Three Men and a Woman: Evangeline (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  “Yes, baby. It’s okay.”

  He pushed in further, the whole of his first knuckle, and circled, reaming her.

  It was a chilling, gripping, gritty feeling.

  And good. Surprisingly, wickedly pleasing.

  “Briggs.”

  That was better, and he knew it. “Yes, baby. Fuck, yes.”

  He arched back, fucking harder into her, snarling his own pleasure.

  He pinched her clit, fucked her hard, and thrust his thumb up her ass.

  They were both gone then. She cried out, breaths huffing through her throat with the force of his hard thrusts. He fucked her and howled, rubbing her clit and vibrating his thumb in her ass.

  The ending came hard, with spasmodic, pained thrusts and harsh jerks of their bodies. He let loose feral growls as he came, emptying into her in strong, hot spurts.

  She loved that. Even as she wracked with her own orgasm, a brutal, unearthly, wild climax, she felt it, savored it.

  Briggs, giving himself to her. Growling, cursing, undone. Hers.

  * * * *

  Briggs collapsed on top of her. Fucked. Out.

  He eased out of her. Both parts of her, and wasn’t that a hell of a thing.

  Eight years ago, she’d been a virgin. And knowing his Evvie girl, she might not be any more experienced than when he’d left her that night.

  Until now.

  She’d loved him, loved them all, really. And though it was a girlish love, based on her profound neediness as a child, he figured her to be loyal and true. He and Gio and Chase were probably it for her.

  Again, it wasn’t a thing he should be proud of—or take advantage of, either.

  He hoped he hadn’t. Sincerely hoped it.

  He’d spent eight years rarely thinking about her—just brief random thoughts when she crossed his mind. Fond thoughts, but casual. She was always there for him, important back story but not really significant to the day.

  And now this.

  She was a remarkable woman—talented and beyond lovely and freaking game, sexually speaking. He’d pushed her, well past anything he’d ever done during his first night with a woman.

  And he couldn’t count this as anything but his first night with her.

  He should have done better.

  “That wasn’t it, either.” He moved to her side and helped her nudge around so she faced him. She was still looking pretty glazed. He thought that might be good.

  “Wasn’t what?”

  She could barely keep her eyes open. Oh, yeah.

  “My best. My moves.”

  She sighed and looked at him with just one eye now. “What do you want from me, Henriksen?”

  Romance. Tenderness.

  Or, more, those were the things he wanted to give her. Yeah, that was more it.

  “I meant to be gentler, easier on—” He sighed. “Evvie girl, tell me. How many men have you let make love to you?”

  “What are you really wondering, Briggs?”

  He looked at her. Her soft gaze, her pretty face, that lush body. She let him look. She was open to him.

  “I’m wondering if maybe I’m right in guessing you haven’t made love to anyone since that night I came to you.”

  “Does it matter?”

  It seemed to, but he couldn’t explain why. “I don’t know.”

  She bit her lip and watched him for a long moment. “I haven’t made love since that night.”

  He knew it. That was his girl. Loyal to a fault. Was that a burden or a blessing to him? He wasn’t sure.

  He lifted up on his elbow and cupped her face. “Then that was too much. All those things I did to you.”

  “You didn’t like it?”

  Her eyes sparked, and he kissed her. He had to. “You really are a bitch.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re making me cry.”

  That was a throwback to some pre-pubescent disagreement in the tree house. It made him grin.

  He patted her ass—maybe a little more than a pat. “Get up. We have champagne to drink.”

  * * * *

  Evangeline used the bathroom first, and just that fast Briggs had chilled champagne, glasses, and an assortment of desserts set out on the stone terrace. She’d planned to drive home after the ceremony and hadn’t come prepared for a sleepover. So when she joined him, she’d wrapped herself in his discarded shirt, folding the torn cuffs up to above her wrists. She could tell he liked seeing her that way—in his shirt, a symbol of his ownership.

  He looked good to her, too. He’d pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms that hung below his waist just so. The ripped muscles of his abdomen directed the eye to his groin.

