Forbidden Pleasure (6 page)

"Enough." His voice was a hard growl, despite his efforts to temper it.

Pulling her to her feet, he caught her as she stumbled, wrapped his arm around her hips, and lifted her to him.

Her legs wrapped around his waist instantly, and his cock found the shelter it was dying for. If he thought her mouth had been hot, then her pussy was pure lava. He couldn't stop the harsh cry that fell from his lips as the crest of his erection tucked into the honey-slick folds and pressed forward.

Damn, she was tight. Tight and sweet, the tender tissue inside her sex flexed and rippled around him as he began to work his flesh inside her. Stretching to accommodate him, growing hotter, wetter with each stroke until he was seated fully inside.

His balls drew up tight at the feel of her pussy rippling over his cock. The need to thrust heavily inside her was making him crazy. But this, this was so good.

"You're tight, Keiley." He tightened his hold on her as he turned until he could press her against the side of the tractor, holding her firm as his cock jerked inside her. "Tighter than ever."

Her head fell back as her eyes drifted open. Her eyes were wild. Nearly as wild as the desperate attempts to move against him as he held her still.

"Mac, please—" Her voice was raw and thick with excited arousal now.

He rarely held her release back. He had sensed the wildness in her from the beginning, the deep-seated core of a sensualist that would one day meet his darkest desires head-on.

This was what he had waited on for more than three years. The hunger he saw in her eyes now, felt in her pussy. The needs rising to the surface, challenged by his restraint, his refusal to satisfy them enough to keep them banked. This was the woman he had known she could be.

He moved, drawing back before sinking inside the fist-tight channel once more, glorying in her cry of pleasure and the flex of her pussy.

"This what you want, sweetness?" He moved again, harder, pressing deeper as her head thrashed and perspiration ran down her face.

Oh yes, this was what she wanted. She was panting, throttled cries falling from her lips as she fought against his hold.

"Look at where you are, Kei," he told her then. "Out in the open. Anyone can see.

Should we stop now?"

She shook her head, her hips flexing as her thighs tightened on him.

"Do you know what they would see?" He growled, leaning down to nip at her lips.

"They would see perfection. The sweetest honey in the world coating my balls."

He could feel it, like a wash of creamy, liquid silk tightening his balls further.

"Mac." Erotic hesitation filled her voice even as her juices became thicker, silkier. As though the thought of being watched filled her with both trepidation and excitement.

He flexed inside her again, stroking the back of her pussy, feeling her clench around him as her nails bit into his shoulders, digging in with sensual pain as he felt his control slip.

He gripped the cheeks of her ass, holding her tight as he began to move, shafting inside her with hard, deep motions of his hips. The pleasure was so intense it was nearly pain.

The grip of the sweetest muscles in the world tightened as he felt her pussy began to convulse. Her cries filled his ears, his senses, and tore free his own release.

Pumping inside her, each spurt of semen was followed by a hard punch of ecstasy.

Driving. Fulfilling. For the first time since he had begun sleeping with her, Mac felt that hard, dark knot of lust in his gut easing marginally as he filled her with his release.

She was like a forbidden fruit. Tempting. Sweet. Innocent. Uncorrupted. So sweetly uncorrupted that her innocence shone in her eyes like a beacon of purity. It was one of the things he loved about her. One of the things that the dark sensuality inside him blazed in response to.

In that moment, as he held her tight to him, hearing her wild cries ease, Mac knew that corrupting her was rising higher, much higher, on his list of priorities.

Before it was over with, he would lose his wife. Or he would gain his soulmate. The question was, could he survive losing both?

The next night, Mac stood on the balcony outside his and Keiley's bedroom, smoking. He stared at the glow of the cigarette in his hand, a frown marking his brow before he drew the filter to his lips and inhaled.

The restlessness growing inside him wasn't abating, and he knew why. It was the same thing that had drawn him to the balcony rather than into sleep, despite the lateness of the hour.

Keiley.

