Page 199 of Piece Us Together

“Bryce.”

“Sorry, not sorry. I’m hanging up now. See you Friday. Have fun with your two boyfriends fucking like rabbits all week. Love you!”

I roll my eyes, but he’s already off the phone.

I guess I’ll be partying on Friday.

Until then, I’ve got French toast to make, two men to fuck like rabbits, and—if I’m lucky—maybe some cockwarming to do while my sexy professor dom boyfriend does whatever it is he needs to do for final exams.

By Thursday, we’ve settled into a new sort of routine.

In the mornings, whoever wakes up first starts the coffee—there was a small issue of how many scoops is the proper amount, in which Maison lost because two out of the three men in this relationship don’t believe you need to be vibrating out of your skin from caffeine, but that was resolved with mild pouting and a blowjob. If no one wakes up before the alarm, then I getthe coffee started before working on breakfast. At the same time, Hunter changes Maison’s bandage. That always ends with a kiss to the tip of Maison’s nose and a, “Good boy,” that never fails to make Maison blush and squirm and mumble, “I didn’t even do anything,” that Hunter always ignores.

Then we eat breakfast, Maison and Hunter at the table, me kneeling on my cushion. I have a mug of coffee down there if I’m not cockwarming, but Hunter still handfeeds me. Once, I sat there with my cookbook, my temple resting on the outside of Hunter’s thigh as I flipped lazily through the pictures, him running fingers through my hair. I had already eaten that morning, waking up a little shaky—it didn’t end up being a drop, but Hunter was careful and made me eat a protein bar and some fruit just in case. If I do cockwarm, my plate of food stays in the microwave until Hunter is done. Then he pushes back his chair so he can enjoy the sight of me eating from his hands.

Hunter has to go to work then. He says it won’t be like this during regular weeks, it’s just because of exams that he has to go in every day. Next semester he has classes Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays—with office hours Tuesdays and Thursdays. We don’t like having him gone, but we sure love to watch him leave. My god, I had seen him dressed up before, but it’s different watching it happen. Watching him pull his pants over his legs and button his shirt and adjust his cuffs. Him putting on a belt is fucking obscene. One day he wore a fucking vest and tie. I nearly swooned. Maison gulped loud enough for everyone to hear. Hunter had promised he’d use it for something fun when he got home from work—a promise he kept, binding my wrists to the headboard and making me take a load from each of them before letting me rut pathetically against Hunter’s thigh to find my own relief.

While Hunter is gone to work, Maison and I get up to trouble. Not sexy trouble—Hunter doesn’t let us fuck while he’sgone, owning both of our orgasms now that Maison has given into his more submissive side. No, our trouble is in the form of decorating the hell out of Hunter’s house. Maison aways grumbles about too many decorations even though he’s always adding more to the cart when we go shopping. He admits it’s all worth it when we get to see Hunter’s face after he discovers that we did indeed put fake candy canes above his toilet. It was his fault, Maison pointed out. He had been warned.

Hunter comes home from work at different times depending on the day, but always before dinner. Sometimes dinner is finished, sometimes it’s in the process of being made, or it’s cooking in the oven. If it’s the first instance, we all eat together at the table, talking about our days or the possibilities of our future or telling stories about friends and family. If it’s the second, he comes up behind me and presses kisses to my neck, whispering that he missed me, then goes and finds Maison where he’s almost always on the couch either watching something on the TV or working on his therapy journal that Dr. Singh assigned him. If it’s cooking in the oven, he greets Maison first, asks where his head is at for play, then either drags me to the bedroom to fuck my face, or does it right in front of Maison before handing me off to him to take care of the erection he always has after watching.

At seven, whether he likes it or not, Maison goes upstairs and does his phone call with Dr. Singh. Hunter and I stay downstairs, watching our history documentary that I find surprisingly fascinating and Maison finds unbelievably boring. Sometimes Maison comes down soon after. Sometimes he’s gone so long we go looking for him. On good nights, he plops down on the couch with us and complains about the documentary before stealing the remote and turning another superhero movie on before we get tired enough to head upstairs and either pass out or get each other off before passing out. On bad nights, he wants Hunter to hold him down, to wrap ahand around his throat, to make him beg until he sobs his way through an orgasm. On the really bad nights, he doesn’t want to be touched, just wants to lie between us on the bed, his hand fisted around his dog tags like they’re the only thing keeping him from floating away.

