EPILOGUE 6 MONTHS LATER
E LLIANA
I’m stationed in the bleachers of Brentwood Hamilton Park cheering on the players of a baseball game. Only it’s not just any game. Noah Canter, my former employee and a one-time contractor on the Elegance website, is on the field pitching for his team of local District of Columbia firefighters.
The score is two to one against the opposing team, the local police precinct. The precinct includes the officers, lab assistants, and investigators involved in my stalking case. My old friend Detective Diego Ruiz has turned in his formal findings.
He determined that assailant Tanya Brubaker made threats against my life—including one of a fictitious bomb at our service counter that thankfully didn’t exist—took an illegally concealed weapon onto private property, and kidnapped her target.
AKA, me.
He also noted that Tanya displayed numerous signs of mental illness and based on past psychological records, listed her as a highly disturbed individual. Since she killed herself, I haven’t had to press charges or go to court.
But that’s not to say that I don’t feel burdened by the events of that day.
I will never forget the expression on Tanya’s features while confined with her in that RV. She’d been shooting wildly at something only she could see prior to linking her gaze with mine. As if gaining a few heartbeats of lucidity, Tanya had blinked several times. Her bottom lip had trembled, and she’d shaken her head at me, almost as if apologetic.
Then, sticking the barrel of the gun into her own mouth, Tanya pulled the trigger.
I still shudder whenever I think about it. The entire deranged turn of events felt so surreal to me. I can’t imagine it ever not feeling that way. I’d been shocked as well as petrified. Witnessing something like that is usually relegated to horror stories and slasher films, yet I had a front row seat to the gruesome reality.
The only sliver of a silver-lining has been that Tanya taking her own life means my stalker ordeal is over.
Mostly.
Noah strikes his third guy out, ending the eighth inning. My chef appears at my elbow with a refilled cup of soda, while my guitarist sits on my other side, handing me a basket of nachos. Tristan takes a sip of his own soda, giving my tortilla chips, hot queso dip, and Jackson’s chili fries a judgmental side-eye.
Maybe it’s his gourmet training or the fact that he’s just bought his own quaint café that he’s in the process of opening for lunch, but he can be a bit snobby around the likes of junk food. In fact, I’m astonished that he’s willing to gulp down his sixteen ounces of cola.
But I accept his quirks. I even find them endearing. Fortunately, my guys seem just as willing to let minor irritations go. Over the past few months, we’ve learned to coexist much more successfully.
I think my brush with death put everything into perspective for all of us.
That night back in December after the guys escorted me home—and once I’d regained control of myself and taken a shower—I’d resolved to better describe my intentions.
“I could no longer deal with the fucked-up power dynamic written into your contracts,” I explain as the four of us lay there together in bed, each of my guys in contact with me in some way. “Being the boss at work is one thing, but at home, I knew it wouldn’t work. It couldn’t . I realized that if we went on in a similar vein, eventually everything between us would disintegrate. Those Elegance stipulations were hanging over our heads like storm clouds.”
“Then, the shit hit the fan before we could have a real convo about it,” Jackson finishes my thought beside me on the mattress. We’re frequently on the same wavelength. “I’ve been in love before and had no plans to do it this time, but somehow, you made me fall for you anyway. I’m in for as long as you’ll have me.”
“Me, too,” Noah tells me, and I trail a hand along his cheekbone, stroking it with my thumb as I simultaneously grip Jackson’s hand. “I loved you all along, especially when I understood that you’d be patient with me and show me what to do. I was only upset because I thought you quit wanting me. That you quit wanting any of us.”
“Never,” I reiterate. I’ll sign a sworn statement, and have it notarized if need be. “Never ever. You three are all I wanted from the start. For real.” I peek over at Tristan, who has remained markedly silent. “What about you, Chef St. Pierre?”
“I love you,” he speaks in his growly straightforward manner, picking up my bare foot and rubbing along the arch. “And I enjoy being part of a cohesive group. Never had family or friends really, not until now. It’s important, and I don’t have any desire to give any of this up.”
Releasing the other two, I offer Tristan a fleeting hug around the waist, needing to share equal contact among the three.
