Three Men and a Woman: Annabelle (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (8 page)

So he rolled to his side, lifting Annabelle’s leg up over his hip. He kept gently stroking into her as Kevin lubed up her ass.

To his everlasting relief, Kev seemed to get what was happening in the moment. He wasn’t rough or demanding. He waited for Rowen to give a little pause and then pushed his cock up Annie’s ass.

She shuddered, whimpering a little, and then it was she who turned up the heat. She was practically coming as soon as they both filled her. But they just stroked into her, one then the other. And even though she’d started keening as soon as she had two cocks in her, they kept it going for a good long time.

Finally, she went over the top, flexing, rocking between them. She didn’t scream from this quiet fuck, but moaned and crooned, using words of love for both of them, telling them both how they pleased her. She had one arm behind her, grasping Kevin, and the other tightly wrapped around him.

They both held her, too. Kevin had one breast and a hand on her abdomen positioned to diddle her with his fingers. Ro had her mouth, her other breast in one hand, and another hand on her ass, opening her up for Kev’s strokes.

When she started coming, they both joined her, pushing faster and deeper into her. Breathing hard, loving this fuck, they all three climaxed together.

Rowen figured she was asleep just a little before they were done with her. Same as he did, Kevin kept pushing gently into her, keeping himself a little hard, and prolonging the pleasure. Their gazes met over Annie’s head, two happy, sated males loving their woman.

Annabelle spent the next month in a blissful, sexual haze. Rowen and Kevin were busy with their shows. She had time to work every morning and was very productive, energized, it seemed, by the incredible fuck party she was in the midst of.

Both the guys would generally sleep in, coming home late after the last curtain. Most nights she was asleep on the couch by that time. A two-stud girl needed to recharge, after all. Whoever got there first would carry her into his bed, if he didn’t start fucking her right there on the couch. If they were still going at it—and seldom was it a quick fuck, with whichever one got home first—the second would usually join in when he got there. Occasionally, he’d just stand and watch, adding a bit of spicy voyeurism that was a surprising turn on for Annabelle.

If it happened that her first fuck of the night was done, if she was drifting off in post-coital lethargy, well, she usually woke up being carried to a different bed, where some part of her would be filled with cock number two.

Most often Rowen was the next one up in the morning. She’d put her paints away and join him for a late breakfast and coffee. He seemed to like their quiet chats, though every so often one thing would lead to another.

Kevin always woke with a hard-on. If he was the first one out of his room, she’d find herself ass-up over her painting stool, or on her knees in the kitchen. When he was the last one out of bed, he wasn’t above interrupting whatever conversation she and Ro were having. He’d stand there like, here’s my cock, do something with it, already. Sometimes he’d give her tit a cursory squeeze and then just fill her mouth. Other times he’d tease her, fingering her, playing with her breasts until she just gave up, lay back on the table, and spread her legs. Whatever it was in the end, and often that was exactly where it was, he made sure she enjoyed it, and Ro, too.

She loved best when one or both of them didn’t have a show and were home with her in the evening. Kevin picked up Rowen’s habit of those constant touches, strokes, and kisses that kept her fire stoked all through dinner.

If there was couch time, they’d both play with her. She might lie between them, sucking one cock while the other lazily fucked her pussy. Those nights invariably ended with a wild double-fuck. They’d have her panting, begging for it, long before they gave it to her.

When Kevin was home alone with her, the play on the couch was more serious. Rowen had significant dom tendencies, but with Kevin, it was no holds barred.

Tonight, the two of them had eaten across the table from each other. Her breasts were out, the way he liked—the way he demanded—the scoop neck of her tee bunching them up and making a nice display of them. The short skirt that he’d picked out for her had been no defense against his roving fingers. She might as well have not bothered.

When she’d finished in the kitchen, he was on the couch, scrolling through YouPorn connected to their big-screen TV. The man did love to watch women getting fucked. When she walked in, his attention went to her for only a second. “Get me a beer, will you?”

She came back with an opened longneck. He had himself out, stroking his cock into an erection by that time.

