Genetic Attraction (7 page)

46

Tara Lain

Still trying to suck on Roan while crying out and thrashing at the same time, she finally gave up and simply screamed while she shoved back on Jake"s wonderful rod and down on Roan"s tongue and lips, until she had no existence beyond the searing joy radiating from her vagina—and her heart. She was a part of them. She exploded, crying and whimpering while she felt every cell light up and shatter. “Oh God, oh.” And she felt Jake come again and again, shuddering over her back while her orgasm stretched on and on.

But poor Roan, there wasn"t a particle of energy left in her for sucking. Some tiny part of her brain that was still coherent felt bad for leaving Roan hard and wanting.

Jake whispered to her, “Let me finish him, sweetheart.”

She rolled to the side and turned her head toward the two lovers as Jake crawled down Roan"s body and wrapped his mouth around that massive cock like it was an all-day sucker. Just the sight made her wish she could come again, because this was beautiful.

Jake began to suck in earnest, pulling away a little to lick Roan"s big, heavy balls and then returning to the crimson head. Roan was going nuts. His hips thrust up into his lover"s mouth, and his head rolled from side to side. “Jake, yes, darling, yes. God, don"t stop, don"t ever stop.” And Jake didn"t, sucking and licking the tiny slit until Roan cried out and thrust so hard, she would have thought he reached Jake"s tonsils. And then Roan began to buck as Jake swallowed, some of the rich cream seeping from the corner of his mouth.

When they finished, she was panting as hard as they were. Even though she didn"t think she could move, she sat up, grabbed Jake"s head, and pulled his mouth to hers, thrusting her tongue inside to lick some of the semen of
their
lover. Then she fell back on the bed with a man on each side, just the way they had started.

Genetic Attraction

47

Chapter Seven

She sat cross-legged in the middle of her own bed—well, sort of her own.

Showered, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, she was prepared to take stock, but absolutely delicious smells were luring her downstairs—coffee, bacon, some kind of sweet and fruity thing. Starving.

In accommodation of all their hunger, the three of them had decided to shower separately. There was no chance she would be dressed and dry now if she had gotten to see her two men wet! Ah yes,
her
two men—her
two
men. That"s what she needed to think about.

Had this morning even been real? Jake said the three of them were “us,” but what did that mean? How did that work? The two men lived together, slept in the same bed, and probably had sex together every night Roan wasn"t traveling. Well, every night Jake got home before midnight, which wasn"t many on the schedule she kept him on.

She, on the other hand, had her own townhouse near the university, worked twelve or more hours a day at the lab, and often into the early morning at home.

That didn"t exactly leave a lot of time to traipse off to Connecticut for ménage à trois sessions.

She shook her head, gazing down at the beautiful silk coverlet. Jake and Roan thought of her as part of them. What could be sweeter? But after this idyllic weekend, what could they do to be together, and how the hell would she explain it to the university—not to mention the world—if they were together? She couldn"t. Oh God, that ripping sound was her heart, but she couldn"t. And surely they didn"t mean it that way, no matter what they said. It was nice—no, wonderful—to be a 48

Tara Lain

part of “us” with a man she cared for so much and another one that she was coming to care for rapidly, but that was all they intended, just for her to feel included; she was sure of that.

She took a deep, cleansing breath. Okay, enough thinking now. It was only Saturday. She had the rest of this wonderful fantasy weekend to live, and she intended to make the most of it. Coffee was calling, and she couldn"t wait to see her men. At least for today, that"s the way she"d think of them.

Her trip downstairs brought her into the great room she had missed the night before. The same modern-plus-Asian decor dominated, and the huge, two-story windows flooded the room with light and gave the feeling that the trees and sky were all a part of the room. Following her nose, she rounded the corner to the big island that separated the kitchen from the great room, and perched on a stool.

