and co-mingle with Mike and Dylan, to renew something deep and unspoken as they unveiled a commencement. A beginning of something unspoken but cherished.

Dylan's touch became tentative, hesitant. She pulled back and asked, "You OK?"

Mike's eyes held the same conflict that Dylan's reflected as she looked at them both. "Can we...are you...is this -- " Dylan stumbled.

"Oh, God, yes!" she nearly cried out. "Do you have any idea how much I've missed this?" She stroked his arm. "Both of you." A sigh. "All of this."

"No, I mean, the doctors – can you, you know?" Mike jumped in, hands clearly itching to touch her, but keeping a respectful distance as she was in Dylan's space.


She blushed. "I'm cleared for 'intimate relations,' as the nurse put it, but I don't think they were thinking of what we do," she laughed. Pointing to her belly and hips, she added, "And I think we just have to do this the old fashioned way this time. No room for two at the inn."

"I like old-fashioned," Dylan sighed in her ear, nuzzling her neck. A zing of pleasure made her inhale slowly, savoring the heat of his cheek on hers. Mike stepped back, sweeping his arm toward his bedroom, the same room, same bed, where they'd first been together, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

In a way, it was. This world was theirs to forge, social and emotional rules that they landscaped, shaping it as they wished. No doubting voice, no righteous screeds, no one else could dictate how or whom she loved. So this lifetime that she embarked on felt like her real life. Time to start it.

Start it off right. Nice and slow and easy and luscious. Taking Mike's hand, holding on to Dylan's with her other, the three walked with languid grace, her body hot and ready so soon, so fast, she nearly burst as Mike reached down to kiss her, Dylan stroking her shoulders and back, hands wrapping around her from behind and loving her belly.

Sinking back into him, soaking up Mike's skin, the taste of him, how his mouth was lush and present and fully aware of hers made the scene less surreal. Just...real. As if all of the other moments in her conscious life were somehow just a preparation for this, and that all her worries and concerns were useless, unnecessary.

Discarded.

The sound of Dylan's long inhale, then his deep exhale, hands reaching under the hem of her shirt and warmth – just as Mike's hands cupped one breast, his hip grinding into hers, back curled over her, shoulders lifted, one hand stroking her ample, swelling nipple as the other kneaded her hair, little kisses interspersed with great, deep, wet explorations. Her * pulsed, abs tightening and elongating, body primed and ready for everything.

And it looked like that's what she was about to get.

Four hands slid up her ribcage, across her shoulders, down her legs, everywhere, like tentacles made of honey and wine, slipping and caressing until she stood in panties alone, their flesh ripe and clear, her own hands busy and red-hot from sliding cotton and threads off six packs, glutes, biceps, and flesh that now stood ramrod straight, as if tipped up to say thank you for the coming feast.

Mike's bronzed chest, with a sprinkling of sun-kissed hair, felt familiar and foreign under her finger tips, his hands lifting up under her thickened breasts, face gazing down and marveling, as if looking at a work of art for the first time. When his eyes met hers they were smiling, and he touched her lips with one finger. “I do love you.” Hand on her belly. “And her.”

A lump in her throat made it hard to speak, Dylan's hard, muscled form behind her, leaning against her back and ass. Heady from the touch of both, she tipped her face up and drank in Mike's words. “I love you, too.” His smile, his mouth, their tongues touching as she was enveloped by manflesh, manskin, the two men who completed her – it made her feel truly, madly, intensely loved.

Cherished.

Dylan's words were a trigger for so much more as he nipped her ear and whispered, “I love you, too.” Mike released her and she spun around, arms lifting over his shoulders, his muscled forearms on her back and hips, their embrace less sexual and more a homecoming.

Until his mouth found hers, telepathically transmitting everything they couldn't say but felt, as if he thought and emoted for her through a long, wet stroke, or fingers that trailed a line down her neck to her breasts, pausing to turn a soft areola into a pebbled nipple.

“And I love you,” she replied, smiling into the kiss, feeling his mouth shift, too, into a grin. Ah, she really was home. Love. They'd all said it, felt it, meant it. The sweet taste of it was nirvana, a light, delicate – but hardy – flavor that they would relish forever.

