[Siren Ménage Everlasting: Erotic Historical Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, HEA]
In 1975, a professional woman was probably a feminist and often was an anti-war protester. Professor Leah Morris was both. Now, however, feminism is settling in comfortably and Vietnam is over.
When Leah seeks early tenure, she fails on two fronts. She's desperate to prove to her family that she has the same talent for success that they do, and from desperation come sometimes-brilliant ideas. With the concept of a unique, new book, her dream of proving herself to her family may finally come true.
Leah carefully selects Beau Johnson and Steve Hardin to help fulfill her plan, only discovering too late that she swore ten years earlier she'd never again speak to one of them, and that both are out of the war, but still in the Corps. Are the teacher's pets carrying too much baggage for Leah, or is that "baggage" really a comfy sleeping bag, large enough for three?
A Siren Erotic Romance
Jenna Stewart is a Siren-exclusive author.
The radio switched from Simon and Garfunkel’s old hit, “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” to Glen Campbell’s, newest, “Rhinestone Cowboy,” but Dr. Leah Morris hardly noticed. Sitting back in her office chair, puzzled, she picked up the sheet of paper filled with even, legible script and examined it once more, just to confirm what she already knew. This man—she checked the name at the top—this Beau Johnson, had scored an A. And not just an A but a perfect one hundred percent. And this was the third time this week he’d done it.
No need to consult the seating chart. She knew exactly who he was—the intriguing man whose gaze had held hers a split second too long earlier in the day. His gaze had heated her, and she’d had the satisfying impression that hers had done the same to him. She placed his paper on top of the others and tapped the edges on the table until the stack was aligned before tucking them inside her notebook. Picking up her wineglass, she drained it.
She poured chardonnay from a local vineyard, filling the glass again before pulling from her briefcase the two letters that had her mind churning. Both had arrived the week before classes started. One was from the chancellor’s office. It stated that though she had taught at Herrisville College for three years, she had not distinguished herself enough to be considered for early tenure. She would be considered again in five years.
Five years! She would show him how she could distinguish herself from every other female teacher in the school. Colleges all over were fast-tracking women to prove nondiscrimination in the face of women’s lib. Leah had chosen Herrisville College—a medium-sized school in the Virginia Blue Ridge—because she thought achieving tenure would be easier there than in a larger school. “So much for that idea,” she muttered.
The second letter was from Whitestone Publishing Company telling her that her book proposal was not intriguing enough to pick up. Her proposal had been to document two college men in different frat houses to show how their behavior was different based on their living arrangements. The editor said her idea was “clichéd.” He explained that if she decided on something more provocative, they would entertain another proposal. In that one day she had been described as unaccomplished and boring. She took a healthy gulp of wine. Damn it! She had counted on that book to push her over the edge into tenure if she needed it.
More provocative is what they want? “Well, I have provocative down to a T.” She took another gulp of wine, letting the bite stimulate her senses before swallowing. She’d written articles for scholarly magazines but never a book. The time had come. Publish or perish might pertain to magazine articles, but books were the way to make a name outside the academic world as well as in, and she had the idea of the century. If this didn’t get her tenure, nothing would.
First she wrote provocative. The word could mean interesting, but she wanted to take it a step further, to sensual or even sexy. She could handle either one.
Next, she listed intriguing. If two frat boys didn’t interest the publisher, perhaps two rivals would. And nothing made rivals of men like a woman. A woman who brought out their primal instincts. She would be the woman. For men, she needed two who wouldn’t mind the idea of sharing—at first. She had faith that any two men, forced to face the fact that they both screwed the same woman, would eventually turn on each other. The territorial male would be her premise. “That should be intriguing enough for Whitestone-fucking-Publishers.”
The trouble was finding two men who were emotionally disengaged enough to agree to participate. She wanted a “family unit” of sorts to study but not clinging males who insisted she continue the experiment long after the thrill was gone. Which, based on the attitudes of most men when faced with a strong, independent woman, wouldn’t take too long.
She wouldn’t hint that the men would be part of a book because that would affect their behavior. They would try to fit into what she wanted instead of acting naturally. Her thesis was that men couldn’t remain friends if a woman stood between them. When she proved it and put it in writing, the book would be a best-seller and the college would be sure to pick her up for fast-track tenure.
