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

  He held his fingers pressing against her clit, hard but not moving, not like she needed. He pinched even harder at her nipple, a driving, exquisite edge of pain.

  And she did need it. She did beg.

  “Please! Tyler! Make me come. Please! Fuck me!”

  “Hard?” he asked, his teeth scraping at her ear.

  “Yes. Yes! Fuck me hard!”

  He growled in pleasure at his victory. He pulled at her nipple, jiggling her breast with it. He rubbed wildly at her clit, generating electrical shocks of ecstasy.

  And he fucked her ruthlessly. Lifting her up, nearly taking her knees from the bed. Hard, deep strokes that blazed their way into her very core.

  “Oh. Oh!” She arched, a hard shiver coursing through her, the edgy pleasure a wicked, overpowering thrill. And then she was coming as his cock slammed into her, as his fingers worked her pitilessly. She bucked, her head crashing back into his shoulder, her pelvis flexing crazily, like his thrusts weren’t enough, like she needed more. More of his cock. More of his fingers. More of him.

  She cried out, gulping, starved for air, her body going rigid in uncontrolled spasms. She fell forward, collapsing with her own muscle fatigue or at his direction, she wasn’t sure. Every breath came out in a moan, very slowly easing as he gently soothed his hands along her body. Her back, her sides, her thighs. And then, with gradually more intent, her ass.

  He was still hard inside her. Her head was on the mattress, her forearms pressed onto the bed but not really holding her weight. And she was still on her knees, still his in that way he very clearly liked.

  “This is good,” he said, his hands moving firmly now, squeezing some, over her ass. “I like this view.”

  Securing her, he slid his cock out until it just kept its place at her entrance. “I like watching this.”

  He pushed into her, slowly, so she’d know what he meant. He liked watching as his cock fucked her. Enjoying it a lot, apparently, he did it some more.

  Indy felt detached initially, her head barely about her, barely recovered from that brutal orgasm. And he seemed to fuck her that way, too, at first. Like it was of interest to him, but not really compelling, not involving.

  But that wasn’t him, and she should have known it from the start. Subtly, sneakily so that she didn’t even notice at first, he fucked her with more intent. His taste for it, his investment in it rose. And, also as she should have guessed, he brought her with him.

  His strokes on her ass became more purposeful, more…inflammatory. One hand slid around, skimming near but not quite reaching her clit. Then it brushed up her side, to her shoulder, her neck. He held it there, forming half a collar around her throat, as he shoved hard into her from behind, dominating her.

  He kept it up, gripping her, fucking her harder, until her rising excitement slipped from her lips in a little moan.

  That pleased him. He squeezed her ass again, roughly, but kept his right hand at her throat. Then his left hand moved.

  “I like this, too,” he said. His thumb was at her…anus. He flicked over it, his thumbnail lightly abrading. Playing with her. Toying. “You hear me, Indy? I like this.”

  Indy wasn’t so sure. But she couldn’t deny it was a little thrilling. A little…titillating. Wicked. He experimented, testing her like he did, learning her. He pressed a little harder, not just flicking over, but…entering.

  She moaned a little anxiously, but he read what he wanted into that.

  “You like it, too, don’t you, baby?” He fucked her harder and pushed his thumb a little deeper. Not far, just to the first knuckle, but breaching her.

  It was gritty and a little dangerous and…compelling. Her next moan was one of primal excitement.

  “That’s right.” He praised her, secure in his victory. “This is virgin ass, isn’t it? The douche never gave you this, did he? I told you he’s a fucking idiot.”

  He was thrusting hard into her now, growling out his pleasure, drawing hers, too. She mewed in helpless surrender even as she pushed up on her hands, almost like she was trying to get away.

  But that wasn’t what she did. No, she pushed back into him, giving him all—her pussy, her ass, wanting more, begging for it, and taking it.