She moved to the bed, climbing on carefully, the only one wearing anything. Slipping out of her panties, she became self-conscious of her body for the first time – how it had changed, how she had gained weight, how her breasts were fuller, more sensitive, her hips wider and more lush. Would they like it? Was she too big?

Mike's hands held an answer as he reached for her, eyes tracking his own hand as he moved it along her side. She propped her head with her hand, elbow holding at an angle, breasts and belly pulled down by gravity and one leg bent. “You're so...” He sighed, his hand opening where her ribcage met her breast, smoothing and sloping to take in more. “Voluptuous. Glowing.” Bending in, muscles rippling and arms tight, he kissed her and then slid into bed, arms warm and chest pressed against her, molding himself around her. “Amazing.” She relaxed into rippled muscles on his thighs, his long, lean body surrounding her, mouth kissing her neck –

Oh! That was Dylan, who had taken up residence behind her, her back warmed instantly by a wall of hot skin and hard flesh that started with her ass, then her thighs, gliding up her sacrum, back, and shoulders, like a strong blanket of sensuality. His hands cupped her breasts as he kissed her neck, erection pressed into the cleft of her ass, ready for her bidding and whatever they all chose next. Delicious. That they had all the time, all the choice in the world, to do as they wished right here, right now.

Just the feel of them against her body made her abs tighten, the flesh above her * buzzing, her hands eager and needy, touching Mike and Dylan with an urgency she didn't have to possess any more. No rush. No scarcity. All three had made the decision to move on, to redesign the world, to make their love so much more.

Mike trailed kisses down her breasts, looping one nipple into his mouth, tongue teasing with circles of benevolence, making her walls clamp and the air in her lungs rush out. Base instinct guided her hands to his hair, hoping – oh, hoping! – he was headed where she needed that mouth most right now. It had been long, long months without, and her body tingled with anticipation, for that first cool touch of tongue tip, as the warmth of her flesh would mix with his wetness and make her gasp.

“Are you OK on your back?” Dylan asked. She hadn't considered it.

“I can be creative,” Mike answered, his voice muffled. For some reason, it made her giggle, and she got a case of the sillies, right here in this incredibly sensual moment. Laughing so hard tears filled her eyes, Dylan watched her, eyes dancing with amusement. Mike paused, then crawled up her body, dragging his chest along her skin.

His head popped up, face curious, as she quivered and shook, overcome with laughter. “I've been laughed at in bed before,” he said, “but never while doing that.”

Oh, God. That made her giggle even more, great whoops surprising her, Mike glancing at Dylan, Dylan's shrug, both sets of eyes watching her. Contagious, the laughter got them too, deep voices rumbling with chuckles until finally Laura settled down, flapping her hands in front of her face to cool down and calm herself.

“What was that?” Dylan asked, finger circling her nipple.

Mike dipped his head back under the covers and moved down. A kiss on her hip. “Was that funny?” A kiss on her knee. “Funny?” A kiss on her mons. “Giggling now? How about I make you gasp.” The last word came out as a low growl, so predatory and primal she filled with a blooming wetness, all heat and low thrumming, body fully ready.

And gasp she did, for as his hips moved, Mike folding his extended body into position between her legs, and although she was on her side, he simply moved one leg up, balanced it on his shoulder gently, and leaned down, tongue touching the exact place she needed it to. Like a butterfly in slow motion, his tongue lapped and licked in a perfect, slow rhythm that took her from ready to gone. Dylan's scent, all musk and smoke and salty, filled the air as he lowered his mouth on her other nipple, keeping symmetry.


She didn't care, transported to a frenzied near-climax by a few touches of Mike's tongue. When Dylan rotated slightly, calves brushing against her hip, his body hovering over hers, her mouth was open, breath coming out in pants, his lips taking hers as his hand reached for her ass, pulling her closer.

