Quarantales: The Complete Contemporary Romance Box Set, page 37
“We weren’t judging you,” Nico says.
He comes to sit down next to her on the bed and slides an arm around her shoulders.
“And for the record, the three of us are big ol’ sluts,” Mitch tells her, sliding an arm around her waist. “If anybody should be judging anybody. It should be you judging us.”
Goldie sniffs again. But then she quietly admits, “Y’all do need the Lord.”
There’s a shocked moment. Then we all burst out laughing. And eventually, Goldie’s crying transforms into tears of amusement.
“That was crazy this morning—I mean yesterday morning,” she tells us, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I could barely move when I woke up.”
Nico abruptly stops laughing and jumps to his feet. “I’ll get you some Tylenol.”
He throws Mitch and me chiding looks. “And from now on, we’re all going to do better with aftercare.”
“What’s aftercare?” Mitch, Goldie, and me ask him at the same time.
Chapter Eighteen
MITCH
Aftercare turns out to be my second favorite part of sex with Goldie.
Basically, it involves making sure she’s all cleaned up after we’re done with her for the night. Then cuddling with her and whispering sweet praise about how good she did in her ear until she falls asleep.
Nico’s the most easygoing guy I know, but he’s a hard-ass about this. It doesn’t matter how late Goldie sleeps in. One of us has to be there when she wakes up. Ready to reassure her and counter anything that asshole ex of hers might be telling her inside her mind when we’re not there.
The truth is, none of us feel like it’s a chore to make sure she’s emotionally taken care of every morning. I’m pretty sure Jeb would agree to sleep with her every day in his little storage space if that was what it took to make sure she never ended up crying again.
If that was what it took to make sure she stayed.
And she does. Another week passes. And then another. We don’t offer her any more money, seeing how bad it went the last time. But she also doesn’t talk about leaving to go stay with this Cynda in Missouri or at a motel.
And the next thing we know, it’s the end of April, and we’ve been together for a whole month.
“She still hasn’t told us her name,” Jeb grouses, one morning when it’s Nico’s turn to lay with Goldie. It’s just the two of us, so we’re eating cereal out of salad bowls. Nico’s the only one of us brothers who knows how to cook. And the only one who didn’t get the much advertised memo about Wheaties being the official breakfast of champions.
“Or why she’s running in the first place,” I add, scooping another spoon of wheat and bran flakes into my mouth.
Jeb grunts in agreement. “I told her she should let me deal with this ex of hers. And she said that would be dangerous. You think maybe he’s a drug dealer?”
I immediately shake my head. “Nah, drug dealers don’t fuck with girls who don’t know how to party. I haven’t seen her so much as look wistfully at one of our beers. And she dropped that she only smoked weed once in college, then never did again because it made her talk too much.”
Jeb half smiles. “Same reason as Nico.”
“That’s what I said!” I snort but then sober back up. “It’s been a month, and we still don’t know shit about her….except that she doesn’t trust us to know shit about her.”
“If I had her real name, this wouldn’t even be an issue. I’d figure out who her ex was, go have a conversation with him and make sure he never came near her again.”
I nod. Normally, I don’t necessarily agree with Jeb wanting to run background checks on the escorts we sleep with. But in this case, I’m dying to know too.
“So what do we have. She went to college. Probably in Georgia based on the plates on her car.”
“Maybe not, though. I asked Craig to ask his brother over at the sheriff’s department to run the plates. And he came back with somebody named Courtney Dupree.”
I frown at the name. “Goldie doesn’t strike me as a Courtney.”
“That’s because Courtney’s a white dude going to college in Louisiana. He told me when his college sent him home because of the pandemic, he found out his old car had been stolen, right off the street in front of his mother’s apartment. Dead end.”
I flop back in my seat. “Nico hasn’t had any luck getting her to talk either. He doesn’t want to pressure her because she’s staying and why fix what isn’t broken?”
