Authors: Berengaria Brown
Possessive Passions 2
Shiloah, a New Thimphu native, is envious of her friend Chevaunne's newfound happiness with her men and wants that kind of love for herself. She has enjoyed working with the luscious Stan and Goa on The Grandparents' Garden. But now the project is finished, so how will she see them again?
Stan and Goa abduct Shiloah from the garden's grand opening ceremony and make love to her all night long. The next day, she marries them both in a traditional ceremony. But when Shiloah and her men are offered the chance to run a farm aboveground, she has to consider her mother, Orna, who helps Shiloah run her business and is terrified of life outside the security of their community.
Shiloah is torn between loyalties. Can she find a way to keep everything that is dear to her—her mother, her business, and explosive sex with two men she loves?
Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Possessive Passions 2
Siren Publishing, Inc.
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
Copyright © 2011 by Berengaria Brown
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-594-0
First E-book Publication: July 2011
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
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To all the Ornas who have had their loved ones taken from them. May you find peace and happiness again.
Possessive Passions 2
Copyright © 2011
Shiloah tried to concentrate on the speeches, but her gaze kept wandering to the totally delicious brothers standing on the opposite side of The Grandparents’ Garden from her. She had a really good view of them because she was standing behind her mother’s chair in the second row, not half-hidden in the crowd as she’d expected.
Stan and Goa looked so good. Both tall and tanned, their arms corded with muscle from years of working outdoors on their family farm. Yet she knew they could be incredibly gentle as they tenderly planted new seedlings, their big fingers carefully placing the roots in fresh, nutrient-rich soil. She’d like to feel those fingers on her skin. On her breasts, cupping the mounds, or teasing the nipples. On her pussy, sliding inside to—she dragged her mind back to the ceremony.
Today was the official opening of The Grandparents’ Garden, the residential facility for the frail elderly, attached to the hospital. Here families could have their honored seniors cared for properly, yet still spend hours each day with them, doing all the things the seniors loved to do, but in a safe environment where the families didn’t have to worry about their grandparents wandering away, or forgetting to eat, or leaving the gas turned on in the kitchen.
Shiloah and her mother, Orna, had provided rose bushes for the enclosed courtyard garden. They’d chosen the ones with the prettiest flowers and strongest scents, for the enjoyment of the elderly, whose senses may no longer be as acute as they used be, but who still appreciated beauty in their lives.
Stan and Goa, recently arrived at New Thimphu after having to leave their homes because their local community derided the men’s cultural traditions, had used their farming skills to plant vegetables, trees, and shrubs in the garden. It was designed to make a restful and serene landscape, but with color and pattern to please the eye, and nose, and spirit.
All the families of the seniors were here today, too—little children in their nicest clothes and on their best behavior, teenage boys slouching against the walls, young women giggling in groups, adults standing behind the chairs of their grandparents, happy and relaxed, enjoying the holiday.
Shiloah’s friend Anh, with her two fathers, was in the front row beside Honored Grandmother, the oldest person in their community. Shiloah noticed Anh’s gaze move to Dr. Russell, the head of the hospital, standing with his two brothers and two sisters behind Father Yeshe, the monk.
How would it be, married to three men?
wondered Shiloah, looking first at Dr. Russell then at her friend Chevaunne, who was married to Jim, Sam, and Paul.
Chevaunne is certainly very happy, and Anh is clearly interested in Dr. Russell, Tim, and Barry.
I guess the sex would be pretty hot.
No, I’d rather be with Stan and Goa. They are such gentle, caring men. I don’t think I’d want to be married to anyone who didn’t understand plants and gardens. How important it is to give them just the right amount of water, food, and light. Balancing their needs, understanding them. It’s so rewarding when they bloom so magnificently.