So, on January 15 th , their contracts with me were automatically terminated. That next day, I observed them one by one as they also severed any future ties with Elegance as a whole. They wouldn’t be going anywhere because their days as sex workers in any capacity were no more.
While it’s been another adjustment to have them in my house on their own terms, it’s been a positive one. Getting past the Tanya incident has been a challenge, and if not for my men, I’m not sure how I might’ve coped.
Noah’s always thoughtful, and Jackson’s always ready to bang my stress away. But it’s my chef who has taken the longest strides to reach me when I drift too far into my head. The main instance of this transpired around a week after the tragedy.
I jerked awake one night from this graphic nightmare where Tanya kept committing suicide right in front of me. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t stop weeping. Tristan, the lightest sleeper of the three, stirred first and carried me like a child to his bedroom before I could disturb the other two.
He held me, smoothed back my hair, and when my waterworks refused to cease, told me all about what happened to him years ago with a crowd of unruly women at his strip club.
My tears had continued, but for him rather than myself. I’d known at the time that something had been upsetting him but hearing the specifics had just wrecked me. I was equal parts appalled, furious on his behalf, and heartbroken.
Him opening up like that made me realize that we all walk around with burdens no one else knows about, stuff no one else can see. Tristan had been naked with me in a figurative rather than literal sense, and it let us come to an even greater depth of understanding with each other.
Much like the time I’d received that blood-stained card, we’d huddled together for the remainder of that night, neither of us once leaving the other’s arms.
Something about his demonstration of trust in me felt healing. I think both our wounds became less raw after that.
Now, I know to not ask him to strip for me unless he initiates it, and he’s aware that he can talk to me about anything without hesitation. It’s like we leveled up in our relationship and erased any barriers or distance between us.
As awful as going through recent events has been, it’s brought the four of us to where we are now, which is a much more peaceful and integrated place. And though I’d never wish such trauma on anybody else, I have to say that I’m far more grateful for small everyday blessings than I used to be.
One not so small blessing is in action today since Noah’s parents and brothers are ranged behind us.
Tristan, Jackson and I visited them with Noah to explain our admittedly unorthodox bond a couple of months ago. It was important to him to come clean, and we all agreed to disclose the truth about us together.
It went relatively well all things considered.
His twin brothers made more than a few unflinching inquiries even though they turned as beet red as their brother when they did. His middle brother—again with a pinkening complexion—seemed more intrigued than anything else.
His father Josiah proved astonishingly supportive. His mom, on the other hand, has taken longer to come around. That first day Amelia Canter had thundered off and didn’t speak to Noah for a month.
Ultimately though, maybe due to her husband talking her down or because she had some time to grow more accustomed to the idea, she eased up. Amelia seems to have tentatively accepted who her son is as well as his relationship with the rest of us.
She’s here with her family at any rate, even if she’s more reserved than they are.
Still, to me, this is a win.
Several weeks back, Jackson met up with a local band in search of a lead singer and guitarist. They’ve recorded some stuff and have now built up a decent following on YouTube for their music videos. This garnered them some attention from a producer in Nashville who’s talking to them about submitting some tracks to the big record companies.
They’re working on it, so we’ll see how that goes.
Jackson also regaled us with all these stories about his grandfather, the only member of his family he’s remained close to. He even explained the complex nature of our relationship to him over speakerphone, then paused, awaiting his response.
“Gramps, you there?” Jackson grimaced at the phone, then over at us as I clasped his shoulder.
“Sure, sure.”
“Do you get what I just said?”
“Yeah. I did something similar back in my hippy days. Lived in a commune. Had some orgies. This was all before your grandmother, of course.”
I gaped at my musician who stared wide-eyed at me and the others.
“You never told me about any orgies,” Jackson muttered.
“Well, didn’t seem appropriate until now. Never tried it long-term like you are, but hell, if it works, it works. Speaking of relationships, I’m getting married.”
“ You’re what ?” Jackson straight-up squawked.
“Finally proposed to Brenda. She said yes.”
The four of us will be attending their wedding next month.