Jeb throws me a consternated look. “She’s a couple of months along now. I’m not sure when, but eventually, we’d need to get her to a doctor. Make sure everything’s okay. And she ain’t dumb. I’m thinking she’s already realized that she’s either got to tell us the truth about her or leave.”
The back of my throat aches at the thought of her leaving. But, “She hasn’t asked for her money.”
“Yet.” Jeb squints as he says the word I purposely left out.
But “yet” holds for another month.
We fall into a comfortable pattern of working most days and spending our nights with Goldie.
Jeb tells us about Goldie wanting to be an interior designer back when she was in college. And with a whole lot of encouragement from Nico, she goes from tentatively making suggestions about things that might “brighten up the cabin” to ordering stuff online. Wall hangings, carpets, even a wraparound couch, so we can all sit comfortably to watch the TV in the front room.
And the next thing I know, our cabin goes from looking like a mancave to one of those ski chalets inside the pages of Architectural Digest.
She dips her head like we’re embarrassing her when she’s done transforming the front room.
Then she says, “Just make sure whoever you decide to marry knows any of this can change. Tell her she’s free to get rid of anything she doesn’t like and give it her personal touch.”
Goldie’s a lot shorter than us, so she doesn’t see us exchanging aggravated looks over her head. But she must notice the new tension in the room.
“I’m sorry,” she says, dipping her head again. “I just want to make sure she doesn’t feel like another woman peed all over the house you specifically renovated for your future wife.”
Silence. And this time, there’s no triple exchange of looks; Nico and me both turn to Jeb.
Without any warning, he fists Goldie’s hair and pulls her back into his chest.
He whispers into her ear. I’m not sure about what, but when he’s done, Goldie bites her lip, nods, and says, “Yes, Daddy, please.”
Her “yes, Daddy, please” earns her a trip straight to the wall. Jeb takes her rough, fucking her from behind. He holds on to her hair with one hand and finds her clit underneath the hem of her Death Buddha shirt with the other.
It doesn’t take long before Goldie’s shuddering underneath him. Soon after, Jeb’s strokes speed up, and he nearly flattens her to the wall when he unloads inside of her.
“You came without permission,” Jeb says after he’s done, his voice nearly gleeful with menace.
“I’m sorry, Daddy!”
“You know apologies don’t work on me, little girl. Mitch, meet us at the couch for the next part of her lesson.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m waiting at the couch, cock in hand, by the time he’s guiding her by her still fisted hair over to the couch.
It looks like the colorful geometric print quilt Goldie ordered to drape over the new couch is about to come in all sorts of handy.
After commanding her to her knees, Jeb pushes the side of her face into the quilt so that she’s ass up on the couch. “Where do you want his cock? In your pussy or your ass?”
I pause, knowing it’s a trick question.
But Goldie’s a smart woman. “Wherever you want it, Daddy.”
Jeb beams down at her, his smile half proud and half cruel.
“Right answer,” he tells her.
Then he tells me. “Take her pussy while Nico gets you some lube. Then fill her ass.”
I climb onto the couch behind her and push in while Nico rushes back to my room to fetch the KY.
Fuck, she’s tight. Her pussy grips me like a fist.
And then comes the sight of Jeb’s hand snaking underneath her body to find her clit. He works her cruelly even as he growls, “Don’t come. Don’t you dare come.”
It’s hard to tell if Jeb’s commanding her or me. Probably her. Goldie’s having a hard time underneath me. Her pussy’s practically milking me now. And she’s helplessly pushing into Jeb’s cruel hand. Pretty damn inadvisable if she’s trying not to come.
Jeb seems to pick up on my thought.
“I don’t think you’re serious about not coming,” he chides Goldie. “Look at the way you’re squirming against my hand.”
“No, I’m trying not to come, Daddy. But he is filling up my pussy so good, and your hand…it’s so hard not to come.”
Jesus Christ…. Normally, I like narration. But I have to look away from them, so I don’t explode.
Nico returns right on time with the KY. I’m grateful for the chance to calm down a little as I lube her up before I start working myself into her ass.
