The Sextet Presents... Bound by Voodoo [Legends] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (5 page)

Miles let out a low moan. “Damn, your mouth is amazing. Pump me with your hand.”

Holding out his palm, Winston waited for the cool wetness of lube to spread over his fingers. Miles clearly understood the hint since he squeezed out a generous glob onto Winston’s hand.

Instead of following his instructions, Winston wiped the gel in the crease between Miles’s butt cheeks, easing a finger into his anus without warning. A slick circuit of the tunnel yielded the sensitive gland. He released the sac in his mouth to lap up the salty dribbles running down the hard length of Miles’s erection, focusing special attention on the spot just below the slit.

A gasp from Miles assured Winston he’d found his targets. “Fuck! You’re earning yourself a hell of a spanking.”

Using his free hand to cup Miles’s nuts, Winston trapped them in the ring of his thumb and forefinger, stretching the tight pair of balls back toward his other hand. Finger fucking his lover’s butt and pulling on the handful, he took the delicious cock deeper into his mouth. He set a rhythm of slow, even movements to carry Miles along a leisurely road to paradise.

Panting from above had him looking up at his dark-haired, dark-eyed lover. “Faster, Win. Please. Faster.”

The tables had turned for once. As much as Winston loved being dominated by Miles, the pleading sent of rush of power through his veins.

I want to make your pleasure last longer and take you farther. Let me give you what you give me.

With every stroke, the steel rod beneath the layer of silk grew harder, but Winston kept to his pace, not willing to hurry to the end.

“Shit, that feels so good. Make me come, Win. Now. Suck me.” The desperation in Miles’s begging almost convinced Winston to comply. Almost.

Wiggling his slippery finger, he danced over the sweet spot. Another tug on his handful gained him a long groan. He fluttered his tongue along the ridge, savoring the tangy flavor of unchecked lust. If nothing else, he would satisfy the man he loved in an attempt to delay the conclusion of their relationship.

A roar came from over him, and Miles jerked away. He flipped Winston onto his stomach, leaving his legs hanging off the edge of the bed. A squirt of cool lube was all the notice he got before Miles jammed his spurting cock into Winston’s ass.

The invasion didn’t hurt, but the sudden loss of control brought an unwelcome feeling. Desire buried it when Miles smacked the tender skin of Winston’s butt with the open palm of one hand and reached around to grip Winston’s dick and start pumping with the other hand.

His orgasm came way too fast, the spray of his juice bringing none of the usual emotional connection to the man taking him there. Even the physical joining held no meaning, other than getting off, and he could’ve easily done that himself.

Withdrawing, Miles dropped to the bed beside him, making no attempt to thread their fingers together or share a kiss. Disappointment settled in Winston’s chest as he closed his eyes. Any minute, Miles would head to the bathroom to clean up, and then he’d get dressed and leave.

This is what it feels like to be used. I just didn’t think he’d be the one to do that to me.

The noisy breaths quieted, and Miles sat up. “I should go. If Rory or Barrett sees me leaving later, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

That’s the least of my worries.

Finding another buyer had placed itself at the top of Winston’s priority list. He couldn’t stay—not with his lover on the verge of dumping him and the woman he adored being pursued by another man.

Clothing rustled, but he didn’t bother opening his eyes.

“G’night.” Footsteps faded, and the front door clicked closed half a minute after that.

What the hell is good about it?

Sinking onto the couch, Miles cradled his head in his hands.

Winston had done it again. Every time they were together, Win had to mention Rory. Trying to put some distance between himself and Winston wasn’t working—even when the man he’d been sleeping with for months was obviously in love with their female building mate. Miles had admitted to being at least mildly infatuated with her, but he’d been able to separate his relationship with Winston from his attraction to Rory.

Now, he had to make a choice. Could he end his physical relationship with Winston and still see him every damn day without losing his mind?

Tonight proved I don’t have the willpower to deny myself sex with him.

Dominating him only gave Miles control of Winston’s body, not his emotions.

What about Rory?

As long as they all lived in the same building, Miles wouldn’t break the pact he and Winston had agreed to that first week after moving in. She was off-limits. Barrett had made it clear he didn’t plan to adhere to the prior agreement. The rules had changed, and Miles was left with adapting or finding a new office and apartment.

Winston would probably be relieved to have him gone. Their affair was already as good as over anyway. Win hadn’t wanted him to stay after the poker party ended. Nor had he asked Miles not to leave so soon after their wham-bam encounter. To be fair, they’d discussed keeping their association private, and neither of them had ever talked about their feelings, exclusivity, or the effect of a breakup on their living arrangements.

At the moment, Miles didn’t give a damn about anything but the ache spreading from his stomach to the splintering pieces of his soul. He’d tolerated blatant insults, chilling threats, and cruel jokes for his open sexuality during the last twelve of his twenty-eight years. Having his heart ripped to shreds by Winston hurt a thousand times worse.

Pushing up from the couch, he plodded to the bathroom to shower. The smell of the man who wasn’t really his reminded him too much of what might’ve been. With the cold water on full blast, he stepped into the stall, hoping the frigid temperature would distract him from his depressing dilemma.

Goose bumps prickled every inch of his skin, but he grabbed the soap and worked up a lather to wash. His greedy cock shriveled under the icy spray.

Serves you right for making me act like a fool.

By the time he’d rinsed and dried, he surrendered to the facts. Moving was the only viable option. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he strode to the bedroom to dress and turn on his laptop. He pulled on shorts and a T-shirt while the computer powered up, deciding to burn off his frustration with a workout.

He logged in to his e-mail account, searching his contacts for the real estate agent who’d helped him find the co-op. Mulling over the wording, he finally typed in a message that he was considering a relocation and wondered if she had any clients in the market for the apartment-office space combo.