Back turned, Roan was cooking at the big six-burner cooktop earphones plugged into his ears. She loved his getup—those infernal pajama bottoms and an apron that tied at the waist and left a smooth expanse of muscled back free. Jeez, tough to believe but, despite all their shenanigans this morning and last night, she must never have gotten a really good look at his back. She"d been aware he had a tattoo on his right shoulder, but now she could see what it was.
I never saw a wild
thing sorry for itself
, it said, from the D.H. Lawrence poem. A whole life in those simple words, a life she wouldn"t mind getting to know.

A quick glance found him looking at her over the decorated shoulder. He pulled out the earphones. “Hello, darling.”

She gestured to his shoulder. “Another trademark?”

“It was my declaration of independence, actually. But, yes, it"s become a trademark.”

“Independence from whom?”

“My father mostly, but also from me. I knew I was way too fortunate to ever feel sorry for myself.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

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49

He continued stirring an egg mixture at the counter. “Sometime, when we"re in the mood for drama, but right now I want to feed you and laugh some more.”

“It"s a deal, sweet wild thing.”

He turned and crossed to the island, the green eyes gazing at her steadily.

Then he smiled. “Hungry?”

“Horses are in fear for their lives, but I will do anything for some of that coffee.”

He waggled the arched brows. “Anything?”

“Try me.”

With a grin, he handed her a cup of coffee and put cream and sugar in front of her on the island. “If you"ll do „anything" for a cup of coffee, what might you do for one of these, my pretty?” And with a flourish he produced a plate with a still-steaming scone, dripping with icing.

“What is this, you evil tempter?”

“What does it smell like?”

She sniffed. And sighed. “Oh God, lemon. It"s a lemon scone. Don"t tell me you made this yourself, or I may have to suck your cock for twenty-four hours solid.”

“On your knees, woman. Made this morning with these lily-white hands.”

She stuck her finger in the icing and licked it meaningfully. “Well, now I"m confused, since I don"t know which one I want to eat first, this scone or your cock.”

He leaned over the island, having to jump up on it to do so because of its width, and kissed her lightly. “The scones are hot.”

“So are you.”

“Thank you, Em.”

This man was way more than a pretty face. And what had he said about insecurities? Hard to believe.

50

Tara Lain

She took one melting, orgasmic taste of the scone, not his cock—lemon, flaky, altogether her idea of a good time. Of course, so was his cock. Her eyes closed, and she gave a little moan.

“You like?”

“Divine.”

“I"ll have scrambled eggs and turkey bacon to go with it in a second when Jake gets here.”

“Where is our fearless lover, I mean leader?” She bit again.

He grinned. “Checking e-mail, where else? He has this really tough boss.”

She looked up into the shining green eyes. “Roan, I am so sorry about how hard I work him. With your travel schedule and his being late every night, it must be tough to see each other.”

He added seasoning to his egg mixture. “Don"t even think it. He"s the one driving himself. He loves his work, and he loves working with you. He just wakes me up when he gets home so we can snuggle.”

They were both quiet for a minute, absorbed in scones and thoughts.

“Can I ask you a funny question?” She licked a little scone from her lips.

“Shoot.”

“Since you"re a five”—she gave him a sideways grin—“how did you get so good at oral sex?”

“Why thank you, ma"am, high praise. Actually, it was back in high school; that"s how I kept from having to fuck girls without coming out. I lived in that small town I told you about, and I realized if everyone knew I was gay, my parents would have no end of grief, even if they"d been able to handle it themselves. So I dated a lot of girls, but once they got a look at my cock, most of them got scared of having sex with me.” He laughed. “That"s how I came to love eating pussy.”

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51

“You"re kidding. That has to be the most ungay thing a man can do. I mean, fucking a woman is probably a little like fucking a man, and a woman sucking your dick has to be somewhat similar too. But guys don"t have pussies.”

“I know. Crazy, isn"t it? I"ve always loved it. So, anyway, I"d eat the high school girls out, and then they didn"t want to fuck. A few wanted to suck my cock, I guess just to see if they could, but that wasn"t so bad, like you said. So I got a reputation as a real stud in my hometown, while I sneaked off to the city to go to gay bars and get fucked by men.”

