11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Caroline had been waiting patiently for permission to enter.
That much was obvious from a glance at the gorgeous, willowy makeup artist. She’d changed into one of the estate’s robes—evidently Tallulah’s boast that she’d ‘take care of everything’ applied to assistants, too—and pulled her long, raven-dark hair into a double ponytail, like she wanted to give me a pair of handlebars for this occasion.
Her lips were a dark, pouty red that reminded me of Tallulah’s dress, while her eyes and cheekbones had been painted in a way that made her look like an actress in a theater troupe.
From the way her shoulders rose and fell rapidly, her eyes burning like coals, I knew she hadn’t just been waiting, either. She’d been listening in eagerly on every moment of Marcie and I’s performance.
“You rang, madam?” Caroline managed, her hands clutching the sash keeping her robe closed. I’d seen this woman with a gun held to her head, and I don’t think she’d ever been this nervous in my presence before.
“I did.” Marcie beckoned her to come closer, and for a second it wasn’t Marcie at all: it was Yukiko smirking from inside my babygirl’s face, turned on and in control and eager to watch her husband ‘break in a new bitch’—which, as she’d once shamelessly confessed to me on the balcony of my condo, turned her on more than anything else in the world.
“Did you enjoy listening to my husband and I fuck?”
Caroline didn’t bother denying it. “Yes,” she panted, glancing between Marcie and I.
Marcie smiled. “Get on the bed,” she commanded.
She even sounded like Yukiko. It wasn’t an envy thing—Marcie was perfectly happy being where she was, had probably never been happier now that she had the baby she’d been dreaming about even before we moved to Boston.
She just wanted to be the one who welcomed a new girl into the family, instead of finding out about it after the fact.
She was the one who’d made the decision, and tonight, she was going to sit on the throne—before giving it back to my head wife first thing in the morning, no doubt.
Caroline climbed onto the mattress with a feline grace, all eyes on her. Marcie gestured her closer, letting the covers fall from her body to show the mess the two of us had made of her just a few minutes ago.
She watched her assistant watching me, the corner of her mouth curling. “You want him.”
Caroline shivered at the words. “You told me I was on probation,” she purred, putting a teasing lilt so slight you might have missed it into the words. “That the only thing I’m allowed to do on this trip is please you.”
Had she, now? Holy hell.
“I did say that,” Marcie said, reaching for her. “But I think we’ll let my husband decide.” She glanced at me. “What do you think, Jack?”
As she asked the question, Marcie’s fingers found the knot in Caroline’s robe and tugged it off of her frame.
And I became entirely incapable of answering.
I’d spent a week trying to parse this woman’s ridiculous, twenty-third century fashion sense.
And all the while, underneath of those half-diving-gear, half-schoolgirl outfits was the kind of body that drove men into the monastic life after fumbling a beauty like her.
Her skin was pale and smooth, with small, perky breasts and a dancer’s waist and an ass so firm I knew Maria would be jealous the first time she saw it.
Underneath the robe, Caroline was naked, save for the crystals at her throat catching the dim light as they swayed between her tits.
As she turned in profile towards Marcie, I caught sight of something dark that stretched from just beneath her ribs to the side of one hip: a tattoo, inked in fine black lines. A woman with a fish’s tail and streaming hair, her mouth open and one hand reaching out as if calling someone to her side.
A siren. Of course it was a siren.
I lured men to the jagged rocks of the Aegean sea, she’d told me that afternoon, in the matter-of-fact tone of someone discussing the waitressing job they’d worked for a summer.
And here was the proof, inked right onto her skin.
“Jesus,” I whispered, finding my voice at last. “You really are a witch.”
She glanced at me with a faint smile. “I really did try and warn you.”
Marcie smirked at us both. “Ask him,” she purred, running her hands up and down the siren’s sleek flanks. “I know you want to. I know it’s been on your mind from the moment you yanked that line out of Yukiko’s microphone so your employer couldn’t spy on us.”
Caroline froze in her arms. Slowly, she turned to me, her eyes wide and filled with something between fear and hope.
For all her boldness, for all her matching wits with Tallulah and flirting shamelessly with me and Marcie both, there was something underneath of all of that I could tell was terribly fragile.
She braced herself. When she spoke, she couldn’t quite keep her voice steady.
