Authors: Cleo Peitsche
Tags: #BDSM, #Erotic Fiction, #Ménage, #Romance
“You don’t kiss me. I kiss you.” His patient, gentle delivery is so at odds with his words that I blink at him for a moment, trying to process everything.
“Ok,” I say. And I wait.
He leans forward. I can feel his soft, warm breath. Finally, his mouth touches mine, but just barely.
It’s like a test. I’m going to pass, though, because I don’t like rejection.
From behind me, a hand touches my leg, slides around my thigh and pulls back. It throws me off balance, but Romeo’s arm is behind my shoulders, and then I’m flush against the seat.
Romeo’s gentle touch is turning rough, his broad palm cupping my jaw. He’s almost on top of me, and Slade is pulling my legs open.
They work in tandem, I realize, and I finally get it. I kinda figured they’d take turns, but this is much hotter. Slade’s hand is going up the bottom of my dress, and I don’t want him to stop, but it feels a bit weird that he’s getting so personal without even having kissed me.
Apparently it’s not weird for him, though, because his fingers are pressing between my legs. My panties are in the way, so each of his little thrusts drags the silky fabric over my clit.
I feel myself get very, very wet, and I have no doubt he feels it, too, in the rush of warmth drenching my panties.
“Say my name,” Romeo orders. His lips are on top of mine, and when he speaks, I feel the vibrations. It’s strangely more intimate than kissing. “Say it.”
“Romeo,” I whisper. Slade pulls aside my panties and thrusts in, and I gasp, arching up, pressing my mouth against Romeo’s.
He catches my face and kisses me hard, squeezing me. I begin to moan shamelessly, but then the car stops, and both men slowly release me. A door swings open and Hawthorne climbs out and stands apart, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
The building we’re in front of looks like someplace where a super-villain might plot to destroy the world. It’s dark and ominous and completely unwelcoming.
Of course this would be where Hawthorne maintains his office.
As the four of us cross the lobby, one of the guards hastens to unlock the security turnstile. Another guard calls the elevator and pushes the button for the floor before quickly moving out of the way. He acts more like a servant than a guard, and I take it as proof that my assessment of Hawthorne as a heartless bastard is spot-on.
The doors to the glass-paneled elevator whisper closed. Because of the reflections, the three men I’m with are multiplied.
A half-dozen Hawthornes turn to face me. With jerky movements, they open their pants and reach inside. “Get on your knees and suck my dick.”
I give the original Hawthorne a dirty look. “Suck your own dick.”
Romeo’s large hands wrap around my arms, and he forces me to my knees. Slade is leaning up against one of the walls, his hands in his pockets. When our eyes meet, he raises an eyebrow as if to say
Don’t look at me; I’m not going to do it.
“Use your safe word if you want out,” Hawthorne says. “Then we can all go home.” His hand pulls out of his pants, and I see he’s got a thick, veiny cock in his grip. It’s fully erect.
I smirk. “Since you’re so hot for me…” I trail off with a shrug, but then Hawthorne leans over.
He grips up a handful of my hair and yanks my head back. “Let’s be clear about one thing. I’m going along with this only because my friends outvoted me. You decide you don’t want to be here? Then go. But if you keep giving me attitude, I’m going to punish you.”
“How? Gonna dock my pay?” I ask, and Slade laughs.
“And you wonder why I don’t think you’re right for us,” he says. He yanks my hair, making me squint, but I force myself to stare defiantly at him.
“You want me to blow you, or are you feeling shy?”
His skin is flushed red, and I see the veins in his neck are throbbing. He moves his face inches from mine. “When you can’t take any more, tap me three times and we can all go home.” He punches the emergency stop button and the elevator jerks to a halt.
Then his hands are on the back of my head. I barely have time to open my mouth before he slams his fat cock down my throat. He’s even longer than I’d realized, and so thick that he’s cutting off my airway. Though my lips are stretched wide around the base, he continues to force himself into me.
For a fast moment he pulls halfway out, then he slams home again. I don’t even try to regulate my breathing; he’s not the only one who has aggressions to work out. If I can get him off in a minute or two, that’s perfect. He’ll be out of commission, and I’ll catch my breath then.
I get to work. It’s hard to act like I’m in control when he’s fucking my mouth like this, like I’m a rag doll. He’s strong, powerful.