What she wanted, though, was more. Urging Dylan to slide up, she reached for him, fingers lacing around his thick erection, guiding him to her mouth. Knowing she would soon come – hard and furious, crazy and tilting – she wanted to give, to make someone else feel as good as Mike made her feel now, to spread out her own intensity, delaying her climax, to make it all the more incredible and vital and f*cking liquifying when it did come.

And it this rate, she didn't have long, months of pen-up frustration and need and arousal and all of it. Mike's hands spread up her hip to take in what they could, as his mouth worked wonders, exploring the full, pink flesh of her labia, one finger sliding inside her – now two! – the added sensation giving her a gasp, indeed, as she tongued Dylan's mushroom cap, his body tensing, all of this energy traveling like a physics math word problem.

If Mike's tongue flickers at a rate of 69 beats per second while Laura's mouth licks Dylan's enormous cock five times per minute, as her hands dig into Mike's golden waves and Dylan groans at 200 decibels, when will they all come?

About...now, apparently, Laura's body twitching, removing Dylan from her as he eased back, her face turning to the pillow, unable to do anything but experience this, biting the sleek cotton to keep from screaming. Didn't work. “Oh, God!” she shouted, her body convulsing, neck muscles stretching and pulling at the same time, her body stretching like a cat's, then shaking, stretching, then shaking, hands curled into fists in ecstasy.

Beyond words, she just came and came, exploding as Mike rode the wave, following her as her * bobbed and jumped, hips out of control, her eyes open and then shut, occasionally catching glimpses of Dylan's transfixed look, watching her with such passion it nearly made her come again.

“No, stop!” she begged. “I want you in me!”

“I'm here,” said Dylan, smoky and sensual. He slid against her, from behind, as Mike straightened up, slipped out from under the covers and rested on his knees, a delicious drink of water her eyes soaked up. How could he have so little fat, pockets of muscle etched into his ribs and abdomen? Unreal. Dylan's hot skin married hers, hips resting behind as Mike's mirth-filled eyes acknowledged what he'd just given her, and waited patiently for so much more, lips flush and red, blue eyes growing serious and sultry.

Now it was Dylan who nudged against her, her own passage eager to be filled, nudging back as he centered himself, then the tip of him touched her outer lips, eliciting a sigh that turned into a moan, her body responding with such fierce arousal she was grateful for two men. They might not be able to satisfy the tiger inside her, the one that had prowled for the past few months through her erogenous zones, pacing and searching for –

Oh! Oh! As he entered her everything split and she felt nothing but slick, her body welcoming and warm, his erection pushing hard from behind as she rested on her side, trying to get him deeper, needing a fuller feeling of man, of Dylan, and as he began to thrust, slow and tender, she whispered, “I love the feeling of you in me. I need you so much.”

“I need you, too, Babe,” he answered, the hissing musk of his breath enough to put her into a cocoon of this, of nothing more or less, his abs pushing against her ass, his knee between hers, his cock inside her as rough palms massaged her breasts, wet lips kissed her earlobes, and then – there it was.

Explosion. Implosion. Screams – hers, of pleasure and orgasm and release and pluming and of complete annihilation of the mind. Hands and fingers and mouths and cocks and ass and p-ssy walls all worked in concert until everything was just a pink and red void, panting breath and hot, wet flesh and a gritty, guttural groan of f*cking and being f*cked, of having her body pushed to its sensual limits and over the line, of crossing something that expunged all worry, all fear, all timid nature into a ball of greedy desire and lust and –

Dylan. His neck muscles pushed against her ear; she could feel the strain as she came down from her own high, could sense the creaming inside her as he came, could hear the little sounds the back of his throat involuntarily made as he thrust, then froze, thrust, then froze, squeezing every drop from this masterful movement. He slumped against her, spent, as her energy roared to life, her appetite for sex and skin and being f*cked a thousand times stronger than it had ever been in her life, the roar of want so great she feared she would devour them.

Mike. Could Mike be enough now? As Dylan slid out of her, kissing her shoulder, Mike moved like a lion, slow and sure, owning the land and the bed, her body and his, knowing what she needed without her saying a word. He didn't seem surprised when she took his mouth with force, a maniacal power driving her to kiss him, to use her tongue to nip, to suck, to measure the terrain of him.

