[Ménage Amour: Erotic Ménage a Quatre Romance, M/F/M/M, sex toys, HEA]
“I’ll make it right for you, pretty girl. I promise.”
How many times has Delilah Owens heard those words now? Three. From three wildly seductive, wickedly handsome men from her past. They each draw her into incredibly erotic relationships. Then they break her heart. A matter of honor. What has to be. I’ll make it right.
When Delilah falls back into their lives, best friends Lincoln Banks, Ben West, and Austin Hart realize they all once had a thing for her. For each of them, she’d been the focus of a hot desire that was left unexplored, frustrated by intervening life events. Now, each wants a second chance with her. They make a whiskey-driven devil’s pact. Each man gets one month to win her heart. Whoever wins, wins. That seems fair, right?
But Delilah falls for them all. And when she confronts them, heart in her teary eyes, there’s only one way they can make it right.
A Siren Erotic Romance
“This is finished. I have a ring in my pocket, and I’m going back to her right now. On my fucking knees. Whatever you guys thought you had for her, you’re just going to have to get over it.”
He already had his back turned, but Linc had that tone of command in his voice that simply required obedience. With a frustrated growl he turned around.
Austin knew the look on his own face was fierce, but Linc walked over to him. Ben followed.
Linc had a hand in his front pocket. So did Ben. Shit. He waited for it, but he didn’t need the words to know. “I have a ring in my pocket, too.”
He closed his eyes before Ben added his own knell. “Me, too.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Ben swore out loud and then said something worse. “Lilee.”
* * * *
Austin turned abruptly, and all three men looked at her. Delilah kept her hand on the doorknob, as though that one little grounded place in the world could save her.
But it couldn’t. She made brief eye contact with each of them—those three wonderful, beautiful asshole men—then dropped her gaze to the floor. In the silence, she could hear only her own breath.
Rocking her weight back, she started to close the door. She needed so badly to be on the other side of it. To be in her car and driving away. To be in her own home, or—Boston. Japan. Somewhere further away than anyplace on this earth. All she had to do was lift one foot. Turn. Move.
The sound came from far away, but she remembered the voice. She remembered when that tone could have her doing anything. Really, an embarrassing amount of anything. What an idiot she’d been.
She got one foot to move. She set it down, a half step away. Good. That was progress. “Deej, you take one more step, and I’m going to toss you ass-up over my shoulder and haul you in here. You need to come in. We need to talk.”
He was there then, Austin. Gently taking her hand from the doorknob, tugging her in. Just two steps. Far enough that Ben could move behind her and close the door.
Austin lifted his hand, moving to touch her face. Looking at her carefully, sweetly. The big dumb fuck.
She slapped his hand away, hard, and gave a shove to his chest. She knew it was only surprise that had him stepping back.
From behind her, Ben put a hand on her shoulder, and she knocked that off, too. She shot him a hard look then moved away. Her only open direction led her closer to Linc.
He raised his hands and moved back, a reaction she promised herself she’d savor someday.
She walked further into the room. This was obviously Linc’s place, the superb architecture and view right up his CEO alley. It hadn’t taken his Lexus behind the glass door of the garage for her to know it. His SUV, Ben’s Jeep, Austin’s Harley. She’d known what she’d face when she walked into this house.
The three of them together—friends? Manipulators, connivers in some sort of plot to, what? Drive her crazy.
They’d cut off her escape, with Ben still at the door, but when she turned at least she could keep them all in her sight.
She crossed her arms under her breasts, wishing like hell she wore something more than two skimpy pieces of clothing. Stupid. She needed a fucking suit of armor.
“How could you do this? Are you all three entirely heartless?”
Linc took a careful half-step forward. “We didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She scoffed, and he took a breath, letting her vent. As though he knew she needed to. Had a right to.
He lifted a hand toward a seating area along the windows. “Would you sit, Lilah?”
“No,” she said, with as much attitude as she’d ever mustered.
He nodded, unsurprised. Austin and Ben moved a little closer. None of them came within striking distance.
“You applied for a job at our firm, ABL,” Linc said. “We all work together, and we’re friends. Good friends. Your name—and photo—came up in the group of candidates our AA vetted for us. It turned out we all knew you.”
Linc kind of ran down then. Delilah tapped her foot. Ben stepped up, though not literally. “Sorry, baby.” He looked like he meant it, the ass.