He holds me deep on his cock, and I can feel the softness of the plump head in my throat, the pulsing of the twisted veins, the rigidity of the long, curved shaft. Truth be told, he has a gorgeous cock, both to look at and to suck. And I suspect he knows how to use it, though I doubt I’ll ever get to experience it beyond rough oral.
I moan, knowing that the vibrations in my throat will turn him on, bring him closer to the orgasm that will release us both from our standoff.
Tears are running down my face. It’s just a physiological reflex, but it bothers me because I don’t want him to think of me as weak. Not that I care about his opinion… I just don’t want him to think he’s won.
He slowly eases out of my throat, and I gulp down as much air as I can around his retreating erection, but then he thrusts deep again. When he does it again, I realize he’s trying to exhaust me.
If he thinks I’m going to safe word out, he’s wrong. I dig my fingers into his ass—it’s so muscular, tense as he thrusts—and I pull him closer.
It nearly kills me.
Another thirty seconds, and I’ll be out like a light. I redouble my efforts. The elevator starts moving again, I think. It’s hard to know. Then it stops, and there’s a
Hawthorne is close. Any second now, he’s going to—
My eyes close as he finally comes. Three more thrusts, and that’s all I can take. I’m pushing him away, but someone is scooping me up, cradling me in his arms. Solid arms… the size of tree trunks. I’m pulled into a sturdy broad chest.
“The two of you are going to be the death of me,” Romeo murmurs. To hear his voice, you’d never guess he’s carrying anything at all. As he steps off the elevator, I can hear the deep, reassuring thumping of his heart.
I stare up at him, and then the unexpected happens. It starts as an unidentifiable warm feeling that sweeps over me. From below, I can appreciate the angular power of his jaw and shoulders.
Safe. I feel safe. For the first time in years, I’m not worried that someone will step out from behind a shadowy doorway and grab me.
And then he gently sets me down, and the feeling vanishes. For a moment, I sway on my feet. Romeo has a supportive hand on me, and both Slade and Hawthorne reach out.
“I’m fine,” I say, and Hawthorne pulls back a little too fast. I’m still reeling from the earlier feeling, so I miss my opportunity to rub his demonstration of humanity in his face. Maybe it’s just as well.
We’re standing at the entrance to an elegant, polished office. There’s only one word engraved in frosted letters on the doors, only one word in enormous, gold letters behind the darkened station where the receptionists would sit.
I have no idea what business is conducted here, and I suppose that not knowing means I’m not the kind of client Tarraget wants. When I read the name, I imagine it being said in a movie trailer voiceover, serious, masculine.
“In a world where greedy employees use too many paper clips, in a city where some people take too many personal days, Tarraget is corporate America’s only defense…” I trail off as I realize all three of the men are staring at me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Who wants to fuck?”
Hawthorne’s office is at the end of the longest hallway I’ve ever seen. We walk through a secretary’s office and into the super villain’s lair itself.
I’m impressed. It’s huge… larger than my grandfather’s main office, that’s for sure.
“What does Tarraget do?” I ask.
“Conglomerate,” Hawthorne says quickly.
“Like I can’t look it up when I get home,” I say as I twist my arm to reach the tab of my zipper.
To my surprise, Hawthorne steps gracefully behind me, gathers up my hair, and slowly unzips my blouse.
I wish I could see his face. Is he looking at my skin? Is he thinking about everything that’s still covered, about unhooking my bra?
He lets my hair fall, then spins me to look at him. The harsh look in his eyes isn’t what I was expecting. “We need to talk logistics.”
“I’ve already told you that you fuck all of us.” There’s a grudging respect as he adds, “Your blow job intrigued me.”
I touch the corner of my mouth as if wiping away a drop of liquid, and I realize that I was so far gone, I barely got to enjoy my victory. “Intrigued? Is that what it’s called?”
Hawthorne yanks the unzipped blouse down to my waist, and it rips loudly.
“That’s company property,” I say because I can’t help myself.
His gaze cuts to mine, and irritation flashes across his handsome features, but then his attention dips to my bra, which is smooth black satin, designed to be seductively sophisticated. It’s also underwire and padded, but by the time men figure those sorts of things out, they’re not usually in a position to complain.
“I’ll see you get a new one.” He yanks the ripped blouse and my skirt the rest of the way off me, and I slowly step out of the puddle of fabric and kick the clothing aside.