The crack of a bat smacking into a baseball draws my focus back to the game as the police close the gap in this last inning, evening the score. Then, two batters strike out on the firefighters’ team while a pair of others fill the bases, leaving the game hanging on the cusp of a possible draw.
But as Noah comes to bat and smiles at us here in the stands, I get a hunch that he’s about to do something interesting.
He does.
The second that first pitch careens toward the catcher’s mitt, he thwacks it so hard that it hurtles past the fence outlining the field, vanishing into a grove of trees.
I bounce to my feet and cheer, “Grand slam!” as Jackson whoops and Tristan whistles.
With Noah’s run added to the two before him, they’re up five to one which makes the firefighters victorious. There’s a lot of ribbing and nonsense as they fist-bump their adversaries in blue, but this is all well-intentioned.
Since they’re playing for a list of children’s charities including St. Jude’s and the March of Dimes, there was never any real animosity behind their competition in the first place. After we collect our real-life hero—honestly, I consider all three of my men my own personal heroes—we aim for home.
There, we celebrate again, only this time isn’t meant for any eyes but our own.
After shedding every stitch of our clothes, we gather in the master bedroom where my guys have already strewn red rose petals. It’s kind of become our thing. We’ve discussed our next steps for tonight beforehand and are now moving ahead with our plan.
Jackson has been working my back entrance millimeter by millimeter toward taking the entirety of his cock, and tonight is the big night as he uses lube, his own precum, and his fingers to prepare me. He lays supine on the mattress, his leaky shaft showing its eagerness for what’s to come.
With Noah and Tristan bracketing each of my arms, they assist me in getting into position. Ever so gradually, I hover over Jackson’s lap, the pucker of my ass incrementally taking him in.
He feels enormous, and it takes Noah and Tristan bearing most of my weight so I can relax. Only then am I able to become fully seated on top of my musician, his front to my back as we lay face up in the middle of my bed.
Now, the middle of our bed.
“Fucking Christ, you’re so tight, sweet thing. You make it so hard to not blow my load.”
I know he won’t lose it early, however. Jackson seems to have infinite endurance and patience when it comes to our time together.
He feels so wonderful inside me, and for a few seconds, he intertwines his arms around my torso, stroking along my stomach and ribs before twisting my head enough to kiss me from behind. He tweaks and pinches my nipples for endless minutes, and even without him lavishing attention on my clit, I can feel myself growing wetter and wetter.
Particularly when Tristan positions himself between the V of our open thighs.
With purposeful hands, he situates my legs—knees bent like Jackson’s—until they’re suspended on the outside of my musician’s. I adore how long Tristan is, and it proves especially useful as he inserts himself into my pussy, gliding in until he reaches the furthest depths of me, his fullness combining with Jackson’s so intensely that I cry out.
“Oh, fuck. Sweet baby Jesus and fuck .”
“Elle?” Noah’s concerned features appear above mine. “Is this too much?”
“No, honeybunny. I’m almost Goldilocks.” One eyebrow ascends in his puzzlement, and I nearly snort at him. I don’t, though. Instead, I push his bangs back. “Once you join us, everything will be just right.”
My youthful firefighter grins, pinkness settling over his cheeks and neck. I used to wonder if he’d always be embarrassed by the things we all do together, but I no longer worry about that. His ever-present flush is less about embarrassment and more due to him anticipating pleasure these days.
Tristan is tilting toward me, his hands on Jackson’s knees as his hips meet mine. Now, the final piece. Lowering his head over my navel, Noah weaves himself past the tangle of arms and legs the rest of us are snarled in. Even still, he pauses for just a second, causing Tristan to step in.
“You got this, kid. Kiss her right where I showed you last time.” Tristan even moves two fingers to the top of my folds spreading me like the petals of a flower so that my pearl piercing is evident to all four of us. “Tongue it like you do her belly button and nipple piercings.”
And then, in Noah’s first ever foray into oral gratification, he drops his mouth over my clit.
I feel the warm moisture of his tongue as he licks me, clamping his soft lips around my tenderest flesh and against the unforgiving surface of that white pearl. As his licks and kisses become sucks and nibbles, Jackson and Tristan move in and out of me.
