[Siren Ménage Everlasting: Erotic Futuristic Sci-Fi Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, HEA]
Apocalypse, shmocalypse. When you need a world saved right, you call in…the Drunk Monkeys.
India Pelletier is a nurse at a clinic in Mexico. All she wants is to make a difference in people’s lives. When a doctor shows up to help, she thinks he was sent by the charity she works for.
Twins Oscar and Yankee are part of the elite Drunk Monkeys special ops unit. Their mission? Save the world by finding the scientists who created the deadly Kite virus. When they track a doctor to India’s clinic, they never realized they’d find more than they bargained for in the feisty, resourceful nurse.
Unfortunately, an unknown traitor still lurks in the shadows. With passion blooming between India and the brothers, will the Drunk Monkeys root out the mole before he strikes? Because India will be a monkey’s uncle before she’ll give up Oscar and Yankee…or pass up a chance to help stop Kite from destroying the world.
A Siren Erotic Romance
Tymber Dalton is a Siren-exclusive author.
When India stepped out of the back room that was also her bedroom and locked the door behind her, she turned to find herself face-to-face with a tall, thin, pale-skinned, ginger-haired guy who looked like he was about three sweat droplets away from melting right through his clothes.
He looked vaguely familiar, but India couldn’t place him and shoved it out of her mind. Anyone who didn’t resemble the local tanned, brown-haired, brown-eyed population would likely stand out in India’s mind.
Mama stood off to the side and gave India a helpless shrug. In the waiting room area, there were four families already queued for their post-siesta appointments. If this day was like any other, there would be at least twenty or thirty more patients behind them.
If it was a light day.
Without thinking about it, India asked, “¿Cómo te puedo ayudar?”
The man’s brow furrowed in confusion as he shook his head at her.
Now India understood the source of Mama’s helplessness. “Can I help you?” she slowly asked him.
If he didn’t speak English or Spanish, they were both farked.
His eyebrows arched and he finally gave her a smile. “Ah,” he said. “You speak English quite well, I see.” He had an accent she couldn’t immediately place, perhaps Irish or Scottish.
“That would be because I’m from St. Louis.” She was hot, tired, and in no mood for guessing games or condescension. “Whaddya want, buddy? I’m busy.”
His eyebrows arched further skyward. “Oh, I see. My apologies. My name is Doctor, um, Peters—”
“Oh, thank god!” she said, grabbing his hand and shaking it vigorously. “Last I heard, CMI told me they were hoping to have another MD posted here soon, but usually they’re way better about giving me a heads-up pre-arrival. I know Kite’s had them horribly backlogged. Maybe that’s it.”
Before he could say anything else, she hooked an arm through his and dragged him toward their main exam room as she called out instructions to Mama in Spanish to send in their first patient.
He sounded confused. “Um, Miss—”
“India Pelletier, licensed nurse practitioner. Indy’s fine. We’re informal around here, doc. I haven’t had a day off in over five months. You have noooo idea how glad I am you showed up today!”
She shoved him toward the wash sink in the corner and turned to take the chart from Mama as a mother with her four small children, all under the age of ten, entered the exam room. “Wash up. Sorry to throw you right into the bear pit like this, but we have a full afternoon ahead of us.”
Other than the fact that he apparently didn’t understand a lick of Spanish—which was odd, because CMI was usually better than that about matching doctors with their posts—India was glad to see he was good with kids, and even the adult patients. He appeared a little tentative at first, but it wasn’t uncommon for them to get doctors straight out of residency who were still wet behind the ears, so to speak.
By the time evening rolled around, they’d seen forty-two patients total in the afternoon session, and Dr. Peters had managed to pick up a couple of words and phrases in Spanish for simple things like inhale, exhale, stick out your tongue, and where does it hurt?
She didn’t even know what his first name was yet.
He was washing up in the corner sink while India wiped down the exam table. “So, what’s your first name, doc?”
She stopped and turned to look at him. “You’re shitting me?”
Confusion filled his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your name’s Peter Peters? Wow. What’d you do, kick your mom in the bladder all through her pregnancy?”
His face reddened. “Um, yes, well, people usually call me, um, Mac.”
“Can’t blame you there. You want a drink?”
“Oh, yes, please. A glass of water would be lovely, thank you.”
She laughed. “How long you been in Mexico?”
“Um, only a couple of days.”
“Then you should know that you do not want to drink tap water yet, and I don’t have the bottled kind here. We have a filter on the well, but you don’t want to dump strange food and strange water into your system all on the same day. Anyway, I was referring to something a little stronger than water.”
