Just This Once (Just Us Series Book 1) Read online

  I resume my position behind Lacey and spank her ass, my palm leaving a faint red mark on her pale skin. Adam kisses her and she wraps her arms around his neck again. He grabs her ass and hoists her up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  He moves his hands up to her hips and my hands take his place on her ass, helping her balance as he slowly lowers her dripping pussy down onto his cock. I use my grip on her ass to help bounce her up and down on Adam’s cock, making her moan and gasp in pleasure as he drives deeper and deeper.

  Confident that he’s got his balance, I scoop a generous amount of coconut oil from the jar and melt it between my hands before dripping a stream of it down her ass crack and using my oily fingers to tease her asshole. She tenses, not used to the sensation.

  I lean in and kiss her neck. “Relax, baby,” I croon, “I’ll take it slow.”

  I feel her relax into my touch and slowly slip a lubed finger inter her ass. She moans softly and I pump my finger in and out slowly, letting her relax and get into it. As her moans get louder, I add another finger, then another, until finally, I think she’s ready.

  I remove my fingers and slather my dick with the residual oil before positioning myself at her back door. Slowly, carefully, I ease inside her. She sucks in a sharp little breath and I feel her stiffening a little, but Adam reaches down and strokes her clit, making her moan and relax for me.

  I sink all the way into her and she cries out. “Oh, fuck, that feels so good!” she gasps.

  Adam and I carefully begin to pump in and out of her in unison, filling her holes in sync, and she screams in pleasure, tightening around us as climax rips through her.

  It’s a careful balancing act, bouncing her along both of our dicks, but it’s worth every second. The pleasure is almost more than I can stand, and it takes all my willpower not to just blow my load in a matter of seconds.

  But I grit my teeth and keep going, taking deep breaths and trying to focus on anything but the bone-wracking bliss shaking me to my core.

  The way Adam is shaking tells me he’s in the same boat, trying desperately to draw out the pleasure and not cum. But Lacey begins to tremble and the walls of her holes contract around us as another orgasm overtakes her, and her orgasm sets off both of ours.

  We cry out in harmony as we all melt into pure bliss, and Adam and I pour our seed into her. As we come down from the spiraling high, we collapse into a sweaty pile on Lacey’s couch, chests heaving.

  “Ok,” Lacey says, panting, “One room down, three to go.”

  Epilogue

  Lacey

  One Year Later

  “The book says it’s too early to feel kicking,” Adam protests as I’m excitedly putting his hand on my belly.

  “And I said I felt it!” I insist, holding his hand in place over the baby bump.

  “What’s going on in here?” Dante asks, coming out of the bathroom after a shower.

  I sit up, legs dangling over the side of the bed, and I drool a little at the sight of his bare chest. He’s still dripping wet and steamy, and I’m momentarily distracted from the excitement. But then I snap out of it and beam at him. “I felt the baby kick, Dante!”

  “Isn’t it early for that?” he asks.

  I make a face. “You two are just a couple of spoilsports,” I grumble, “It’s my frickin’ uterus, I think I know what I feel.”

  Dante laughs and comes over, placing a hand next to Adam’s.

  I hold my breath for a moment and stay perfectly still, hoping they’ll feel the tiny flutter. After a moment, I feel it again and I search their face eagerly for some sign that they felt it, too.

  I see it dawn slowly across their faces, the look of awe when they truly just felt that little spark of life beneath their fingertips. Dante beams at me and pulls me in for a kiss. “Maybe you’re right, love,” he murmurs, “Maybe she’s kicking already.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “She?”

  It was still a few weeks away from my next appointment, where I’d be getting the first ultrasound that might possibly reveal the sex of our baby. But Dante and Adam have both been reading old wives’ tales and trying to predict for themselves what we’re having.

  I think they may have bet on it.

  Dante was sure we were having a girl, whereas Adam was insistent that it was a boy. I’m not sure if these predictions came from any kind of research, or it was just their own hopes being projected onto it.