Hunter warns us the weekend will be rather boring. He doesn’t like to make his students wait long for their grades, remembering the anxiety he felt himself as a student. That means Saturday and Sunday will be dedicated to grading final exams and final essays. I had felt slightly pouty—not that I would ever act that way. Then he’d mentioned I could cockwarm him while he grades, maybe even cockwarm both of them at once while he uses my back as a table, and I’d nearly come in my pants. He also said if he finishes in time on Sunday, we can go pick out a real Christmas tree. Maison had laughed when I’d bounced up and down in excitement. He wasn’t laughing anymore when Hunter made him sit there with a cock ring on while I bounced on his cock. He’d been real nice after that.

To say the week has been an unimaginable perfection would be an understatement, even with the lows Maison experienced and the doubts that occasionally popped into my head when things felt too good to be true.

I don’t want to leave the happy bubble, but I don’t doubt for a second Bryce would come to Hunter’s and drag our asses to the party if we don’t show up ourselves. So, partying it is.

The guys are excited to see me, though Bryce’s dramatic fall to his knees with his hands in the air and a yell of, “Praise the Lord, you’re alive!” is a little much. I flick him in the forehead and tell him to get up because he looks ridiculous. He gives Hunter a look and says, “Get your sub under control, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Hunter says. Then, with a smirk, “And he’s perfectly under control, for me.”

Bryce whistles low, shaking his head. He eyes Hunter up and down. Then he offers him a drink. Hunter accepts. They agree the wine Bryce picks is an excellent one. I realize with a spike of dread that letting the two of them bond was a very big mistake. When I catch Maison’s horrified look, I know he’s realized the same.

Matt’s tablet is American today. He drags me to the living room, leaving Maison and Hunter behind, and demands to know everything that’s happened since the last time we talked. He has pre-made words and phrases now, so he doesn’t have to type quite as often. He uses, “Oh my god!”, “Wait, what?”, and “Elaborate,” quite a lot. He also does a lot of shaking his head and signing,idiot.

I almost have him fully caught up when Travis, Jake, Casey, and Carter show up. I try not to tense, already scanning the house for Maison. It’s like the air is sucked out of the roomwhenever Carter shows up. I hate that for the both of them, but the selfish part of me that’s in love with Maison hates Carter a little for it too. It feels like him forgiving Maison is long past overdue. Every time they seem to get close, Carter blows everything up.

Matt’s tablet says, “Breathe.”

I try.

It gets a whole lot easier when I start walking out of the living room and get a glimpse of Maison sitting on a stool in the kitchen, Hunter’s hand on his shoulder. I reach them first, but the new arrivals are only seconds after us. Hunter doesn’t move his hand when they walk in. Maison doesn’t move away. Travis’s gaze goes directly to the place they’re touching, but Carter’s eyes are on me.

Carter wraps me up in a hug that I return easily enough. I love him too, after all. I just sort of want to hit him over the head a few times…lovingly.

He hands me a gift, which prompts Casey to hand me one too. I blush furiously. I want to tell them that Bryce blew this whole thing way out of proportion. It’s not culinary school, it’s a class or two. I’m not accepted, I haven’t even applied yet. I haven’t even fully decided I’m going yet.

“Open them!” Carter says impatiently.

I decide to accept the gifts.Who doesn’t love gifts, right?Besides, I cook for all these assholes all the damn time. A little thanks is welcome.

Especially when that thanks is in the form of a gorgeous knife set—which has Bryce exclaiming a little terrifyingly, “Oh, knives!”—and a handcrafted charcuterie board. I thank them both, promising to have a movie night soon with the charcuterie board, then promising not to let Bryce anywhere near the knives. Bryce gasps, offended.

“Did you even get him a gift?” Carter says with a roll of his eyes.

“Um, I threw him this party?” Bryce says, putting his hands up to gesture around the room. Then, “And then there’s me. I’m a motherfucking gift.”

---