It's Always Complicated (Her Billionaires Book 4) (37 page)

She had to give herself permission.

“Too many clothes,” she murmured, breaking the kiss, shimmying out of her pants, naked before them. Mike tilted to the right, then bounced up, his smile sheepish and sensual, eyes begging her.

Please undress me.

Now.

“Need some help?” she asked, her laugh full-throated, her mind’s buzz dialing down as she reached for the snap of his jeans, the sensation of his metal zipper tab between her thumb and forefinger so deliciously slow and real that she felt her pulse in her clit. Second by second, time rolled through her like a temporal orgasm, her own breath a delight, the rise and fall of her ribcage as she inhaled and exhaled a foreplay that she found sensual beyond measure.

“I could use it,” Mike said with a sigh that morphed into a groan as she reached under the waistband of his boxer briefs and two-palmed, slid his pants off, her palms tickled by his thigh hair, her body flushed hot by sensation.

Mike needed help with the rest, but within half a minute all three were on top of the enormous bed, windows open, the warm summer air circulating as the ceiling fan above them made lazy circles. It moved slowly, a reminder that they were in no rush, either.

Her first orgasm seized her so quickly she had no time to cry out, her body clenched tight, throat unable to react. It must have been hovering beneath the surface, ready at will,
and being in bed with so much warm, naked, eager flesh gave her body permission to release.
 

Maybe it knew this needed to come
—
literally
—
i
n smaller waves at first, her body pulsing gently and with great heat, because what hovered in the room, anticipatory and patient, was going to be so great that she needed practice orgasms. The body cannot move from chatter to full
immersion, Laura had learned. It needed to be promised, with kisses and slickness, with sighs and whispered dirty, dirty words, the vocabulary of heated sex an adjuvant that took
the same basic set-up of biology and kinesiology and turned it into a divinely emotional, integrated sex of fucking astounding, mind-blowing climaxes.
 

In triplicate.

“You’re so open and beautiful when you come,” Dylan said in her ear, his hot breath torturing her, making her hips arch up and her nipples rock hard. He lowered his voice but the need was there, emanating from him, radiating in the tiny space between where his lips began and her ear picked up the sound. He didn’t need to compliment her, and she blushed but said nothing, barely able—even after four years—to believe the words. She did, because he meant them, full-hearted and with great passion.

N
o touch could replace that.

“You make me come in ways that
allow me to b
e open
and beautiful
,” she said to him, then caught Mike’s eye. Both of them. They knew her words were always inclusive, but she took that extra step, knowing it was relationship, glue, a kind of binding that connected them all to each other. Words matter.

Words always matter.

But actions truly do speak louder than words.

And right now, the only vocabulary Laura wanted to draw from was one that used fingers, palms, lips, and tongues to craft a love language that would transport them
to another plane of existence, where blood carried words to sensual cells that cried out for attention, and where blood would recede, chests would rise and fall, and the need to touch and be touched in the marrow of each others bones would be sated.
 

For a short time.

She reached to find Dylan’s thick shaft, predicting the long, dry hiss as he inhaled through his pleasure. Thoughts of tasks and errands undone flooded her mind, a ceaseless cacophony of distraction that she willed away
yet again
. Sex was never simple these days. She couldn’t turn off the rest of the world easily, her mind consumed by all things child, all things household, by being the executive brain
of the household
who felt like it never had permission to turn off.

How could
h
e be turned
on
when she couldn’t turn that
off
?

Wrapping her lips around the head of Dylan’s cock was a start.

The soft, yielding skin tasted like silk and rainwater, his imprinted scent filling her, making her focus on him. Perhaps that was the answer: release the mindchatter by devoting herself entirely to his pleasure. She ran one hand under his shaft and cupped his balls, so heavy and light at the same time. On her knees, ass in the air, she reached up to her neck and brushed her long hair away from him, feeling it brush against the middle of her back like a lover’s hand.