“You like being the bottom?”

“Yeah, quite a bit. And when you look like me…”

“No one looks like you.”

He shrugged. “Anyway, gay men like to fuck me. That"s why I enjoy topping you so much. It feeds my need to be the fucker with someone who really likes being the fuckee.”

“Who"s a fuckee?” Jake"s voice came from behind her.

“Ah, we eat!” Roan slid his egg mixture into the hot pan and began pouring what looked like fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice.

“I"m a fuckee.” She smiled as Jake put his arm around her.

Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “And a very fine fuckee indeed.”

She gazed at him. God, he was beautiful, even with such stiff competition. “I can barely believe that after over a year of hopeless fantasies and endless masturbation that…”

He finished her thought. “I finally got my cock in you, my little fuckee? Did you really masturbate over me?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“Yeah, I do. Until Roan, I was wearing the skin off my right hand trying not to attack you while you were leaning over a microscope.”

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Tara Lain

Roan looked up from finishing the eggs. “Even after me, I suspect there was a bit of skin loss.”

Jake laughed. “If we keep up this conversation, we"re never going to make it out antiquing.” He pulled her hand against his half-mast cock that was starting to tent his pajama bottoms.

“Ooh, is that what we"re doing next?”

“What? Fucking or antiquing?”

“Well, let"s just say I haven"t been antiquing twice this morning.”

Jake did the nuzzling thing again that just drove her crazy. “You"re not complaining?”

She nuzzled back.
Who needs antiques anyway
? “Not even a little bit.”

“Quit it you two; brunch is served!”

Genetic Attraction

53

Chapter Eight

Antique hunting won, but she wasn"t sure at the moment how happy she was about it. The Asian antiques were beautiful, but the boys kept taunting and teasing her with touches and kisses until she wanted to lay one of them down on that jade-inlaid table and fuck his brains out—both of them would be even better.

Concentrate, Emmaline.

“Em, come see this.”

She looked over the crowded little shop to see Roan admiring a carved figure mounted on an ebony stand. Skirting several large ginger jars, she came to stand beside him. “Wow. Beautiful.” The little figure was carved entirely from different shades of jade: white for the perfect skin, a dark almost-black for the hair, translucent green jade for the eyes, and a deep blue-green for the robes. Somehow feminine, yet also masculine, the beautiful little figure glowed like it was lit from within. “Who is that, Roan?”

“I think it"s Avalokiteshvara. They say he"s kind of the male counterpart of the Chinese goddess of compassion, Kwan Yin. Great, isn"t it?”

D.H. Lawrence and Indian theology all in one beautiful package. He was something.

She felt a touch on her shoulder. Jake"s voice was almost reverential. “Roan, it looks like you.”

She looked up and smiled into his blue gaze, “You see it too? I noticed it right away.”

Jake reached out and picked up the little statue gently. “I have to have it.”

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Tara Lain

She put her hand over his. “Let me buy it for both of you, to thank you for this most perfect weekend.

“No, Em…”

“Please.” Both men beamed at her as she plucked the deity from Jake"s hand and moved toward the counter where an elderly gentleman stood by the cash register, obviously quite intrigued by the dynamic of the three of them.

As she pulled out her credit card and waited for the little statue to be packaged, she looked back at the two men. Lost. Blue eyes gazed into green. Their fingertips barely touched. No PDA. Jesus. This was love—their love, those two. She ached for that kind of love. But no matter what they said, at best she"d never be more than the proverbial third wheel. At worst she might compromise their relationship in some way, and she couldn"t do that. She shivered. Oh God, she did love them.

“Dr. Silvay?”

What? She looked around. Had someone called?

“Emmaline?”

She turned around and looked up at a thin, white-haired man, one of her favorite members of the faculty council.
Smile, Em
. She was fond of Dr. Winton, but what was he doing here, and how did this whole thing look?