  Or maybe her eye just naturally went there.

  He handed her a glass and made a formal toast of it. She knew he was sincere, honestly glad for her success and the recognition that the Benny represented. She smiled and sipped the champagne. She knew something about wine now, and this was good.

  She gestured to the bottle, the setting. “You were sure I would be here.”

  “I was sure I could drink a bottle of champagne on my own if I had to. But yes, I wanted you here, from the moment I saw you in the parking lot. I’m very glad I’m not drinking alone. I love that you’re here, Evvie girl.”

  Evvie girl. That generated a sweet little twist in her heart. Years ago she’d tried countering with “Briggs boy,” but it hadn’t been the same. In no way could she casually minimize, diminutize, his importance to her. But she’d been his Evvie girl, and she still was.

  No matter that she was a woman now.

  He took her hand, sat at the table, and pulled her into his lap. He kissed her gently, then took his time feeding her sips of champagne and bits of dessert. When his hands were empty, he had them on her—rubbing her back through the fabric of his shirt, running his fingers along the bare skin of her legs.

  They watched the stars come out and then the moon rise, quietly chatting about their pasts, their work, and their lives and then spending long, comfortable minutes in silence. Briggs talked more than she did, and told more than she did.

  Eventually, his touches became more intentioned. When he skimmed his hand up her thigh, his thumb stroked near her center. When he cupped her neck to bring her mouth to his, his hand ended up sliding down between her breasts, opening the shirt. He rubbed there, over her sternum, and then over her breast. He gently thumbed her nipple, making it hard again.

  “This is what I meant. I meant to entice you, to seduce you. I wanted to savor you, give us both pleasure.”

  If he’d given her any more pleasure, she wouldn’t have been able to walk. But she understood him. She knew he didn’t want her to dismiss his intent. “You’re sweet, Briggs, very sweet. I like this.”

  She’d liked the other, too, though he seemed a bit repentant about it. She liked—loved—that she’d driven him to it, to take her, have her in greedy, needy urgency. That he’d driven her up against the door, not gentling her at all but just thrusting in. That he’d covered her, mounted her from behind, probed his thumb into her ass.

  He’d used her hard, apparently very much not what he’d intended.

  She’d reveled in it. Mostly, she loved that she had the power to make him crazy, that the passion he had for her was almost beyond his control. That was very heady, very gratifying.

  But she’d loved the hot sex of it, too. What a surprise that was. She’d spent eight years without a man’s touch, not even really aware she missed it. But once he’d touched her, she’d been ready for anything. She’d loved it all, would have denied him nothing. Nothing.

  Apparently, the man had some skills, because she hadn’t lied about this, either. What he was doing to her now was very, very nice. He kissed her gently, longingly. He caressed her breasts and thumbed her nipples. He pressed his fist between her legs, lazily knuckling her.

  Then he’d stop and do it all over again from the beginning.

  It was sweet, so sweet, and so not enough. She started to quiver,
her breath catching and her bottom wiggling, seeking…more. She sank her fingers into his hair and grasped him, tugging his mouth back to hers.

  He held back, resisting until she complained.

  “Patience, Evangeline.”

  “I need—”

  “Shh. Patience, girl.”

  She was pretty sure he held back a chuckle. He was lucky she held back from swatting him. But when she moaned another complaint, he relented.

  Looking into her face he rose, holding her in his arms. He carried her back inside and laid her on his open bed. Still watching her, he walked around the room. He picked up clothing as he went, fairly neatly hanging their suits in the closet, and turning off lights. She was moonlit then, and he stood looking down at her for so long that she became self-conscious, taking the tails of the shirt in her hands to cover herself.

  He wouldn’t allow it. He raised an imperious brow and tugged the shirt loose from her fingers. Then he spread it open, putting her on display for his pleasure.

  “This is what I want. You are so lovely, Evvie.”

  It was a gratifying bit of adoration. She was prepared to wallow in it, until his next words.

