[Ménage Amour: Erotic Contemporary Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, Interracial]
Isabel Santos runs Salsa Nights, a Latin dance studio in sweltering South Florida. After a wicked night in a swingers’ club ends in murder, two men offer their protection. Isabel is shocked to find they are the two hunks she used to spy on as a child, and she now dreams of being caught between their raw, masculine bodies.
Brad Westbrook and Dale Connor made a promise to watch over Isabel and have stayed far away all these years lest they risk slamming her up against a wall and possessing her rather than protecting her. But one taste of her Latin lips and Brad and Dale know they will never again crave another’s. Can they keep her safe while showing her what she most wants – a ménage a trois? Or will the killer find her before they admit this fiery Latina owns their hearts and convince her they have always owned hers?
Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation between or among the men.
A Siren Erotic Romance
“Are you okay?”
He was here, in my house, watching. Waiting. Oh, God.
She’d been all alone and playing with herself in the shower. Someone had invaded her home. Her home. What if he had gotten to her? What if Brad hadn’t come tearing through her front door? Brad. Why had he been outside?
That one of the men she’d pictured touching her, kissing her, and was responsible for yet another orgasm was here rescuing her was surreal and thrilling. It was actually heroic and romantic. Still, the pleasure of an indulgent moment and the fear of being killed left her immobile and shocked.
“Isabel? Are you okay?”
She nodded, not sure if she could speak, and wiped her tears away.
“He ran out the other side of the house, I couldn’t catch him.” Brad announced acidly, entering through the same sliding door. “How is she?”
“Shaken up, but not hurt,” Dale replied.
“Okay, you’re moving in with us,” Brad stated. “Let’s go pack.”
Her head snapped up at the matter-of-fact, remark. Brad waited, hands on hips, by the hallway to her bedroom. Dale got up and stood in front of her, arms crossed, giving her the same blank expression.
Were they serious? She was grateful for the way they’d come barging into her home and saved her, but they couldn’t just order her around. Actually, she was bouncing on puffy clouds, elated that the same two guys she’d fawned over her entire adolescent years were her heroes, but still, did they need to be so bossy?
She found she could speak now. “What? I can’t move in with you.”
“You can, and you will,” Dale told her sternly.
“No! This is ridiculous. I’ve been on my own long enough. I just forgot to lock the door and set the alarm, that’s all. I was tired. It won’t happen again.” She looked from one to the other hoping one would see reason.
Brad crossed his arms and nodded. “You’re right, it won’t. No one will try to hurt you in our house. Now, let’s pack.”
This is too much. She hadn’t fully recovered from her very private, very orgasmic moment in the shower, and now she was being ordered about, in her home, by the very men who’d she’d fantasized about in the shower.
Isabel rose to her feet a bit wobbly, but, not wanting another reason for these brutes to think she couldn’t be left alone, she did a good job of hiding her trembling knees behind the robe.
“Look, I don’t know why the hell you both think you have this responsibility to watch over me. For all I know, you’re working with the guy. I mean, what the hell were you doing just outside my house,” she pointed at her broken front door, “to have heard me scream? You destroy my property, then order me to move in with you? You’re crazy.”
Brad took a step toward her, then stopped abruptly. “Look, Isabel, let’s just say we owe your grandfather a favor so we are just watching over you. Now, pack your things up before I do it for you. And trust me, sweetheart, I’ll only look for the skimpiest lingerie for you to lounge around in all day.”
The unexpected words dried her mouth but wet her pussy. It had the most deliciously wicked ring to it, sitting around in nothing but a bra and panties all day long in their home. Her instant physical reaction was even more shocking than his threat. If only he knew just how very much she liked his threat.
Brad gave her a small knowing smile. Damn. “Bullshit.” She was really beginning to hate that about him.
He crossed his arms while Dale shook his head and stepped closer to her. Isabel matched a step back, knowing one of those large desks was right behind her.
“That’s good, except there’s nothing to see there. You know it’s not where she died. All that’s there is a roomful of naked people having sex.”
She swallowed, the word sex making her acutely aware of the blatant masculinity displayed before her, starting with their bulging crotches. Theirs were dangerous, destructive bodies that threatened to consume a woman and leave her a heaping mess of uncontrollable emotions.
