As she warmed to Dylan’s caresses, their bodies awkward and accommodating, the reality of their earlier coming together very real—regardless of whose baby she carried— desire roared forth, a huge ball of need and hormones rushing to the surface, her mouth aggressive, hands not backing down. Wanting them both, needing time and pleasure, her skin’s memory of the fear of nearly dying now straining for an expression of life, to conjoin and co-mingle with Mike and Dylan, to renew something deep and unspoken as they unveiled a commencement. A beginning of something unspoken but cherished.
Dylan’s touch became tentative, hesitant. She pulled back and asked, “You OK?”
Mike’s eyes held the same conflict that Dylan’s reflected as she looked at them both. “Can we...are you...is this -- ” Dylan stumbled.
“Oh, God, yes!” she nearly cried out. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed this?” She stroked his arm. “Both of you.” A sigh. “All of this.”
“No, I mean, the doctors—can you, you know?” Mike jumped in, hands clearly itching to touch her, but keeping a respectful distance as she was in Dylan’s space.
She blushed. “I’m cleared for ‘intimate relations,’ as the nurse put it, but I don’t think they were thinking of what we do,” she laughed. Pointing to her belly and hips, she added, “And I think we just have to do this the old fashioned way this time. No room for two at the inn.”
“I like old-fashioned,” Dylan sighed in her ear, nuzzling her neck. A zing of pleasure made her inhale slowly, savoring the heat of his cheek on hers. Mike stepped back, sweeping his arm toward his bedroom, the same room, same bed, where they’d first been together, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
In a way, it was. This world was theirs to forge, social and emotional rules that they landscaped, shaping it as they wished. No doubting voice, no righteous screeds, no one else could dictate how or whom she loved. So this lifetime that she embarked on felt like her real life. Time to start it.
Start it off right. Nice and slow and easy and luscious. Taking Mike’s hand, holding on to Dylan’s with her other, the three walked with languid grace, her body hot and ready so soon, so fast, she nearly burst as Mike reached down to kiss her, Dylan stroking her shoulders and back, hands wrapping around her from behind and loving her belly.
Sinking back into him, soaking up Mike’s skin, the taste of him, how his mouth was lush and present and fully aware of hers made the scene less surreal. Just...real. As if all of the other moments in her conscious life were somehow just a preparation for this, and that all her worries and concerns were useless, unnecessary.
Discarded.
The sound of Dylan’s long inhale, then his deep exhale, hands reaching under the hem of her shirt and warmth—just as Mike’s hands cupped one breast, his hip grinding into hers, back curled over her, shoulders lifted, one hand stroking her ample, swelling nipple as the other kneaded her hair, little kisses interspersed with great, deep, wet explorations. Her clit pulsed, abs tightening and elongating, body primed and ready for everything.
And it looked like that’s what she was about to get.
Four hands slid up her ribcage, across her shoulders, down her legs, everywhere, like tentacles made of honey and wine, slipping and caressing until she stood in panties alone, their flesh ripe and clear, her own hands busy and red-hot from sliding cotton and threads off six packs, glutes, biceps, and flesh that now stood ramrod straight, as if tipped up to say thank you for the coming feast.
Mike’s bronzed chest, with a sprinkling of sun-kissed hair, felt familiar and foreign under her finger tips, his hands lifting up under her thickened breasts, face gazing down and marveling, as if looking at a work of art for the first time. When his eyes met hers they were smiling, and he touched her lips with one finger. “I do love you.” Hand on her belly. “And her.”
A lump in her throat made it hard to speak, Dylan’s hard, muscled form behind her, leaning against her back and ass. Heady from the touch of both, she tipped her face up and drank in Mike’s words. “I love you, too.” His smile, his mouth, their tongues touching as she was enveloped by manflesh, manskin, the two men who completed her—it made her feel truly, madly, intensely loved.
Cherished.
Dylan’s words were a trigger for so much more as he nipped her ear and whispered, “I love you, too.” Mike released her and she spun around, arms lifting over his shoulders, his muscled forearms on her back and hips, their embrace less sexual and more a homecoming.
Until his mouth found hers, telepathically transmitting everything they couldn’t say but felt, as if he thought and emoted for her through a long, wet stroke, or fingers that trailed a line down her neck to her breasts, pausing to turn a soft areola into a pebbled nipple.