  “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart. Show me your cunt.”

  She shivered then, a hot sexual thrill overriding his sweet seduction.

  It went on like that for the next hours. He’d court her, seduce her, with gentle touches and kisses, then swoop down and draw her nipple hard into his mouth. He’d touch and caress, sweet enticements, then thrust two fingers up her pussy. He used his mouth on her, taking her to the brink then leaving her hanging while he tongued his way back to her mouth, bringing her taste with him. He touched her everywhere, loved her everywhere.

  Until she was a hot mess, begging him to finish it, crying for relief.

  “Yes, baby. Yes.”

  He lifted over her. He’d used his big, hard cock everywhere on her—sliding it along her cheek, rubbing over her nipples. Finally, finally, he shoved it into her. She was so needy she started coming right away. He held still and let her do it, let her fuck herself to orgasm on his cock.

  Right away she knew he wasn’t done with her. He let her have her way until she groaned and collapsed, but still he held above her.

  He gave her a couple breaths. Knowing he waited, she opened her eyes to him. Watching her intently, he slid his hand down her leg until he reached her foot where she’d dug it into the bed at his side so she could whale away on his cock. He grasped her, bringing her leg up and resting the sole of her foot on his chest.

  He had her spread then, unbearably open to him. He lay toward one side, his hip pressed into her other thigh, securing her there with his weight. Leaning in with his shoulder, he pushed her leg higher, making her open even further.

  In the center, he had her impaled, unable to move. He circled his arm around her thigh and took hold of her nipple.

  Those green eyes burned hot, his expression harsh. “I have you now, don’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  He liked that—her quick submission. “You’re mine.”

  “Yes.” She always had been. Always.

  “You want me to fuck you.”

  “Yes.” This time she said it out loud. “Always.”

  He flexed his hips, grinding harder into her. She knew he was about to fuck her and that it would be wild, beyond anything he’d done to her so far.

  But she couldn’t help it. Even just that one motion had her coming. She was so filled with him, so stretched and taken by him. She fought against it, her breath hitching out, trying to suppress the spasms.

  She couldn’t stop it, and he knew immediately what was happening. He growled in feral victory and started fucking her. He slammed into her, deep, hard strokes that lifted her up off the bed, bringing her up so he could fill her even more. His hand jerked with each thrust, pulling at her nipple. He tightened his grip to keep hold.

  She screamed, arching back into the bed, lost to it. She was barely aware, except to know that he owned her, drove her. He fucked her harder and harder, grasping and clutching at her, more and more, until he was coming, too. Until he roared and seized, spilling into her with hard, wrenching jerks of his cock.

  He let her leg down and fell over her. He had his weight on his elbows, his hands holding her head. Fiercely, he gazed into her eyes, even as he struggled for air with harsh, panting breaths.

  “Evvie,” he finally said. “Evvie. Jesus God.”

  He lifted off her as his breath slowed, went to her side, and curled her against him. He pulled the covers up over them both, wrapping her in warmth and the night, the doors still open to the terrace.

  His face nuzzled into her head, his breath in her hair. “I have to fly to Scotland in the morning, Evvie girl.” His voice was soft, sleepy.

  “I know.”

  “Come with me.”

  “No.”

  She wasn’t sure he heard her answer. He was already asleep. And in the morning, she left before he woke.

  Chapter Three

  Evangeline had a wedding to go to in Cartersville, of all places. She’d meant to be home the previous evening, with only a couple hours’ drive to make on Saturday afternoon. As it turned out, home was more than five hours away. She’d have time for only a quick stop there to change clothes and pack an overnight bag.

  But she could in no way regret the turn of events that had kept her from home last night. Not in the least little bit. And she enjoyed the ride as she drove up the Hudson, through the Sleepy Hollow area of the Catskills and then west, along the Mohawk River. The lush countryside was pretty with the fresh green of spring. Peaceful. Calming.

