Her Troika (37 page)

Kurt stared at him a moment, a fierce brightness in his gaze. "Too late for you to have something you've always wanted? What you've always wanted, is right there for the taking. She wants to be taken, she needs to be taken."

"Bullshit. This is—"

"And you need to stop being a head-case, and start living your life. Stop living in the goddamned past. Stop blaming yourself for that bitch of an ex-wife. And you know what?" Kurt sprang to his feet and strode over to him, jabbing a finger in the center of Derek's chest. "You need to stop fucking up a good thing. She wants you, she loves you. I don't intend on letting her heart be broken just because you can't see a good thing, even when it's right in front of your face."

"Kurt, I need—"

"It’s hard for a girl to sleep with all the yelling out here."

Both of them turned their heads toward her soft voice. Breanna's figure padded out of the hallway, the dark blue of Derek's comforter wrapped around her body. Her hair was a mess, eyes slightly puffy, but the lazy smile on her face was like a ray of warm sunshine.

"Good morning, Breanna." Kurt strolled back to the table, and took his seat once more, flashing Derek a hard look as he sipped his coffee.

She spied the third cup on the table and shuffled over, Derek wishing the fluffy comforter wasn't so good at hiding her charms.

You fucked her brains out last night, and you want to see her naked again?

Yes. Yes, he certainly did.

"Oh God, that's good," she breathed after taking a long sip. "Thank you, guys!"

Bending down, she kissed Kurt's tense lips, her hand giving his cheek a quick caress, then she made her way over to Derek. Her gaze flicked over the mess at the sink, then met his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing ... it's nothing." Derek flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Go get dressed, we'll get some breakfast or something."

She stretched up, her soft lips moving against his ear. "And what if I don't want to get dressed?"

The comforter dropped to the floor, and she moved off down the hall, her hips swaying, the luscious movement of her buttocks making his cock stir once more. Derek managed to peel his gaze away from her and looked over at Kurt.

Kurt's mouth hung open, his head tilted slightly as he watched Breanna saunter down the hall. She stopped, turning, her hands on her hips, her heavy breasts swaying. "Derek, can you tell me where the towels are? I need a shower."

"Uhh." He cleared his throat. "In — end of the hall. Closet."

She beamed. "Thanks!"

Then she disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, the hinges of the closet door squeaking as she opened it.

Derek's glance met Kurt's, the two staring at one another. Then Derek slumped back into a chair. "Fuccckkkk."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Kurt said, chuckling.

Derek ran both hands through the mess of his hair. "I'll do it, Kurt. But just this last weekend, then I have to end this."

Kurt flashed a sad smile, but nodded his head. "I can't force you, I know. I just hoped ... ah hell." His expression sobered once more. "We do need to talk about this weekend then."

"What's to talk about? Won't it be like the ... auction?"

The flare of lust he felt remembering how she looked up there in front of all of those eyes took his breath away. The force of it shocked him, at how pure and powerful his desire felt. If only they could ...

Don't, Derek. Too risky now.

"The auction is a fucking sideshow compared to what's going to happen next weekend."

"I think I've seen it all — the shit we did?" Derek scratched his upper arm. "What's left?"

"You have no idea."

"Try me."

Kurt tipped his chin toward him. "How much do you know about horse racing?"

* * *

T
he water was scalding hot, and she liked it that way. Not that she needed to be clean
per se
— she loved the smell of him, that male scent still on her body — but rather it helped clear her thoughts, which were all over the place, truth be told.

He’d admitted it. Admitted what she’d hoped was true, what she felt in her bones, what made her heart swell.

He loved her.

She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter that his love was entwined, tangled with all the other emotions she could tell still raged within him.

“The fucking bitch,” she whispered, scrubbing her face, the steam filling her lungs pleasantly. “So wrong for him. How could you?”

Of course, he didn’t know all of it. Nor should he. But she thought Derek knew enough now.

Breanna would never forget that call, the look of cold rage darkening Kurt’s eyes as he spoke to her in those clipped tones he used when he was struggling with his temper. It never failed to turn her on, even as it frightened her. But as she’d listened to him dressing down Derek’s then-wife, until she simply hung up on him, Breanna had never been more proud of her husband — nor more turned on. Strangely, she wasn’t the only one turned on however, for not two minutes later she’d found herself bent tight over the back of their couch, Kurt’s cock plumbing the furthest reaches of her pussy, his fist entwined with her hair. He’d growled the same words over and over as he’d fucked her, hurting her a little with the rough thrusts; turning her on even more because of the pain.

“Mine. Mine.”

She remembered wondering what had come over him in her fleeting moments of lucidity between her lust induced moans, the cries wrested from her as his hand slapped her ass harshly, raising a throbbing heat in her buttocks to rival that stoked by the thick cock mercilessly plundering her sex.

The hot water made her gasp as it struck her tender underarms, as she raised the weight of her breasts to let it warm the sensitive skin there too. This was the good kind of pain — something she realized she was craving more and more since they’d embarked on this journey.

Last night. Ah God, last night!

She still wasn’t sure how to process it all, but she knew one thing: she was as happy as she could ever recall being. That he’d let that last wall down, that he’d had the courage to let her in — it touched her deeply, that last intimacy that she’d only ever felt once before.

With her beloved, Kurt.

Thinking of Kurt sent her mind whirling. How had she been this lucky? How could she deserve someone so wonderful as that man? But it confused her too. She suspected there were feelings, emotions Kurt still hid from her, even now.

