BlowingitOff (7 page)

Phoebe sucked at his length, her moans
sending wicked vibrations through his groin. She cupped and fondled and
squeezed his balls with one hand, each firm caress echoing his and Will’s
harmonious penetrations into her willing body.

And she
was
willing. With every
thrust into her mouth, she moaned, with every stroke into her sex, she
whimpered. The air hung heavy with the perfume of her pleasure. Every breath
Damon took—and he took a few deep, shaking breaths that did little to assuage
the building pressure in his balls—filled him with the scent of Phoebe’s
arousal. It was potent. Musky and heady. Intoxicating.

Addictive.

“Ah fuck, you’re so…so…” Will’s groan
spiked into Damon’s wavering control. He watched as a bead of sweat trickled
down his friend’s temple, over his bunched jaw. “Babe, I can’t…I can’t hold on
much longer.”

Whether it was the raw confession that
pushed Phoebe over the edge or the increasing wildness of Will’s thrusts into
her pussy, Damon couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. The moment Phoebe came, her mouth
and tongue turned equally wild on his cock. She sucked him hard, in the same
greedy pulses he knew consumed her sex. Her fingers tugged at his balls, her
teeth scraped his length and then, he too fell over the edge, roaring and
swearing the entire way, his balls rising up, full of his pleasure, his seed
spurting from his dick in never-ending streams.

And amongst it all, in perfect sync with
their dual orgasms, Will too cried out his release, his voice hoarse, nothing
but wordless sounds that said so much more.
So
much more.

And as the last of Damon’s come pumped into
Phoebe’s throat, he heard Will slap her arse one more time, and heard his
friend utter a groan that sounded a lot like “love you love you love you.”

Will slumped forward, resting his chest on
Phoebe’s perfectly bowed back for a short second. His heart raced, a
sledgehammer of insane pressure. He closed his eyes, revelling in the velvet
kiss of Phoebe’s soft skin on his. He’d missed it too much. Not just the feel
of her skin on his after sex, although fuck knows how he ever could live
without
that
amazing sensation again. But also
the absolute rightness of Phoebe’s skin against his as all three of them sat
together watching a movie, Phoebe sandwiched between him and Damon on Damon’s
leather sofa. Or as she sat tandem on his bike as they cruised the coastline on
a lazy Sunday afternoon. Or as all three mucked about in the surf at the local
beach, her wet body clad only in a brief bikini, his and Damon’s covered only
by loose board shorts that didn’t stay loose for long around the crotch…

He missed it, damn it. He missed her. He
missed
them
. And he wasn’t going to let her get
away from them again.

“I think I just had my dick sucked off,”
Damon croaked. “Holy shit, that felt good.”

Will chuckled, lifting himself from
Phoebe’s back to grin at his friend. “More for me then, old man, seeing as
you’re dickless and all.”

Damon smirked. “Fuck you, mate. I’m young,
hung and ready for fun.”

Will felt Phoebe shift, her sex—still
throbbing from her orgasm—giving his spent cock a little squeeze. “Do I get a
say in this?”

Damon laughed, his eyes glinting, his teeth
flashing. “No.”

Will’s gazed at Phoebe, wondering how she’d
respond to such an answer.

Doesn’t matter. Stretch is right. She
doesn’t.

The arrogance of the thought sent a shard
of something disquieting into Will’s chest, but he couldn’t ignore the truth.
He and Damon had set out to do two things when they’d driven to Morpeth from
Newcastle—find the reason for Phoebe’s studio fire, and get Phoebe back in
their lives.

Will’s gaze travelled over Phoebe’s back as
he stroked her skin, a distant part of his mind reminding him he was still
embedded in her tight heat. His head spun. What if she told them both to bugger
off now? How would he deal with that while still enveloped by her sweet pussy?

How would he control himself?

“Not even,” Phoebe said slowly, twisting a
little to shoot Damon a sideward glance, “if I say, fuck me again please?
Pretty
please?”