“And you were not looking at that room. You were watching another.” Brad stepped closer now, and she closed the distance to the desk behind her.
Trapped between furniture and two perfect forms of the male species a foot in front of her spiked the sexual tension she’d felt earlier to a dangerously combustive level.
Isabel no longer heard the rhythm of the music from the club below, but the sound of her own breathing. Fast. Ragged. The pungent smell of leather dissolved, and their seductive scents closed around her.
“I was confused. It was dark.” Her fingers curled around the smooth edge of the oak desk.
Brad’s eyes lowered to her chest. It heaved for him. She had no control over her nipples scraping the silk of her top. They hardened and each breath pushed the budding peaks harder into the fabric. Under their vicious eyes, she loved her breasts. Loved what they did to these men. And, as the tips moved across the cool fibers, hot cream flooded her cunt.
“You were turned on. Wet.” Dale told her, as if she didn’t know.
“No,” she countered weakly, defeated, because even as she said it, sticky juice dripped to her thong.
She caught the men briefly glance at each other and silently communicate with their eyes. She wished she knew them enough to catch the meaning, but suddenly Dale closed the small gap between them and wrapped a calloused hand around her neck.
Isabel gasped, tilting her head back to meet his challenge. She breathed harder, and her nipples met his chest, muscle to silk. Damn, it was hot.
“How about I check,” Dale rasped. It was not a question and she had not a doubt she’d let him.
She wanted him to more than anything. Yes, she needed his touch. Brad was watching, rooted a few feet behind Dale. Titillating. Erotic. Isabel inched one foot farther away from the other, stretching her skirt open, inviting large, rough hands to her delicate, smooth crevice.
Dale’s mouth lowered to hers and floated a breath away. He eyed her, pouring velvety ribbons of heat over her sizzling flesh. Her slit ruffled, waiting.
She lifted her face just enough to catch his lips with hers, but he moved back and sat on his haunches.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Isabel breathed, knowing now how he meant to test her arousal.
Dale’s hands went to her thighs and slid her skirt up to her waist. Her mouth dried. Brad watched her, and she met his stare, fighting to appear brave. Dale raised her left knee over his shoulder.
Brad locked his blue eyes on her, challenging, watching her reaction, testing her limits. The thong bunched to the side, and a searing breath brushed her pussy lips.
God, she couldn’t do this, she couldn’t. Oh, but it was so delicious, so wrong.
She moaned, still gazing at Brad.
Dale’s flat tongue laved her closed labia. A rippling tremble flared up her spine, and Brad faded away as she dropped her head back. Dale flicked his way up and down her slit, then sunk his exquisite tongue into her burning cunt.
Isabel cried out, overcome with a primitive urge, an ache, oh, so deep. No one had gone down on her before so nothing prepared her for the eroticism, the torturous pleasure that one man could give her with nothing but his lips and his tongue.
And Brad watched. She felt his eyes burn her even as her flesh ignited with each stroke of Dale’s tongue. It was so wicked, so arousing. While one watched her bend and writhe, the other’s scorching mouth whipped her toward climax. Dale probed her pussy as if learning, tasting, and with a hum, he closed his mouth over her pulsating button and sucked.
She felt her body tense as white-hot lashes curled through her veins. On their own, her hips gyrated over the lips suckling the enflamed clit. Her pussy fired off a series of convulsions, releasing her hot cream, and her clitoral climax rippled against Dale’s persistent tongue.
Her fingers wrapped around silky brown hair. “Oh, Dale.”
It was a moment before she realized Dale no longer ate her pussy. He was lowering her leg and skirt, leaving her with an animalistic want. The pain in her pussy begged for a cock and an even stronger release.
How could Dale have done that with his mouth? She came so quickly, so hard. And Brad had witnessed the whole thing—Dale between her thighs, her climax. She closed her eyes for a moment, regaining her composure, wondering how she could handle any more when she’d known so little. How could she please them? Would she be enough? They were used to experienced, knowledgeable women. Damn, she was practically a virgin who’d thought a threesome would be hot and sexy, not a test of her inhibitions and ingrained conventions.
Opening her eyes, she found Dale on his feet and Brad still watching.
“She’s real wet and delicious,” Dale informed Brad, the weight of lust in his voice.
“Isabel, have you ever been with two men at the same time?” Brad asked her tightly.