How would all this work? She’d been so fixated up until last weekend on the fantasy, on the lust, on exploring who she was, on what made her tick. Hoping this would bring Kurt and her even closer, she’d dove in, heedless — at least at first — to what might result. Crazy? Probably. Stupid? Maybe. But she knew she’d only live once. And she’d be damned if she didn’t take the chance to live that life to the fullest, to enjoy being alive, being a woman — and being in love.

Now though, after last night she knew it wouldn’t be that simple. She’d expected the lust, the realization of that fantasy — for both she and Kurt — but what had shocked her, was the Black Swan that had taken her by complete surprise, the meaning of it still reverberating within her.

It was love.

Despite everything, despite all the steps she’d taken to (hopefully) separate the physical acts from real intimacy, she’d fallen for this man. She loved Derek now.

Loving two men at once was something she’d never have suspected she was even capable of. Now, though, she knew she wanted both of them in her life. They each brought something different to her, and for each of them she filled a need too.

Her hands squeezed soap over her breasts, tweaking the nipples until she winced, her fingers slipping down her belly to play with her clit, already hard and throbbing again.

Derek. God, what a discovery for her he’d been.

She didn’t know how she knew it — but she knew it with every fiber of her being. He needed her as much as she needed him. He’d been lost, he’d been broken — and then she’d found him. Given him what he needed, though he didn’t know it was what he was seeking. She could sense it in him — there was a deep well of hurt, a dark story of pain, of shame, and self-loathing.

And she knew she wanted all of it. Part of the revelation of the past week was in how much she found she loved serving these men, in bringing them joy, and pleasure — and solace. In Derek particularly, she felt it, sensed that need in him. That boiling rage at what he’d gone through, blaming himself for what his
cunt
of ex had done to him— the use of that word surprised her, but it fit — and laying the fault for everything at his own feet. But it was a burden he didn’t need to bear anymore.

For now he had his Breanna — and if it were up to her, he always would. In her core, she knew she needed to be that place he could run to, that quiet, safe spot to let it all go. She wanted to unburden him of all of that hurt.

Her fingers thrust deep, first two then three of them as her sex squelched around the thrusting digits.

Derek needed a way to purge himself of it — and she wanted to be the key to all of it. She wanted him to pour it all into her; that rage, that hurt, that hate, that loneliness. For now, finally, it was no longer just his to bear.

It was hers too. She longed to serve him. Not just to serve his body, but to be subject to him, to his lusts, to his desires, and to be the place he could share his pain.

Breanna knew men, knew how dark their desires could go. She wanted him to show her all of it, to make her experience it with him. She wanted him to see that she accepted all of it, loved him for it, no matter how ashamed he was of those desires. She wanted him to know that he need no longer be ashamed, nor shielded, nor cut off. He could be who be really was, embrace the light and the dark, and take the service, the surrender, and most of all, the love that she freely offered.

Oh, if this could be true someday, she’d be a happy girl indeed.

“Breanna?”

She almost fell over as Derek’s voice snapped her back, her clit screaming for the release her fingers were seconds from granting. She stood under the burning spray, breath coming fast and hard, her hand clapped over her lips.

“Breanna.” His silhouette darkened the frosted glass of the shower door. “Come out of there. I need — we need to talk to you.”

“Okay, almost done,” she called in a voice attenuated by the sound of the water and the overpowering force of her arousal.

He didn’t answer, but the silhouette moved away.

Sighing, she finished rinsing off, her fingers trembling, her legs shaking. He clit felt like it had been inflated to ten times its size, angrily pulsing between her thighs.

The comparatively cool air washed over her as she stepped out, snatching the fluffy towel from the hook and wrapping it around her torso. Her nipples peaked under the rough cotton, the hard aroused tips a pleasing but frustrating counterpoint to the protests of her poor clit.

Despite Derek fucking her within an inch of her life last night, she needed more. So much more.

Embracing your inner slut now?

“No inner about it,” she murmured, as she dipped her head and gathered the heavy weight of her wet hair in her hands.

“Inner what?”

“Oh!” She stumbled backward in surprise.

Derek leaned a muscular shoulder against the doorjamb, his corded arms crossed over that strong chest the tight t-shirt showed off so well. The dark boxers highlighted the powerful thighs, the curve of his genitals generous and inviting.

“What were you saying?” His smile — which never failed to send the butterflies in her belly fluttering — beamed, the beauty of it making her sigh inside.

“I — oh. Just talking to myself.” She knotted her hair quickly, wiping drops of water from her cheek with the heel of her hand. “Was nothing.”

He tipped his head toward the living room. “Outside. It’s time to talk.”

Nodding, she moved toward the doorway, but he stepped forward, blocking her way. “On second thought — there’s something wrong here.”

“Derek, what is—?”

“Shh,” he murmured, clapping a hand over her mouth, drawing close, his breath whispering against her cheek. “Don’t make a sound. Understand?”

She met his heated gaze, and nodded.

His big hand clasped her throat, and she drew a sharp breath. His grip was firm, but not tight — yet. She let go a small grunt as he backed her against the wall next to the shower.

He released her neck with a parting squeeze, and took a step back, his gaze following the lines of her body. “Drop that towel.”

Her shaking hands unwound it, letting the heavy towel fall to her feet, her skin gathering to gooseflesh at the exposure.

“Put your hands above you. Higher, put them against the wall. I want to see how those tits move.”

Obeying, she felt the heat of his gaze on her breasts as they lifted, her own blush warming her face. It still embarrassed her to be watched so, even by the men she loved. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over it — and part of her never wanted to. To be exposed to them, though mortifying, just fired her own lust higher, at that confirmation that she was desirable, the alluring sexual possession she’d always dreamed of being in her darkest fantasies.