“I want you on top,” he murmured, stretching out on the bed, his tall runner's body going on and on. Dylan had rolled over and watched, an open, friendly face that seemed more wistful than voyeuristic, and as she climbed on Mike's hips, straddling him, she unceremoniously plunged down on his rigid cock, the tip hitting her cervix with a push of pleasure that made it seem as if she hadn't just made love with Dylan, hadn't just come from Mike's mouth and Dylan's cock, hadn't just been satisfied and catered to in every way possible.

Because she needed more. More, more, more. Mike obliged, pulling her down for another kiss, her own taste more evident now, her lips spreading in a grin at the mixing of their juices, their bodies, the ease of so much sensual abandon. She leaned down and changed the angle of her hips, now in control of the thrusts, her ass lifting up, p-ssy lips encasing him, her shifts imperceptible to him but giving her * more friction, making her so, so close.

“God, I love your body,” he gasped, hands full of her breasts, throat tight as she milked him, plunging down as hard as possible to feel so full, so real. Moonlight spilled into the room and she took in the scene, Dylan's gaze of love and enjoyment, Mike's body filling hers, his chest and face below her, eyes concentrating on her, absorbing their lovemaking, the love in the air palpable. Tipping her head down, she inhaled slowly, primally as she pulled up, the room filled with moist heat and the scent of three, the thought combining with her faster movements, her body f*cking him now, the one who maintained the pace, who took the rising ball of lust inside her, which expanded and grew until –

Starbursts. More screams. An emptying and a completion that she couldn't name. “Laura! Laura!” Mike shouted, his face twisted in torque and thrust as she raked her fingernails over his shoulders, his hands kneading her hips and ass, fingertips pressed hard into her luscious curves. They thrashed and vibrated, her p-ssy climaxing less from her *'s frenzy but more from the deep pushing, the perfect pitch of flesh against flesh, of the supernova of juicy sex.

Her hips ached, forcing her to rest her head on Mike's shoulder as she came down, down, down from a high she didn't know was possible, much less achievable in the arms of anyone – or any two. Mike murmured love and whispered loyalty in her ear as Dylan snuggled up to them, helping to ease Laura onto her side, her body limp with the feeling of being wrung out, a joyous song of satiety humming in her head.


As their breathing returned to a normal pace, Laura looked first at Dylan, then at Mike, then at the window, moonlight smiling in on them. Finally.

Finally she had what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted.

Sigh. Almost.

“OK, boys,” she commanded, arms folded up under her head, the gesture one of authority. “Which one of you is going to give me a foot massage, and which one of you will make the salted caramel ice cream run?”

Mike looked out the window with a forlorn look on his face. “But it's snowing! And a twenty minute drive to the nearest store.” The look he shot her said what are you talking about?

She pulled her hands out from under her head and clapped twice. “Then get to it!” Settling back down, she let a deep, satisfied sigh flow through. “Now I see why I need two men.”

Cold hands touched her feet, Dylan already at her bidding with the massage, laughing at Mike. “Too slow!”

“I don't wanna – it's cold – are you kidding?” Mike pleaded. Even so, he seemed to know the argument was lost, reluctantly standing and throwing on his pants.

She pointed to her belly. “Does it look like I'm kidding?”

“Fine. Salted caramel? A pint?”

She nodded, then stopped. “No! Make it two. It's going to be a long couple of days and I don't want you leaving for one second longer than you need to.” She batted her eyelashes as Dylan worked on her feet.

“Anything else?” Mike held his smart phone, ready to type. “A list? Because I don't want to have to leave again.” A lascivious smile consumed his face. Laura liked it.

“Nope! Simple list. Ice cream.”

“Easy,” Dylan said, nodding approval.

“That's right,” she sighed, winking at Mike as he shrugged on his coat. Mike kissed her forehead and shot Dylan a promise of future revenge as Laura lay in bed, stretching.

The baby kicked in agreement as Dylan laughed. “A girl could get used to this.”

“That's right,” he said, working on her arch. “It's never complicated – anymore.”