  Tyler howled his triumph. He pushed in his thumb, reaming her, matching it to his fucks into her pussy. His right hand pressed into her shoulder and neck, his fingers just grazing her throat. He held her as he fucked her, as he swived her ass, reveling in his mastery. In her submission.

  She was an active participant in her own undoing. She arched her neck, nearly howling like a wolf, letting him have what access he wanted. She rocked her pelvis, alternately accepting his cock and then his thumb. His breath was bellowing over her, his athletic body shoving her up.

  They collapsed before it was over, his weight taking her down or him following—it could have been either. But he was laid out on top of her, his cock still filling her, his thumb shoved deeply into her ass, nudged farther with every fuck. His hand left her throat and shoved beneath her, his fingers just reaching her clit.

  With every thrust, she felt him there, too. Fucking her pussy and, with his thumb, her ass. And pushing her into his fingers, stimulating her clit mercilessly. She worked her thighs wider open so he could go deeper everywhere.

  And when he went over, with feral roars and wracking convulsions, she went with him. Crying out, spasming, shuddering, and finally, moaning.

  The moaning didn’t want to stop. He seemed to become aware of it minutes later, gently withdrawing from her, taking his weight from her. He went to his side, shushing her, soothing as he pulled her back against him. Surrounding her warmly, tenderly. His lips at her temple, still with those lulling sounds.

  “Shh, baby,” he told her, over and again. “You’re okay, sweetheart. Sleep now.”

  Apparently willing to do anything he told her to, she did.

  Chapter Four

  Tyler wasn’t sure what he was doing when he woke, dawn weakly lighting Indy’s pretty bedroom. Wasn’t sure what he should do.

  Nothing was out of the ordinary about what he’d done with her. He’d barged into her house, kind of compelled her to his will, and then fucked her hard. Fucked her once and then again from behind, sticking his thumb up her ass with only the smallest by your leave.

  That wasn’t all that unlike him—sort of business as usual, in fact.

  But there was something…

  He was pretty sure he’d fucked her one more time, and then he realized he couldn’t use that word for it even in the self-serving privacy of his own head.

  He’d loved her…made love to her. Somehow it had just happened. He’d stirred in his sleep, and she was there all warm and sweet. He was hard and inside her before he was fully awake. Kissing her. Touching her gently, fucking…loving her that way, too—gently—because he knew he’d already quite abused her. Or for some other reason he didn’t want to think about too much.

  They’d been wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing, rocking together, even their orgasms sweet and gentle. Like a hard, rowdy come hadn’t been the point. Like the point was their being together, being connected, holding on to each other.

  Shit. That wasn’t him.

  He wasn’t even sure he’d used a condom.

  WTF.

  He climbed out of bed, naked, into the cold room. She must have shut down the fire sometime during the night, because it was frigid. He looked around either side of the bed but only found two spent condoms, and it wasn’t just the cold air that sent a chill through him then. He finally thought to check the bedside table and sighed out his relief when he saw his supply there was down to two.

  She’d have to find the third used one herself.

  He gathered up his clothes and headed into the john. He didn’t clean up, though, just peed as he flushed the condoms and shoved into his clothes. Apparently, he’d lost one sock to whatever black hole had swallowed the missing condom.

  He couldn’t leave without saying good-b
ye—not that he hadn’t done that before. But he couldn’t, and he knew it, though that didn’t mean she had to be all the way awake either. So he tiptoed back into her room and nudged a hip down onto the bed next to her. He leaned in and kissed her forehead.

  She opened her eyes sleepily. No surprise—she hadn’t gotten a lot of rest. “Tyler?”

  “I gotta go, babe.”

  “Oh.”

  He could see it—the expectation that she’d had, that he’d be sitting in her kitchen with a cup of coffee while she made him breakfast, dressed again in her flannel jammies and thick robe.

  The problem was, he could see it, too. And it was tempting. That, and more.

