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She notices what I’m carrying, and her smile takes on a seductive edge. I tilt my head, silently inquiring whether she’s game, and she gives me a quick chin nod of agreement. It’s rare to find a partner who so seamlessly communicates without endless discussion and negotiation. Every moment that passes demonstrates how perfectly Talissa fits. With me. With them. The four of us together feels like magic in motion, and we’ve only just begun.
Chapter Eight
Talissa
Saying Beck’s name is so much nicer than calling him master. Some Doms hold tightly to protocol, and calling them master during a scene is required, but it always feels a little icky to me. Sir is nice, and calling a man daddy when I’m feeling sassy can be fun. But master has a vibe to it that just doesn’t satisfy me the same way.
And this is satisfying. So unexpectedly satisfying. The email from Club Sin requesting my input on pairing with not one but three men for the night was not what I’d anticipated. Then first few minutes were tense and definitely didn’t bode well for the celebration of my return to play.
How often does a girl meet a guy who can turn around a rocky first impression and redeem themselves as swiftly as all three of these guys did? To be fair, it was really only Hudson who’d come off like a boorish prick from jump. But the way he’d pivoted and apologized proves he’s a bigger man than those opening moments painted him to be. As soon as I learned their names, his initial worry about my age made sense, and it became impossible to hold it against him.
“What does she taste like, Hud?” Beck’s question forces his friend to release the tight suction around my nipple. He lifts off my tit with a lip-smacking pop and a milky grin. It’s endearingly silly, and the way his dark hair flops forward over his imposing eyebrows only adds to the adorableness.
“Like a sticky sweet bowl of melty ice cream, man.” His description makes me giggle because I’ve tasted my own milk—who hasn’t?—and it’s nothing like ice cream. I don’t disagree with him, though. Let him think it’s butter brickle if it makes him happy.
Instead of returning to his suckling, he presses his thumb against the distended point of my nipple, the pressure stemming the slow dribble of fluid. His palm cradles the weight of my breast, jiggling it a bit in offering to his friend. At the same time, Asher leans in, finally fucking finally, and seals his mouth around the one he’s toyed with. The relief of finally expressing some of the built up supply in that breast drags a sharp moan of satisfaction from me.
“Does it always feel good when you nurse?” Beck seems obsessed with details and information.
“Um, no. Definitely not. Not like this anyway.” I don’t elaborate. Outlining the agony of thrush or mastitis while two guys worship my tits and a third advances on me armed with lube and the world’s best vibrator seems like a dumb idea.
He steps between the widely spaced bottom of the X-shaped cross, the raised platform my feet are on ensuring my body’s on display high enough to be comfortable for them all. He trails two of his fingers through a line of milk that’s spilled onto my stomach then lifts them high to examine the liquid. Before I can wonder if he thinks it’s unappealing, he slides the shiny wet fingers into his mouth and hums in appreciation.
“Fuckin’ delicious, precious. Just like Hud said.” Rather than go back for more, he slips the spit-slick digits down my stomach and over my mons until they press between my lower lips. I’ve been drenched since we signed the papers at the table, maybe even before then, so his fingers glide along either side of my clit with ease.
“Don’t think I’ll need the lube after all,” he smirks. “Our horny milkmaid seems to be soaking wet everywhere.”
Approval shines in his expression. Pleasing him has my toes curling with pleasure even before my Pavlovian response to the sound of the wand registers. The instant the smooth rubber connects where he’s spread my labia wide to expose my clit, a keening wail tears out of me.
White-hot ecstasy explodes just below my bellybutton. My female organs cramp as a climax I hadn’t realized I rode the edge of breaks through me like a rock shattering a glass window. The force of each euphoric wave leaves me shaking and moaning helplessly.
“Because, of course, she’s the most responsive woman I’ve ever touched. It’s like the universe hand delivered the perfect toy.” Beck’s mumble is so soft I barely hear him over my gasping pants while I catch my breath, and I know he’s talking to himself.
“Weird Science,” Hudson adds, apropos of nothing.
“Exactly,” Asher chimes in, having abandoned my breast. Probably bucked off by the violent shaking of my orgasm.
“Huh?” I question, nothing they’re saying making sense.
“Not a movie fan then?” Hudson says with mock censure.
“Trips to the theater cost too much for the group home to do very often. Sorry.” My shoulders try to shrug, but trussed up the way I am the effect is muted.
“Eh, it’s from the eighties. Long before you were born, baby doll. Before we were, probably.” He’s looking at me with humor and not pity, which makes me feel better about letting the sob-story trivia about my childhood slip out.
“We’ll stream it for you sometime,” Asher says, and for a moment, I pretend he’s serious. That there will be a sometime for us beyond tonight. Would I even want that?
“Here, you need to drink something so you stay hydrated. Hud, get her an electrolyte water from the fridge by the bed,” Beck orders. Despite all the Dommy vibes I expect will get the other man’s back up, he simply strides to the small refrigerator and brings a chilled bottle back to where I’m trussed up like a kinky offering.
Hudson uncaps the drink and gently lifts it to my lips, tilting it back, so I can swallow the cold lemon-lime flavored water. Beck and Asher watch, their eyes roving over my naked body so intently it’s nearly a physical caress. I look down at myself and realize my milk’s no longer dripping. I wonder if that means they’re done.
Disappointment nips at me, my stomach dropping to my feet. I don’t know why it matters that the scene is done. I had the mother of all orgasms that definitely broke the seal after being on the shelf for two years. Nothing we did sent me to subspace, so this can’t be a subdrop, even if it feels like one. Not that labels make a difference when I feel my nose and the back of my eyes prickling with tears.
“Get me down?” I mean to sound confident, but the rock in my throat turns my voice into a whisper. My safe word, the color red, is on the tip of my tongue. I can’t bring myself to use it. I’m not scared or in pain. Nothing they’re doing justifies throwing the brakes on everything. Surely, it’s the lingering hormones making me feel unbalanced. Everything about being pregnant and nursing was an emotional rollercoaster. It’s really no shock that, the first time I hook up with someone, make that three someones, my hormones would be tough to manage.
“Shit, yeah, we can do that. Absolutely.” Asher rushes to undo the ankle cuff closest to him while Beck kneels to undo the other. Hudson continues to tilt the bottle up to my lips, so I can sip at it. Once my ankles are unbound, the men unfasten my wrists, and Beck wraps me in his arms to lift me down.
He hands me to Asher, who carries me to the massive leather sofa in front of the fireplace and sits with me in his lap. I’d have to be comatose to miss the thick ridge of his erection pressed against my hip. When Hudson and Beck follow to fuss over me with a fuzzy blanket and more sips of water, the obvious hard-ons they sport match the one pressing against my side, and I start to relax.
