Wicked Fall (19 page)

Woolf leads me down the short hall to the main room. I had taken a good moment to study it when we first arrived, and it was empty. Dark burgundy walls, polished mahogany wood floors with fluffy cream-colored rugs, and a variety of furniture scattered about. There is a large, four-poster bed covered in cream-colored silk sheets but no pillows and several gothic, high-backed chairs done with padded, camel-color leather that edge the perimeter of the room. Finally, I see a large, wooden chest and most interestingly, a massive cross mounted to the floor in the shape of an “X”. I don’t know what it is but the padded leather cuffs hanging from an iron ring from each corner tells me all I need to know.

I wonder if I’ll be mounted to that “X” before the night is over? The thought has me on the verge of crying… maybe from fear, or maybe excitement, I’m not sure.

As Woolf steps out into the main room, I suck in a deep breath as I see several people standing around.

I realize at once that I thought an actual audience might be a possibility, what with the hood and all, but seeing them actually there is still a shock to my senses nonetheless.

Adrenaline spikes through me as I look at the men and women, about seven as I count them. They’re all dressed casually, sipping on cocktails as they stand around and talk. The minute we enter, they all turn to look at me with carnal interest. One man even reaches down and rubs the bulge in his pants. Woolf nods to them one by one, and I’m so caught up in trying to figure out who these people are and how Woolf chose them to be there, I’m startled when two hands come to my waist and grip me strongly.

A glance over my shoulder and I see Bridger standing there. My eyes go wide with surprise. He just stares at me with those whiskey-brown eyes, neither friendly nor aloof but definitely calculating. Perhaps trying to figure out the best way to do
things
to me. It causes a shiver to run up my spine as I realize that Woolf has invited another man to this party… Bridger, to be exact.

Woolf lets go of my hand as Bridger turns me to face him. I can’t help it when my eyes go on a journey without my approval, taking in the large man before me. He has a few inches in height over Woolf and while I always knew he was a large man, the fact that he stands there now with his shirt off has me momentarily stunned. I’m not sure what regimen he follows but however the man works out, it has left him with sleek but brawny muscles seemingly carved out of bronzed marble. My eyes travel quickly down to his right hip, where a pair of black track pants hangs low. I see a flock of tattooed blackbirds taking flight up and over his rib cage, getting progressively larger in size as they reach his pectoral muscle and then turning their flight path inward toward the center of his chest. Then right there, over where his heart would be nestled deep underneath his sternum, one of the black birds seems to have exploded in a puff of black feathers that burst outward, and then start floating in a trickle down the front of his stomach.

It’s a stunning piece of artwork, and I know inherently that there is a deep message within that tattoo. I even open my mouth to ask him about it, but I’m stunned when Bridger’s hands go to the knot of silk holding the belt together at my waist. I tense up, but then Woolf is stepping up behind me. He doesn’t touch me but leans in and murmurs near my ear, “Just relax. You’re getting that threesome you wanted.”

My entire body stiffens, my legs lock hard, and a bolt of fear goes through me. I pull away from Bridger and turn to Woolf with panicked eyes. His hands come to my waist, and he tilts his head in question.

My voice is hoarse and whisper soft. “I’m not ready for… um…”

I can’t say the words. I’m too mortified.

“Relax, baby,” Woolf coos as his hands squeeze me.

Bridger now is the one behind me, and he presses in close. He does, in fact, touch me with the front of his body, and it feels both sinful and wrong that another man is being so intimate with me. He gives the ponytail hanging from the back of my hood a playful tug before placing his lips near my ear. Bridger bares his teeth and bites my lobe briefly before saying, “You most certainly are not ready to take both of us that way, but there are other ways we can all three play together.”

I hadn’t realized I was holding frozen breath in my lungs until Bridger said that, and while his voice always sounds so rough and dangerous, I actually trust this man because I know Woolf trusts him.