They build up to a simultaneous rhythm that has my musician fucking my ass while my chef hits the G spot deep within my core. With Noah accompanying them as they coordinate their motions nearly flawlessly, my first orgasm lands on me like a fucking atom bomb.
“Oh, oh Jesus... Oh, oh my God. Oh sweet baby, oh...”
I’m not even making sense as the waves of euphoria radiate through my body, my three men making it ridiculously easy for me to climax. Jackson is biting the shell of my ear, his guitar-string roughened fingertips buzzing over each nipple as he cups my breasts and thrusts.
Tristan is thrusting right along with him, thumb skittering along my toes as the other plays with my knee pit—a recent discovery as an erogenous zone for me. Noah worships my clit and folds with his mouth, his close proximity to where Tristan and I are joined a turn-on for him. I know this, and so do the others, because Noah confided in us yet again.
This has caused some of my mens’ casual glancing touches to evolve into lying right against one another while sleeping or hanging out on the lounger. I don’t know if this will ever evolve into me meandering in someday to see one of my guys fucking the other, but if it does, I’ll just find it sexy as hell.
When you’re in a loving relationship as a foursome that welcomes any and all combinations, everything’s good.
In truth, it’s far better than good.
Like now, for instance.
It’s all heat, lips, cocks, and intense slickness as we move as one. My guys are making the type of moans that mean they’re having to concentrate on not climaxing, and I love listening to them enjoying this. Noah loops one arm around my waist for leverage.
I watch him angling his head up and down as he lavishes his tongue along my folds, and based on Tristan’s suddenly wide eyes, maybe over the part of the chef’s shaft that’s not buried inside me, as well.
And visualizing that is too much.
I come again, this orgasm more powerful than the first, and needing to know that all my men are feeling this fantastic, too, I reach out to secure my fist around Noah’s dick.
“Ah, shoot ,” he hisses against me, his adorable Mormon method of not using foul language in force, but I’m too caught up in the joy of it all to find this humorous.
This isn’t the case apparently for Tristan and Jackson though, because they both start juddering as they chuckle at our least experienced partner’s expense.
But it’s not malicious. It’s not even a turn-off for me. If anything, the shuddering motions make me tingle even more. We’re a band of lovers who are totally equal at this point, a dedicated unit of four who eats together, laughs together, sleeps together, and makes love together.
I stroke Noah even harder, even faster, just like he prefers. Tristan, the quietest during our lovemaking sessions, is wearing a pained expression that informs me that he’s super close. Jackson, my jackhammer-like machine man is issuing faint whimpers beneath me that I feel more than hear, but I know the signs. Also, I’m about to orgasm for the third time.
And although I’ve never issued an order like this before, I’m going with the flow, and that means trying something new.
“I’m getting ready to come, and all of you will come with me. Understand?” I bark, shifting down as Jackson and Tristan shift upward to meet me, while Noah sucks me with exactly the right amount of suction.
That’s what sets the final piece into motion.
From the very center of my core, I clench down, and having so much resistance—Jackson and Tristan’s cocks along with Noah’s lips—causes me to have some sort of out-of-body traveling-along-an-astral-plane experience as the waves of euphoria float over the four of us.
I release a long vibrant keen as Jackson groans, Tristan growls, and Noah hums. As I clamp down and throb against my men, I feel both Jackson and Tristan spilling within me. A split second later, I realize that Noah, too, is erupting from my fist, his release jetting across my torso and Jackson’s arm.
I can’t believe we actually managed to time it so closely.
My three men are all connected to me and touching each other. I twist my head to French kiss Jackson and squeeze Tristan with my legs until he slumps over Noah and me. Weaving one hand into my firefighter’s hair and the other into my chef’s, I continue to kiss Jackson and pull us into an X-rated version of a group hug.
Then, with chests heaving, skin perspiring, and frankly, pretty much everything covered in various forms of goo, I gently break that kiss to make eye contact with each of my guys in turn, saying everything without having to speak a single word.
Warmth suffuses my heart as one-by-one they return my loving gaze, and it’s perfection.
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