  “Yep. Our beautiful daughter,” Dante says firmly, planting a kiss on my belly.

  Adam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

  “Either way, I hope he has your beautiful blue eyes,” he says pointedly, stroking my cheek.

  I giggle. “You two are ridiculous. You know, the only way for you both to get what you want is to just keep knocking me up until we have one of each,” I tease.

  “Oh, darn,” Adam says.

  “What a tragedy,” Dante adds.

  “You know, maybe we should start practicing right now. We might have to do it a few times to get it right,” Adam says, trailing kisses down my neck to my shoulder, pushing the neckline of my shirt aside to expose more of my skin.

  I let out a shaky breath. “Practice makes perfect,” I agree, trying not to laugh.

  Dante pushes my shirt up over my head. I hardly ever wear bras anymore, since Adam’s annoyance with clasps has led to some very expensive lingerie destruction. And it’s just easier and more fun to give them quick access to my breasts.

  And they’re quick to reward me for the choice, each of them bending to take a hardened nipple between their lips and suck. Adam kneels and loops his thumbs in my waistband, and I lift my hips so he can quickly shuck my pants and panties off of me, leaving me bare and ready for them.

  My head falls back and I let out a low moan, tangling my fingers in the hair of each of my husbands.

  On paper, Dante and Adam are the ones legally married, because of their notoriety and highly publicized engagement. Although Dante and I both took Adam’s last name. But I prefer to be behind the scenes like this anyway. I get to keep my freedom and stay out of the public eye, and behind closed doors, I get to live a normal life with my husbands.

  Because even if I’m not their wife in the eyes of the law, we had our own private commitment ceremony, and in our hearts and the eyes of us and our loved ones, I belong to them. And they belong to me.

  The three of us had thought we’d never be happier, until three months ago when a little pink plus sign turned our worlds upside down all over again.

  I’d sat them down and asked them if they wanted a paternity test to find out whose the baby was, but they had both staunchly refused.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Dante had said, “That baby is ours,” he’d gestured to all three of us, “And that’s that.”

  And that had been the end of that discussion, save for an occasional joke from Dante saying “Oh, I hope the baby has your nose,” or Adam griping while he puts in his contacts: “The baby better not have my terrible eyesight.”

  Adam draws me out of my thoughts as his hands part my thighs and he buries his tongue between my folds. He swirls his tongue in a tight circle around my clit and my breath hitches. “Fuck, Adam!” I hiss.

  Heat and pressure coil in my belly. They’ve always had an easy time getting me off, but ever since I got pregnant, it’s even easier for them to make me cum. Which is a good thing, because I’ve been horny non-stop.

  Not that Adam and Dante seem to mind. They’re always rock-hard and raring to go for me.

  And even as that pressure bursts and I ride out my orgasm on Adam’s tongue, I’m aching for more. “Fuck me,” I beg, either, both of them, “I need a cock inside me, please,”

  Adam gestures for me to get up on my hands and knees on the couch. He positions himself behind me, fingering my dripping pussy. “I want to watch you suck Dante’s cock while I fuck you, baby,” he orders.

  I nod, eager to taste Dante’s cum, and when he gets into position in front of me
, I eagerly take his entire shaft as deep into my throat as I can, feeling my lips brush against the base. He gasps and grunts. “Holy fuck, Lacey!”

  “Oh yeah,” Adam croons, “Good girl, swallow that cock good and deep.”

  He continues to tease my slit with his fingers and I’m shaking with need. I let out a choked whimper of desperation and he chuckles. “So impatient,” he chides, “But I suppose it’s rude to leave a lady waiting.”

  He grips his cock and moves it into position before entering me in one swift stroke, making me moan in pleasure. Two more strokes are enough to pump me over the edge into orgasm, but my mewling cries are muffled as I deep throat Dante’s rod.

  The two of them share a kiss as they fuck my mouth and pussy, turning us into a “love triangle” with a whole new meaning.