He stared into the night sky as he inhaled, drawing the acrid burn of the smoke into his lungs even as he lashed at himself for resorting to a crutch. Not that it did more than ease the restlessness in his hands anymore. It did nothing to ease the hunger that rose in his gut and had his dick so damned hard he could probably hammer nails with it.

And dumbass that he was, rather than relieving that hunger in the giving heat of his wife's sexy body, he was out here smoking. Because he knew he couldn't take her without putting the wariness back in her eyes that he had put there the other day.

A hard grimace had him grinding his teeth as he thought of the way Keiley had watched him that evening. With equal parts confusion and wary arousal. As though she were no longer certain how to approach him, or how to deal with his sexuality.

Not that he could blame her. Hell, he had taken her in the barnyard against a greasy tractor. When he finished with her she had been flushed and streaked with oil, and nervous.

That nervous uncertainty would be the death of him.

Maybe he should just lay it on the line. Tell her what he wanted and take his chances.

He vetoed that idea instantly. Keiley was a brave woman, but if he gave her a chance to think about it first, then he was a goner. His wife would deliberate actions for months before making decisions. She weighed angles the way a criminal attorney weighed evidence. Looking for every loophole, for every possible crack in the defense of her privacy.

Privacy was golden to her. A product of the hell her parents had put her through as a teenager. The social humiliation had been decimating to her when her father's crimes had been revealed. She had been ostracized, criticized, and left to bear the burden of her mother's suicide and creditors who had no mercy on an eighteen-year-old girl with no means of paying the astronomical debts her parents had accumulated.

And he was asking her to risk that private part of herself with another man. Because he craved it. Because the sexual intensity and excessive hungers that drove him demanded it.

She had learned how to handle gossip, how to handle desire. Could she now learn how to handle loving two men?

Like Keiley, Mac was a product of his parents' actions and reactions. Unlike Keiley, he hadn't faced a public crucifixion for them; rather, the results of those actions had left him darker, harder than most young men.

And like Keiley's father, Mac's father had begun his journey into hell. His strict fervor and railing against sex had driven Mac to acts that had only increased his father's wrath.

That had driven the man to drive his son to the edge of madness.

Joseph McCoy had been a nutcase. Mac swore his father had caused his mother to lose the will to live with his idiotic railing. Screaming at her whenever he imagined another man looked her

way. Denigrating her supposed dark lusts, and accusing her of sexual crimes that had so humiliated the timid little Debra McCoy that she had finally given up.

But Mac hadn't given up.

His father had first suspected him of having sex at the tender age of fourteen. And he was. With a much older girl who had begun teaching him the ways of pleasing a woman without stepping over the line into hard-core sex.

The beatings had begun then. Mac still carried the scars from that first beating. And the mental scars from the lectures that followed. Lectures that had only driven Mac to push more boundaries, to break more rules. By the time he had graduated from high school he had already learned the delicate act of giving a woman anal sex. His first year in college he had mastered it. Then came his first ménage.

Sweet heaven, it had been good. He had watched his lover's face as he shared her with an older, much more experienced man. A mentor who had seen the darkness in Mac when he first met him. Had seen it and understood the danger inherent in it if he didn't learn how to direct it.

Ian Sinclair hadn't been much older than Mac, but he had been much more experienced. A natural sensualist, a lover of all things female. He had taught Mac how to direct those hungers and how to still them. And Mac's love for sharing his women had been born.

It was forbidden fruit. It was the most sensual pleasure a man could give a woman. It was an affirmation that he would never, ever become anything resembling his father.

And now, more than a decade after sharing his first lover, Mac had accepted his shortcomings. It wasn't something most women could accept. He had married Keiley knowing she might not be able to accept it. And yet here he was, a cigarette in one hand, his cell phone in the other, contemplating pushing her that much closer to another man's arms.

He was going to risk the destruction of his marriage and his life because he had been too certain she couldn't handle the truth before he married her.

