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Heathcliff growled, low and hungry. The darkness in his eyes seemed to spread across his whole body, bleeding into me, staking the hunger that burned inside me. He drew out slowly and thrust in deep, filling me.
And then it was Morrie’s turn. He drew back just as Heathcliff pushed in, and his wicked laugh danced across my skin as he pumped his hips and buried himself inside me.
The pair of them were practiced at this now. They built a steady rhythm. I gripped the chair and Heathcliff’s shoulders, giving myself over to them, trusting them to hold me and care for me. My pulse raced in my ears as my heart thudded in my chest.
Morrie’s fingers dug into my hips. “That’s it, gorgeous. Take us both deep. Good girl.”
They fucked both holes, relentless and merciless. Sweat gleamed on Heathcliff’s chest. Morrie’s breath rushed past my ear. I was lost between them, a slave to the intense pleasure of sharing them with each other.
They’re mine. And I’m theirs.
The thought gave me a burst of brightness, a power that surged through my body and reminded me that I was Mina Wilde, I had done so much and come so far, and I had the love of three remarkable men. And no one, certainly not a bunch of writers, would take that away from me, no matter what they thought of me and my story.
I can do this.
Heathcliff’s growls turned into a low moan. His lip curled as he came close to the edge. Morrie leaned over my shoulder and kissed him, digging his teeth into Heathcliff’s lip, nipping him to give him the edge of pain that he knew Heathcliff loved.
With a cry smothered by Morrie’s lips, Heathcliff came, his cock tightening inside me.
And I let go. I flew. I soared above myself and looked down at a woman with tangled hair and fire-laced eyes who was well-fucked and glistening andvibratingwith pleasure and love. And when I came back, my body was warm and alive and more powerful than ever.
I rested against Heathcliff’s broad chest, his cock still warm inside me, while Morrie gave a final pump and drew out, coming across my back.
This was an absolutely perfect moment. I wanted to stay here forever…
“What are you two doing?” Morrie mock-scolded us as he rose from his knees to resume his search for the perfect shirt. “You’re laying about when we have less than an hour to get ready for dinner. Heathcliff, hang your clothes from the rafter so they don’t dry with wrinkles in them! I thought you’d be showered already, Mina, especially since I’m going to have mine now.”
“You’re not having the first shower. You take forever, and I’m the guest of honor, not you!”
“Try and stop me, gorgeous.” The bathroom door slammed shut.
“Say the word and I’ll hang his testicles from the ceiling fan with piano wire,” Heathcliff growled.
“I’m going to do it myself.” I pulled myself reluctantly off Heathcliff, hobbled across the room, and rapped on the door. “James Moriarty, you give up that bathroom this instant, or I will tell Grimalkin where you hid your stash of imported French cheese…”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would!”
Okay, so maybe it’s not perfect…
* * *
“How do you feel about meeting Hugh Briston now?” Morrie asked as he nudged his way past me in the bathroom so he could straighten his tie in the mirror.
I hurriedly brushed a bit of blusher on my cheeks. I’d been wearing a lot less makeup since my eyesight had worsened, not because I couldn’t apply it – although it took a little longer now, or Quoth did it for me – but because I didn’t notice other’s people’s makeup, so my own seemed less important. But I’d decided to go for a bit of makeup tonight. I wanted to make the right impression on Hugh and also to hide the ‘just got fucked five ways from Sunday’ glow in my cheeks.
“I’m excited. That really helped, thank you. I’m ready to get down there and pretend that I know what the hell I’m doing.”
“You don’t need to pretend, Mina.” Heathcliff frowned as he ripped his trousers off the ironing board before Morrie could make a third attempt to iron out the wrinkles. “You deserve to be here.”
I finished applying my lipstick and went back to the mess of clothing Morrie dumped on the bed, and started flinging it aside.
“What are you doing?” Heathcliff demanded. “I had everything arranged to match my room at home, and you’ve gone and messed it up.”
“I packed a beaded clutch in one of the bags, but I can’t remember which one.” I bent down to unzip Quoth’s rucksack, and pulled out a small black leather toiletry bag. “If Heathcliff took it out to fit in that second bottle of Scotch or those twenty-five books, I will not be amused—”
“Whoa, gorgeous,” Morrie stalked across the room on his long legs. He took the case from my hands and helped me to my feet. “Come away from there. You don’t want to wrinkle your dress. Heathcliff and I will find the purse.”
