Page 8 of Bred Winner

I, myself, am a breast man, and having her exposed for me, with implied permission to touch her with pure pleasure in mind, has me harder than a rock.

“Fuck, I’ve always wanted to lick your breasts and suck on your nipples.” I run my tongue up her cleavage, reaching behind her back and unfastening the clasps. Her bra falls loose, and I slide the straps down her arms, worshipping perfect puckered nipples by sucking each one into my mouth.

Alora runs her fingers through my hair and moans, tossing her head back. “Oh, that feels good, Trist.”

I flick open the button of her jeans and slide her zipper down, slipping my fingers into her panties. She takes in a deep breath and stills for a second, flailing her legs as she toes off her shoes. “Take off my pants.”

Don’t have to ask me twice.

I sit up and undress her, pulling her pants, underwear included, down her legs. She’s bare to me. After fifteen years, she’s completely bare to me, and I have to stop and stare at her glorious body, taking in every inch.

“Trist?”

“You’re so beautiful. I mean, I’ve always known it, but now—” I trail my fingers lightly over her soft belly, around her round breasts, and down her thick thighs “—I need a minute to take you in and appreciate what’s laid out in front of me.”

She smiles, bringing her knee up and letting it fall wide, revealing her pussy glistening with her arousal. “Take off your pants, baby.”

I stand at the edge of the bed and disrobe, my cock hard and curved up toward my navel.

“Oh my, Tristan. I had no idea you packed that.” She licks her lip, her gaze caressing and stroking my shaft without placing a single finger on me.

I chuckle, pulling her other knee up and pushing it to the side, spreading her wide. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue, babe, and then I’m going to fill you with my seed. And I’m going to do that as many times as you can take it tonight.”

“I’m ready for you.”

I slide my forearms under her thighs and pull her forward until my breath tickles the tiny hairs on her pussy. Licking from bottom to top, I latch onto her clit, sucking and tonguing until she’s writhing in my arms and chanting my name.

Her climax hits my tongue, and it’s the sweetest nectar I’ve ever tasted—and I know I’ll never be able to give her up. Ninety days or ninety years, I’m not giving her up.

4

ALORA

I’ve been a nervous wreck all week and thought about cancelling this whole agreement between us a hundred times, but after last night, my body is humming with anticipation for tonight with Oakley, tomorrow night with Coen, and the next eight-seven days after that.

Tristan took amazing care of me—in all ways. Starting our night out by being his sweet and flirty self put me at ease. Refusing my offer toget it over withand then taking me some place like mini-golf reminded me how thoughtful he is. And while we’ve made out a couple times over the years—always with a little alcohol flowing through my veins—I wasn’t prepared for the gentle, yet passionate attention he gave my body last night.

I orgasmed four times. I didn’t even know my body was capable of that many releases on the same night. He came three times, waking me up once in the middle of the night, and then one more time when we woke up. Okay, the last time was me climbing on top of him and having my way with him. I doubt I’m pregnant, because we’re not in my high fertility window yet—that’s next week—but I’m enjoying the practice.

I’ve fantasized about these men for most of our friendship. They are sweet and sexy, kind and flirty, fun and stable—the perfect mix to make the perfect men. And if my image of happily ever after had included a relationship with three men, maybe I would’ve acted sooner or responded to their flirty come-ons earlier.

We are where we are now, and after last night, I’m bound and determined to enjoy the next ninety days, if not longer.

My phone beeps with a text.

Tristan:“Hey babe. Hope you’re having a great day. I can’t stop thinking about last night, and I can’t wait to see you again on Sunday.”

Sunday. We normally have brunch—the four of us—on Sundays. I wonder if we should do that this week. I’ll have been with each of them by then. Leaving my bed with Coen to meet Tristan and Oakley for French toast and eggs Benedict before spending the afternoon and evening with Tristan all over again.

This could get complicated.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night, either,” I type back.

“I’m glad. Listen, babe. I want you to have a great time tonight with Oakley, okay?”

It’s just like my men to throw it out there plainly. This has to be the craziest situation a woman has ever gotten herself into, right? “Did you tell him and Coen about last night?”

“We covered the basics, but no specifics. This isn’t a competition.”

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