It was addictive, he admitted. Like a drug, watching a woman lose herself in a sensation that could come only one way was almost impossible to resist. He loved his wife, loved her with all his being, loved her enough that he wanted her every sexual limit satisfied.

Was it reason enough, he asked himself. Of course it wasn't. He knew that if he were to ask any man he knew in his hometown if he would share his wife, then the response could become violent. But he knew men whose eyes would gleam in pleasure and anticipation. And other men who understood the pleasure of sharing a lover and did so with regularity and with strict privacy.

He knew one of those men was only a phone call away.

He stubbed out his cigarette, nipped open the cell phone, and hit the speed dial.

"Do you know how late it is?" Jethro answered instantly.

"Three in the morning and you're still awake, dumbass," Mac laughed, careful to keep his voice low.

"Yeah, well, it's been one of those weeks." Jethro sounded disgusted.

"I thought you were on vacation. Started yesterday, didn't it?"

"Vacation," his friend snorted. "That's a good word for suspension, I guess."

"Hey, take the blow, take the vacation. At least it's paid this time." Jethro wasn't known for his self-control when it came to ripping a rapist off his victim, as he had done the month before.

"Yeah. It's paid," Jethro sighed. "So what has you calling at three in the morning?

Other than rubbing salt in the wound here."

Mac stared into the night, watching the shifting shadows in the forests around him before he spoke.

"Why not take a real vacation?" he finally asked. "Come to the farm for a while."

Silence filled the line.

"Why?" Jethro's voice was wary, but deeper. Interested.

"I need a third, Jethro. Keiley knows you. You're familiar. I want you to be her first."

Her permanent third.

Jethro blinked at the blank wall across from him, not more than a little surprised. It had been more than three years since Mac had married Keiley Hardin. They had kept in touch by phone, but Jethro had never suspected what he heard in Mac's voice now.

His friend was riding the edge of his sensuality. The restlessness and hunger were in his tone, and Jethro knew the hunger would be reflected in his eyes.

He knew because he was the same way. He could handle it for a while, doing without sharing a lover, but eventually it caught up on him.

It was catching up on Mac now.

"Anytime, you know that." Jethro hoped the anticipation spilling through him now wasn't spilling through the phone line.

Mac chuckled. "Still lusting after my wife, Jethro?" His voice was knowing.

"Hell, you know it," Jethro breathed out roughly. "She's one of the sexiest women either of us has ever seen, Mac. Any man would be panting for her."

But only a few would be panting with the emotion to back it up as Jethro did. Not that he could ever reveal that to Mac.

"What does Keiley think about it?"

The silence came again.

"She doesn't know," Mac finally answered. "She suspects."

"How do you intend to play this?"

"Your favorite sport, Jethro," Mac drawled. "We're going to seduce my wife."

"And she's seduceable?"

"She's seduceable," Mac admitted. "Whether or not she's willing to forgive being seduced is another thing. We'll take it a step at a time."

A step at a time. His cock was so hard he could feel the driving pain of arousal ricocheting up his spine. The thought of Keiley—sweet

God, soft, sweet Keiley—the woman that had tormented him for over three years, sandwiched between him and Mac, would make him crazy before he ever made it to Mac's hometown.

"Agreed." Jethro stared around his apartment, instantly planning his trip from Virginia to North Carolina. "I'll arrive tomorrow evening. Does she even know I'm coming?"

"She'll know tomorrow."

"But will she suspect why?"

"She's a smart woman," Mac pointed out, something Jethro was already well aware of.

"She'll suspect. I'll make my decision regarding how far it goes as I see her reaction."

Her reaction as the seduction progressed phase by phase, Jethro knew. It was an interesting conundrum, he admitted. Seducing a wife. Jethro had never done that, not within or outside a ménage.

The women he had shared with their husbands had known up front what was coming.

They had looked forward to it, anticipated it. They were aware of what was going to happen every step of the way during the ritualistic dance of the knowing seduction.

"Maybe this vacation won't be as useless as I anticipated," Jethro sighed. "If we have the time, we can run some scenarios on that old case of yours."