  They alternate their thrusts, bouncing me back and forth between them, and I can feel the warm beads of precum spilling down my throat as Dante gets close.

  The stuttering rhythm of Adam’s hips hints at his own impending explosion, and I’m eager for them both to fill up my holes. Pleasure crackles through me once more and I topple over the edge into an Earth-shattering climax as Adam shoots his load into my pussy and Dante’s seed trickles down my throat.

  We all sink into the couch cushions, panting, my head across Dante’s lap and my legs across Adam’s. “I love you,” I whisper to both of them.

  “Love you, too, Lacey,” Dante murmurs, bending down to kiss my forehead.

  “Ditto,” Adam adds, running a finger along the bottom of my foot, making me shriek and yank my foot away, giggling.

  For a while, the three of us just sit there, basking in afterglow and pure contentment. And as I drift of to dreaming between the two loves of my life, I am so, so glad that “just this once” turned into “forever.”

  The End

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  Keep reading for a special inside look into Double the Luck, the first book in my Luck of the Irish series!

  Special Inside Look into Double the Luck!

  Enjoy this sneak peek of the first book in the Luck of the Irish series, Double the Luck!

  Chapter One

  Rowan

  Despite being thousands of miles away, walking into Aunt Molly’s place immediately seems just like home. The entire vibe of the house feels like Ireland, even though it’s on Molly’s ranch in Texas. And our aunt’s unique presence is palpable inside, from the family photos on the walls to some familiar knick-knacks on her mantle.

  “I’m half expecting her to come down those stairs and tell us to put the kettle on,” Keenan says.

  I glance at my brother, who’s smiling wistfully as he picks up a little ceramic sloth I remembered him getting Aunt Molly for her birthday one year.

  “And fuss at you for how long your hair’s gotten,” I tease him.

  He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s not long by any means, but the way it hangs over his forehead would drive Aunt Molly insane. She was perpetually fussing at both of us about keeping our hair out of “those gorgeous faces!”

  We explore the rest of the house, and the weight of our beloved aunt’s presence lingers in every room. We barely speak as we get to know our new home and pick out our rooms and so on. Our Aunt Molly had helped raise us after our mother’s death, despite being saddled with a terrible marriage and three stepsons, so when she had decided to move to Texas a few years ago, we’d both been deeply saddened.

  We hadn’t had the chance to visit her recently, either, so the call informing us that she had passed away had hit us both hard. It had been a total shock, too. A congenital heart issue that no one had known about had led to an unexpected heart attack.

  We’d never expected to inherit her Texas ranch, but here we were, preparing to learn how to herd cattle and count chickens… or whatever it is you do on a ranch. To be honest, we hadn’t done much in preparation, and maybe jumping in blind was foolish, but it was a little late for that.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “I’ll get that.” I leave Keenan to explore and go to answer the door.

  I’m struck dumb by the sight when I swing open the door. The dark-haired woman standing on what’s now our front porch is absolutely fucking stunning. Her curvy body is incredible, and as my eyes flit over her gorgeous rack, I can’t help but think about that old saying about everything being bigger in Texas.

  Her smile is dazzling, and her dark hair is twisted in a long braid down her back. I can’t help but imagine myself gripping that long braid and tugging it back to kiss those full, pink lips.

  “Hi, there,” she says, and the twang of her drawl immediately charms me as she offers me a foil-wrapped dish of some sort, “You must be one of Moll’s nephews. My name’s Delia, I live next door.”

  The sweet scent wafting up from the dish in my hands is nearly enough to make me drool, if her fabulous body wasn’t doing that to me already.

  “Thought I’d bring y’all one of my world-famous apple pies to welcome you to the neighborhood,” she says cheerfully, a bright smile on her face.

  “That’s so kind of you,” I reply, shifting the pie into one hand and offering her the other, “And it smells incredible. I’m Rowan Donoghue.”

  She touches my hand and jumps as a static shock cracks between us.