She gave him no encouragement, but eventually he went on. “We realized we’d all had a thing for you in the past. We all wanted”—he looked around for help there—“We all wanted a chance with you. We thought, maybe, with one of us, you’d find—”
He stopped there, but Austin took it up. He came forward, close enough that she could hit him if she wanted to. He kept his hands at his sides, and she didn’t know if he was offering himself as sacrifice or just trying to placate her. She might find out. It would feel damn good to punch him again.
But then he finished Ben’s sentence. “Love,” he said. “We each thought we might love you, and we thought—hoped—you might love us.” He looked around. “One of us, I mean. We each wanted to be the one. We didn’t expect this, that we’d all—”
Austin was already at her place when she got there. He’d had a Pee Wee coaches meeting, but had told her he wanted to watch the sunset again at the beach. He’d let himself in—he’d had a key for a couple weeks—and was reading on the deck when she got there.
He stood like he always did—all power and athletic grace—to take her in his arms for a kiss. He was sweetly affectionate, almost always touching her in some way when they were together. She was aware it wasn’t motivated by just sweetness—there was a healthy amount of possession in it, a blatant proclamation of ownership.
She liked both, the sweetness and that male need to flag her as his. She didn’t mind at all belonging to him and was happy that he liked to show it.
He made a little something of the kiss, also like he was prone to do, then patted her ass. “Get changed, and we’ll go. We can get something to eat on the way.”
She nodded, still a bit spaced by that kiss. “You’ll need to change, too.”
He was wearing a polo with board shorts and had sandals on his feet. Not his Harley gear. “Let’s take your car.”
She raised a brow in question. He hated her “girly little” car. Oh, he drove it, when they took it somewhere together. That would be the manly thing to do. But it gave him no pleasure, he was sure to let her know. He was almost embarrassed to be seen behind the wheel, he made a point of saying. More than once.
“Wear a skirt,” he said to her unspoken inquiry. His gaze was hot on her. “And don’t bother with panties.”
Not that her little thongs had ever really held him back from anything he wanted.
But it was wickedly erotic, riding next to him, bare under her loose gauze skirt. She’d paired it with a knit bandeau top that didn’t require a bra, and she’d seen that he’d immediately detected that.
He drove with his left hand.
His right was under her top, covering her naked breast, working her nipple, almost before they were out of her lot. Then it was on her pussy, after he’d lifted the skirt up to leave her bare, entirely exposed. She pressed back into her seat, closing her eyes behind her sunglasses, in a hot tizzy as they were surrounded by heavy, Sunday afternoon traffic. He’d let the windows down, and she could hear the conversations of other drivers and passengers, some almost near enough to touch, as they waited to inch along.
He made her come, right there among the tourists and the surfers in their cars, the bikers and skateboarders who wove in and out of traffic. He fingered her cunt and rubbed her clit until she was gripping the armrest and biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.
And again, as they got further out of town where the traffic cleared some. He started with her breast again, this time pulling her top down so she was fully exposed there as well. He’d left her pussy uncovered, stopping her when she’d made a move to lower her skirt after that first orgasm.
He switched driving hands for a moment to reach into a cubby in his door. Then he handed something to her. “Put these on.”
It was a pair of nipple clamps, similar to what Linc the idiot asshole had used. They were strung together with a long satin ribbon. It was long enough that when the clamps were applied—he instructed her on that, telling her to pull her nipples out further, make the clamp tighter—the ribbon fell to her pussy.
He used it then, wrapping it around his hand, so that every movement he made—stroking her clit, fucking into her cunt—caused a tug on the clamps.
She moaned. “Austin,” she begged. “You can’t—I can’t—”
“Spread your legs, pretty girl.”
“Delilah.” The word was hard, directive. Domineering.
Moaning again, she pressed back into the seat and did as he instructed.
He pushed his fingers hard into her then, thrusting in, jerking the clamps. He came out to rub her clit, his fingers wet with her desire. She cried out as he worked her hard, going from rubbing her to fucking her until she rocked up, riding his fingers and pleasuring herself against his hard palm.
“That’s it, baby. Scream with it.”
She did. She knew others could hear brief snatches of her screams as they passed by. But she couldn’t hold it back. His hand worked her so hard, and the clamps yanked at her nipples, and she was wild with it. She humped his hand and pitched back and forth in the seat. And screamed. Screamed.