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You know how I like my beer.”

She did. Pussy flavored. She was already hot when she lifted her high-heeled foot and put it on the couch next to him.

“Lose the skirt,” he instructed.

She had to step back down to shimmy out of it, and his impatience showed. As soon as she had it off and her foot up, he worked the beer bottle up her cunt. He watched her as he fucked her with it a few times, then took it out and slugged down half of it with a little hum of appreciation.

She made the mistake of taking her foot back. He looked her over, clearly annoyed with her. “Straddle my knees,” he said. “Stay standing.”

His knees were wide apart at the edge of the couch. She could barely manage it, having to crouch down a little to spread her legs that much. It left her pussy open to him.

He used the bottle some more, rubbing the cold body of it against her clit and then fucking her with the neck. He wedged it in her cunt, tilting it back and drawing it forward at the same time. He brought her closer to him like that, so he only had to lift up a little to have his mouth on her clit.

He sucked her in.

Annabelle wavered, nearly collapsing onto him.

He pushed the bottle into her, just a hot touch too hard. “I said, stay standing. Squeeze your tits for me.”

She could barely keep to her feet, but she pinched her nipples, not holding back because she knew he watched. Meanwhile he worked her, the bottle fucking her, his mouth grinding against her clit. Beer splashed into her, adding a bit of cold sting.

“Kevin,” she said, desperate.

“Shut up and take it,” he said.

It was almost more than she could do, holding herself upright over him while he brought her to a wicked orgasm. But like always, it ended with her rocking her pelvis to take more, begging him to fuck her harder.

He had that evil glimmer on his face when she finished, still held up by the bottle in her cunt. He pushed at her with it until she took her own weight. Then he took the bottle out and drained it. “Good, puss. Now turn around. Same position. And get the lube from the table drawer.”

There wasn’t a room in the place that didn’t have a stock of lube now. It was her job to keep the supply up—if they ran out, wherever there was an ass-fuck going on, well, her men didn’t necessarily hold back because of a little lack of lube. In the heat of things, she could enjoy the hot ream of it, too. But all in all, she’d learned to prepare.

She handed it over, pretty sure her ass was going to get a beer fucking.

“Bend over,” came the next instruction. “Put your hands on your knees.”

She did, and she knew her ass was right there, at his mercy.

He squirted lube into her then used his fingers to spread it around, readying her. He was teasing her, making her pant, when he spoke. “Are you ready, puss? Do you want it?”

“Yes, Kev,” she responded. “Please.”

“It’s gonna be the fat end, puss, not the neck.”

“Oh, God,” she breathed. “No, Kev.” But there was a little shiver in that breath, a little wicked anticipation.

“You can take it, puss.” She wasn’t sure, but he urged her on. “Bear down on it. Just like it’s my cock. Take it, puss.”

It turned out she could. He worked it into her, stretching her like never before. She was so full she nearly squealed. He didn’t pump it into her, but just kind of wiggled it around in her, stimulating her taut nerves. The sounds she made as he went at her were anxious little screeches.

Her breath was huffing out, moans and those screeches, when he reached under and clamped down on her clit.

“That’s it, you cunt,” he said. “Fucking take it. And come. Come now.”

She couldn’t help doing what he said. He screwed her ass, tugged at her clit, and drove her over. She spasmed in pleasure that was almost painful, her body wracking and then collapsing, still while the orgasm coursed through her.

Without knowing how she got there, she was down on her knees, facing away from him. The bottle was gone from her ass, but she still felt the effects of that incredible stretch.

“You know I haven’t gotten off yet, right, puss?”

“Yes,” she said, though she was barely aware of what she was saying. “Yes, I know.”

“You’re not done, then, are you?”

“No,” she huffed out. “No, I’m not done.”

Then he was behind her, pressing his cock into her pussy while the same thing was happening to some hapless woman on the TV. She had enough energy left to note smugly that porn woman wasn’t getting nearly such nice cock, or so studly a man.

Kevin held her hips up as he pumped into her, otherwise she’d be flat on the floor. She let him have at it, too exhausted to respond.