Shiloah let her gaze wander around the garden. It was so cleverly designed with banks of tall trees, wandering pathways, layers of flowers in front with taller shrubs behind them. The perfect place to sit in peace and bathe one’s soul in beauty. Or to stroll the winding pathways, with fresh visual delights around each corner. Even the paths themselves were things of beauty with mosaic-tiled pictures inset in them, different types of stone used in each section, yet all so smooth to walk along, that an elderly person could navigate them safely without fear of falling.
Shiloah looked again at Goa and Stan.
I’m going to miss them terribly not seeing them every day now that the Garden is completed
, she thought sadly. They’d had such fun planning the layout of the flower beds. The men had been genuinely interested in her and her mother’s work growing roses and using the petals and hips to make ointments and soaps to sell over the Internet to support themselves.
I’m just going to have to think of another project where they can help. Maybe if we extended the hydroponic gardens, added some new beds…
The band, breaking into a lively tune, startled Shiloah out of her reverie. The Garden was officially opened, and now it was time for afternoon tea. Teams of young people brought out trays of sandwiches and paper cups of soda, and the crowd broke up as people wandered around the Garden or visited their relative’s room.
About an hour later, Shiloah finished talking to her friends and looked around for her mother. It was time to go back home and parcel up the next day’s orders to ship out. There was no sign of Orna in the diminishing crowd, so Shiloah wondered if her mother had already left. Although it wasn’t like her not to say good-bye first.
She turned, recognizing Goa’s voice, then almost swallowed her tongue. Up this close, he and Songstan looked so very, very good. Her pussy creamed, her nipples hardened, and her heart beat double-time. They wore identical crisp, white short-sleeved shirts, which showed off their tanned, muscled arms to perfection. The shirts were tucked into tight jeans that highlighted the defined muscles of their thighs. And their cocks.
Their cocks were long and thick and clearly visible under the tight, black denim.
Shiloah blushed and raised her eyes to their faces only to see Goa’s gaze fixed on her nipples, which were pushing at the cotton fabric of her yellow shirt in an obvious way. Stan was licking his lips, his tongue flicking out in a sexy gesture that made her long to have that tongue in her own mouth or on her own lips.
“Hi, Stan. Hi, Goa,” she managed, taking a deep breath and trying to drag her mind out of their pants.
“We hoped you’d join us for a coffee,” said Goa, smiling deep into her eyes. She could drown in those chocolate pools. His eyes were so deep, so liquid, so panty-drenching hot.
“Sure,” she replied. She could mail out the parcels later that night. Spending time with these men seemed a much better choice of activity right now.
After they left the secure area, the men moved up, one on each side of her, and headed to the main intersection of pathways in the New Thimphu community. The city had been built primarily underground, beneath a long hill with offices, community buildings, administration buildings, and apartment blocks following the ridge of hills. At the intersection, instead of walking to the row of shops and cafés, the men took her arms and turned toward the apartment blocks.
“What—” she began.
The men pressed their bodies against her sides and wrapped their arms around her, banding her to them with the double grip.
“We’re going to our apartment, here in purple block. We’re abducting you as is traditional among our people,” said Goa.
“We’re sorry we couldn’t throw you over a horse and ride off with you like your fathers did with your mother, but we decided the difficulties involved in taking you up to the outside world, arranging for a horse, then still having to bring you down here again outweighed the romantic aspect. But we’ve made our apartment romantic for you.”
“Well, you have to remember we’re men. As romantic as we could. We did ask some of the married men for ideas, though,” added Goa.
Shiloah laughed. “And here I was wondering how I could arrange to see you again now that the Garden is finished.”
The men pulled her even tighter against their bodies. She was hardly walking at all now, more or less being carried along by their legs and the pressure of their skin against hers. At the entry to purple apartment block, they stopped while Stan opened the door, and Goa flung her over his shoulder. Stan went ahead, pressing the call button for the elevator, opening the doors when it came, then selecting their floor.