  “Well, then,” I muse, “Guess the sparks are flying already.”

  I can’t hide my grin as I wink at her.

  Delia groans, but she’s laughing. “That was awful.”

  I’m laughing, too. “It can’t have been that bad, you’re laughing.”

  “True,” she admits. “But maybe I just have a terrible sense of humor.”

  “Well, looks like we already have something in common, then,” I reply.

  She snorts. “Well, Rowan,” she says, “it’s nice to meet you.”

  I’m about to invite her inside when a sudden sound interrupts me. I can’t really describe it, other than to say that it is extremely odd and alarming.

  Delia seems to immediately know what the sound means, though, and takes off running toward the chicken coop. I run after her, confused and startled. When I step into the coop, I see Dahlia looking around, listening for the sound. Not sure what I’m looking for, I scan the coop as well for anything amiss, and I notice a chicken with a hunk of bright red plastic sticking out of his beak, which seems to be the source of the sound.

  I reach out and gingerly try and remove the thing from the chicken’s beak, and to my horror, I can’t get it out. I tug again and only seem to upset the chicken more, and my panic levels rise. Delia reaches past me and gently scoops up the terrified bird.

  I watch, fascinated and mildly horrified, as she carefully positions the chicken’s back against a bent knee and very gently presses on it in what looks to be a very cautious, delicate Heimlich maneuver. The red thing begins to sort of slowly grow as it’s pushed out of the chicken’s throat until finally, it flies across the coop.

  I pick up the object. It’s a weird little square plastic tube with a cartoon head on it that looks vaguely familiar, but the character is one I can’t recall the name of.

  “What the hell is this?” I ask.

  Delia gently sets down the ruffled hen, looking over at the thing in my hands. “Oh, lord, that demon Pez dispenser.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She laughs, taking the object from my hands.

  “Your aunt has a huge collection of Betty Boop memorabilia up in y’all’s attic,” she explains, pointing to the little caricature on top of the object, “And for some reason, this Pez dispenser keeps ending up outside. She’s had to pull it from a cow’s nostril, she’s run over it with her tractor, and somehow the bastard thing is still in one piece.”
<
br />   “Why the hell doesn’t she throw it out?”

  “She did. Twice,” Delia admits, “But somehow the thing kept coming back. I would have laughed and said she was making up the stories, but I saw her throw it out the week before it became a cow bogey.”

  I shudder a little bit. Betty Boop’s little painted plastic face will probably haunt me the rest of my days, if Delia is to be believed. I wonder why her collection is relegated to the attic, since she lived alone, but I’m grateful that we weren’t assaulted with a house full of visuals of the little cartoon flapper.

  “Maybe I should burn the damn thing,” I grumble.

  “You’d probably unleash some evil spirit that would burn your house down,” Delia jokes.

  At least I hope she’s joking.

  She hands me the Pez dispenser, lingering for a long moment and gazing up at me with huge green eyes. After a long pause, she clears her throat. “Well, I’d better get back, but I’ll see you around.”

  She slowly steps away from me and starts to head out of the coop, but is interrupted by Keenan stepping into the doorway. “Everything all right, Patri-? Oh, hello,” he says, as he looks at Delia.

  “Hi, you must be Rowan’s brother,” Delia reaches out a hand to shake, “I’m Delia Lambert, I live next door.”

  He takes her hand and smiles. “Pleasure to meet you, lass, Keenan Donoghue.”

  Her cheeks turn a bit pink when he calls her “lass,” and I feel jealousy bubbling in my gut.

  “Delia just helped rescue me from a chicken choking,” I say, explaining why we’re in here.

  Rowan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Um, wow, that’s-”

  “A literal chicken,” Delia interrupts, struggling not to laugh.

  “Ah. Well, lass, would you like to join us for dinner?” Keenan asks, sounding hopeful.

  I kick myself for letting him be the one to ask. But regardless, I’m glad when she nods. “I’d like that.”