But he knew she was holding out. And he never did like that, never accepted it.

“I don’t just mean you’re not done getting fucked, cunt. I mean you’re not done coming.”

“No, Kev. I can’t.”

“You can,” he insisted. He slapped her ass, again and again. “You will.”

The ass-slapping woke her up. Then his fingers clenching down on her breast, grasping her nipple, drew out that response he wanted.

Still, she resisted. “Enough, enough,” she chanted as he pounded into her.

He paid no attention. “Take care of your clit for me, puss.”

And she did, rubbing herself, moaning as he fucked her, slapping her ass still and pinching her nipple. He held off until she was wailing out her orgasm. Then he gave over, too, roaring his climax through his throat, driving her to the floor as he thrust into her the final times, filling her with the hot spurts of his cum.

* * * *

Kevin’s show closed after six weeks. He’d let her know about it late at night. He’d come home and quietly taken her from Rowen’s bed to his own. The way he’d fucked her so slowly, so gently, so not like him, and the way Rowen had watched him take her and hadn’t come to join them, she’d known there was bad news.

So after they’d both come, while they still clutched around each other, still shared the same breath, tears had already started. He thumbed them away, telling her how much he loved her, how he belonged to her, and she to him, body, heart, and soul.

She fell asleep much later that night, still clinging to him.

For once she was the last one up, waking alone in Kevin’s bed. She took her time in the shower, trying to find the strength she needed for what was to come.

As she rinsed shampoo from her hair, she thought again about her mother. About those painful leave-takings, when her mom achingly kissed Bill good-bye, supported by the only man who stayed. About how her mother was never quite all the way happy when Bill was gone.

Annabelle realized it wasn’t for her.

Rowen had invited Kev to stay with them while his show was in town. From the beginning, she had assumed that his presence was temporary. That she belonged to Rowen and would still belong to him after Kev left.

But it didn’t feel to her like she belonged to just one of them. She loved them both, needed them both.

She didn’t want to let Kevin go, leaving her to spend her life loving Rowen but feeling half-empty, always longing for her other love. And honestly, she didn’t think Ro would be satisfied that way either. He loved Kevin like a brother, and she knew that having Kev live with them, making a threesome out of their love, made Ro happy, too.

By the time she was dressed, decently, with panties on and her breasts tucked inside her knit top, she’d come to a decision. Determined, she marched out to the kitchen. And then stopped, suddenly uncertain.

They’d made her breakfast. Well, that, in and of itself, wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary. True, she did most of the cooking. With their dom tendencies they enjoyed watching her serve them, do for them. And secretly, she enjoyed it, too, that little sense of taking care of her men, satisfying them in that way.

But they both did cook, taking over when she was busy with a deadline or if they wanted one of their red meat, He-Man meals. Usually a grill was involved in that case.

But more so than her meal sitting there prettily, with flowers, even, what seemed wrong was the way they both looked up when she walked in. Sitting on either side of the table, they both looked happy, content. While her heart was breaking.

It took her a second to get her steam back up. Then she did, and stormed over to stand before Rowen. She pushed at his shoulder. With a look of surprise, he stood to face her.

“I won’t have it,” she said. “You can’t bring Kevin in here and make me fall in love with him and then expect me to just let him go. I love you both. You know I do. And you know I can’t be happy if he leaves.

“So I need you to find him a job, a permanent one, here. I’m moving into the spare room until you do.”

* * * *

Rowen knew the grin he couldn’t wipe off his face was pissing her off. And that just made him grin all the more. She was so damn cute in her high dudgeon, getting ready to turn around and stomp off. An effect he knew would be ruined by her spiky little heels. Hard to stomp in those girlie, fuck-me shoes.

He saw Kevin was enjoying the show, too.

But Rowen knew Annabelle was truly suffering, so he brought it to an end. He grabbed her arms and tugged her up against him.

“Babe,” he said. “Did you think I’d brought Kev in as a temporary fuck toy for you? Did you think I’d let anybody fuck you, share you, for just a short-term thrill?”