  So he was out. “Yeah. I’ll…”

  But he didn’t have an ending for that sentence, and so he touched his lips to her forehead again and left. Downstairs he worked his feet into his boots—struggling with the bare one—and put his jacket on outside her door, like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  He brushed the snow off his truck, determined that he wouldn’t let his gaze rise to the upstairs windows. That he wouldn’t look to see if she was there, looking back.

  * * * *

  Indy stayed in her bed, cold now without Tyler’s warm body next to hers, and listened to him go.

  She was pretty suspicious that he was running for his life, every bit as disconcerted about what had happened between them as she was, if for different reasons.

  God knew, she was no expert on lovemaking and what it meant between a man and a woman. Though, for sure, she’d been schooled some this past night. Despite what Tyler and the others thought of Keith, he’d been nearly as innocent as she the first time she’d let him into her body. Things might be different for him now, and for the women he was with, but sex between the two of them had been pretty tame.

  At least, she realized it now that she had even a little bit of perspective.

  There was nothing tame about a night spent in bed with Tyler Lawrence. It had been a revelation, a big, fat eye-opener.

  And that part of it, she was sure, was nothing unusual for Tyler. Clearly, he was ferocious in bed, wildly sexual. She hadn’t been surprised by his aggression, and neither had he.

  But she thought he was surprised by something else. By that last sweet, warm, melding lovemaking. When he’d woken and had pressed almost mindlessly to be inside her. When it had mattered so much, meant so much to him that he didn’t even stop to think of a condom—she’d had to reach for one of the packets on the table beside her. Had to back him out, when he’d already started to sink into her, to cover him. When he’d hardly even waited for her to finish before he groaned and took her.

  He’d held her all through that lovemaking, kissing her, touching her tenderly.

  She didn’t think even he would be able to apply the term fucking to what had happened between them then.

  They’d fallen back to sleep still connected, neither one of them thinking of the condom by that time.

  And he’d woken in a quiet panic if she’d ever seen one.

  She’d almost smiled, watching him leave her room, sentence unfinished, intentions left unspoken, one sock missing. If Tyler Lawrence had ever had his wolfish tail tucked between his legs, that was exactly where it was at that moment.

  Indy would have smiled, if her heart hadn’t been hurting.

  He was out the door so fast she wondered if he even had his boots on. And his truck went down the drive in such a rush she could hear it fishtail as he made the turn onto the road.

  She wasn’t sure exactly what had happened between them, and it was pretty clear he wasn’t, either.

  Indy relit the fireplace and snuggled in for a while before she got up. Normally, she wasn’t naked when she woke to the cold morning air. She squiggled around, searching for her pajamas under the blankets, but stopped when she came across the cold, wet condom. That made her grin. Mr. Big Shot Lawrence likely would be in a small panic about that, too.

  When the room heated a bit, she ventured out of bed. But she couldn’t resist making her next stop a lovely soak in her deep hot tub, edged up against the windows in her bathroom, open to blue sky and tall, snow-tipped evergreens. Her well-used body welcomed the soothing heat, and her somewhat befuddled brain wallowed in it, too.

  She spent her day in close to the normal way, except she wasn’t brave enough to go into town. The hotel where she worked out was just a shade too close to the Four Seasons, so she stayed up on her mountain. Words flowed with relative ease as she worked—the love scene she built, in fact, had a bit more heat to it than usual.

  During her breaks she did a yoga routine at home and baked a quiche that served as a late breakfast and then a late lunch.

  But by the time it fell dark, she was feeling edgy, having missed a more active workout. From her upstairs windows, she looked outside. The sky was clear and the moon full, casting shadows among the trees onto snow that was nearly as bright as day. Drawn to it, she bundled up and went downstairs to the snow room next to her garage. She tucked into cross-country boots and skis and went outside.

  She loved a nighttime ski. Loved the quiet, the pristine snow, the cold on her cheeks. She’d kept her experience with Tyler out of her mind for most of the day, but now she opened to it, accepted it. Pausing at a small opening in the forest, she took it in—the white-dappled trees and their moon shadows, the pure snow, the cloud of her breath as she exhaled and the sharp bite of cold in her lungs when she inhaled.

