Burying my face between his cheeks, I lick, and tongue fuck his hole until I’m moaning like a whore, and coming all over my fingers in a rush of shameless debauchery.

  When I’m finished getting my fill, I pull away, swipe the wetness from my mouth with the back of my hand, and all but melt into the floor. Flopping onto my back, sated to my core, the coolness of the hardwood beneath me is a welcome relief on my otherwise overheated flesh.

  Rob turns around, smiling down at me, his erection swaying in the wind, face bright red. His cupid’s bow is swollen from chewing it too hard.

  Slow and seductively I lick my lips for show. “Your ass is…” I groan unabashed, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering to express how amazing it is to me.

  Rob shifts on his feet, shy and oh so adorable. Which is very unlike the badass biker we all know and love. This is my teddy bear that lives deep within. The part of Rob that’s often insecure and unsure. It’s one of his many facets that I cherish the most.

  Needing him closer, I crook a finger to have my man join me, and he does. Kneeling, Rob lays his chest atop mine, and fuses our mouths together in a sensual, all-consuming kiss, that flows on and on with no destination in sight. Shifting a bit, he slots himself between my thighs, and I wrap my calves around him, locking my feet at the small of his back. My arms hook around Rob’s neck as he drops to his elbows on either side of me. That fine cock nudges my entrance, and I wordlessly urge him inside with the press of my heels. There, that’s it, what we both needed; connected in all ways possible, where we can just be with one another. No sex. No fucking. No more scenes. No Mistress and submissive. No sin. Only Rob and Ronan exploring each other’s mouths, lost in passion.

  This is it. The moment I’ve never been happier in all my life… to love and be loved by two perfectly imperfect men. This is what real fairytales look like. Princesses have got nothing on us.

  7

  ________

  MAY THE TRUTH SET YOU FREE

  Monday

  The scent of homemade manicotti and garlic bread suffuses the air in the central part of the house as the doorbell rings. Wearing a black, knee-length, cotton dress, pantyless and barefoot, I skip like an over-excited schoolgirl to answer the buzzer. It has to be one of my men. Tonight’s the night we talk business. Not the real kind, but of a personal nature. Tyler has been on me about this for months, and I’ve finally relented for all of our sakes.

  The doorbell chimes again as I stop to double-check my appearance in the entry mirror. My long, black, curly hair has been tamed tonight and tumbles in loose waves down my back. I dabbed on a subtle smoky eye, a wing-tipped liner, Va-Va-Voom mascara to plump my otherwise lifeless eyelashes, and a ruby-red lip with gloss overlay—classic. I’m going for love and comfort, not over the top Hollywood glamour. I want them to feel welcome in my home. It’s cozy and warm, not magazine chic. Unless the magazine wanted to do an expose on the world’s largest Tyler Coopman art collection. I do own more of those than anyone in existence, including the man himself. He isn’t fond of displaying his own creations in his drab apartment. The gallery he part owns houses less than ten Tyler Coopman masterpieces at a time. Not because he doesn’t want them there, but they sell out too fast to keep them stocked…

  Ugh, I’m deflecting, aren’t I?

  Can you tell I’m anxious?

  Satisfied with my appearance, I unlock the door and pull it open, only to be caught off guard. Clutching my chest, I laugh awkwardly at the sight of both men standing on my stoop side by side. Tyler, as always, is outfitted in a pair of skinny jeans with holes in the knees, and a screen-printed shirt with paint speckles by the hem. Attached to the hand hanging down at his side is a wicker basket, inside are three bottles of wine. He smiles widely upon seeing me, winks, fixes his amazing hair in the sexiest way imaginable, and welcomes himself inside without the need of an invitation.

  Coming toe to toe, Tyler leans down and brushes a kiss over my surprised lips. “Missed you.”

  Um. Wowza.

  My heart gives a wild thump.

  “Missed you more,” I sign, watching Rob out of the corner of my eye. He hasn’t moved an inch, but is viewing the exchange.

  I can’t believe they’re here together. I’m not complaining one bit, but it would’ve been nice to get a heads-up.

  A final peck to my forehead and Tyler goes about his business, not like a guest, but a resident who’s been living here for years. He even remembers to kick off his Converse by the entry table.

