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Slowly, we begin to move, in languid, fluid movements. Taking our time, we enjoy the feel of each other’s body. The pressure inside her, of being filled by both of us, feels intense even from my perspective. She’s so much tighter, and her body buzzes, like a rubber band that’s about to snap.
My hand moves from her thigh to her face, cupping her face to kiss her. My thumb swipes through wetness on her cheek.
“Is this okay? Does it hurt?”
Ezra slows, but her body rolls between us. “No, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” she cries.
Our kisses become deeper, more fevered, as our movementspick up. We’re nothing but a writhing pile of sweaty, moaning limbs and harsh breaths. My abs and arms ache with the effort of holding myself up and thrusting at this angle, but I don’t ever want to stop.
Beth’s pants become mewls.
“Oh, God, Beth,” I hear Ezra groan against the back of her neck. She reaches back to thread her hand into his hair and rolls her body with our thrusts, drawing a strangled groan from both of us.
My hand moves between us to rub gentle circles over her clit. Beth hisses and arches, crying out into the night. Her body clenches and I feel it in every part of my own body. I’m gritting my teeth to hold myself back. I know Ezra can feel it too. I hear it in the way his breath hitches, and see it in the way his fingers dig into her hip.
With my fingers dancing over her clit, and the two of us moving inside her, Beth comes apart in our arms on a sob. We ride her through it, kissing her everywhere and whispering how much we love her, how perfect and beautiful she is. My fingers never leave her clit, and on the second wave of her orgasm, I can’t hold back any longer. She pulls us both over with her, and the feeling of Ezra’s cock pulsing inside her makes the sensation all the more intense. I feel my orgasm through every nerve ending, all the way from my toes to each hair follicle on my head. I cry out with the intensity of it, rolling my hips as my cock spurts what feels like a never-ending stream of cum inside her.
When we’re finally spent, it takes us far too long to even be able to move a muscle. We just lie there, a tangle of messy limbs, catching our breaths and holding back tears. I feel insanely emotional, and I eventually have to laugh, because I feel silly—here I am, a grown ass man, quite a large one at that, crying over good sex?Reallygood sex. Transcendent.
It's just that I have zero doubts in my mind that this is how things are supposed to be. And when I wrap my arms around her and pull her tight, feeling Ezra do the same on her other side, I know they feel it too.
Epilogue- Beth
Three years later.
“Alright, that’s it for today. Really well done. You’re all going to really shine in next month’s gallery showcase. I’ll see some of you tomorrow for the still life drawing class, and if you’re taking Cal’s photography workshop this weekend, I’ll be there, too.”
There’s a bustle of activity as the classroom fills with parents who’ve come to pick up their kids, children racing everywhere to return their supplies, and the chatter of happy banter. Students and parents alike come to greet or hug me, and one parent even hands me a check for a fundraiser one of the schools we partner with decided to do. WildflowerStudios is a successful non-profit that, thanks to donations like these, is able to travel to local schools for special lessons or take on scholarship students in the studio. The gallery is successful enough that we can fund all the projects and outreach I want to do in our small city, but we never turn down an opportunity to be able to grow and help more people. And since we’re expanding, every dollar helps.
“It’ll be strange being in a new space,” Sara, one of my favorite students, says. “But I’m excited about the showcase.”
“You’re going to love it, I promise. I spent years in that gallery before it closed down. I’m just glad we have the opportunity to make it amazing again.”
The Gregg Gallery sadly closed less than a year after I left. Their idea for a social media club created a buzz for a few weekends, and they booked a few teen birthday parties, but after that, the interest fizzled out and the expenses ran them dry. When Bobby Vandreth attempted to turn back to the clientele that had kept The Gregg running for years, he found that his actions did indeed have consequences. His and Cherith’s reputation in the art world was ruined, and he was forced to sell the gallery a month later. It was heartbreaking to see it close, and even more heartbreaking to watch the building go unused for so long. I walked by it nearly every day, just to see if anything was being done or if there were any signs of new ownership.
A little over a year ago, I started to make plans. I spoke to our financial manager and shifted things around with the intent of saving up enough to buy out the lease on the old gallery. Within six months, I’d managed to procure enough funding to put down a deposit and was ready to approach the new owners…which turned out to be Cal and Ezra. The sneaky bastards had snatched it up the moment it became available, knowing that I would want it, but also knowing that I wouldn’t want them to just buy it for me outright. How they managed to keep it a secret for as long as they did is impressive, considering one of them usually gives away that a surprise is in the works, but they were determined to let me have this win.
Next month, Wildflower Studios will be making a permanent move to our new address, and the upstairs loft of The BEC Gallery will become Cal and Ezra’s new studio. Their mixed media erotic portraits have become quite popular, to the point that they were recently commissioned to do artwork for a wildly popular rock band’s album. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. Although, sure, my face isn’t in any of the art pieces they have sold, but I feel like it’s still pretty obvious that it’s my ass or boobs plastered all over the gallery downstairs. They’re tasteful, though, and they make me feel beautiful, the way they always wanted me to see myself.
My phone pings to let me know the alarms have been set downstairs, which means everyone is gone for the night. I’ve only got ten minutes or so before the guys get back, and I planned a special surprise for them. Over the past three years, we’ve gotten used to doing a lot of traveling together, getting to spend days with just the three of us as Ezra and I tagged along on Cal’s shoots or going on vacations that we planned together. Some of it has been business, trading art with galleries across oceans, but it’s all been pleasure as well. It always is, with those two.
With me opening the second location for Wildflower Studios, this has been the longest we’ve gone without several days of alone time, and I want to do something fun to make up for it.
After running around frantically to get things ready, I flick off the overhead lights. I shuffle out of my dress and undergarments and push my feet into a pair of heels that Ibrought for just this occasion. Of course, then I trip when I get said heels tangled in the dress on the floor while trying to light a few extra candles.
Shit! Damnit, Beth, you’re going to break an ankle! Why did I think this was a good idea?!
When I nearly trip a second time, I give up. I love that they love seeing me in skimpy lingerie and a pair of heels, but they’re going to love me just as much butt-ass naked and barefoot. Groaning in frustration, I pull off one of the torture devices and chuck the offending shoe across the room—
“What the!” Cal ducks as the shoe comes flying toward his face. It deflects off the arm he holds up to shield himself and hits Ezra in the jaw.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!”
Mortified, I run over to check Ezra’s jaw, but he’s fine. He’s staring at me with unbridled amusement. A similar twinkle is in Cal’s eye.
“You’re early,” I say, throwing my hands up like it’s an explanation for what they just walked in on. Clearing my throat, I try to change the subject. “How was dinner?”
