Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(58)
The hot squeeze of her is like the grip of heaven itself, and I push in, needing to fuck, needing to thrust. With a sucked-in breath, her hands fly to my shoulders, and she holds on as I work the edge off my need by giving her a few rough strokes.
“Hold still,” Ben says in a voice that demands obedience. “She’s gonna take me too.”
Ireland moans her assent, arching as much as she can while pierced with my length so she can make her little entrance more available to Ben.
The usually stoic Ben isn’t immune to the sight. A muscle in his tight jaw jumps as he looks down at us, her intimate place speared by my flesh and her ass presented to him the way he likes. With a harsh swallow, he grabs the lube and slicks himself up until his cock is a glistening column of need, and then he swirls some against Ireland’s tight hole for good measure.
“Ready, sweetheart?” he rasps.
“Please,” she breathes. “Yes, please.”
It’s slow work. Each inch makes her squirm and pant, her fingertips digging into my shoulders so deeply that I know I’ll bruise, but I’ll happily wear the bruises as badges of honor. Every single one is worth the look on her face now, with her eyes hooded and her lips parted and a flush that dusts the apples of her cheeks and the top of her chest.
Each inch is also work for me, because the extra pressure is almost too much for me to handle without coming—especially coupled as it is with the erotic squirm of Ireland on our cocks and the rough, reassuring rasp of Ben’s legs against my own. The firm brush of his sack on mine.
Soon, he’s fully seated, and you’d never guess the three of us have ever been cold, because now everything is heat and sweat and damp. With long, rolling movements, we fuck Ireland in tandem, keeping her filled and stretched, rubbing each other through the thin, shared wall of her body in a touch more intimate than almost anything else in this world.
It doesn’t take long. It never does like this. Ireland says it’s like being split in half, but being split in half by an electric rainbow made of orgasms. I don’t know about all that, but I do know having her sweet body pressed against me, her clit grinding on its favorite place above my cock, and Ben’s erection fucking against my own is more than any man can handle. The moment Ireland comes apart in our arms, we follow, grunting with a few final fast strokes and then erupting inside her. My balls draw up tight as my shaft swells, and then I release wave after hot wave of my seed inside her, spending so hard that my vision grays out around the edges. I let out a satisfied roar as all the sizzling, aching pressure finally relieves itself, and Ben gives his usual bitten-off grunt—the most he ever loses control in bed. I savor the feeling of his cock throbbing so close to mine as much as I savor the lingering flutters of Ireland’s pleasure, and I allow both to pull the very last drops of my climax out of my cock.
“God, you’re such a beauty,” I say, kissing Ireland everywhere, petting her and praising her for taking both of us like such a good girl. Ben echoes my praises, kissing her neck and stroking her hair until she’s practically purring. We both slip free from her body in a wet rush, and Ben goes to get things to clean us up.
He and I exchange a look as we do.
It’s time.
“What do you say we change into our pajamas and go have some warm apple cider by the tree?” I ask casually. Too casually maybe, because Ben rolls his eyes behind Ireland’s back at my bad acting as he scoots back on the bed with a towel.
However, Christmas and everything Christmasy is Ireland’s favorite thing, so she just nods happily. “Sounds amazing.” And then she rolls over like a princess to let Ben attend to her while I clean off, get dressed, and go downstairs to get everything ready.
A few minutes later, we’re around the tree with the fire going and steaming mugs of spiked cider for us all. Greta-dog nestles on the couch next to Ireland, who’s cute as a fucking button in her flannel pajamas covered in snowmen, but Ben and I remain standing.
“I can make room,” she says, preparing to move. “Or we can put Greta on the floor?”
Greta gives a huff, as if she knows she’s about to be evicted.
“Don’t move,” Ben says in his soldier voice, and Ireland goes still, looking confused. We go over to the tree to get the two little boxes we’ve nestled in the branches. She blinks at them and then blinks at us.
They’re not wrapped, tied only with small red bows, and her breathing speeds up as we pull off the ribbons together and open the boxes together.
As we kneel together.
“Ireland,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry with nerves. “I know it’s only been five months, and I know it’s all moved fast. But I’ve never been surer of anything in my entire life—that I want to spend it with the two of you.”
“We want you to be our wife,” Ben continues for me. Tears glimmer in Ireland’s eyes as he speaks. “We want to marry you and cherish you and spend forever with you. And I know there will be so much to figure out legally, and I know it will never be the easy road, but it’s the only road I want. Marry us, baby. Please.”
“Oh,” she says, starting to cry in earnest now and putting the back of her hand to her mouth. “Oh God. Yes. Yes, of course.”
My sternum cracks open and pure sunshine beams out. I’d hoped she’d say yes, of course—I wouldn’t have asked if I thought it was unwelcome, but still—to hear your woman say yes to forever is still the best kind of feeling. My own eyes are wet as Ben and I slide our rings onto her finger, each ring one half of a diamond-studded Celtic knot so that when they’re put on together, they make one whole design.