Damon laughed. “Oh baby, in that case,
‘pretty please’ away.”

Will whooshed out a breath, closing his
eyes as he let his head fall backward.
Oh thank you, God. Thank you.

“But first I think some answers about my
studio are in order, yes?” Phoebe went on, and once again Will felt her shift
around his dick, this time enough for his semi-hard shaft to slip from her damp
pussy.

He straightened, opening his eyes to study
Damon. His body thrummed with an elemental ache he recognized as need. Already
the base, primitive caveman side of his brain was thinking of their next
coupling—Damon buried in her cunt, Will fucking her arse, Damon sucking her
tits as Will held them, Phoebe’s whimpers and pleas for more turning the air
to—

“Perhaps something to eat first,” Damon
said, jerking Will back from the wholly erotic scenario. “And for once, I
actually mean food.”

Phoebe laughed, climbing off the bed with
graceful ease. “Fair enough.”

Will watched her go, his cock stirring. She
was beautiful and elegant and sensual, a creature of evocative creativity and
sexuality completely at ease with her body. He remembered the day she’d told
them about posing naked for a life-drawing class while at art school. At the
time, a year or so before their weekend fling, they’d all been just friends,
but even then he’d experienced an unsettling knot of jealousy that someone else
had been granted the sight of her undressed form. He should have suspected
then
his feelings for her were more than platonic.

She crossed to a whitewashed closet
standing at a right angle to her bed, her glorious backside—still branded with
the faint pink outline of his palm—bunching and flexing with each step. “How
’bout I treat you both to an early dinner at the café down the road,” she
tossed at them over her shoulder as she opened the closet and withdrew a black
bra from the top drawer. “And you can tell me what you found out about my
fire.”

Will swallowed, turning his attention back
to his partner. Neither of them were prepared yet to tell Phoebe the situation
with her burnt-out studio, on a professional or personal level. How did one
tell a friend, a lover, that someone had deliberately set fire to her belongings?
Both he and Damon had informed more than one property owner they’d been the
victim of arson. Both had seen the devastating impact of that information.
Grief. Disbelief. Fear. He wanted to protect Phoebe from that as long as he
could, and judging by the sudden tension in Damon’s body, so did his friend,
but still…it was her studio. She had a right to know. Just not…yet.

Are you being selfish, Will? Because you
know the second you tell her any thoughts of fucking go right out the window?

He bit back a sigh. Was he?

Damon gave him a guarded look. “Or we could
buy
you
dinner,” Damon countered, “and tell you all about what we
plan to do to you when we get you back here after we eat. And
those
details have nothing to do with food.”

Phoebe laughed, the sound muffled as she
pulled a teal-green T-shirt over her head. “Anyone would think you have a
one-track mind, Damon Hunt.”

Will let out another tight breath. He
didn’t think they’d dodged the fire bullet yet, but it would do for the moment.

Damon chuckled, sidling up to Phoebe in a
few steps to capture her breasts with his hands before she could fully cover
her torso with her shirt. “I do, babe. All I think about is you.”

It was meant to make her laugh. But the
truth behind Damon’s words was louder than a scream. And Phoebe tensed.

She turned in Damon’s embrace, placing her
hand on his chest and giving him a slight push, enough to separate their upper
bodies. “This is just a fuck-fest, Damon. This isn’t a happy-ever-after.
Remember that.”

“Why can’t it be, Pheebs?”

The question left Will before he’d even
realized it had formed in his mind. She tensed further, her blue eyes steady as
she looked at him. “In what universe do you know of a happy-ever-after
involving three people, William?”

“In ours,” Damon answered, his jaw
clenched. “I don’t give a fuck about what the rest of the world thinks. Neither
does Will.”

Phoebe’s jaw bunched. “Well I do.”

