Page 98 of The Doctor's Truth

“Mmhm…” I rub myself faster.

“Don’t you think he deserves to taste your sweet cunt?”

My breath catches. “Yes…”

I slip out of my panties and crawl over to Jason. He’s ready for me, and he holds my thighs when I sling a leg over his chest and lower myself down onto his face. I can feel the warmth of his breath, then the way he nuzzles my cunt, kisses it. Finally, his tongue sneaks between the folds of my slit and lashes across my seam.

“Yes,” I whine, “that feels so good…”

Immediately, I’m rocking against his lips. He drinks me in greedily, his tongue bold and hungry. When I open my eyes, I catch sight of Donovan. Watching me. Intently. As if he’s memorizing every moan. Every bite of my bottom lip. Every flutter of my eyes.

Jason’s tongue is sloppy with need, and his desperation is infectious. Every lick, suck, and nibble sends me closer to the edge of insanity.

I collapse forward and knead my fingers into the muscles of Jason’s stomach. My pleasure has made me weak, and I can barely keep myself upright.

Just when I need it, Donovan’s strong grip slides over the side of my face. His fingers fist my hand, and he leans forward so his forehead touches mine. I lean into him, and I can feel his breath beating against my lips. We’re moving in tandem now; he is the moon, and I am the tide, and I’m swaying into his orbit, following his lead.

“Good,” Donovan says, “you’re doing so good. Give me everything.” And I don’t know if he’s talking to me, or Jason, or both of us, but with his permission, I unravel.

A pitchy sound leaves my throat as my orgasm crashes against Jason’s mouth. I whine and rock against him, everything in me throbbing. Nuzzled against Donovan, I can hear the hitch in his own breath and his soft, low groan. I feel the vibrations of Jason’s moans against my slippery wetness.

We’re cresting together—all three of us. Tripping like dominos, crashing and sighing.

I climb off Jason’s shoulders, and he pants. Jason’s body is slick with sweat, his skin furnace hot. I see white trails of him across his abdomen and dripping down Donovan’s fingers. We cuddle him between us, Donovan and I. I want to wrap him up, and I squeeze tightly to this man I cherish so deeply.

He’s still trying to catch his breath, panting in the darkness. He laughs. It’s the best sound.

“I love you,” Jason blurts out. “Both of you. I love you like oceans. I love you to the moon and back again. I love you so much my chest aches—like physically hurts—when I think about you.”

His admission hits me like a bag of bricks, and it knocks the air out of me. “I…” I start to speak, but my throat closes up before I can get any further.

His cum, I can swallow. His admission of love? It gets stuck like a chicken bone.

Words clot in the back of my throat, stubborn and solid and refusing to go any further.

I look at the other man in bed with us. In the dark, Donovan’s eyes flicker like steel.

“Love you, too, big guy,” he interrupts. He says it for both of us, saving me from my own fumble. “It’s been a long day,” he adds. “Let’s sleep it off.”

Then he reaches over the both of us and flicks off the lamp, and the room floods with darkness.

48

Kenzi

Otto’s favorite shirt has a giraffe on it. The giraffe is wearing roller skates. It’s getting too small for him now, the sleeves exposing most of his wrists now, but he loves it so much that I can’t bear to throw it away.

So I fold it with the rest of the clothes. Donovan and I sit side by side on the love seat, a pile of clean laundry between us, and we’re stacking neat, folded piles on the table.

I told him he doesn’t have to help—but Donovan does it anyway. The truth is, the repetitive motions help. Last night weighs on my mind. I can’t stop thinking about how Jason confessed his love, so openly and warmly. And how, the second he said it, it wasn’t joy that filled my heart, but fear.

“Can I ask you something?” I say to Donovan.

“Go ahead.”

I hesitate, and then I just come out with it: “Do I have a heart?”

His eyes arch. “That’s your question?”

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