Deep 6 (Multiple Love)

Andrew’s eyebrows shoot up. “Fuck her?”

“Yeah, and he…he seemed okay about it.”

“He was okay with the idea of me fucking his ex-girlfriend?” Andrew says, his voice higher than usual.

“If my ears weren’t deceiving me…he looked strangely calm about the idea.”

Andrew snorts. “The man’s going soft. Earlier, he was telling me about the wedding he went to today. The bride married four grooms. Apparently, it’s a thing.”

“Polyamory,” I nod. It’s something that happened in my old circles, although it was usually one man and two women.

“I guess.” We both shrug at the same time as though neither of us really knows how to deal with any of this.

When I’m within the confines of my own room, I slump back into bed. The memory of Sandy’s messy hair and kiss-swollen lips slips into my mind, too overpowering to push away. My hand slides to my cock, thinking about how she looked in the darkness, pinned underneath Tyler, spread wide open.

A frantic fuck in the dark…just the kind of fuck that I like best.

Across the hall, Sandy lies with the feeling of Tyler between her legs. Would she enjoy the feeling of Andrew and me there too?

Who the fuck knows?

But imagining her moaning my name into my ear while I pound hard into her pussy is what makes me come harder than I have in a long time.

8

SANDY

I should feel secure and content tucked under the covers of Tyler’s bed, but I don’t. When Andrew was here, I pretended that everything is fine. I told him I was okay. I told him that what happened in the kitchen wasn’t a big deal.

I lied through my teeth in a way that makes me feel dark and icky inside.

As I curl my legs up, more of Tyler’s cum leaks out of my pussy into the already soaked gusset of my satin shorts, and I whimper into the pillow. In this room, I’m surrounded by the man who pushed inside me, who tried to reclaim me. I don’t hate him for what happened. I wanted it as much as he obviously did.

Or needed it?

Want and need are brothers but not twins.

I whimper because I miss the feel of his body over mine, the smell of him, the press of his fingers and lips on my skin. I whimper because there was no time for us to come to terms with what happened before we were parted. I whimper because even though I wanted it, I know deep in my heart it was a mistake.

Pressing my fingers to my lips, I flush as I think of the frantic kisses. Heat slides over my body as I recall how big Tyler was looming over me; how powerful too.

I whimper again as I remember the dampness on my neck that could only have come from his tears.

Tyler doesn’t cry. At least, it’s not something I ever witnessed. He had his fair share of troubles in his life, but he was strong. He had backbone and fists that could crush a skull. My Tyler was my rock, and without him, I was pulled under life’s choppy waters.

But he’s not a rock anymore.

What am I going to do? Before we fucked, things were okay. I could have stayed here for as long as it took to fix my car and driven off into the sunset without looking back.

Now everything is more complicated. We’re entangled, and chopping away the roots and tendrils that have fixed around each other again is going to hurt.

But I have to do it. I have to push aside all the simmering feelings that are making my insides ache and be strong for us both.

I have to, otherwise who knows what will happen and how long it will take for me to recover all over again. And Tyler? I truly don’t know how he feels, and that’s enough not to risk this for either of us. A plan to leave tomorrow begins to form, just as the handle to the door begins to move.

I tense, waiting to see who it is. There are six men in this house. Six men I barely know.

But it’s Tyler who appears in the opened doorway. He doesn’t ask my permission to enter. He doesn’t say a thing as he closes the door behind him, plunging the room back into total darkness. Words remain trapped in my mouth that I should be brave enough to say as I watch him round the bed to the empty side. His eyes meet mine in the darkness, tortured and pained. They make my heart skitter. As he slides between the sheets, my breath freezes in my lungs.

Face to face on the pillows, he reaches out to touch my cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. His gentleness stings more than his frantic, clawing touch did. His gaze drifts over my features, lazy but uncertain. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.