L’Arancia Più Dolce – by Gemma Snow #5
Matteo pulls back, his lips sticky with fruit juice and my release and it’s the most debauched, delicious sight in the world. If I were a painter, my sin-soaked husband would be my muse.
“Now, cara mia ,” he murmurs, licking my release from swollen lips, “now, you’re ready.”
Alesso somehow feels harder and larger inside me at the words, and it’s little wonder.
Sometimes, my husbands can be too gentle, too careful with me, but I like the rough touch and torn edges, like the way they lose control when we push the limits, and I crave what they’re offering me now far more than they realize. I know they do, too.
Matteo pushes forward slightly, notching the head of his slick cock at my entrance.
It’ll be a tight fit, it always is. They’re both big all over, so much bigger than me, and in this position, Alesso is already stretching me wide and filling me deep.
But I want what I want, and the natural forces of the universe won’t stop me from taking it.
“Look at you,” my artist whispers, “the forbidden fruit, pleasure in the garden of earthly delights. I’d paint you as my fallen muse, my loves, if I could keep my focus long enough.
” Because no doubt Alesso and I both look wrecked.
He’s been buried inside me for long, agonizing moments with the barest hint of movement, and Matteo’s cock is sliding against my entrance and teasing Alesso’s hardness with every stroke.
“Take your fill, amore ,” Alesso murmurs. It’s not quite begging. He doesn’t beg, my controlled, powerful husband, but after all this time I can very much begin to recognize when he’s losing his control.
“Every day until I die, and it wouldn’t be enough.” Dramatic, artists can be. Normally it’s endearing, but right now I need him to focus on the task at hand.
“Matteo,” I manage through the shock waves of pleasure that wrack my body when Alesso pulses inside me, “please fill me up. I need to feel you both inside me. Together.”
He doesn’t have a smart thing to say back to that, but holds my gaze as he strokes my clit, the pleasure nearly drowned out by the stretch of his cock pressing into my already full pussy.
It’s too much, it always is at first, and the sensation steals my breath and makes it impossible to think, but I’m so ready for him, soft and pliable in the wake of so much pleasure, and the sensation of being filled by both my men at once is nearly enough on its own to make me burst into a thousand dazzling pieces.
“ Fuck.” Alesso’s swear is harsh in my ear, his cock swelling as Matteo presses all the way in, filling my pussy and sliding against Alesso’s length and we all let out an agonizing breath at once.
“Move, please.” I don’t know who I’m asking, who I’m begging, but I’m near to combusting and made of sensation and it’s too much to think, too much to do anything but feel.
The harsh burn is fading to a glowing heat, and it makes my breasts feel heavy and the familiar need builds in my belly. “Please, move. ”
Their cocks slide against each other inside me, and my breath catches in my throat, the words lost to the overwhelming sensation, and I grip Alesso’s arm with one hand and Matteo’s fingers with the other as we find our rhythm, stroking and riding and gliding against and within each other’s welcome bodies, a bid for connection that captures us in a stolen moment and makes us ache for the sheer pleasure of it, makes us so much more than three bodies coming together but instead three forces of unstoppable nature pushing higher and higher until there’s no more delaying the inevitable, until it’s a moment of shared desire that could shatter the universe.
“Come on our cocks, amore , “Alesso demands. “Make them slick and wet, hot with your release.” His words are harsh and filthy, and I know he’s fraying at the edges, which only makes me want to do what he says. I press against their cocks, each movement sending sparks of pure electricity thrumming through my body, because it’s so natural and so unreal all at the same time, and I couldn’t stop if all the glass in the room shattered around us and the orangery fell into the sea.
“Touch me,” I murmur, because I can’t let go of either of them, not in any sense of the word, not ever again.
“Please, I want to come all over you.” My own words are just as filthy, but these men make me want to be free, to be without reservation and without shame, and they’ve taught me so many times over how to ask for what I want. “Both of you, please, touch me.”