She headed out to the main storeroom, where their four large, commercial refrigerators, the small kitchenette, and what passed for their lab were located. All the fridges were padlocked shut. India went to the one on the far end, where they stored some of their more commonly used perishable medications and her groceries.
And where she kept her private stash.
“Oh,” he said, following her. “I’ll take a whisky, then, if you have it.”
She turned with the unlabeled bottle in hand and held it up. “You’ll take a belt of tequila. Made locally. One of our patients pays in it. I keep it cold because it doesn’t burn so much going down that way.”
She grabbed a couple of chipped but clean coffee mugs from a nearby shelf holding her other dishes and cooking utensils, and splashed a couple of fingers of the liquid in each one, then handed him a mug.
He stared into the mug, uncertainty on his face.
“It hasn’t killed me yet,” she teased, “and I’ve been here almost four years now.” She nodded at his mug. “Believe me, you’ll be glad for it by the time your hitch here is through. Doc Karsonnes, who was here when I first arrived, he swore that it killed off Montezuma’s Revenge and damn near anything else living in your gut.” She grinned and held up her mug. “Salut.”
She closed her eyes. One of them kissed her, the other wrapped an arm around her back and latched on to her left nipple with his mouth.
A moan escaped her, and thankfully that strong arm was hooked around her, because her knees went weak and nearly dropped her on her ass from how good it felt.
Her arms snaked around kissy twunk’s neck and held on tight while sucky twunk worked on getting her shorts off her. She did a dance in place, kicking them off before he yanked her panties down and off her legs, too.
One of them, her best guess was kissy twunk, scooped her up into his arms and deposited her onto her bed. When she opened her eyes, she was staring up at the men in the process of shucking their clothes.
She sucked in a sharp breath. Ripped, sculpted pecs and chests, tapering from wide shoulders down to narrow waists and hips that held up their firm, bitable asses. Seconds later they stood over her, with cocks stiffly waving, which were just as sculpted as the rest of their bodies.
Those cocks were just too good to resist. She sat up and grabbed both of them, wrapping her lips first around the one on the left, then the one on the right.
The men let out identical groans of need, hungry, deep, churning like the Pacific surf. It called to something inside her, pulling it forward and giving it free rein.
Back and forth she worked, the men each resting a hand on her shoulders, their fingers clamped onto her flesh in a way that said if she tried to get away, they might have something contrary to say about that.
No worries there. She felt powerful, free for the first time in years. Her clit throbbed, her pussy already wet and wanting to feel these cocks inside her. She wasn’t a stranger to rubbing one out if she was in the mood, and she wasn’t a prude, for sure. But she’d be a liar if she said she didn’t feel a good thrill of nerves fluttering through her at the thought of maybe having both these cocks spearing her at the same time.
Their flesh twitched in her hands, in her mouth, as she refused to let them rush her. Every flick of her tongue against the silky warmth of their cocks drew moans, gasps, responses from them. Something she’d missed so much, more than she’d realized until this point.
Maybe there wasn’t anything else they could do but screw around. She was good with that. She wasn’t looking for forever. With Kite raging around the world, forever might not be more than a few months for the entire human race.
That meant she refused to waste a single opportunity. Refused to turn her back on pleasure when it presented itself so wonderfully in front of her.
In smoking hot stereo, no less.
Finally, one of them pushed her back onto the bed and grabbed her, flipping her over. “Baby,” he hoarsely said, “I need to get that inside you, now, or I’m going to fucking explode.”
That had to be Oscar, because she realized the guy now crawling onto the bed next to her and pulling her on top of him was Yankee.
Yankee grabbed a fistful of her hair in his hand and kissed her, crushing her lips with his, holding her in place. His cock, trapped between them, pressed against her.
A delicious, evilly delectable idea that would likely leave her walking funny tomorrow. She wrenched her lips free long enough to look over her shoulder at Oscar. “Over there on the shelf. Green box.” She let Yankee pull her down on top of him again.
Oscar got up and stepped over to the shelf and pulled the box down.
He laughed and grabbed a condom and several of the foil envelopes of lube from the box. “You want these?”
Yankee let her lift her head to talk. “I want both your cocks inside me. I’ll get a spit roast later. I want this now, while we’re alone in here and I can yell my farking head off. Logistically, we might not get another chance for a while. Lube me up, buttercup, and let’s get this party started.”
“Pragmatic and logical,” Yankee said, grinning ear to ear. “I love that in a woman.”