Right now, three sets of eyes are taking me in. I won’t lie. It’s nice. Even though the men are nothing alike, they’re well-matched. They’re all roughly the same height and have perfect bodies. Still, there are differences. Romeo is a bit more massive, Hawthorne a bit more defined, I’d guess, and while I haven’t much touched Slade’s body, I know he’s got wide shoulders and a muscular ass, built like a triathlete.
“Take off your panties,” Slade says.
I give him a saucy look as I roll the fabric down to my knees and shimmy out of it.
“Legs apart.” Romeo squats in front of me and points on the floor where he wants my feet to go. It’s a good thirty-six inches—not easy to accomplish in killer heels on a slippery carpet. He taps my ankle. “Wider,” he says.
He’s not satisfied until my legs are as far apart as they can go. I feel unbalanced and more than a little exposed. My legs are far enough apart that cool air touches my wet flesh, making me shiver.
Romeo runs his hands up the backs of my legs as he stands, and I feel like a horse being evaluated at auction, especially when he palms my buttocks, hefts each one.
One of his fingers tugs at the cup of my bra, pulling it down. My freed nipple stiffens. When Romeo steps back, the bra snaps partially back into place so that my nipple is caught on the curved lip and pulled up like it’s trying to peek over the top.
It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not comfortable, either, and I raise a hand to fix it.
Slade steps forward, and I catch his woodsy scent. “No,” he says. He crosses a muscular arm over my chest, bracing me. Confused, I try to twist in his strange embrace, but then Hawthorne slaps my ass so hard that I lose my balance. Slade is the only reason I’m not sprawled on the floor.
I’m so surprised that I don’t say anything.
“I don’t like this bra,” Romeo says. “It’s too fake. If the four of us decide to play together again, you’ll wear lace bras.”
Hawthorne crosses his arms, taps his chin thoughtfully. “She’s quite vain about her lingerie,” he says. “She thinks it helps her with sales.”
“That so?” Romeo frowns as he considers what Hawthorne said. “Pity,” he says finally. “But that doesn’t change my mind. Are we in agreement?”
“We are,” Slade says.
Hawthorne shrugs. “Don’t say I never went to bat for you,” he tells me. His gaze drifts to my hair. “But don’t worry. We won’t take away your bleach.”
If his intent was to make me hate him all over again, he’s succeeded. But I don’t get a chance to say anything nasty because Romeo is bending over me, kissing me, making my splayed legs weak, my knees wobbly.
He’s a good kisser when he actually does it. Soft lips, a firm tongue. Not too wet… just enough so that his tongue slides smoothly between my lips. He explores my mouth, and I moan. Heat races to my center, wetness building. I feel it dribble out of me, and then hands are there, touching my slit, which is accessible because of my pose.
Slade unfastens my bra, and I’m so ready for this. As much as Hawthorne makes me crazy, sucking him off in the elevator while he violently fucked my face was about the best foreplay I’ve ever had.
I hear the ripping of a condom wrapper, then muscled arms wrapped in a suit of expensive silk squeeze around me, and I’m being carried backward. It’s Slade again, I realize. He leans against the edge of the ebony executive desk. My legs are on the outside of his as I try to keep my balance. He moves me easily, and his erection, which is slightly sticky from the lube, bumps across my pussy.
Romeo and Hawthorne are closing in on me, the hungry looks in their eyes intoxicating. Romeo’s hands palm my breasts. He tweaks both my nipples, then soothes. Harsh, then gentle. I’ve done rough, and I’ve done sweet, but never so close together.
His expression tells me that my surprise is evident on my face.
He twists harder, pulls at my stiffened peaks until I gasp and lean forward, into him. “Good,” he rumbles. To escape the pain, I’m trying to dive into the arms of my tormentor… And it turns him on. It’s sick. Twisted. I love it.
He does it again. My face is burning from the pain, and when my mouth opens in a wordless cry, Hawthorne sticks his tongue in my mouth and kisses me. It’s not like Romeo’s kiss, which was protectively dominant. Hawthorne kisses like he hasn’t decided if he wants it to feel good or if he wants me to hate it.
I decide to hate it.
His tongue is jamming into my mouth, and it’s a wet kiss. Sloppy. I want to shove him away, but now he’s squeezing the sides of my jaw too tightly for me to duck away.