Chapter 46 #2
“But you can take it.” Asher says it like he doesn’t doubt that I can. He adds more lube, nudges me with the tips of two of his fingers, tells me to bear down.
A moment later, my body starts to adapt, and his fingers glide in and out of me. “More,” I say, haughtily, mostly to make Asher laugh, which he does.
He leans over, kisses up my spine, ends with his mouth on my shoulder and his fingers buried as deep inside as the angle will allow. In front of me, Brayden draws his hand down the curve of my belly to my pussy, stroking idly around my clit. “You ready for us?” he asks.
“How do we want to do this…?” I ask, then trail off as they shift me between them—my legs on either side of Brayden’s hips, his cock nudging my wet folds.
Asher seats himself behind me. He tilts me forward, kisses the base of my neck. “You ready to ride your husband’s cock while I bury myself in your perfect ass?”
Perfect. I shouldn’t let that affect me, but it does. No matter how much I love myself and my body, the world never seems to. But here, held between them, I don’t forget, exactly, but it’s harder to remember why I ever listened to anyone who wanted to diminish me. “Fuck yes,” I say. “Fill me up.”
Asher kisses a hot line down my shoulders; Brayden embraces me from the front and does the same. Their mouths collide occasionally—accidentally at first, or so I think—until they keep doing it, like now that we’re together, nothing will hold them apart.
Brayden eases me up on my knees, grips his cock in hand, tenses as I sink down on him.
I adjust to the feel of him until he’s deep inside me, and when I rock forward, he lifts his hips to meet me thrust for thrust. Behind me, there’s a sound: Asher pouring more lube on his hand then stroking himself with it.
He lifts me up, angles my back, drawing a groan from Brayden where his cock is half inside me, then Asher presses into my ass just as Brayden does the same in my pussy.
Tight hot pressure expands in my belly. For a moment, we all hold ourselves still.
Brayden breathes warm on my shoulder; Asher kisses the place where my jaw meets my ear.
“I can feel him too.” Brayden says it low, like he’s awestruck by it, like we’re closer than any of us expected.
Behind me, Asher begins moving his hips in little strokes, tiny movements that only amplify Brayden doing the same. I’m caught between them—caught up in the moment—as my body lights up more and more.
“That’s it, princess,” Asher says, “you let us give you everything you deserve.”
This isn’t a quick hard fuck, or something slow and exploratory, or even that feeling we all had in Asher’s apartment together—like if we stopped, the illusion would be shattered and we’d have to go back to how things were.
Brayden’s cock drives into me, his hands roam over my body, holding me like I’m something precious to him, even as Asher pistons his hips as if he knows I can take that much more.
I’m wet, dripping all over Brayden, who begins to flick his fingers across my clit in time with their thrusts.
“Come all over me,” he says, then his eyes catch Asher’s over my shoulder. “Take us with you.”
My orgasm comes on slow, a pulse that starts somewhere deep in my core and grows outward, every muscle clenching, until Asher’s thrusts grow erratic and he pushes himself deeper inside me just as Brayden does the same. It’s so much—I’m stretched, full, impossibly turned on.
Brayden flicks his finger over my clit then presses hard, just as Asher catches the tendon of my neck in his teeth. White light bursts inside me—a wave, and then another, then the hot, undeniable gush of pleasure down my leg as I come like I’m never going to stop.
“Did you just—” Brayden says, right as Asher says, “she did,” and they both go over the edge with me, filling me, making me theirs.
After, I’m sure they pull out—sure that I go from sitting on the bed to lying on it—but I can’t remember any of that. Only that a few minutes later, I drift lazily back into my body as if returning from some higher plane of existence.
They’re each next to me, Asher on my right and Brayden on my left, holding me close. They’re talking, though their voices sound like they’re coming from deep underwater.
“—is she ready to get cleaned up?” Brayden is saying.
Asher snorts. “Shouldn’t you be asking your wife that question?”
“Maybe you should ask your—” Brayden fires back, then clicks his jaw shut like he doesn’t know what word he should say.
That’s enough to pull me back to reality.
I didn’t think we were going to do the whole what are we?
when I was dripping with their come but now that they’ve said it, I want to be sure.
I push myself up, body still feeling like I don’t quite have my bearings, but my mind is completely focused.
“I’m Brayden’s wife.” For the first time, it doesn’t feel at all like a lie.
“Great,” Asher says, flatly, “glad we cleared that up.”
“But I’m also Asher’s girlfriend.”
Asher glances at me as if he misheard me, then kisses me, mouth lingering on mine, arms winding around me like he’s afraid I might somehow disappear. “So that’s settled,” he says, finally, even as he kisses me again.
“Not quite.” I sit up even further so that they have no choice but to face one another. “Where does that leave you both?”
Brayden opens his mouth—no sounds come out. He’s wearing that same look of panic he had on the other night before we left Asher standing in his apartment, alone.
Beside me, Asher goes so tense I can practically feel him vibrating with effort. “It’s fine,” he says. “We don’t need to label things. C’mon—”
Brayden catches him by the wrist. Brings him close.
Kisses him once, gently, on the lips, then turns to me and does the same.
“I don’t really know the right words for any of this,” he says.
“I was always taught things were supposed to be a certain way, and if they weren’t, it was—” He stops, but I can fill in the words.
Sin, depravity. Freedom that they told him was wrong.
“But I want to be your man—both of yours—if that’s what you want. ”
He says it with the seriousness of a vow, no less weighty than the ones made to each other in that Vegas chapel. I don’t break my fucking promises. What he growled in my ear the other day. He’s kept promise after promise—imperfectly, but he’s tried all the same.
“I do,” I say. “I want that.”
For a moment, Asher doesn’t say anything. Then his mouth inches up at the edge, not his familiar smirk but that soft version of his smile that I’m not sure if anyone but us gets to see. “I do too.” Then his smile fades. “What are we gonna tell other people?”
I don’t answer—mostly because I don’t have a good answer to that.
I imagine the horror on Brad’s and Barb’s faces, the fallout if the team finds out about this.
They wanted Brayden in a healthy, stable, normal relationship.
We might get the first two, but this isn’t what anyone in the Atlanta Peaches organization would call normal.
“Maybe that doesn’t matter for now,” Brayden says finally, then holds out his hands for us.
I take his hand just as Asher does the same. And as we fall back in bed together, I realize that Brayden is right. Maybe we don’t have to tell anyone right now. Maybe the only people we have to say anything at all to are each other.