“I saw it, too!” Dylan joined in.
“Maybe she was answering for me?”
“Was she?” they asked in unison. Laura closed her eyes, shoulders dropping, her breath even and mature. Yes. Yes yes yes yes.
In later years Laura would try to remember the exact moment she leaned down and took Mike's face into her hands, kissing him gently and with great passion, but try as she might she could never pinpoint it, would never find her recollection precise enough to discern when she made the decision. Like so many other moments in her years with Dylan and Mike it just was, a delicious shift of molecules and energy that moved her body, compelling her toward what her heart wanted.
Regardless, Mike's response was keen and matched, lips connecting, arms wrapping about her waist, sliding up her back as he stood, pulling her to standing, the belly making an awkward chaperone that separated them. Dylan stood back and watched, smiling. He wasn't left out for long, as Laura pulled back from Mike, breathless, and reached out.
The little, doubting voice inside her, the one that whispered insecure comments in her ear at inappropriate times, the saboteur of all that was good and whole in her life, tried desperately to wiggle its way to the surface as Dylan's arms wrapped around her, as his lips touched hers, as his mouth explored hungrily and apologized with little movements and sighs, hands saying "I'm sorry" in ways words and looks could never convey. Laura found herself not only not caring what that voice said, not actively pushing it away, but instead just not listening. Tuning it out like static, like traffic, like the sound of something so insignificant it becomes white noise after a while. You know it's there but it blends in with the rest of the world and takes its rightful place as something you don't need to attend to.
What she needed to give her attention was, in fact, right here, standing before her, both men here, now, for her. And she was here for them, all three together and hopeful and trying to find their way to a new truth. A new honesty. A new vow.
As she warmed to Dylan's caresses, their bodies awkward and accommodating, the reality of their earlier coming together very real – regardless of whose baby she carried – desire roared forth, a huge ball of need and hormones rushing to the surface, her mouth aggressive, hands not backing down. Wanting them both, needing time and pleasure, her skin's memory of the fear of nearly dying now straining for an expression of life, to conjoin and co-mingle with Mike and Dylan, to renew something deep and unspoken as they unveiled a commencement. A beginning of something unspoken but cherished.
Dylan's touch became tentative, hesitant. She pulled back and asked, "You OK?"
Mike's eyes held the same conflict that Dylan's reflected as she looked at them both. "Can we...are you...is this -- " Dylan stumbled.
"Oh, God, yes!" she nearly cried out. "Do you have any idea how much I've missed this?" She stroked his arm. "Both of you." A sigh. "All of this."
"No, I mean, the doctors – can you, you know?" Mike jumped in, hands clearly itching to touch her, but keeping a respectful distance as she was in Dylan's space.
She blushed. "I'm cleared for 'intimate relations,' as the nurse put it, but I don't think they were thinking of what we do," she laughed. Pointing to her belly and hips, she added, "And I think we just have to do this the old fashioned way this time. No room for two at the inn."
"I like old-fashioned," Dylan sighed in her ear, nuzzling her neck. A zing of pleasure made her inhale slowly, savoring the heat of his cheek on hers. Mike stepped back, sweeping his arm toward his bedroom, the same room, same bed, where they'd first been together, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
In a way, it was. This world was theirs to forge, social and emotional rules that they landscaped, shaping it as they wished. No doubting voice, no righteous screeds, no one else could dictate how or whom she loved. So this lifetime that she embarked on felt like her real life. Time to start it.
Start it off right. Nice and slow and easy and luscious. Taking Mike's hand, holding on to Dylan's with her other, the three walked with languid grace, her body hot and ready so soon, so fast, she nearly burst as Mike reached down to kiss her, Dylan stroking her shoulders and back, hands wrapping around her from behind and loving her belly.
Sinking back into him, soaking up Mike's skin, the taste of him, how his mouth was lush and present and fully aware of hers made the scene less surreal. Just...real. As if all of the other moments in her conscious life were somehow just a preparation for this, and that all her worries and concerns were useless, unnecessary.
Discarded.
