With a nod, he shifts, sliding the head of his cock between my lips.
When Seb moves, my mind spins. I make a guttural and primal sound, and Micky’s hand flies to my hair, gripping to slow my movements. The sight of what his brothers are doing to me is blowing his mind.
It’s blowing mine, too, tripping switches I didn’t know existed.
Colby stays still, letting Seb do the work, and I can feel how difficult it is for him to maintain his control by the fierce grip of his fingertips on the flesh of my ass.
“Fuck,” Micky says as I gaze into his eyes, all my inhibitions and reservations sliding away. I never imagined I could be this person. I never believed I could be enough to satisfy even one man, let alone three. But I can feel each of them desperately trying to hold off their impending orgasms.
None of them will come until I’ve fallen over the precipice into sexual oblivion.
I know it’s coming. As Seb mashes my pelvis against Colby’s, my clit swells, and my pussy tightens.
“That’s it,” Colby says, shifting his hips for the first time. He nudges upwards, once, twice, three times, and I gasp around Micky.
“Fuck.”
I lose control of my body, my head hanging as wave after wave of warm pleasure spills through me.
At that moment, I lose control of my mind too.
We can do this, I think. We really can. We can be this perfect union of three men and one woman and show the world a new kind of love.
I can be enough.
I am enough.
They show me every day just how much I mean to them.
All doubt leaves me in the wake of bliss.
Seb’s the first to come, his cock a deep, throbbing pulse inside me. Colby is next, rutting into my pussy as he loses all control at the end. Micky is last, showering my back and shoulders with his cum.
They tell me I’m beautiful. They clean me up as though I’m precious and worthy of their care.
The lay around me; a pride of content lions with me at the center, and everything feels good and right and infinitely possible.
Until the day our parents return.
Colby collects them from the airport while the rest of us clear away all evidence of our sordid activity. I restore the space that we filled with our laughter and happiness to the formal place designed by my mom to impress Harry’s friends.
I spend too much time in my room, hiding from what I feel is already slipping through my fingers. Although the triplets are happy to keep everything secret, I don’t know if I can live that way. Lying to my mom every day. Skulking around the house, pretending to be siblings again.
Wanting them.
Needing them.
Having to make do with stolen snippets of time that will never feel long enough. Risking discovery and never being able to fully relax.
These last fourteen days have spoiled me.
When Colby’s vehicle pulls into the driveway, I stand in my window, staring out at mom, who’s laughing and smiling, tanned and vibrant, and then at my stepfather, who looks younger and maybe like he’s shifted a few pounds. Colby makes conversation, and helps with the bags, and when mom puts her key into the front door, it feels like a punctuation mark of sorts.
An end to one era and the start of another.
“Ellie, we’re home,” she calls up the stairs. I should be overwhelmed with a rush of happiness at her singsong tone and her desire to see me as soon as she steps through the door. I should celebrate the healing of our family, but everything is tangled and complex. The tiny green shoots of our relationship are so tender and easily trampled.
I make my way slowly down the stairs, inhaling deeply and fixing a smile on my face. Mom’s eyes are bright as she catches sight of me, and when I step off at the bottom, she tugs me into a tight, warm hug. “There she is,” she says. “You’ve all grown up while we’ve been away.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as she scans my face.
“I don’t know. I just got a feeling from Colby, and now I’m getting a feeling from you. Maybe it’s because you’ve all had to take care of yourselves this week. You’ve turned into adults while we’ve been on vacation.”
My traitorous cheeks heat, recalling all the eighteen-plus activities that have taken place in this house. If the walls could talk, they’d be spilling erotic tales that would have made Hugh Hefner blush.
“You’re so tan,” I say, hoping to change the subject by moving the direction of the conversation onto her. My plan works as mom tells us all about the amazing place they stayed and all the delicious food they ate. It’s as though they had a second honeymoon rather than a trip to reconcile after adultery.