  Teeth sinking nervously into my bottom lip, I twinkly three-finger wave to Rob.

  “Hey, babe.” He steps into the house, crowding so closely that I have to tilt my head back to see his handsome face. Our feet brush. Per usual he’s clad in jeans, motorcycle boots, a fitted t-shirt, and his leather riding vest that has his nickname, Patriot, patched on the breast. I’d never use that name on him. Though, I do think it fits well.

  “Hi.” My cheeks heat, thighs pressing together from nerves, not arousal. Not that he isn’t sexy or doesn’t smell incredible. He wears cologne that would make any half-sane woman weak at the knees. The thing is, I can’t believe he’s really here. That we’re doing this. Tonight is happening. Tyler and Rob have met a few times before, but we’ve never done this—powwow in my home. It’s overwhelming. Downstairs in the dungeon, I’m the Domme, in charge, where I call the shots. Up here, it’s a different playing field. We’re equals, and I’m not sure how to cope with that. It doesn’t bother me. Really, it doesn’t. It’s just… I’m kind of a control freak, and this is well outside my area of expertise. There’s no manual on relationships, especially this type.

  When I say nothing more, Rob cups my cheek in his big mitt, gentle heat seeping in, and brushes a tender kiss across my lips. I shiver despite myself. Another more solid kiss follows, lingering, sticky with fresh gloss. My eyelids shutter, and breath fumbles. Goosebumps prickle everywhere. Yet, with my hands clasped in front of me, I restrain myself from doing more. Now’s not the time.

  A body presses against my back, startling me enough to squeak into Rob’s kiss. In response, he groans hot and heady. Strands of my hair are brushed to the side, and another set of lips feast on my neck—Tyler.

  Oh, my… I melt to mush on the inside, reeling, feeling, indulging.

  I’m officially sandwiched between two men for the first time in my life. And we’re standing in the open doorway, putting on a dinner show for my neighbors. It’s so perfect it almost feels like a dream.

  “I think we need to eat food before we eat other things,” Rob mutters, prying himself away from our kiss.

  I nod dumbly in agreement as Tyler continues his assault.

  Yep. Uh huh. He’s right. We need to eat food. My food. It should be done by now. But first I gotta stop Tyler. And…I don’t wanna. I want him to keep doing that… Mmm… Right there.

  Drunk on his touch, my head lolls back, giving him better access, as Tyler’s arm snakes around my stomach, joining us together. The outline of his erection presses against my spine.

  In front of me, Rob scowls like a scary badass. Then, in a blur, he reaches out, grabs a fistful of Tyler’s hair, and wrenches those luscious lips from my neck. Jesus, that shouldn’t turn my crank like it does.

  Keeping hold of our artist, Rob forces him to read his words. “Stop it, boy. We need to eat. You’re the one who wanted to have this talk. So we’re gonna talk.” Statement received, Rob releases Tyler and folds his arms over his chest, waiting for… something.

  Standing his ground, Tyler’s palm splays across my belly. I look down to see those long, dexterous fingers staking an odd claim that makes my stomach go wonky.

  “We can eat, Big Rob, but don’t pretend you ain’t liking this, too,” Tyler provokes.

  He isn’t wrong. There’s a definite banana shape running down the inside of Rob’s pant leg. At the tip, a small wet spot has begun to bleed through. My Big Guy is one helluva pre-cummer, and I love it.

  To avoid a possible showdown between my fellas when emotions are running high, I steer our focus where it should be—dinner.

  Removing Tyler’s hand, I scoot away and head for the kitchen. “Come on.” I wave them forth, hoping they’ll follow, not argue.

  The sound of the front lock engaging is music to my ears. As is the clunk of Rob’s boots being stowed.