  She generally didn’t have many quiet moments in her days to contemplate her life. She had time for it now, appropriately. She was headed to her childhood home—that site of soul-crushing misery tempered by salvation in the form of four young boys. With one of whom—in his adult, extremely manly form—she’d just fucked the night away.

  Not to put too fine a point on it.

  She thought of them now—scruffy, sweaty, seven years old.

  Her boys. Evangeline loved them so. She always had. They’d saved her, truly. Even in that last year of high school when she’d never seen them, or in the years since Shepherd’s funeral, she still loved them.

  And they still saved her. They’d given her her first hope, her first sense of self as something other than a nuisance, a burden. A sense of herself as someone valuable—loving and loved, bright and worth something. The foundation that grounded her even now had come from them.

  They’d given her family, more than they would ever know.

  She accepted, of course, that Shepherd had forced the three of them into it. They’d have disdained her in their careless way as a baby and a girl. But they loved Shepherd, just as she had, and would do anything for him. And once she was one of them, she was theirs.

  She loved them all. She’d fondly watched Briggs’s career, not the least surprised that he published his first novel while still in college and was now both critically and popularly adored. She knew he spent a lot of time in Hollywood these days working on screenplays for his first space fantasy series. She expected blockbusters and even more fame and fortune for him.

  Giovanni had finished college on the hockey scholarship Shepherd had always wanted for him. But his calling was to the skies, ever since his first job as a hangar boy pumping gas and washing planes at the little local airport. He was an airline pilot now, she knew, transoceanic.

  Chase had surprised no one except his own family by going on to medical school. She knew he’d done his residency at Penn in emergency medicine.

  She hadn’t kept close tabs on them, but she’d always known where they were.

  Her life had been full in the years since Shepherd’s funeral—busy and happy. But she hadn’t been with a man, hadn’t even had a date since that night.

  Because she was already in love—with them.

  She didn’t need to see th
em or be with them. She just needed to know they were there, sharing the same world with her.

  She had to admit that would be harder now, after the extraordinary night she’d just spent. Having a real, living man in her arms, in her body, had been astonishingly different than just holding the memory of them in her heart.

  She would add this new memory and make sure it was enough. She would have to. She wouldn’t see Briggs again.

  She hadn’t expected to see any of them again after the night of Shepherd’s funeral. The hours she’d spent with Briggs were moments out of time. Something she would have and hold, close in her heart, but not a part of her real life.

  As anticipated, her home was empty and quiet when she took the long drive up to the old farmhouse. Her heels—dropped alongside her cell phone on the shotgun seat next to her for the long road trip—echoed on the hardwood floors. She showered and dressed for the wedding, putting away the fuchsia silk for some future occasion she couldn’t even imagine. She’d bought it specifically for the awards ceremony. Working from home, her usual wardrobe consisted of worn blue jeans and tees.

  She pulled another seldom-used item of clothing from the back of her closet—an evening dress of silver lace. It was short and tight fitting, revealing the shimmery satin slip underneath. She packed toiletries and casual clothes for Sunday. The wedding was to be held at a golf resort on Lake Ontario. She had a room so she could sleep there after the reception, attend the wedding brunch provided in the morning, and then drive home.

  She would stop in Rochester on her way back. She’d meant to do it today, before the wedding, but had run out of time now. Miss Victory’s sister, Aunt Winona, had been moved from assisted living to inpatient hospice. She’d promised the Victory family she would visit.

  She slipped her feet into comfortable sandals for the drive, then grabbed her bag and the spike-heeled, strappy silver sandals she’d wear for the wedding. She might be willing to make the sacrifice to look good when the occasion called for it, but she had no one to impress on the car ride.

  As she drove, she thought again of her childhood. The tiny, decrepit trailer with a single bed her mother shared with her—or not, on the frequent occasions a man took her place. There were so many of them, spending a night or a week, seldom so much as a month, that the trailer took on the scent of them. Not any particular man, but a mishmash of male odor—sweat and deodorant, beer and whiskey, and the nauseating overlay of cheap cologne that was meant to cover it all.