In fact, I raise my eyes up to Woolf’s and give him a smile that’s filled with a small measure of confidence. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

What happens next is a maelstrom of sensations, fears, thrills, and pleasures overwhelming my entire being. Woolf pushes me back into Bridger’s arms, and then lazily walks away from me and up to the bar to pour himself a drink. With his back to us, as if he has not a care in the world that I’m in a pair of arms that are not his, he sips at two fingers of bourbon just as Bridger’s hands once again work at the knot to my belted robe.

His body is pouring off a sensuous sort of heat behind me. I can feel the hard muscles of his abdomen and the huge ridge of his erection against my lower back. My gaze darts around the room at the anonymous people watching as Bridger works the robe open and pulls it from my shoulders. I shiver from the cool air and the slide of silk as it falls away. I tremble over the way both men and women are watching me hungrily. But most of all, I start to shudder because Woolf turns around and watches with the eyes of a hawk as Bridger’s large hands come up to palm my breasts, causing me to moan in pleasure. Everything is happening so fast, I don’t even have time to be embarrassed by the fact that I’m putting on a show for these people.

I feel guilty as hell that it feels so good and I’m terrified to show any reaction, because this is all-new territory for me. While I was gung-ho just fifteen minutes ago to dip my feet into the ménage pool, now I’m feeling all kinds of awful that I’m letting another man—that is someone other than Woolf Jennings—touch me.

I’m not sure if he senses it or he just wants in on the action, but Woolf sucks down the rest of his drink and then stalks toward Bridger and me. His eyes do a cursory glance down my body but remain pinned on Bridger’s hands as they massage my breasts.

He steps in close to me.

Tilts his face down.

Looks me in the eye.

“You okay?” he asks so softly, I doubt even Bridger heard it. But what he doesn’t say, and what I see in his eyes, is that it’s okay if another man’s hands feel good on me. Woolf is telling me that in his world… sharing is allowed. I’m not sure how that makes me feel, but because New Callie is determined to go through with this, I put it out of my head.

I give him a tentative nod.

“Good,” he whispers. Then he shocks the shit out of me when his hand comes up and covers Bridger’s hand that is cupping my left breast. He dips his fingers in between Bridger’s palm and my skin and then pushes Bridger’s hand downward, so that Woolf’s knuckles scrape over my nipple. He pushes Bridger’s hand down slowly.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Right in between my legs.

With just a twist of his wrist, Woolf takes Bridger’s hand and has him cupping me, and I most definitely cannot stop the whimper of surprised pleasure that bubbles up out of me. Almost as if it was planned, both Bridger and Woolf press in closer to me, sandwich me in between their big bodies, and the rest of the room is momentarily shut out.

Together, both men start moving their fingers against me. I suck in a deep breath, close my eyes, and just savor the sensations. A finger… no two… press into me, and I slowly open my eyes as I look down.

My knees go loose as I see Bridger’s finger and Woolf’s finger both sliding into me in tandem. It’s the most sinful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and my knees buckle. I’m held up only by Bridger’s strong arm around my chest where he still palms my other breast. This is far more wickedly decadent than when I watched that woman take two men at The Silo. It’s so simple… beautiful… richly depraved, that I know I’m on the path to having the quickest orgasm of my life.

My eyes start to flutter closed but not before I catch a glimpse of the crowd starting to press in on me. The knowledge that they are eager to get a closer look sends a bolt of sizzling pleasure through me while Bridger and Woolf lazily fuck me with just their index fingers. Every bit of potential shame and inherent modesty sort of fade away as I concentrate solely on what these two men are doing to me.

Lips on mine.

Woolf.

I sigh in pleasure from this sweet intimacy helping to balance out the filthiness of giving my body to two different men. It stabilizes me. Grounds me.

I think I’m up for anything.