That done and sent, he slipped on his running shoes and headed downstairs to the weight room. As he reached the bottom of the steps, a movement down the corridor caught his attention.

Barrett balanced a cardboard box against the wall, fumbling to unlock the outer door to his new workspace. He looked up before Miles could duck out of sight. “Going out for a run?”

Giving up on avoiding his neighbor, Miles shook his head. “No, we have an exercise room down the side hall past Rory’s office.”

“Yeah. Winston showed me when I came to look at the place the first time. Nice setup.”

“Thanks. You’re welcome to use it anytime you want.” Ready to end the small talk, Miles walked past Barrett.

“I will—after I unpack.” The office door swung open.

“Have fun with that. See you later.” Lengthening his stride, Miles didn’t give Barrett a chance to respond.

He followed the hallway to the left and breathed a sigh of relief at being alone again. When he finally entered the private gym, he locked the door behind him. Maybe after a couple hours of lifting weights, punching the shit out of the heavy bag, and running seven or eight miles on the treadmill he’d be exhausted enough to sleep without Winston lying next to him.

Unfortunately, he’d still wake up by himself.

* * * *

Freud would have had a field day with my sexually corrupt mind.

Leaning against the mound of pillows, Rory stared at the row of voodoo dolls on the comforter. She had no doubts about the identities of the three male figures. They represented the men in her life—Winston, Miles, and Barrett. Ms. Deschamps had told her as much, the old woman’s words echoing in Rory’s head.

“
’Twill help ya decide who to trust wit’ yer heart. Keep yer mind and heart open, and ya will find happiness, Aurora. More love awaits ya than ya could ever imagine.”

That promise sparked naughty fantasies instead of images of happily ever after with one of her co-op partners. Blame it on her research or her occupation, but “more love than she could imagine” triggered thoughts of a trio of men wanting to please her—possibly even all three at the same time.

BDSM and GLBT weren’t the only nontraditional lifestyles she’d studied. Her research had included polyamorous couples and ménage trios and quartets as well. Sharing might not strike everybody’s fancy, but jealousy wasn’t a factor in those relationships, and somehow the people involved were able to balance their love for each other.

As attracted as she was to the guys living under the same roof with her, she could easily picture herself in the middle of a
ménage a quatre
. Miles and Winston had set her heart pitter-pattering at first sight, and Barrett’s light kiss on the cheek had sent tingles racing over her skin. The embers of a long-ago infatuation had sparked to flame in that instant. If they gave her just a hint of encouragement, she’d probably fall madly in love with every one of them. She certainly wouldn’t have any qualms about inviting them all into her bed.

The instruction manual that came with the dolls had temporarily nixed that idea. Each required a personal item from the individual it represented, and the whole process had to remain secret from those under the influence of the “magic.” She hadn’t had access to anything belonging to Barrett, and she could hardly include her doll without knowing about it.

So far, she’d pinned a white athletic sock that she’d found mixed in with her laundry to the Miles figure and a button from one of Winston’s dress shirts to his doll. Could she cut a lock from Barrett’s reddish-brown hair without him noticing?

He’d probably think she was certifiably crazy if he caught her. Not that she was entirely sane, considering the fifteen minutes she’d spent pretending Winston had sucked Miles’s cock and balls while finger fucking his ass. Then, figuring turnaround was fair play, the Miles doll had flipped Winston onto his stomach and butt-fucked him while jacking him off with his hand. Hadn’t she always suspected they were a gay couple?

She groaned.

Why would they want me when they have each other?

The odds of either being bisexual were slim to none. With her luck in the man department, Barrett
had
to be gay too. He hadn’t once ogled her boobs like the straight-guy population did on a daily basis, and his chaste kiss spoke of friendship not horniness. She could handle the guys screwing each other if they let her join in. Or would she have to sit by and watch Barrett, Winston, and Miles form a happy threesome?

Gathering the dolls, she returned them to the cloth bag and stashed them in the nightstand drawer next to her tube of mint Oreo-flavored lube. Batteries rolled and clanked as she closed the drawer, but she wasn’t even tempted to go in the bathroom to find a vibrator. Facing a lifetime of relying on her toys for sex, she couldn’t dredge up any enthusiasm for her nightly orgasm.

Here I am at ten o’clock on a Friday night by myself. If my clients only knew how truly pathetic my sex life is, they’d all laugh and then fire me.

She eyed the bathroom. A bath might be fun if she had somebody to share it with her—three somebodies.

You’re a sexual deviant, Rory. You’ve spent too much time talking to the exceptions of the world. Most folks prefer one person of the opposite sex in the missionary position.

Of course, that was because they didn’t know any better. Unfortunately, they were getting laid infinitely more times than she was.

Her slippers beckoned her, and she wiggled her feet into the marabou slides next to her bed. They probably looked ridiculous with her yoga capris and sport tank, but she wasn’t likely to see anybody if she went downstairs to add to the list of her recommended sexual aids and online purchasing sites. Miles and Winston would be watching TV or catching up on paperwork if they weren’t sneaking some nookie, and Barrett had enough unpacking to keep him busy for days.

Key ring in hand, Rory switched off all but the living room lamp as she left her apartment. The dim hall lights lit her way to the stairwell, and the utter silence made the building seem empty except for her presence. If not for the high-tech security system, she might’ve been creeped out by the quiet.

At the bottom of the steps, she sorted through her keys and aimed for her office. With her hand poised at the knob, a thunk sounded down the corridor.

Then came a voice. “Ouch! Damn it!”

Hoping Barrett hadn’t hurt himself too badly, she strode toward his new space, the smack, smack, smack of her shoes surely announcing her presence. The door swung open when she raised her hand to knock. “Everything okay?”