  I remove the manicotti and bread from the warm oven as both of my men join me. Somehow we silently perform our own personal kitchen dance like we’ve been doing it for years, not the first time. Tyler finds the corkscrew and opens a bottle of white and red wine. I’m a fan of both, as is he. To keep Rob happy, Tyler also retrieves the scotch from the cupboard above the stove before he pours us each a drink. As our artist shuffles about, Rob sets my four-person table with plates, forks, and the white cloth napkins he found in a drawer. That leaves me with barely anything left to do besides transfer the casserole dish filled with bubbling mozzarella to the table and plate the garlic bread. I was tempted to make a tossed salad tonight as well, as a lighter side, but Rob isn’t a lettuce or spinach eater, and Tyler hates salads altogether—even the potato variety. What can I say? My men are wholesome foodies. Not rabbits. I know, you can’t tell it by looking at either of them.

  Everything in place, including the parmesan cheese and bottles of expensive wine, we take our respective seats. Tyler groans on impact, gripping the edge of the table as a potent wave of pleasure morphs his face for a good minute. Fascinated, both Rob and I watch him adjust to his sore bottom. Then, without any effort at all, the smooth dance in the kitchen transfers to the dining room. Back and forth, we take turns plating our own food before digging in without a word. We must have a lot on our minds, yet no idea how to broach the subject, so we don’t. Instead, we eat in companionable silence, enjoying each other’s company without obligatory chatter filling the space. It’s cathartic in a way. Most nights I eat alone in front of the TV. Tonight, I don’t have to. And I like that. I like it a lot.

  Out of my periphery, I watch my men chow down. Tyler’s refined and slow, each piece cut to the ideal size. The Big Guy doesn’t bother with formal table manners. He roughly saws his manicotti in half with a fork and shovels the entire section into his maw like a caveman. I hate to admit it, but I find both men’s eating habits charming. Having them here at the same time soothes something within me that I can’t quite put my thumb on.

  Stuffed to the gills, I shove my plate away, so I’m not tempted to eat any more. It doesn’t take long for Tyler to do the same. Rob finishes last, leaving very little for leftovers.

  Hands folding in my lap, I sit and wait for someone to break the ice besides me. Thankfully, less than a minute ticks by before Tyler recognizes the growing discomfort and takes the initiative himself.

  “I’m going to cut to the chase.” He clears his throat and cards fingers through his hair. “This isn’t working for me.”

  Wait. What?

  Is he breaking up with… us?

  Taking Tyler’s announcement the same as me, Rob leans back and crosses his arms again, expression guarded.

  This is not how I saw the night going.

  “Go on,” I encourage, trying hard not to die on the inside. Overreaction gets us nowhere.

  “I think you both know this hasn’t been working for a while now. That’s why I wanted this dinner. Two days a week isn’t enough. Not when I need more.”

  “Are you breaking it off with Ronan?” Rob interjects.

  Tyler sits up straight, eyes blown wide. “What? No! Why would I do that?”

  “’Cause it sounds like you are,” Rob returns.

  “I’m not. Why in the hell would I do that? I love her. I love you both. Why would I want that? Shit!” Tyler smacks his forehead and slips fingers into the front of his hair to fist. “This is coming out all wrong. I want us all to live together. Here. It’s the best solution. My apartment’s pointless since I barely spend any time there as it is. And my lease will be up the first of the month. I would like to make whatever this is more permanent. I know we haven’t exactly spent a ton of time together, the three of us. But we talk constantly, and I think it would work in our best interests if we stopped dancing around what we want.”

  “I never said I wanted to live here, or with you,” Rob growls, biceps tightening in protection mode.

  “Are you saying you don’t?” our artist tests.

  “How’s that gonna work, Tyler? We share the same bed? Ronan in the middle? What happens when I’m with my brothers and I fuck somebody else? What happens next, huh? Am I just supposed to come home, climb into bed, and pretend I didn’t just get my dick wet in somebody else’s cunt? When we’ll all know, I did. It’s bad enough dealin’ with this issue with the way things are. It already feels like I’m cheatin’.”

  “But you’re not. We talked about this. I understand,” I cut in, not wanting him to beat himself up over something he can’t exactly fix. He’s already on edge enough as is.

  Rob’s eyes bore into mine, fierce and strong-willed. “You think I don’t know it hurts you? That alone makes everything so much fuckin’ harder for me afterward.”

  “I’ve never said anything like that.” I toss my hands up, upset that he’d say such a thing. He can’t put that on me. I’ve done nothing more than be supportive even if I don’t like it.