Jeb lets his hand fall away from Goldie’s pussy, and she has the chance to calm down too. But she moans when I’m all the way in. Probably remembering all the times I did this when she was on top of Nico’s dick.
Speaking of which, it’s not like Jeb to leave Nico out. When he tugs up on Goldie’s hair to raise her head from the couch, I wonder if he’s going to get out of the way so that Nico can slip underneath.
But then he says, “Sorry, bro. No more narration. Nico, take her mouth.”
Nico’s eyes widen. He’s never asked Goldie to give him head. Saint Nic doesn’t want to burden her with his monster cock. Also, he doesn’t need any fluffing when it comes to her. Goldie has a way of making all of us instantly hard. But we never go against Jeb when he’s in dominant mode.
Nico comes to stand at the arm of the couch. And he dutifully pulls himself out.
Jeb pushes her head on to the tip of Nico’s dick, then guides it as he commands her in hushed tones. “Swirl your tongue around the tip. That’s right…just like that. That’s going to feel as good to him as when we lick your little clittie. He’s going to start groaning soon….”
Right on cue, Nico’s head falls back, and he lets out a loud groan. Goldie must be obeying Jeb’s instructions too well. It looks like her mouth action is killing poor Saint Nic.
“You’re doing such a good job. Suck him down,” Jeb commands, guiding her head further down Nico’s cock. “Take as much of him as you can and look him in the eye. I’m going to slide in underneath you. Don’t come. Don’t come until I pinch your nipples.”
Goldie makes a helpless sound around Nico’s dick but continues bobbing when Jeb finally lets go of her hair. I crouch up to one knee and shift a few times to accommodate Jeb getting into position underneath Goldie. She sinks down. And just like that, we’re all in.
Jeb doesn’t make her wait long for her reward. He pinches her nipples. And as soon as he does, Goldie cries out around Nico’s cock, and her entire body seizes. If her butt clenching around my dick feels anything like her pussy on Jeb’s cock, then it’s no wonder the three of us explode, releasing into her one after another. Claiming her. We’re claiming her. Saying with our bodies what we can’t with words because we don’t want to scare her away.
A hot rush of emotion fills my chest at the thought of her leaving.
Two months. What was supposed to be a week has turned into two months. But I don’t think any of us are any closer to figuring out how to let her go.
Chapter Nineteen
GINA
Something feels special about May 16th.
“Where are you going?” Mitch mumbles when I climb over him to jump out of bed. Nico makes an annoyed sound and plops his hand down a few times on the empty spot I left between him and Mitch.
“I’m sorry,” I tell them with an apologetic laugh as I grab a tee out of Jeb’s bureau. A plain black one this time. Nico washes the Death Buddha tee for me every night, but I don’t want to get it dirty. “I have to get outside.”
Mitch sits up on one arm. “Why? It’s the weekend.”
He is stupid fine first thing in the morning with his chiseled good looks, tousled blond hair and lean quarterback muscles on full display.
“She’s planting a bunch of stuff in the farm garden today,” Nico reminds him, face still buried in his pillow. “Remember she told us all about how the ground was finally ready to have things go directly in it last night?”
“Sorta,” Mitch admits with a huge yawn. “I wasn’t really listening. Is that why you left all those bowls of seeds soaking on the counter last night?”
“Yes!” I slip on the plain tee and strap on my yellow espadrilles. “I’ve got it all plotted out. Sweet corn, pumpkins, melons, and cucumbers. It’s going to look so pretty when it blooms in the fall.”
“Okay, you have fun with that,” Mitch answers, flopping back down on his pillow.
But that doesn’t kill any of my excitement. I spent years wiling away my days on making myself look pretty while I waited for Tommy to get home. It feels amazing to have my own projects now. Ones that actually make me feel useful.
I spent most of yesterday loosening up the soil and removing the rocks from the part of the old pot field I wanted to use for my first direct sowing. And this morning I hum an old Ludacris song as I prepare the soil with a mix of compost and worm casings that Jeb picked up for me from the farm store in Sweet Lake.