“Please,” she whispered, one hand straying to Marcie’s thigh. “May I… may I be allowed?”
That was an odd way to phrase a request.
“Allowed what?” I asked.
She blinked back tears. “I want to belong to this,” she said, meaning it with her whole heart. “I’ve wanted it since the moment I set foot in your house. It’s all I want.”
I get it, I thought.
This wasn’t about the sex. Oh, don’t get me wrong, Caroline was so turned on it was a miracle there wasn’t a puddle between her knees on the sheets, but it wasn’t just about the sex.
The sex was just the door she wanted to walk through.
The island she wanted to swim to until she ended up safe from the waves and back on solid ground.
What she was asking for, in that trembling way that I’d already grown tremendously fond of, was the whole thing—the family, the belonging, the home.
An unconventional home full of people who loved each other and who nobody was coming to tear apart and sell for scrap.
The thing that had been taken from her once—taken with such violence that she was willing to give away a fortune to make sure it didn’t happen a second time.
I could give her that. Did I want to? Was it too soon?
I looked her up and down. Her body. Her eyes. That sly little tattoo beneath her ribs.
No, it wasn’t too soon. She wanted a home.
And, frankly, she already felt like home.
I grinned. “Kiss her already,” I commanded, nodding with my chin at Marcie. “You’ve made her wait long enough.”
I don’t think I’d ever seen a woman look so happy. And I had more examples than almost any man who’d ever lived.
Caroline relaxed into Marcie’s touch, her mouth meeting my angel’s with a desperate, choked whimper.
The two of them fell to the mattress together, Marcie’s hands going to her pigtails, Caroline’s hands going everywhere.
This girl would not be shy about sharing me with my other wives—a single second of watching her was all it took to confirm how enthusiastically she batted for both teams.
As Caroline kissed from Marcie’s breasts down to her pussy, I moved in behind the pair.
I ran my fingers down the makeup artist’s spine, watching her tremble beneath my touch, savoring the way she instinctively arched her back and lifted that perfect ass of hers into the air.
Her feral tang mixed with my wife’s; she was drenched, had been since the moment she crossed the threshold and stepped from her suite into ours. Probably before that, even.
I lined myself up behind her, taking her hips in my hands. My cock was an iron girder, throbbing against the inside of her thigh, pressing into her folds from behind. A sleek little landing strip of hair bristled above the entrance to her slit.
“Yes,” Caroline groaned, pressing herself against me. That single word consented to the sex—and everything else she’d wanted her entire life. “Yes, please, I’m ready. Please, fuck me—”
I pushed into her and buried myself down to the hilt.
Caroline buried her face in my wife’s tits and screamed.
I’d heard more than my fair share of cries of pleasure since my awakening in Stillwell.
I knew what it sounded like when a woman took me for the first time—the surprise of me being bigger than she’d expected, or the sharp cry of realization that she really was the sort of woman to let herself get fucked in a bed with two, three, or more other women already in it.
This wasn’t that. This was a fist that had been held closed for a decade unclenching at last. In its own way, what happened inside of Caroline as I pushed into her while she lay in my wife’s arms was no less life-altering than what Samantha Lowry did to a man twice her age in a sorority house bathroom last year.
That night had started my real life. This one started Caroline’s.
And Marcie, cradling the siren’s flushed face in her hands as she lifted her head from between her breasts, smiled at the newest woman to join my harem and said in a voice so soft it made my chest ache:
“Welcome home.”
The sob that tore from Caroline when she heard it was beyond description.
She kept on whimpering, her eyes rolling back in her head as I took her slow and deep.
Everything raw and broken inside of her came pouring out, even as her body threw itself back onto me with a rolling motion that made me think of the ocean.
Welcome home. To the bed, to the family, to the girl she thought she’d buried in Colorado and could never be again after the world destroyed her and told her it was for her own good.
I picked up the pace. I couldn’t not: she felt too fucking good.
Too fucking sweet. My hands shifted from her hips to those ponytails she’d made up just for me, clutching them tight to the scalp for more leverage as we fucked.
From the sounds she made, I was using them exactly the way she’d intended.
Every thrust pressed her deeper into Marcie’s arms, like a beautiful leaf preserved between the pages of a book. One hand grabbed the siren tattoo across her hip as I thrust harder, faster, shaking her beneath me.