In MIB Custody [The Service Club 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

The Service Club 6

In MIB Custody

Erotic author Danica Wallace spends her days creating sexy, dominant heroes and her nights yearning for an explosive orgasm only one man can give her...or is it two men? Lately, another faceless, dominant male has invaded her fantasies. Together, they’ve left her longing for a man she pushed away and another she’s never met. When FBI agent Lowell Tucker returns with fellow agent and friend, Zane Kalkin, she’s given an opportunity to turn her dreams into reality. But is the promise of a dominant night worth the pain she’ll feel when they leave again?

Five years ago, Lowell walked away from Danica. Now he’s back to claim the only woman he’s ever loved and he’s brought backup. Sharing Danica with Zane wasn’t part of his plan, but Zane has fallen for her, too. Danica’s infinite pleasure is all that matters. All Lowell and Zane have to do is figure out how to keep her forever.

Genre:
BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

Length:
45,997 words
 

The Service Club 6

Tonya Ramagos

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

IN MIB CUSTODY

E-book ISBN:
978-1-62740-049-7

First E-book Publication: May 2013

Cover design by Harris Channing

All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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In MIB Custody
by Tonya Ramagos from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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IN MIB CUSTODY

The Service Club 6

TONYA RAMAGOS

Copyright © 2013

Pressure built in Danica Wallace’s womb, the erotic burn intensified in her ass, and she knew another thrust, another lick, another bite and she would explode. She also knew she was dreaming.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

She damn sure would, because it never lasted long enough. This wasn’t the first time she’d had this dream or one very similar. There was no indication it would be the last either. But this time, instead of focusing on the feelings, on the soul-consuming need to finally,
finally
reach the explosive orgasm the fantasy always built inside her, she centered her attention on the men.

Holding herself steady with her fists planted into the mattress on either side of Lowell Tucker’s head, she gazed down and studied him in the dim spill of light from the bedside lamp. Dark, shoulder-length hair fanned over the pillow beneath his head. Eyes the color of a Hershey’s dark-chocolate bar stared up at her from a tanned face etched with soft lines around a too-kissable mouth. His expression was intense, controlled, and passionate just like his touch, like every kiss he gave her, like his cock slowly pumping in and out of her pussy.

Danica let her eyes drift shut as the cocks inside her chose that moment to team together for a single, more vicious thrust before settling back into their teasing rhythm. A soft moan escaped her lips, the sound morphing to a whimper when she opened her eyes to look over her shoulder at the man behind her.

She knew his name, at least his last name. Kalkin. That was it. She was never allowed to know anything more, not a first name, not the slightest hint of what he looked like. The bedside lamp should’ve given off enough light to illuminate his face the way it did Lowell’s. Instead, in the fucked-up special effects of the dream world, it silhouetted Kalkin, allowing her to only see the outline of him without offering a single glimpse at specific details. She didn’t have a choice beyond focusing on the feelings with him. Yet, those feelings, the love she sensed in the palms of his hands grazing down her back as he pleasured her ass with his magnificent cock, were surely what kept him coming back night after night to torture her dream world.

“It’s time to come now, darlin’.”

Danica snapped her head back to Lowell, her heart tripping even as the need deepened in her womb. No, not yet. It wouldn’t happen. It never happened. No matter the variation of the dream, the endings were always the same. She would get so close her body would scrape the edge of the orgasm, and she would wake up.

“Come for us, Dannie.” Kalkin’s deep baritone voice sounded tight with restraint, and she knew what would come next. It wouldn’t be her, but the pleasured torment they were about to deliver would drive her body straight to that edge before the fantasy faded away.

Lowell pushed his hands between her body and his, steadied her dangling breasts in his palms, and caught her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He rolled both nipples, then squeezed at the same time the heat of Kalkin’s body left her the flesh of her ass, replacing the warmth with the sting of a flogger as it fanned over her cheeks. The simultaneous sharp bolts of sheer pain-laced ecstasy drew a scream from her throat as their cocks picked up the pace inside her ass and pussy, pounding into both channels. She saw the edge, recognized the bright sparks of color promising release, felt her body clawing toward it, and willed it closer even as the dazzling colors began to fade.

Danica pounded her fists on the mattress on either side of her hips and let out a growl that would have sent a fierce lioness racing for safety. She didn’t bother attempting to go back to sleep, to give chase to the dream. It would come again, likely in a night or two, and she’d be gifted with the same damn ending.

“Why won’t you ever let me come?” she asked through gritted teeth.

They gave her permission to, even told her to, then stole the opportunity from her by disappearing into the fog, leaving her longing, burning, and thoroughly pissed off.

Lying flat on her back, she turned her head right and noted the time on the bedside clock. 4:19 a.m. Great, she’d barely gotten four hours of sleep. She rolled her eyes and raked strands of her matted hair from her forehead as she sat up. A sliver of moonlight flittered through the blinds, landing on the poster of Jake Owen hanging on the back of her closed bedroom door.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” Not Jake, of course. She had nothing against the handsome country singer. Well, except for the handsome part. He looked far too damn much like Lowell Tucker.

“Which is why you’re hanging around smiling that sexy-as-sin smile in my bedroom,” she told Jake as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and got to her feet. “As if I really need a physical reminder of what Lowell looks like.”

Her mental reminder took care of that pretty damn well if the warm trickle of cream gliding down her inner thigh was any indication. Forget that it had been five gloriously, tormentingly lonely, long years since she’d laid eyes, or anything else, on Lowell Tucker. She didn’t want to see him again. She didn’t want to feel his large hands holding her down, rendering her unable to move and unable to fight as he fucked her.

Yes, you do.

If she didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn Jake’s lips moved.

“Fuck you.” She stomped to the bedroom door and reached for the knob. “You want to know why I keep you hanging right there? I do it to remind me how much I hate your bastard twin for what he did to me and my family.”

He did what he had to do.

“Bullshit.” Danica flipped Jake the bird with her free hand and yanked open the door. She padded down the hall to her office, embracing the anger that had caused all hints of her earlier arousal to dissipate now that she was fully awake.

She blamed Lowell Tucker for so much. It was easier that way, better to stay angry at him for everything that had happened and all that had been taken from her than to admit she had been wrong.

“And if that makes me less of a mature woman, then so be it,” she said stubbornly.

She flicked on the light in her office with a swipe of her finger, glanced at her computer on her desk, and decided if she intended to make the most of the early morning hour to write, she would need a fresh pot of coffee to help her along. She detoured to the kitchen, set a pot to brew, then relieved her bladder in the front bath. By the time she returned to the kitchen, she was thanking the Gods of coffeepots for making one fast enough that it had already brewed an ample amount to snag a full cup.

Returning to her office with a fresh mug of French-vanilla-flavored coffee in hand, she settled in her swivel chair at her desk. Her computer was ready to go with the push of a button, and she was staring at the tab of her latest manuscript. It was too tempting to take a few minutes to surf the web before she dove in, so she did just that.

She checked her e-mails first, deemed them all to be of no great importance, then toyed with logging onto Facebook.

“Stop fooling yourself, Danica. You know you’re not going to be able to concentrate until you check.”