The sound of Dylan's long inhale, then his deep exhale, hands reaching under the hem of her shirt and warmth – just as Mike's hands cupped one breast, his hip grinding into hers, back curled over her, shoulders lifted, one hand stroking her ample, swelling nipple as the other kneaded her hair, little kisses interspersed with great, deep, wet explorations. Her clit pulsed, abs tightening and elongating, body primed and ready for everything.
And it looked like that's what she was about to get.
Four hands slid up her ribcage, across her shoulders, down her legs, everywhere, like tentacles made of honey and wine, slipping and caressing until she stood in panties alone, their flesh ripe and clear, her own hands busy and red-hot from sliding cotton and threads off six packs, glutes, biceps, and flesh that now stood ramrod straight, as if tipped up to say thank you for the coming feast.
Mike's bronzed chest, with a sprinkling of sun-kissed hair, felt familiar and foreign under her finger tips, his hands lifting up under her thickened breasts, face gazing down and marveling, as if looking at a work of art for the first time. When his eyes met hers they were smiling, and he touched her lips with one finger. “I do love you.” Hand on her belly. “And her.”
A lump in her throat made it hard to speak, Dylan's hard, muscled form behind her, leaning against her back and ass. Heady from the touch of both, she tipped her face up and drank in Mike's words. “I love you, too.” His smile, his mouth, their tongues touching as she was enveloped by manflesh, manskin, the two men who completed her – it made her feel truly, madly, intensely loved.
Cherished.
Dylan's words were a trigger for so much more as he nipped her ear and whispered, “I love you, too.” Mike released her and she spun around, arms lifting over his shoulders, his muscled forearms on her back and hips, their embrace less sexual and more a homecoming.
Until his mouth found hers, telepathically transmitting everything they couldn't say but felt, as if he thought and emoted for her through a long, wet stroke, or fingers that trailed a line down her neck to her breasts, pausing to turn a soft areola into a pebbled nipple.
“And I love you,” she replied, smiling into the kiss, feeling his mouth shift, too, into a grin. Ah, she really was home. Love. They'd all said it, felt it, meant it. The sweet taste of it was nirvana, a light, delicate – but hardy – flavor that they would relish forever.
She moved to the bed, climbing on carefully, the only one wearing anything. Slipping out of her panties, she became self-conscious of her body for the first time – how it had changed, how she had gained weight, how her brea**sts were fuller, more sensitive, her hips wider and more lush. Would they like it? Was she too big?
Mike's hands held an answer as he reached for her, eyes tracking his own hand as he moved it along her side. She propped her head with her hand, elbow holding at an angle, brea**sts and belly pulled down by gravity and one leg bent. “You're so...” He sighed, his hand opening where her ribcage met her breast, smoothing and sloping to take in more. “Voluptuous. Glowing.” Bending in, muscles rippling and arms tight, he kissed her and then slid into bed, arms warm and chest pressed against her, molding himself around her. “Amazing.” She relaxed into rippled muscles on his thighs, his long, lean body surrounding her, mouth kissing her neck –
Oh! That was Dylan, who had taken up residence behind her, her back warmed instantly by a wall of hot skin and hard flesh that started with her ass, then her thighs, gliding up her sacrum, back, and shoulders, like a strong blanket of sensuality. His hands cupped her brea**sts as he kissed her neck, erection pressed into the cleft of her ass, ready for her bidding and whatever they all chose next. Delicious. That they had all the time, all the choice in the world, to do as they wished right here, right now.
Just the feel of them against her body made her abs tighten, the flesh above her clit buzzing, her hands eager and needy, touching Mike and Dylan with an urgency she didn't have to possess any more. No rush. No scarcity. All three had made the decision to move on, to redesign the world, to make their love so much more.
Mike trailed kisses down her breasts, looping one nipple into his mouth, tongue teasing with circles of benevolence, making her walls clamp and the air in her lungs rush out. Base instinct guided her hands to his hair, hoping – oh, hoping! – he was headed where she needed that mouth most right now. It had been long, long months without, and her body tingled with anticipation, for that first cool touch of tongue tip, as the warmth of her flesh would mix with his wetness and make her gasp.
