Broken Bride

Angelo watches the three of us fuck, his dark eyes running over me as Mark surges inside my sex, and Bobby makes the most feral of animal sounds while his cock sinks slowly inside my come soaked ass. Why is it hotter and yet somehow humiliating for him to be watching? A husband should never see his wife this way, stretched out on two dicks, riding the pair of them for all she is worth, her body surrendered completely to passion.

I love it. I love being his. I love being theirs. I love that every part of my being is accounted for and claimed. I love that Mark can be sweet and tender, though this moment he is pounding my pussy, lewd wet sounds merging with the lapping of the ocean against the jetty. I love that Bobby finds the dark, rebellious parts of me and provides their match. And perhaps most of all, I love that Angelo is there, watching over us all. Is he a brutal puppet master? Yes. But he uses his craven control for more than breaking English virgins sexually. He has kept me safe; he has set me free. And I don’t think there is anything that could ever tear us apart.

Chapter 22

Tilly

I’m lying on the beach, Tahitian sun warming my skin. Have we been here a week, a month, or a year? I can’t tell, and I don’t think I want to know. This is a timeless escape, a place completely isolated from the chaos of the world we came from.

“Tilly!” Angelo calls out my name. I get up from the sand, and head back toward his voice. He's lying in a large hammock spread out between two palm trees. A family hammock, they call it. Bobby is fast asleep, curled up in Angelo’s sheltering arm. He looks so sweet when he’s sleeping. Almost innocent. Angelo puts a finger to his lips and beckons me in on the other side.

I slip down beside him and cuddle in, smiling to myself as he runs his fingers lightly through my hair. I never thought I would find peace in a situation like this, though I also knew I’d most likely never have a traditional family either.

Mark shows up a moment later, Mai Tai in hand. He’s not wearing a shirt, and he’s getting a hell of a tan over the muscular lines of his super hot body. I love objectifying Mark, almost as much as he loves objectifying me.

The hammock is starting to get full, and he barely fits on the other side of me, but he makes it work. I feel his strong, masculine form pressed against me from behind as he turns me into a Tilly sandwich with Angelo.

I wish I could fall blissfully asleep like Bobby, but I can’t seem to get comfortable. My stomach is kind of churning, and I keep getting cramps that never seem to ever actually turn into my period. It’s annoying.

“What’s wrong, ants in your pants?” Mark asks the question.

“Nothing. I just feel a bit queasy.”

Angelo opens an eye. “Mark, take her to the medical center. She’s been off her food too.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have,” Bobby pipes up. “I’ve finished your dinner three nights out of the last four.”

“That’s because you’re a pig,” I tease.

“I’ll take you to the nurse,” Mark says, sliding out of the hammock and helping me up.

We’ve seen the nurse at the little community health center plenty of times. Bobby in particular tends to be accident prone. There’s a doctor, somewhere, but she never seems to be on the island we’re on, so the nurse does all the stitching, patching, and lecturing to be more careful. She’s a maternal woman in her fifties with gently curling salt and pepper hair and the kind of demeanor which makes you feel safe no matter what.

“This one isn’t well,” Mark tells her. “She’s off her food, nauseous sometimes.”

“I’ll take a look,” she says, taking me into the one exam room they have. She runs a few tests, takes some blood and urine, and then talks to me as I sit on the edge of the tan plastic covered exam bed.

“So, the older gentleman I’ve seen you with, is he your father?”

“No, that’s my husband.”

“Oh, I thought the man with the fair hair who brought you in was…”

“No. He’s like, my lover.”

“I thought the dark haired younger man was his…”

“No, he’s Angelo and my lovers… it’s complicated.”

I could lie. We talked about lying, once, but I don’t see the point anymore. Who cares what people think about our arrangement. It works for us.

“It really is,” the nurse says, checking the stick she dunked into my pee. “More so now you’re pregnant.”

Beeooowoooooppppp. There’s a ringing in my ears, and I feel my world become very small and focused as those words come out of her mouth. We were being careful. Weren’t we being careful? I thought we were careful.