Chapter 32
T he problem is that when things are good, they're so, so good.
It's pretty hard to worry about your independence or your usefulness when you're being shared by two guys in front of a roaring fire.
On my hands and knees, I rock between Sergio in my mouth and Cayden in my pussy.
Cayden's grip on my hips is hard as iron, and his cock inside me feels like steel.
Sergio holds my hair in his fist and uses it as leverage to pull me forward, forcing me to take him deeper, and God, all he has to do is ask.
I'm happy to take it, happy to be used this way.
Especially when Cayden drops his hand to the place where our bodies are joined. He rubs my clit, and my eyes roll back in my head at the new well of pleasure opening up inside me.
I didn't exactly plan to end up like this today, but these things have a tendency to happen.
I'd just walked in the door after another full day of cleaning and painting at my grandmother's house.
If anyone looked too closely, they'd notice the flecks of blue on my wrist and the crimson stain embedded in the whorls of my thumb.
My artwork has possessed me. I've had too many feelings to work out, too many beautiful images of the new men in my life floating around in my head.
I've been pouring them onto canvas as catharsis and creation, and I was feeling exhausted. Drained.
Except Sergio had been there, freshly showered after a day spent hunched over a wood saw. With a look, he'd invited me to sit beside him for a quiet evening.
Instead, I'd decided to sit on his lap. He always has been a fan of me letting him know when I want his touch. I didn't mince words. Things progressed swiftly from rough kisses to the rocking motion of our bodies against one another. Clothes flew, leaving us bare to each other.
And then Cayden walked in. Desire burned in his eyes. Sergio didn't seem to mind.
Now here we are.
Sergio leans down, reaching to cup my breast. His touch there sends bolts of lightning through me.
They're echoed by Cayden hammering my g-spot with his cock and my clit with his fingers.
I groan, nearly choking on Sergio. His cockhead nudges up against my throat, his bitter taste slick on my tongue.
Cayden speeds up his pace, slamming into me.
"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Come for us."
I look up through hazy eyes to find Sergio looming over me. He's close, too, his gaze dark and desperate. He nods.
I close my eyes, focusing within.
It doesn't take long. Another few strokes of Cayden's cock against my inner walls and I'm done for. I grunt out my orgasm, my body rippling and pulsing. They keep fucking me at both ends throughout, and it's all I can do to hold myself up.
Just as my arms start to shake, Cayden slams home. He groans my name, gripping my hip hard. His release fills me, his cock pumping deep inside. Sergio pulls out a second later.
"Can I?" he asks, panting. "Wanna—"
"Yeah, do it—"
He strokes his spit-slick cock once, then twice.
The first stripe of come lands on my cheek.
I open my mouth to taste the next. He paints me one more time, then shoves back inside, finishing on my tongue, and I feel so dirty, so amazing .
I come again, just like that, covered in come and filled with it and bracketed by two men.
They each pull out in turn. I collapse to the ground. Sergio disappears, then returns a minute later with a bunch of napkins.
"Sorry," he says. "I, uh…"
He came all over my face is what he did. I smile and wave him off. "It's fine. Sexy."
Normally, I wouldn't think so, but there's something about how quiet he is. His desire to mark me up speaks so many of the words he generally sees no need to. I'm listening.
Taking a few napkins from him, I clean myself up. Cayden helps me mop some of the stickiness from my thighs.
With a kiss, Sergio excuses himself.
Which leaves just Cayden and me.
"Ugh." I flop backward onto the rug. The fire is still going in the hearth, and normally I'd love the delicious heat, but I'm sweating after the workout I just had.
I should put on my clothes, though. The other guys will be coming through soon, which isn't exactly an issue. If they wanted, they could take a turn.
Only…
The weird twist of embarrassment I've been fighting off ever since I entered into this arrangement curls painfully in my abdomen. I like getting fucked on the regular by all these guys. But sometimes it's too much.