“Bullshit,” Damon ground out. Will’s gut
rolled at the simmering anger in his friend’s response. “You’re an artist,
Masters. You don’t care what the real world is about. You exist for the senses,
and your senses tell you all you want to do is fuck us both until our dicks
drop off.”

Phoebe’s eyes glinted with dark contempt.
“Oh, such the wordsmith, Damon Hunt.”

He flashed her a hard grin. “I’m a man of
truth.”

“And the truth is the last time we even
hinted
at having this discussion you were the one who balked at a
happy-ménage-ever-after.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had some time to think
about it. Six months in fact.”

“So have I,” she shot back. “And I’ve
realized you were right. Now let me go.”

Phoebe pushed harder at Damon’s chest and
Will’s stomach rolled again, but this time it had nothing to do with Damon’s
emotional state and everything to do with Phoebe’s. They were losing her again.

Damon shook his head. “No.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “What do you mean,
no?”

“I mean
no
. I won’t let you go.”

She glared at him, then at Will. “What are
you going to do? Fuck me into saying yes?”

Damon’s lips curled into a slow smile.
“Sounds good to me. Will?”

Will stared at them both. At the
half-dressed woman he loved with all his heart, at the man he’d walk into a
fire to save. What should he say here? What the fuck should he say?

He drew in a steady breath. “Sounds like
the perfect plan, Stretch.”

Chapter Six

Phoebe stared at them, dumbstruck. Her
heart choked her, thumping like an insane rabbit in her throat. Her pussy
contracted, the sheer hunger in Will’s eyes almost making her come there and
then. Oh God, what should she do?

Run
.

The thoroughly gutless thought made her
snort out a hollow laugh. Run. Yeah, right. They’d bring her down like a
fleeing antelope. Bam, two crash-tackles and she’d be on the floor, pinned
helpless beneath them.

Her pussy constricted again.

Oh God, yes. Run. Run. Knee Damon in the
nuts and run. Now.

She bit her bottom lip. No matter how she looked at it,
Damon and Will were going to make love to her again—and she wanted them to.
Despite the furious contempt for her lack of self-control,
she
wanted them to throw her to the bed and make love to her again. Not just make
love to her—mark her as theirs totally and completely. Fuck her so totally
their scent would linger forever on her skin.

She wanted them in her cunt, her arse, her
mouth. She wanted their come on her face, her breasts. She wanted it in her
anus. She wanted it leaking from her pussy.

She wanted them. Dominating her. Possessing
her.

She wanted them. Making her whole. Making
her moan.

Making her laugh. Making her mad.

Making her feel complete.

Alive.

She wanted it all. As she had six months
ago. And it seemed they wanted that as well.

So what are you waiting for? Why are you
scared? Why are you resisting?

Because Damon was right—she was an artist.
She could exist in a loopy version of what society demanded was acceptable, but
Will and Damon were arson investigators. Serious jobs held by serious grown-ups
who didn’t buck society’s rules. They sort out the wrong, not live it.

And being utterly, blissfully happy is
wrong?

It was if it lost them their jobs. Could
she live with that? Could they?

She knew about the close-knit firefighting
community. Sami’s dad had spoken of it often. She’d bet her last dollar if it
became known Damon and Will—two of the
State’s
best investigators, let alone Newcastle’s—were living in an unorthodox
relationship with one woman, their rapid ascent through the NSW firefighting
organization would screech to a halt. She didn’t want to be responsible for
that.

Which brought her back to here. Desperately
turned-on. Wanting both their bodies, wanting both of them. Wanting the
impossible fantasy.

One last fuck-fest, Masters. Just one.
And then it’s over.

Her throat grew tight as she stared at them
both. No. She was fooling herself. If she let them touch her again, she was a
goner, lost to that impossible, unobtainable fantasy and the devastation of its
reality.

She shook her head, squirming her way out
of Damon’s firm embrace. Taking a step back, she shook her head again. More
emphatically this time. “No. We’re not doing this. I was wrong. Just tell me about
the fire and then leave. Please.”