  “You don’t have to. I already know,” he argues.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Well. I. Do. I think part of the reason I still get sick is because I see your face inside my head right after I come. Let’s be real. I’m fucked up. Beyond fucked up. Intimacy is and always will be an uphill battle for me. There’s no way I could expect anyone to handle that day in and out. Even if I wanted to live here and be together that way, I couldn’t. I’ve done the marriage thing twice, it didn’t work. This wouldn’t work. But, whatever you two choose to do I will fully support.”

  “We’re not doing this without you,” Tyler tosses in, clearly stricken by this upheaval of emotions.

  Rob shakes his head, the cords in his neck taut. His jaw ticks. “Then you’re not doing it at all, which is stupid. You can’t let me put a damper on your relationship. We can’t fix me. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be together.”

  Sitting forward, I slam my palms down on the tabletop. “Rob, that’s not fair!”

  “Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. I didn’t ask to deal with this shit. But I do. The last thing I want is y’all dealin’ with it, too.”

  “You can’t decide that for us. We love you for who you are. Messy crap and all.” Why won’t he get that through his thick skull? I’ve accepted his baggage from the beginning. That’s not going to change now. Living together is scary as hell. But it’s something I think could work. It would give us joy that I think we could all use a bit of. We care enough about each other that it might be worth the occasional bump in the road that comes along with any relationship. However, like with everything else in life, it takes hard work. Why is he giving up before we even get a chance to try?

  “I know that. Which is why I can’t. You think it gets bad now. Imagine what it’ll be like when I do roll in after fucking some club whore, lipstick on my neck, smelling of pussy that isn’t yours. What’s that gonna do to you… to what we do have? Is it worth wrecking us? I don’t fuckin’ think it is. I’m not givin’ you up. That’s not gonna happen. I gotta deal with my own shit. There’s no way I’m puttin’ it on either of you. The cost is too damn high.”

  “Then you’ll use me,” Tyler pipes up outta nowhere, voice as smooth as silk.

  Rob’s face scrunches up. “Use you how?”

  “The guilt shouldn’t be there if we keep the sex inside our relationship. You can use me to fulfill whatever it is that needs fulfilled instead of those club whores,” Tyler clarifies, shocking the hell out of me.

  “You mean—” Rob begins.

  “That you fuck me? Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Tyler—” I start. He puts his hand up to stop me. There’s no way he can be serious. Sure, the thought excites me. But to actually go through with it is a huge step. Massive. This is a big deal, a major one. I’m not sure what to say, or how to feel. I’m kinda… just… wow… um…this is unexpected.

  Slouching back in the chair, stunned, I let the moment unfold without interference. This is between them anyhow.

  Resting his elbows on the table, Tyler glances between Rob and me as he speaks with admirable conviction. “I want this relationship to work with the three of us. If that means Rob has to have sex with me, I’m fine with it. I already like anal sex. Having a man I care about do it, instead of you, doesn’t seem all that different.”

  “I’m not gay, and neither are you.”

  Rob’s right. They’re not. Just because you love anal penetration doesn’t place you in the bisexual category like some might assume. You have to be attracted to the same sex for that to be true. Since when has either of my guys been into men? They haven’t. I feel like I’ve wandered into some femdom, fantasy twilight zone.

  Tyler isn’t quick to give up. “I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t see why that matters when you’re just looking for a hole to unleash on, control, and wreck. I love pain. You can hurt me, I’m gonna love it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m sitting on an ass that’s the color of an eggplant, and I have a boner. Plus, you can spew all the degrading things you want, and I can’t hear you.” He taps the side of his head, grinning. “I’m deaf. Remember?”

  Jesus. Tyler’s erect and I’m getting turned on listening to them battle back and forth. What a messed-up bunch we are.

  Rob cracks his neck from side to side, angrier than before. “I’m. Not. Gay. Even if you’re okay with it, I dunno if I am.”

  “Why? Because I have a penis? What does it matter if I have a willing hole? Maybe it’s not a vagina, but it works similar with lube. You won’t even have to stretch me if you don’t want. I like the pain. Hell, forget the lube, and I’ll still love it! This is a much better solution and you know it.”