Sometimes, I don't feel like I'm enough.
As if he senses my change in mood, Cayden drops down to sit beside my hip. He hands me my bra, and I rise to start to pull it on. He regards me for a minute in silence.
Then he asks, quietly, "Hey. Haley. You okay?"
Oh, hell. There's something to the way he poses the question, his voice tender and soft, and it makes the soft, tender parts of me pang. My eyes prickle. I look away, grabbing my shirt and pulling it over my head to buy myself a minute.
"Yeah," I finally say. "Of course."
I manage to make the answer sound bright, but I'm not sure who I think I'm fooling.
I get my underwear and pants pulled on, but that's it. Cayden puts a hand on my shoulder and tugs me around. His blue eyes are so clear, his brow furrowed. Behind the cover of his beard, he frowns.
"You sure? You've just seemed…off the past few days."
That's one word for it.
He isn't the only one to have noticed, either, for all that he's the first one to ask out loud. Everyone's been shooting me concerned or curious looks. I've brushed them each off with a smile, but maybe I haven't been as good at pretending to be okay as I think I have.
I shrug, still not quite ready to face how I'm feeling except with a paintbrush in my hand. "I don't know. There's just a lot going on, you know? Cleaning out my grandmother's house for one."
Relief spreads across his face, and I feel like shit. Yay, another half truth.
"I'm sorry," he says, like he really believes that that's the only thing bothering me. "I hate that you're having to do so much of that alone. I can talk to the guys—we're pretty caught up with stuff right now. They can probably spare me for a bit if you want a hand…?"
That is definitely not what I want. The canvases I've been working on are too private, too intimate. They're a fucking therapy session done in blue and red and black, is what they are. I'm not ready to show them to anyone. Definitely not to one of the guys who's helped inspire them.
I shake my head. "No, it's fine. It's—It's stuff I have to do. Does that make sense?"
His face softens. "Yeah."
In a rush, I remember that part of why we're here, in this giant house, is because his parents passed a few years ago.
So, yeah. He knows.
He squeezes my shoulder, then pulls me in for a hug. "Just remember—the offer stands. Anything you need."
"Of course."
They've been clear about that to a fault. It's one of the reasons my current mood feels like a betrayal. They've all been so incredibly kind. How dare I be ungrateful?
How dare I not believe them?
How can I still be sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting for this to fall apart?
I close my eyes shut tight and cling to him. Then I force out the question that's been plaguing me all this while.
"What do I do when my sabbatical runs out?"
Cayden's breath stutters. For a second, I think it stops, but it's just gone shallow, his body stiff. "What do you want to happen?"
"I honestly have no idea."
"How long do you have left?"
"About a month."
He hugs me tighter. "That doesn't sound like even close to enough."
It really doesn't. Not to finish the work at my grandmother's house, or the body of work I've started as an artist. It's definitely not enough to time to explore the connection I've found with these men. We've barely scratched the surface on that.
When he speaks again, it's calculated, like he's considering every word. "You know you're welcome here as long as you want."
"I know. But my job…" My life, such as it was.
"We'd figure something out. We have plenty here—you wouldn't have to work at all, if you didn't want to. You could get back to painting, or…something."
I shake my head, burying it against his shoulder. "You can't mean that."
"How could I not?"
The idea of relying on other people for my living has never sat right with me. I've always wanted my own money, my own life. If I'd found the right partner, someday, maybe I could have imagined it. If we'd decided to have kids… The work of a wife and mother is real.
The work of an artist, being shared among five guys?
It sounds like an offer of freedom. But in my heart, it feels like a trap.
"Just." Cayden's throat bobs, the motion hot against my cheek. "Think about it. I know I speak for everyone here. We don't want to let you go."
Not yet, they don't.
But the last time I thought I'd found someone who wanted to keep me, I was sorely, sorely mistaken.
Tempting as it is, I just can't trust that this offer is real.