  And her experience with Tyler.

  She didn’t need it to be more. She’d made love to him, experienced sexual pleasure as she never had before. The two of them had connected, sharing their bodies with enthusiasm and joy. She would accept what it had been and not need more.

  He was who he was—a world-class athlete celebrating the end of his season, spending a week in the Colorado Mountains. He wasn’t looking for a relationship.

  She would have no regrets about the time they’d spent together. She’d be happy with the pleasure he’d given her and the lesson learned.

  So she was at peace when she moved on, making the ski a bit of a workout, enjoying the strength of her muscles and the competence of her own athleticism.

  Nearly two hours passed before she skated along the path to her cabin, a downhill trail that brought her up fast to her front steps. Brought her, almost, smashing into the tall figure there.

  * * * *

  Sigge had only the smallest warning to keep him from spazzing out in surprise—the quick, audible inhale of her breath, the soft schuss of her skis. He turned just in time to capture her in his arms, one of her skis slid dangerously between his boots, her body all but pressed up against his.

  He had no complaint about that part of it, for sure.

  But he’d come a hair too close to squealing like a girl when she’d barreled in on him. And he’d lost his crutches in the snow, finding himself holding on to her now for balance. Not that he really minded that either.

  She did squeal like a girl, and that pleased him greatly.

  “Sigge!” She said it on a breath that started with alarm and ended with a small laugh.

  He held her, looking down into her eyes by just a few inches, and felt the pleasure in it.

  His day had passed in an unhappy quandary.

  He’d had the vast relief the night before of learning he hadn’t done any serious damage to his knee. Like his buddies, he was thirty, and already pushing the limits of a reasonable NFL career. The three of them were good, and they were dedicated. They were taking this week off for play, but then they’d be back hard at training.

  Because, if you planned to play past thirty, you had to want it, and you had to work for it.

  Sigge wanted it.

  But the last twenty-four hours had reminded him that the game he loved wouldn’t love him forever. A single injury, or just the wear and tear of a twenty-game season, could bring it all to an end. At best, the end would come in just a handful more years.

  He�
��d spent those couple hours on Indy’s couch in a state of mild anxiety, pretty confident his knee would be okay, but he hadn’t breathed all the way easy until he was looking at the MRI with the doc.

  He’d also spent those hours looking at a woman who was appealing in the extreme. For the best of that time, he was holding her. And he’d touched his lips to hers on his way out the door, a sweet connection.

  He’d watched Indy, held her, kissed her, and started thinking happily about life after the NFL. For the first time, he could imagine with interest and enthusiasm the post-career possibilities.

  The lovely blonde had made a world of difference.

  She had an obviously homey life, one that appealed to him greatly. She lived quietly in her sweet mountain setting. She had work she loved and social connections when she wanted them. He’d listened as she’d told of her activities in town and her writing group. He heard the pleasure in her voice as she talked about hiking or skiing the land around her cabin.

  Also, she was bright, with a quirky brain filled with interesting nonsense she said came from the research she did for her writing. She sparked with humor and a fine sense of irony.

  She cooked, made varm chokladmjölk that outshone his mormor’s, and took care of him with warmth and competence.

  She moved like a hot athlete, was ass-deep in sex appeal, and had the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever wanted to lose himself in.

  He wanted her, and he wanted into her life. He’d started imagining little blue-eyed, blond-haired babies. He could picture them. Almost smell them.

  So, while he was happy he wasn’t hurt badly, while he’d spent the day on the phone with his coach and trainer, convincing them he was okay and would head back first of the week to work out his rehab with the athletic staff, he’d also spent it thinking about his post-career life.

  Or even his life right now, for the last few years of his career.

  Only one thing bungled it up.

  Midmorning, Sigge was still on the phone with his coach when Tyler came into the suite. He had coffees in a paper tray and a bagful of breakfast sandwiches. He could have just been coming back from a trip out for provisions.