It’s hard work. But I’ve got everything planted by lunchtime, and I could not feel more accomplished.
Or dirtier. As pretty and perfect as the newly planted plot of soil appears, I can only imagine what I look like in comparison, covered in dirt, sweat, compost, and worm poop. And my poor yellow espadrilles are a dingy brown now.
“You know we’re not going to let you in the house like that, right?” a voice says behind me.
I turn to see Mitch. He’s dressed in crisp pale blue Bermuda shorts and a white polo. Basically, the opposite of me in Jeb’s black tee and my dirt covered heels. Actually, my dirt covered everything. Farming is hard physical work, and I literally had to get down in the dirt to get the soil tilled and the seeds planted.
One more difference between us, I notice. Mitch has a gift-wrapped box in his hands instead of a trowel.
He holds it out to me and says, “But don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. Happy Birthday, Goldie.”
I take the present. But… “Today isn’t my birthday.”
Mitch just shrugs. “Since you won’t tell us anything about you, we decided to make today your birthday.”
My heart jolted. “What? That doesn’t make any sense…”
Mitch lets out an exasperated sigh. “Will you just open it already? Don’t make me get Jeb out here.”
As much as I love following Jeb’s growly commands, I tear away the paper, curious and confused. However, finding out what it is, doesn’t help with the confused part. “An oversized swim cap?”
Mitch answers with a wolfish grin. “Like I said, I’ve got you covered.”
So I guess this is just going to be the spring of crossing things off my Never Have I Ever list.
Never have I ever lived in a cabin.
Never have I ever taken two guys at once.
Never have I ever planted a farm garden.
Never have I ever taken three guys at once.
And the latest cross-off:
Never have I ever gone skinny dipping.
The lake water is freezing, but the sun is hot. It’s a surprisingly refreshing combination. And by the time we head back to the shore, I can see why it’s such a popular activity with people who can easily get their hair wet.
Even better, we find Jeb and Nico waiting for us at the edge of the shore. They’re setting up some sort of camp from the looks of it.
Jeb’s digging a shallow hole. And Nico’s setting up rocks around its perimeter. I can only assume they’re making a fire pit.
He brushes off his hand and rushes over to what looks like a stack of t-shirts, sitting on top of a nearby cooler. All the tees are black and there’s a wide red ribbon with a bow wrapped around them.
“Happy Birthday!” Nico says, handing me the stack. “This present is for you and me.”
I laugh when I see that the stack is actually 5 of the same Death Buddha tees in men’s 3X. They’re not concert tees, though. They’re the Target version of the heavy metal band’s iconic first album cover, a flaming Buddha skull. Nico must have gotten tired of washing Jeb’s tee every day.
“Thank you?” I say with a question mark in my voice. I don’t know how else to respond.
I use one tee to dry off and then slip another on. As my head makes it through the neck of the tee, Jeb steps forward with a gift-wrapped box in his hands. As commanding as he is in bed, he seems shy and embarrassed now.
He keeps his head down as he shoves the box at me with a quick, gruff, “Happy Birthday.”
I probably should remind everyone it’s not my birthday one more time, but I’m too curious about what a guy like Jeb might give me as a gift. What I find underneath the gold foil wrapping paper makes me smile from ear to ear.
It’s a set of light grey Caterpillar women’s work boots and a pair of thick socks.
“Jeb!” I exclaim, touched beyond words.
“Couldn’t stand watching you out in the farm garden a minute more in those flimsy-ass shoes,” he answers, shooting a disgusted look at the shoes I left sitting by a tree along with my dirt covered shirt. “Your birthday was just the excuse I needed.”
“But it’s not my—”
“Stop fighting it, Goldie,” Mitch says, coming to stand beside me. He’s pulled his shorts back on, but nothing else. “Nico made cupcakes. And Jeb shot a turkey to roast just for this occasion. Don’t make them feel like they did it all in vain.”
