Page 18 of Misadventures of a Curvy Girl
It’s deep evening now, and with the rain lashing outside, the room is almost completely dark—save for a nightlight glowing dimly in the corner, which is a rather endearing addition to a grown man’s room. The light gives a faint burnish to Ben’s cheekbones and a deep gleam to his eyes as he walks toward us, stopping a mere inch away from me. I could arch my back and my breasts would press against his chest, and the realization goes through me like a bullet. Suddenly it’s all I want to do, to feel my nipples raking against his hard body. To feel one man solid and warm behind me as I rub myself against another. God, even just the thought of it makes me shiver. Talk about being spoiled.
But it’s like Ben knows what I’m going to do before I do it; with deliberate slowness and care, he wraps his hands around my wrists and raises them to my chest, and it’s less about restraining me than it is keeping me exactly where I am. Keeping me from rubbing against him like a cat.
“You want us to fuck you,” Ben says, and he says it like a statement, not a question.
I answer him anyway. “Yes.”
Lightning flashes outside, sending his beautiful face into sharp relief and showing me the primal hunger stamped onto his every feature. “Have you ever fucked two men at the same time?” he asks in a low voice, and God, those words in that voice go straight to my core.
Dirty, delicious words.
Dirty, delicious man.
“No,” I whisper.
Caleb makes a noise behind me, his restless hands squeezing at me.
“What won’t you do, Ireland?”
My brain struggles with a reply—partly because Caleb’s hands are busy kneading my ass and hips and I can feel my body responding with fierce, wet need—but partly because I’m not sure I understand. “What won’t I do?”
Ben may strike me as a hard man, but when he speaks, his words are patient, if cool. “You say you want to fuck, but fucking is an entire menu of things, sweetheart.
It’s always better to know your own menu before you start ordering.”
I think about this. “Like hard limits?”
“Like hard limits. But also soft limits or preferences. You can do as little or as much as you like with us, and we’ll be happy however we get to have you.”
No one has ever talked to me about sex like this before. I’ve had boys ask if it’s okay to move forward, if it’s okay to do more, but forward and more always meant some vague notion of everything, like if you’re agreeing to sex, then of course you’d also do oral and everything else in between. Like the only real boundary is between everything else and intercourse, and after intercourse, even that boundary goes away.
It’s the first time I’ve thought about sex the way Ben describes it, as an array of things I can pick or not pick, and the freedom it allows me is almost giddying.
But then I genuinely can’t think of much. Until Brian, I’d never gotten past some fumbling attempts at oral, and with him, our bed play was painfully tame. I almost wish we’d found some boundaries, because that would have meant some degree of exploration, of trying new things. Of being brave.
I look up at Ben, dangerous and sexy as hell in the darkness, and I feel Caleb breathing hard behind me, his thick cock brushing against my ass every time he exhales, and I seize on the impulse, on the adventure of the moment.
“I want to try everything,” I say boldly. “All of it. Any of it.”
Ben’s hands tighten ever so slightly around my wrists. “All is a big word, Ireland. A very big one.”
It is a big word. That’s why it excites me so much. “You’ll stop something if I ask you to stop?”
Caleb growls behind me, and I think I’ve maybe insulted his gentlemanly honor. But I have to know, and in order to know, I have to ask. “Yes, peach,” Caleb says. “We’ll stop.”
I stare at Ben as he inclines his head in a polite nod. “Of course,” he replies. “The very moment you ask. Or before the moment you ask, if I’m not certain you’re into it.”
“Then all of it is fair game,” I say decisively. “There’s so much I haven’t done—so much I want to try. How will I ever know I don’t like something if I don’t try it?”
Ben’s lips twitch. “How indeed.”
He steps forward right as Caleb steps back, and he pushes on my wrists as Caleb pulls on my belt loops, and I’m walked backward toward the bed. And then suddenly both men are in front of me and I’m being pushed onto my back on the quilted mattress, and then Ben is crawling over me with predatory grace as Caleb settles next to my side. Ben’s hair is long enough to hang around his bladed jaw and equally sharp cheekbones as he does, sending dancing shadows across his sinfully curved lips before he leans down and kisses me.
Hard.
I gasp up into his mouth, not prepared for the onslaught of his kiss after the rather gentle one he gave me in the barn. But I can tell by the way he settles over me, by the way Caleb groans at my side, that this is how Ben likes to kiss, with cruel pressure and deep, possessive strokes of his tongue, giving me no quarter. I can barely breathe, but I don’t want to breathe, not if it means turning away from this kiss, a kiss that says this mouth is mine now.
You are mine now.