Their fingers tangle together as they stroke my clit and Alesso brings his free hand up to cup my breast, and I’m a universe of sensation now, too much, far too much to hold my tether to the world, and when I feel two strong hand at my entrance, the same entrance where they’re both pumping in and out of me, my breath catches and I grip Matteo’s hand too hard, and I’m finding their names on my lips as my release finds me, spilling, pouring, exploding into unimaginable pleasure, riot after riot of sweet, hot need releasing over their pumping, sliding cocks, and I fall back against Alesso’s chest, letting my body chase tumbling waves of pleasure as they slowly begin to ebb.
And then rise again, because I can feel my men are close.
They’re fucking each other as they’re fucking me, my release slicking their cocks together, and somehow, impossibly, they both seem to be swelling inside me, getting bigger, thicker, closer to their edges, and it pushes me right up to mine, even though my body still trembles with the last release.
“ Amori miei ,” Alesso murmurs, as if to himself, caught in the moment of deep, sacrosanct connection.
Matteo seems to be losing his rhythm, a telltale sign he’s right near the edge of his pleasure, and he leans his head on my shoulder to look down at where their cocks are filling and pulsing within me.
It’s a depraved, sinful sight, dark in its eroticism, two swollen cocks stretching my entrance, my skin stained with the juice of fresh oranges, my pussy so slick and wet from their demanded connection.
“Together?” I think I might be begging. It’s hard to tell, but they would know what I need even if I didn’t ask. This tether between us, it’s everything all at the same time.
Matteo lifts his head and captures Alesso’s mouth in a searing, demanding, promising kiss.
I could watch them kiss each other forever, a battle, ongoing and without victories.
With too many victories to count. When he pulls away, Matteo steals a kiss from me, tasting of desire and oranges and creation.
He wraps our fingers more tightly and Alesso reaches a free hand for each of us, and it’s like we’re jumping over the edge together, pulsing and pumping and riding and taking our sweet, impossible releases, and then I’m losing control and coming so hard and fast around their cocks that my vision goes black and bright orange sparks burst behind my eyes.
I see the start of the whole universe and my men in my garden, spilling hot, blessed pleasure until, until, until…
They’re just behind me, both of them, first Alesso shouting his release, and then Matteo, a flurry of hips and pumps and sworn oaths, and then both of them are spilling hot, thick release into me, coating each other’s cocks, marking us all, connecting us forever.
The orangery smells of sex and tangy citrus, and I have the fleeting, somewhat hilarious thought that Eve might have noticed the same in her garden. A soft laugh bubbles free, because it’s impossible not to feel this sense of delighted freedom after such pleasure.
“Laughing while we’re still inside you is hell on the ego, cara ,” Matteo teases, his voice thick and a little pleasure-drunk too, and I know we have to get up, to sort ourselves out and prepare for what promises to be a completely mad day ahead. But I’m going to steal my seconds while I can.
“Your ego is just fine, maestro,” I reply back, an old habit, from the days of my apprenticeship. From before. And because part of me loves to remind him that our love was forbidden and we chased it anyway.
Matteo lands a soft slap on the curve of my behind, and when I clench involuntarily all three of us gasp.
“I’m going to need a few minutes if you’re looking for any kind of repeat performance,” Alesso teases.
“Right, old man.” He glowers at me, but I just don’t care. I’m too delighted in this moment, too overjoyed with the connection, the sweet, delicious touch of my husbands in the orangery.
“You’re asking for trouble,” he replies, pinching the other cheek, as if to match Matteo’s touch.
At the risk of too many proprietary bruises, I slowly begin to move, and Matteo gently shifts back, sliding free, before I pull clear of Alesso.
My muscles are sore, and if I was trying not to make it seem like I’d been thoroughly claimed at today’s celebration, I went about it completely the wrong way.
Right now, however, I’m more focused on how I’m going to get back to the dressing room with my husbands’ come spilling down my thighs.
