Goldie and the Three Wisconsin Bears

Nico comes to stand at the arm of the couch. And he dutifully pulls himself out.

Jeb pushes her head on to the tip of Nico’s dick, then guides it as he commands her in hushed tones. “Swirl your tongue around the tip. That’s right…just like that. That’s going to feel as good to him as when we lick your little clittie. He’s going to start groaning soon….”

Right on cue, Nico’s head falls back, and he lets out a loud groan. Goldie must be obeying Jeb’s instructions too well. It looks like her mouth action is killing poor Saint Nic.

“You’re doing such a good job. Suck him down,” Jeb commands, guiding her head further down Nico’s cock. “Take as much of him as you can and look him in the eye. I’m going to slide in underneath you. Don’t come. Don’t come until I pinch your nipples.”

Goldie makes a helpless sound around Nico’s dick but continues bobbing when Jeb finally lets go of her hair. I crouch up to one knee and shift a few times to accommodate Jeb getting into position underneath Goldie. She sinks down. And just like that, we’re all in.

Jeb doesn’t make her wait long for her reward. He pinches her nipples. And as soon as he does, Goldie cries out around Nico’s cock, and her entire body seizes. If her butt clenching around my dick feels anything like her pussy on Jeb’s cock, then it’s no wonder the three of us explode, releasing into her one after another. Claiming her. We’re claiming her. Saying with our bodies what we can’t with words because we don’t want to scare her away.

A hot rush of emotion fills my chest at the thought of her leaving.

Two months. What was supposed to be a week has turned into two months. But I don’t think any of us are any closer to figuring out how to let her go.

Chapter Nineteen

GINA

Something feels special about May 16th.

“Where are you going?” Mitch mumbles when I climb over him to jump out of bed. Nico makes an annoyed sound and plops his hand down a few times on the empty spot I left between him and Mitch.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them with an apologetic laugh as I grab a tee out of Jeb’s bureau. A plain black one this time. Nico washes the Death Buddha tee for me every night, but I don’t want to get it dirty. “I have to get outside.”

Mitch sits up on one arm. “Why? It’s the weekend.”

He is stupid fine first thing in the morning with his chiseled good looks, tousled blond hair and lean quarterback muscles on full display.

“She’s planting a bunch of stuff in the farm garden today,” Nico reminds him, face still buried in his pillow. “Remember she told us all about how the ground was finally ready to have things go directly in it last night?”

“Sorta,” Mitch admits with a huge yawn. “I wasn’t really listening. Is that why you left all those bowls of seeds soaking on the counter last night?”

“Yes!” I slip on the plain tee and strap on my yellow espadrilles. “I’ve got it all plotted out. Sweet corn, pumpkins, melons, and cucumbers. It’s going to look so pretty when it blooms in the fall.”

“Okay, you have fun with that,” Mitch answers, flopping back down on his pillow.

But that doesn’t kill any of my excitement. I spent years wiling away my days on making myself look pretty while I waited for Tommy to get home. It feels amazing to have my own projects now. Ones that actually make me feel useful.

I spent most of yesterday loosening up the soil and removing the rocks from the part of the old pot field I wanted to use for my first direct sowing. And this morning I hum an old Ludacris song as I prepare the soil with a mix of compost and worm casings that Jeb picked up for me from the farm store in Sweet Lake.

It’s hard work. But I’ve got everything planted by lunchtime, and I could not feel more accomplished.

Or dirtier. As pretty and perfect as the newly planted plot of soil appears, I can only imagine what I look like in comparison, covered in dirt, sweat, compost, and worm poop. And my poor yellow espadrilles are a dingy brown now.

“You know we’re not going to let you in the house like that, right?” a voice says behind me.

I turn to see Mitch. He’s dressed in crisp pale blue Bermuda shorts and a white polo. Basically, the opposite of me in Jeb’s black tee and my dirt covered heels. Actually, my dirt covered everything. Farming is hard physical work, and I literally had to get down in the dirt to get the soil tilled and the seeds planted.

One more difference between us, I notice. Mitch has a gift-wrapped box in his hands instead of a trowel.