Purple was one of the newer apartment blocks with four apartments per level. Stan and Goa’s home was on level three. The building was only four stories high as it was toward the end of the hill, which sloped down. A new building, brown apartment block, was being built just past it, and for that, the community had extended the hill. They constructed a wood-and-fabric overlay to enlarge the hill on the outside, then used the soil dug out for foundations and the building itself to make real turf and turn the hill extension into a true hill. The new turf seeded and grew over the underlay, becoming completely weatherproof and blending into the old hill seamlessly.
Stan opened their apartment door, flicked on the lights, then together, the two men carried her over the threshold and into the bedroom. The room was decorated with green branches and flowers, the flowers woven intricately in among the greenery with the colors making patterns.
Flower petals were strewn on the bed—pale pink roses, white jasmine, and gray-green, sharp-smelling eucalyptus leaves, contrasting with a deep burgundy-red blanket.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered softly.
Quickly the men undressed her, each removing a garment in turn. Then they laid her on the bed and tied her to the headboard with long, green silk scarves, which had been laying ready on the nightstand.
Then, to her astonishment, the men began a sing-song chant in deep, rich, baritone voices. The chant was the story of two brothers who had fallen in love with a woman and followed her from one side of the land to the other, promising her their never-ending love and attention. As they sang, Goa and Stan moved to sit on either side of her then trailed their hands over her feet, her ankles, her calves, gradually moving up her body as the heroes in the song crossed the land in pursuit of their bride.
The story was so beautiful Shiloah couldn’t help but be drawn into the passion of the two heroes desperately following the woman they loved, hoping against hope she would accept their devotion and marry them. But at the same time, her body was incredibly aroused by the men’s busy fingers, teasing and touching, tracing patterns on her skin, gradually, slowly—so very slowly—making their way up her legs toward her core.
She opened her legs wide, letting the knees fall onto the burgundy blanket, desperate for their fingers to reach the place she needed them most. When the lady in the song finally accepted the two traveling heroes and the story heroes held their lady in their arms, a tear trickled from Shiloah’s eye in relief. Now all she needed was her own two heroes to make her come, to claim her as theirs.
But their hands stopped on her upper thighs, resting on the sensitive, tender skin between her inner thighs and her groin. Urgently she thrust her hips up, indicating her need to Stan and Goa. She could feel the dampness on the inside of her thighs, feel how wet her pussy had become, and knew they had to have noticed the cream glistening on her nether lips.
“According to our traditions, we have abducted you to be our bride, Shiloah,” began Goa.
Stan continued. “To make you ours forever, we will fuck you in the cunt, the ass, and the mouth. Only when we have completed these three can we take you to the monk and be married.”
“The fucking we will do tonight. The wedding will be tomorrow. We’ve already asked Father Yeshe’s permission for the marriage to be scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
“Only one thing remains before we begin.”
Together they said, “Give us permission to enter your body, Shiloah. Say we can come in. Say yes.”
“Yes. Fuck me. Take me. It’s what I want more than anything.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth before Goa was untying her wrists and Stan was pulling a tiny bottle of oil from the nightstand drawer.
She sat up on her elbows and watched them undress. Neither of them wore an undershirt under their sparkling white shirts. Under their black denim jeans, Goa had a tiny pair of tighty-whities, and Stan wore an even tinier black G-string. Damn, they were both hot! She licked her lips, hoping she wasn’t drooling. Their cocks were long, hard, and bounced straight up once freed from their jeans. Goa’s had a very broad, flat head. Stan’s had just the slightest curve to one side. Both were deep red with need.
She opened her arms and urged them both to her. “Please, I need you both now. Please fuck me. I don’t want to wait another second.”
“We’ll go as slowly as we can. Make it as good for you as we can,” promised Goa, gently touching a breast. He cupped the mound in his palm, a palm that was slightly roughened from hard physical labor. He traced his thumb over her areola then tweaked her nipple with the pad of his thumb. Oh that felt wonderful, so much better than when she touched herself.