“I think trouble is asking for me,” I reply, finding my discarded pajama set and apologizing to the lingerie goddesses before pulling them on. “And you both showed up, so…”
“So much for making you senseless, amore .” Alesso stands, and I get a good look at him in his dark maroon suit as he adjusts the zipper and pulls the jacket back into place. So handsome. So incredibly handsome.
“Looks like you’ll just have to try again later. I have a very pretty dress for the wedding…”
Matteo just chuckles and mutters something about beautiful girls with filthy mouths, which is something he’s been muttering about me since practically the moment we met.
This moment feels like an orange slice, bursting with sweetness and saccharine stickiness that I’ll feel on my skin for hours, and bright and golden as the sunshine glistening off the Pacific Ocean.
“You’re insatiable,” Alesso says, grinning, and that grin reminds me of all the things their dangerous touch made me forget.
“What’s your secret?” I ask, trying to tie my messy curls into some approximation of a braid, but there’s absolutely no denying what we’ve been up to. Not, that Harlowe, London, or Simone will be shocked by such revelations, apparently.
Alesso’s smile is pure devil. “Your brother asked me for Thea’s phone number,” he says, watching as the words sink into my lust-addled brain.
Thea. The officiant who married the three of us on a beach back in Italy. It wasn’t official, of course. The Church has some feelings about all that, but in the truest, most complete sense of the word, we are married to each other, and to this holy union we have created for ourselves, which means…
“Does Harlowe know?” The words spill free faster than my mind can order them.
Alessandro shakes his head. “He said it’s a surprise for her. The others do. They’re flying out to Saint Tropez right after Caspian and Harlowe leave.”
So not only did my brother confess to a secret love affair with four of his friends on his wedding day, but he planned a second secret wedding for his new bride and said friends on the beach in France.
Hard to top that, I suppose. All I did was fall in love with two men. Who then fell in love with each other. Even still, that means I’ll never have my black sheep title again.
“So it’s real then?” I manage, and there’s awe in my voice I should have expected. “They’re in it together. Forever.”
“There’s no fighting true love,” Matteo says, kissing the back of my neck and pulling my hair loose to braid it down my back much more skillfully than my first attempt. “We know that better than most, cara . Love prevails.”
“And thank goodness for it,” Alesso adds. To look at him now, you’d never know he was just sharing the throes of pleasure with us, my prim and polished husband. “It gave me the greatest gifts of my life.”
“And mine.” Matteo tugs my finished braid. “What is an artist without his muses?”
“Or her muses?”
“Or her muses.”
I lean my head on Matteo’s shoulder and take Alesso’s hands. Because sometimes it really is that simple. One love, two, five, as it may be for some, at the end of the day, it’s still complex and grand and other-worldly, and it’s simple, so simple, so clear, and so undeniable.
Love. In its many iterations.
Harlowe is a queen in her wedding dress, and Caspian looks all the part of the dashing leading man.
The wedding is one of joy, indulgence, flowing champagne, and celebration.
We dance, Alesso and Matteo and I, and no one looks at us twice except Mama, but that was to be expected.
Caspian and Harlowe depart for Saint Tropez, and I help London and Simone pack their bags to follow shortly after, and a few days later Caspian sends us a photograph from the beach.
Thea must have taken it, with the six of them framed by sea, their dresses and pants soaked at the hems, and pure joy on their faces.
I wonder if perhaps the world is changing, if my brother has so little fear about sharing his secrets. Or perhaps we are all coming to realize that the world doesn’t matter so much. What matters is in the heart and the soul and the connection with one another.
When we return home, I put the photograph on the refrigerator and then Matteo steals it away to his studio for what I’m certain will be the wedding gift of all wedding gifts.
That night, Alesso makes us an orange cake with fresh fruit from the grove behind our house, and we kiss under the stars, just as the stars were meant to be enjoyed.
Each of us, that night and the following morning and for a million more days to come, thanks the universe in our own way for making love so undeniably. So sweet. So worth fighting for.
For making a love like ours.