The phone rang and she went into the kitchen to pick up, her mind on organizing the book.
Oh, no. Her self-confidence shriveled to the size of an acorn. “Mother. How nice to talk with you.”
Oh. My. God. Leah couldn’t believe she finally occupied Beau Johnson’s bed. At long, fucking last.
Beau grasped the insides of her thighs and inched them further apart before fitting his head at her pussy. He blew on the hair that covered her pubic bone, making her shiver. But then, he licked her. His tongue followed the furrow of her pussy lips and teased her clit out from its hood. When he sucked it into his mouth, she arched her back off the mattress and took the bedcover into her fists. Her breath came fast and shallow. Her heart raced, but all Leah concentrated on was the fire raging between her thighs, igniting her clit and pussy. She sped toward an orgasm as the sensations begun by Beau’s tongue and mouth urged her body to respond.
He slid two fingers inside her pussy, stroking just at the opening. Seconds later, she spiraled into release. No amount of control on her part could stop it. Hell, she didn’t want to stop it. This was why she’d come.
“Gotta feel you,” Beau muttered, edging up her body. He took her mouth, and she tasted her cream on his tongue, on his lips. The taste—the scent—drove her wild with need.
He thrust forward, and for the first time in so long, a man’s cock filled her. The difference was, Beau’s cock stretched her nearly to the breaking point. He must be huge, and she hadn’t even taken time to admire him properly. Pulling her knees up, she met his drives, anxious to come again now that she knew he would send her into a universe of wonder.
Light sweat covered their bodies and they slid over each other. Their groins slapped with each thrust. The bed groaned and squeaked as he slammed into her. The smell of sex filled the air. Leah could hardly breathe. She broke the kiss and turned her head to his shoulder. She started to cry out and opened her mouth on his skin. The taste of his salty sweat knocked her off the tenuous hold she had on her control.
In the midst of her orgasm, Beau must have come, too. By the time she regained viable thought, he rolled off her to the side, still breathing hard. He wrapped her in his arm and tugged her against his side. They lay like that for several minutes with their breathing the only sound in the room. Hers gradually returned to a normal rhythm.
“You’re incredible,” he said. “You taste great.”
“Don’t say that. It makes me hot.”
“Imagine how it makes me feel. You’re so tight.”
“It’s been a very long time for me. That’s the only explanation I can think of for my desire to jump into bed, before drinks or dinner.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. We can stay here all night if you want.”
She laughed. There was something about this man that drew her. Maybe it was that trait she’d considered earlier, his confidence and easy assumption of power. Yet he was considerate and fun. She would have to watch herself carefully and make sure she followed her own rules. This was for the book only. She’d better not become emotionally engaged or everything would be tainted. Worse, she’d end up with a broken heart when he left.
“Remaining in bed isn’t necessary. But I know now what I’d like for dessert.”
“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Do you need to use the bathroom? It’s across the hall.”
“Please.” She sat up and scooted to the side of the bed. When she stood and walked to the door, she felt his eyes on her but was too relaxed and satisfied to care.
Closing the door to the bathroom, she used the toilet and rinsed her face. She stared into the mirror, wondering what she’d been thinking. Was tenure worth spending months fucking two men to see how their attitudes, actions, and behavior toward her and each other changed?
“Fucking like this? Hell, yes.” Even without the idea of a book, Beau’s body and generosity as a lover would bring her back to his bed. How had the man escaped being married?
She exited the bathroom. “I’m in the kitchen,” he called.
She went back to the bedroom and found the shirt Beau had pulled over his head and dropped on the floor. She slipped it over her head and strolled into the kitchen.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. He had turned on the stove burner under a saucepan. In jeans and shirtless, he looked good enough to eat.
He gave her a once-over with appreciation sparking in his eyes. “It looks right at home on you.”
She inhaled. “It smells.”
He smiled, and heat spread through her. “Are you saying I need to do laundry?”
“No, I’m saying it smells like you, sexy, hot, all male.”
He sauntered to her. “It’s that kind of thing that will have me carrying you back down the hall.”
“No one’s stopping you.” She laced her fingers behind his neck, and he did the same around her waist. They kissed, and that old tingly feeling started in her pussy. They hadn’t been out of bed ten minutes and she wanted him again. What was wrong with her? This was far beyond being without sex for too long. This was a desire for the man standing before her.