Suddenly, Woolf’s lips are gone, then his body. My eyes fly open, and I see him step back so he can take off his clothes. I only get a brief glimpse of him peeling his shirt over his head before Bridger has me turned around toward him and is pushing me gently down to my knees. My heart skips a beat… maybe two when he pushes his thumbs into the waistband of his track pants and glides them down his hips. They go all the way down to the floor and he’s stepping his bare feet out of them, but I’m only vaguely aware of this as I stare in fascination at his thick erection sticking up proudly before my face.

One of Bridger’s hands lift, and unlike Woolf who I know would probably gently palm my face, he wraps my ponytail tightly in his grip. His other hand takes his shaft in hand, and he pulls my head forward. I’m able to take a quick peek upward at him, and his eyes are dark and filled with lust as he looks down at me.

I involuntarily lick my lips and his own pull back into a feral smile of appreciation.

Then his cock is in my mouth and the only way I know it feels good to him is a harsh huff of breath he lets out as I tighten around him. An anonymous person to my right whispers, “Suck that cock,” and I do exactly that. For a brief moment, I forget about everything but the man—almost a perfect stranger really—who is in my mouth, tasting deliciously salty and all male, and I give him everything I’ve got.

Bridger’s hand pulls and pushes at my head roughly as he grips my hair, and I can tell just by these simple movements that he would never be a gentle lover. That thought excites me and I start to throb as I have visions of him reddening my skin, and I wonder what Woolf would think of Bridger doing just that.

A wave of guilt hits me, and I immediately start to try to pull completely away from Bridger as I have the overwhelming and sudden need to belong only to Woolf. And yet… I don’t want to give up the man in my mouth.

My eyes prick with tears as my body, mind, and heart all start to compete for various pleasures. How can a sweet kiss from Woolf feel just as good as two men’s fingers inside of me?

There’s a distinct possibility I’m going insane.

Bridger holds my hair tight as I start to pull away but then Woolf is behind me, down on his knees, and his arms are wrapping around my waist. His naked chest presses into my back, and I feel his erection against me. His lips press a kiss behind my ear and he whispers, “You’re doing great, baby. Watching you suck Bridger’s cock is so fucking hot.”

I let out a hard breath through my nose and he must feel the tension start to melt, because he gives me the piece of advice I need to continue on in my quest to become a different woman.

“Don’t think, Callie,” he says as one hand drops down between my legs. “Just know that what’s happening right here… right now… it’s nothing but an experience. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

He slowly rubs a light circle around my clit, causing my body to jerk and take Bridger a bit deeper into my mouth. I look up at him, and he gives me a smile that almost borders on tenderness. Something I’d expect from Woolf but not Bridger.

Woolf’s words.

Bridger’s smile.

I feel safe.

Reaching my hands up, I grasp onto Bridger’s hips and pull him deeper into me.

“Fuck yeah,” he praises with a hoarse voice.

Woolf sinks two fingers into me, wrapping his other arm around me even tighter, and he causes my heart to almost seize up in euphoria when he says, “That’s my sweet girl. Even with my fingers in you and another man’s cock on your tongue, you’re still the sweetest girl I’ll ever know.”

So my first ménage has started, and I’m not sure if it will be my last, so I give it my all.

I move up and down on Bridger’s shaft while Woolf’s fingers play between my legs. My blood races, my head spins… all obvious precursors to a monumental—

The explosion of pleasure hits me so hard, I almost choke on Bridger’s dick as I suck in air to keep from passing out. I cry out all around his slick shaft stroking along my tongue on a backward stroke and then he’s gone. I sag back into Woolf’s arms as he continues to rub the orgasm to completion between my legs. I’m almost embarrassed at how hard I’m shuddering, hoping I don’t look like I’m having an awkward and completely unsexy seizure because the pleasure is so intense.

The sound of ripping foil startles my senses, and I realize Woolf is pulling me backwards as he sits down onto the floor. He kicks his legs outward, causing my own legs to spread, and then Bridger is crawling in between them. His cock is sheathed in a condom and his hands go behind my knees. He raises my legs, spreads me even wider as I lay on top of Woolf’s reclining body, and then Bridger is slamming his way inside of me.