“
God, that feels amazing,” Dylan said. She felt his eyes on her, then felt a hand on her ass, caressing. Not knowing whose hand it was thrilled her, spiking her need even more. Over the years she’d lost the sense of who touched what during sex, their bodies molding into a blur. The differentiation between her and Dylan and Mike seemed artificial.
 

They were just an erotic group of pleasure. The goal was simple: there was no goal.

Just love and fire and craving and pulse.

Smiling, Laura took him in deep, going slow, flattening her tongue and returning one hand to the underside of his sac, one finger sliding down the center of the root of him, pressing up, exerting pressure in a long li
n
e leading back to her. His groan made him twitch in her mouth just as another hand found her wet and eager, swollen and ready again.

Suddenly, she had to know. Releasing Dylan, she kept her mouth on him, but with a free hand she traced the source of the touch, the fingers that found the hooded clitoris and teased around it, making her flush.

Mike.

Mike’s one good hand.

And oh, what a good hand it was, indeed.

She quickened her attentions to Dylan, surprising him with tiny flicks of the tongue designed to make his need surge within, to trigger the massive masculine rush she loved. It wasn’t a state that was observed or heard, but rather felt.
Her men became suns, radiating heat and musk, energy and fusion and fission and pure, untamed light as their arousal grew.
 

Unlike frantic, stolen moments in bed, where five-minute quickies and making sure they all came right away was the order of business, to prevent an awakened child from interrupting, this was timeless. Spaceless. Laura, Mike and Dylan were in no rush, and she let herself sink further into the mind and body space that said,
Breathe
.

Be
.

Enjoy.

Cool air tightened her nipples, followed by hot warmth that made her gasp. Mike’s blonde hair covered her chest now,
his mouth on her,
Dylan moving to the other side of
the bed, ensconcing one side of her with skin stretched over hard marble, all fire and bone
. This was the moment she’d loved so much when they were first together, the delicious feeling that they served her with their bodies, and that she was a buffet to be sampled, then devoured, until all three were full.

And the guys, empty.

The slide of Dylan’s muscled body against her left, and Mike’s awkward, lean body to her right, his casted arm comical as he held it, befuddled but with an erection that could almost touch the ceiling, made her sigh, letting go of everything but the Laura she wanted to be right now. Mike’s cock jumped in her hand as she wrapped her fingers around it, Mike’s mouth sucking hard on on nipple, her clit crying out for a mouth now.

And Dylan heard that
silent
cry for help.

“
Oh, she moaned as he moved like a predator, her body his prey.
The moment his hands parted her legs, gentle but insistent, and as air rushed to fill the vacuum caused by the spreading of her thighs, was always a hitched moment in time, a precipice between being Laura, and being pitched forward into a sensual world of motion and wetness, of nerves and need, of timeless pleasure where she went to a place in the body that could only be accessed by his tongue, searching and purposeful, seeking her ecstasy.

She watched. This was new. tilting her chin to chest, her eyes eagerly took in the sight of his head between her legs, a bashful blush filling her cheeks as she
i
ndulged in the visual. Her body ratcheted up, her blood racing, heart slamming against the very chest that was covered by Mike’s head, the two working her body like an instrument, part strings, part brass.

All symphony.

Her fingers curled against the bed sheets, p
u
lling them inch by inch into her fisted hands, her hips arching up as Dylan slid one finger, then two, inside her, the fullness never enough, yet teasingly helpful.
The combination of his mouth on her clit, gently sucking and laving, his fingers within, and Mike’s mouth on her breast was too much, too full, too everything, and she came with a scream, the erotic violence so sudden her throat spasmed as she held her breath until she felt blood vessels pinprick around her eyes, saw the world change and shift into sepia tones, made herself exhale and then breathe in, because if she didn’t she would faint—and fainting would mean she would lose touch with this feeling.
 

And that just could not happen.

