She had them both.
Well—more technically, they had her.
Hands began their well-worn path down the curves of her body, those dry and supple and those wet and wanting.
The Sybian was a simple device, with a dildo attached to a rocking seat. She was more than wet enough as she eased her way down, muscles clamping tight at the slick entrance of something much smaller than either of her men, and yet tantalizing as she felt Mike’s hot flesh in her hand, Dylan’s own hands on her back and br**sts now, connecting and adding to the loop the three shared. Like electricity, something flowed between them when they were in touch together, though Mike and Dylan drew a strong boundary at touching one another. Laura had wondered about it but never asked. Sometimes privacy within relationships had a place, and this was one of those times.
No complaints came from anyone, though, for what they did have—so she stopped thinking about what wasn’t there.
A shudder of shock and heat ran through her as she lowered herself and clasped her thighs and knees along the device, Dylan straddling her from behind, on his knees and encircling her. His hand traveled down to find her hot, throbbing nub.
Oh, this would be over fast.
Mike’s c**k was thick and ready, and as her mouth enveloped it his thighs tensed. Primed to know his signals as well as she knew Dylan’s or even her own body’s triggers, she figured she had a minute, Maybe less.
Better make it good.
Dylan gently rocked her forward, the Sybian slipping and moving with such grace that she felt a moment of feral self-consciousness, as if the device were too prim and proper for what her ragingly wild arousal was about to make her flesh release. An orgasm swept over her and only sheer force of will kept it back, her brain firing wildly to make sure she remembered Mike’s pleasure, the fullness of him in her warm, wet mouth now too much. The combination of so many sensations on her body and the need to meet his sexual release made her circuits overheat.
Desperate to give him pleasure, she slid her fisted hand along the fine, soft skin of his shaft, Dylan’s fingers on her, her tongue traveling well-worn paths until Mike uttered her name and released into her just as her own tidal wave of cl**ax made her groan deep in her throat, the sound making Mike jolt with more ecstasy.
And just like that, they had knocked out Climax #1 for all three of them.
Strangely energized, Laura swallowed and smiled up at Mike. He looked down from quite a distance, given his height, and smiled broadly.
“Four hours and six minutes to go. You up for more?”
She most certainly was.
Both of them were on her as if she’d sent them some telekinetic signal, as if she’d summoned their bodies by pure desire to come to her, the length of so much flesh pressing into her curves with such impulsive need that they shocked her.
“You’re ready…already?” she asked Mike as Dylan stole her words away with a breathtaking kiss, tongue sweeping across her mouth like wind and fire. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, and Mike’s answer was two hands that took her br**sts like he was staking a claim on them.
Ah. Well. So.
She guessed he was.
A burst of wet heat turned her legs to jelly, and the thrumming sense of pounding as her blood rushed to and fro, building to something so much greater, took her rational thought and shattered it to shards. Reaching for Dylan, she found his thick, strong shaft, and he groaned against her teeth as she stroked him, a simple reuniting that made the fire inside them all flame higher and higher.
Sex wasn’t just sex anymore. Not after two years together. It wasn’t just intimacy or connection or some necessary act that they indulged in for pleasure. It was, instead, a constant, consistent re-commitment to be each other’s heat, to make each other tremble in awe, to use fingertips and tongues and smiles and groans in order to be the most important soul for each other.
Acceptance is the greater part of intimacy.
How much more accepting could three people be when exploring the bounty of flesh, tendon, bone, muscle—and the pure frenzy of driving someone to a release that catapulted them out of their mind?
Trusting both, she sighed deeply, Mike’s touch between her legs making her gasps turn to his name, cried out in sighs and moans, a language of arousal and more.
Trust.
Mike was in her first, hard as rock, his lips on her face and neck like a hungry man who was touching a woman for the first time in decades. His hands were rough against her back, her ass, the globes of her br**sts, the sensation just on the edge of her comfort zone but so raw and real she couldn’t stop wanting more.
Heightened senses and the sound of their breath in the room, background noise coming from the woods in the form of the rush of leaves pushed by wind, the calls of birds she could not name, and it all turned into a tunnel-vision pinpoint of nothing as Dylan entered her with aching slowness, patient gentleness, from behind, stretching her to the point of oblivion, a kind of disintegration of the self that came only after so, so much pleasure.
When the moment of cl**ax came for all three, the combined explosion sent them all whirling into space, so separate from the very slick skin that twisted and flexed, adjusted and morphed, their spirits in another realm that could only be accessed by the very primal acts of flesh and want that their bodies committed.
It felt like a sacrament and a sin.
Like blasphemy and atonement.
Most of all, though, it felt so f**king good.
* * *
If she and the guys smoked, Laura could imagine this scene quite differently. Sandwiched beautifully between both men, their bodies twisted together in a pile of limbs and torsos that resembled a human pile of stretched taffy (and was just about as sticky…), she reclined in pure harmony with long, lean, blond Mike and compact, musclebound, swarthy Dylan.
All were completely sated. Sexually, that is.
“Who’s getting up for the ice cream?” she teased. Sort of. It had been a longstanding joke among the three of them to share a pint of something gooey and sweet right after sex, but they hadn’t done that in months. Too many quickies, too many hot, frantic sex sessions done under the watchful timeline of a baby who might wake up at the slightest noise.
“How about steaks and shrimp?” Mike asked, peeling the covers off him and moving like a human gazelle toward the kitchen, his strides more than double the length of hers. That dimpled ass always made her sigh. His body was a series of gears and pulley lines, all muscle under skin, and watching him was better than anything on Netflix.
“Sounds incredible,” Dylan murmured, turning over on his stomach, stealing the pillows Mike had just abandoned. His leg slid up against Laura’s, and she found a warm, tingling sensation beginning at her “V”. Again? Again! How could she still want more?