Love Under Two Detectives by Cara Covington (good books to read for women txt) 📗

slowed. She heard and felt and imagined him, her lover, one half of her heart, using the towel he’d placed to clean his fingers then moving, on his knees, ever closer. The heat of his hands as they landed on each of her ass cheeks shivered through her.

The delicious thrill of his spreading her, opening her, excited.

Mary sighed as the head of his condom-covered cock centered on her rosette. Then Anthony began to press, one solid, unrelenting, determined push that took the heat of burning to new heights. The pain was real as her anus stretched to admit him, but it was more than bearable because that heat became a fuel to her libidinous desperation.

“Ah…” The sound escaped her throat as Anthony’s cock slid past her sphincter to settle deep into her body.

“Oh, God.”

The two-word curse or prayer came to her in stereo, as both men experienced their own first time sharing her. Our first ménage. Mary had no power of speech and no goal whatsoever—except to come.

“Sweetheart?”

Anthony’s jagged inquiry filled her heart.

“Fuck me. Both of you. Now. Hard. Oh, oh, I need….” Unable to remain compliant, she moved as she needed to move. Tiny, jerky motions that lacked grace but sure as hell began to fill the desperate need clawing at her from the inside out.

“Fuck!”

Again, their epithets came in unison, but Mary was beyond the words and beyond thinking. She moved, taking, giving, sharing the moment, the elevation and the depth, the heart and, yes, the soul. They were one, her mates joined with her and in a way that defied logic, and she understood that this moment melded them, changed them.

Then heat and heart and friction, love and mindless, endless need coalesced into an orgasm so fierce, so powerful, it consumed her—consumed them—completely. They came and came, endless waves of passion, endless clouds of ecstasy.

The rasp of breathing, the drumming of hearts—her own and the two bracketing hers—and the scent of raw and primal sex filled reality.

She felt a floating kind of transition. Having shared a climax with the men she planned to live her life with, their bond had been blessed and sealed. She believed that with all her heart. The inner sanctuary of their love, this, their private bower, now returned to real time and space.

They were changed. They were new. They had the promise and the hope of their private place, their own special holy ground to sustain them.

She needed a moment more and was grateful when neither of her men felt compelled to end this connection too quickly. She still held them both within her, but of course, that couldn’t last.

Finally, “I’ll be right back. Stay still.” Anthony’s words, whispered against her shoulder, warned her, but she missed him the moment he separated from her.

Toby wrapped his arms around her but seemed as loath to speak as she herself was. She sighed and rubbed her cheek against his chest.

Anthony returned, and a warm, damp compress took care of minor discomfort and lubrication overload.

He left them once more and then returned. It took him only a moment to restore the covers to the bed and snuff out the candles. He left the music playing, and that was good.

Soft and soothing sounds of nature and pan flutes, the music was like capturing a wisp from their bower and holding it close.

Her head was on Toby’s chest, and Anthony spooned her. Mary loved these moments so much. Moments when it was just the three of them. She couldn’t explain why this suited her when in the past the idea of sharing anything beyond the most distant kind of relationship with other men had left her…cold.

What Aunt Samantha had told her once must be true. Some women and some men were simply made for this kind of relationship.

“Deep thoughts?” Toby asked.

“More like disparate thoughts,” Mary said. “About us and our place in the universe.”

“Right here,” Anthony said. “This is our place.” He remained quiet for a moment. “My mother used to try and tell me what it was like for her with my dad—what it was like for them both, together. And it’s not that I never believed her. I just didn’t know if maybe her recall wasn’t tempered by the pain of loss. But that didn’t matter, because I wanted it for my own.

“But now I do understand. And I never… I guess I had almost given up on ever finding anything that…enveloping, for myself.”

Mary heard the catch in Anthony’s voice, as she was certain Toby had as well. She leaned into him just slightly and rubbed her hand over his right hand that lay on her hip.

“I didn’t know if I would really get a deep and abiding love,” Toby said, “because I really wasn’t certain it existed. Yeah, I guess my parents fit that bill, but the only other example I had, growing up, was my grandparents. I never heard a hard word between them, and they stuck like glue. There was no wheedling one against the other. But… I just figured they were rare—or from another age. Then I saw Sean and Noah with their Brittany…and I wondered. I’ve said that this was not the reason I came to Lusty, but now…I think maybe my subconscious mind was dragging me here, for this.”

“I really did think I was destined for spinsterhood.” Mary sighed. “I really never imagined that I could crave being with a lover, that I could look to the future and see a husband and kids. But now I know it was because I was looking at the wrong kind of picture. Because I see you both, and those kids I thought I could never want, a future so bright and so precious…”

She stopped, because she didn’t want to go beyond that moment, didn’t want to give words to the tiny tendril of fear that wanted to snake up and wend its way around her shiny new hope.

“We’ll take care to preserve that, baby,” Toby said.

“It’s our duty—and our privilege—to