Riding Dylan’s face,
oxygen filling her, the great pull of air into her lungs pressing her breasts into Mike’s eager mouth, Laura felt that fusion that came with extraordinary orgasms. Blood and skin and arteries and nerves all merged into oneness, no more divisions between her body and theirs, the rough sensuality of taking as much gratification as possible from each other a kind of contract, signed in liquid lust.
 

S
he threaded her fingers in Dylan’s hair, pulling him up, her other hand on Mike’s shaft, skimming the surface
w
ith a feather touch that she knew was more powerful than a firm grip. As if he read her mind, Dylan moved up her body, planting a wet, warm kiss on her mouth, then reaching for the nightstand for the lube.

Both. They both needed to be in her.

Now.

This would be tricky, with Mike’s broken arm, but ten seconds later, she was astride him, her hands on his pecs, bracing herself, skin abuzz and body tremoring with a craving
as she nearly wept with joy from the fullness of him inside her, from the intense eyes and slight smile that tickled his lips as he studied her, looking up
. She coveted their bodies, ached to have them inside her, wanting the three aligned and joined
inside her.
 

Shivering as Dylan prepared her ass, the wet rush of viscous fluid dripping from tailbone down, she felt him at the rim, slow and purposeful, respectful yet eager. His chest pressed against her back, one arm bracing him on the right, the other holding himself for aim as slowly,
tenderly, he made his way inside her, all throb and pulse, all steady presence and wall of hard heat behind her.
 

Full. Full and overflowing, she relaxed, letting her
men find their way to the piece of her buried deep inside, touched only in moments like this.
 

This is it
, she thought. My forever home. I’m done searching. I’m here.

As Laura lifted herself up with her palms pressed into Mike’s chest, Dylan caught her rhythm, the sensual slide of his shaft against her tightness so excruciatingly sensitive she felt her clit blossom like mountain laurel, bursting with beauty. Her hair dragged against Mike’s shoulders as she tipped her head down, lost in the sensation, the brush of Dylan’s abs against her ass and the tickle of his coiled curls so real and human that she wished she could slow time and make it serve her. Make time submit.

Soon time lost all meaning as she felt the massive, full-body wave approach with a roar and a promise.

Tears of joy, unexpected and delightfully part of the roaring climax that consumed all three of them, rolled down her cheeks as she slipped into another world, one filled with light and pulse and groans and screams of pleasure, the roar of nirvana and raw, primal release one that had no boundaries, no rules, no expectations, and no judgment. The three of them strained for friction and flow to squeeze every drop of pounding pleasure from their simultaneous orgasm, Laura’s mind filled with one word that surfed through her body on blood pumped by nothing but lust driven by pure love.

Home
, she thought.
Home home home home home home home
.

Two Months Later

Verily, Maine

Lydia

“You’re right,” Lydia admitted, looking up at the night sky, the crisp fall air cutting their kayak trip short. “You really can see more stars from here.”

“Told you,” Mike said in a mockingly arched tone.

“I am freezing. Can we get through the appreciating-nature crap so we can move on to the drinking-beer-in-a-warm-cabin part of the night?” Jeremy whined.

“Your attitude makes everything so much better,” Mike snapped.

“Hey, I’m not the one with a head injury. You’d have to have something wrong with your brain to go night-kayaking in late October in Maine,” Jeremy shot back.

“No one said you had to come along.”

“We’re a threesome!” Jeremy argued. “You have to invite me. That’s kind of the point of being a triad. We do things in threes.”

“Like bad luck. It comes in threes,” Mike called out. He and Lydia were in a double kayak, Jeremy on his own.

A gust of wind made them list just enough to tip a quart of water down Lydia’s legs.

“Let’s go back!” she squealed.

“Finally! The voice of reason!” Jeremy was a good ten yards ahead of them before Mike and Lydia had even turned their kayak around.

“It’s not a race!” Lydia shouted.

“That’s what losers always say!” Jeremy shouted over his shoulder.

“Oh, he’s a dead man,” Mike said through gritted teeth.

Lydia just sighed.

These men.