Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(23)

Sated, she eventually stills underneath me.

“One more,” I say, giving her favorite word back to her. “Give us one more.”

“I can’t,” she pleads, but I can still feel her body responding to my own deep inside her.

“You can,” Ben growls. I move my hand from her hip to her clit, giving her grinding circles that bulldoze past her I can’ts. She’s moaning again, loudly, even around the cock Ben keeps pushing in her mouth, and then he says, “Suck it, sweetheart. Hard as you can.”

The hand on his cock clenches as tight as the hand on the headboard, and I see the minute he hits the point of no return, the moment he finally releases. His entire body tenses, and he gives a low grunt, still aiming himself down Ireland’s throat and giving her every single bit of it, visibly pulsing in his hand, and Ireland works hard to swallow it as fast as he gives it to her. And I think she and I are both so helpless in the face of his rigid pleasure, with his locked jaw and fluttering eyes and massive, throbbing cock finally getting what it needs. She swallows his last gifts to her and then comes again uttering his name, and then mine, and then God’s.

I’m like a freight train, barreling into her deep and fast, a near roar ripping from my throat as I finally fill that condom all the way the fuck up, still pumping the whole time through. I can feel it in my thighs and deep in my balls and all the way up my stomach, and still I throb into the condom as the last of her orgasm pulls every single drop out of me and closer to her.

And then it’s finished. We gradually catch our breaths, unraveling into an obliterated kind of quiet, where there’s only the storm outside and our still-rough breathing.

Ireland reaches up for me with one hand, the other resting limply on Ben’s thigh. And then our amazing girl laughs. Laughs and laughs like she’s just gotten off the best roller coaster of her life and she can’t wait to get on again.

And I think Ben and I might be able to help her with that.





Chapter Nine





Ireland





We fuck again. And this time, Ben flips me over onto all fours and slides his huge cock into me from behind while Caleb fists a hand in my hair and guides me all around his cock. Unlike Ben, Caleb wants my mouth everywhere—every crease and groove and needy inch—and also unlike Ben, Caleb has almost zero control over his own reactions as I suckle at him. He groans my name like a prayer, his hand trembles in my hair, and even his thighs shake as I tend to his cock.

Behind me, Ben is a force of nature. Like the storm outside but potentially more destructive. He fucks me like he wants to split me in half, like if he fucks me hard enough, he can break me open and eat my heart. And I’ll be damned if it isn’t tearing me apart with how much I like it.

I’ve never had sex like this before, sex like my lover’s life depends on it, and that’s how both men fuck in their different ways. Caleb with the mindless need of a caveman; Ben with the cold grace of a predator. Between the two of them, I’m going to set a world record for number of orgasms in one night.

Between the two of them, I feel like the sexiest woman in the world.

Again, Ben comes with stillness and a quiet, nearly regretful grunt, and Caleb comes loud with hips bucking and hands grabbing. I smile when I think about those hands earlier today. About how they seemed so restless by his sides, flexing and twitching. He clearly likes having someone to claim and grab, and tonight that someone is me, and I couldn’t be happier. After we get cleaned up and tumble back into bed, he spoons me from behind and palms a breast with one hand and my cunt with another, not to start another round of sex but with a firm kind of possessiveness, as if to say these are mine.

I love it. I try not to think about how much I love it, and I definitely try not to think about how tomorrow is going to bring the harsh blear of reality over all of this. The tawdriness of taking two men to bed—even though I feel nothing but sheer contentment and a smug kind of feminine pride right now.

I wonder how the men will feel tomorrow. Politely indifferent? Trying to get me out the door as fast as possible before I get any wild romantic notions in my head?

Or, worst of all, embarrassed? For sleeping with me?

Ugh.

I push away the worry and the fear and try to settle into Caleb’s possessive embrace. He’s already asleep as Ben settles next to me—not on his side but on his back so that he faces up to the ceiling, and there’s something kind of intimate about it, looking at him while he isn’t looking at me.

In the faint gold light of the nightlight, aided by the occasional flash of lightning, I can study the sculpted perfection of his profile. The proud, nearly aquiline nose. The careful part of his lips. The stillness of his forehead and chin—the stillness of his everything, actually, which makes me wonder how much practice he’s had at keeping himself motionless. Inert.

But his eyes—those aren’t motionless at all. They gleam as they move from the window to the ceiling to me and Caleb and then back again, betraying a restlessness, a cloud of hidden thoughts.

It both fascinates and depresses me, that cloud. That fog of mystery that clings around him and covers him up. I want to burn away his gloom and see him smile.

“Thank you,” he finally says. The lash of the rain almost swallows up his words, but I hear them anyway.

I don’t know if I like them.