Authors: Samantha Kane
“Brett?” Freddy asked in that voice. Brett could answer, should answer, because it wasn’t about him. It was about Anne. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded again.
Suddenly Brett didn’t know where to look. Freddy’s gloved hand was rubbing in Anne’s pubic hair, his thumb sinking down between her lips, his thumb knuckle bending and straightening over and over as he rubbed her clitoris while Anne cried out and thrust onto Brett’s cock. Freddy’s other hand still gripped his cock, still moved along it.
“Move, Brett,” Freddy said softly. “Fuck her pretty little cunt, Brett.”
Brett could no more deny Freddy now than he could stop breathing. He began to thrust, restraining his motions, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of the three of them, not wanting to dislodge Freddy’s hand.
“Harder,” Anne begged. “Oh Brett, please. Harder.” He looked at her and she smiled tremulously. “More.”
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Brett smiled back, and he could feel the anticipation in his smile. “I love that you always want more,” he whispered, repeating his earlier words. Anne laughed breathlessly.
He raised her hips high, pulled out and slammed into her. Anne shrieked and clutched his wrists tightly, holding on.
“God yes,” Freddy groaned and Brett looked over to see Freddy’s fist pumping faster and harder on his cock. Brett had an overwhelming need to see that dark brown glove covered in Freddy’s seed. Slick and wet with Freddy’s release.
“Harder, Freddy,” Brett whispered.
Freddy groaned and his fist tightened on his cock so that Brett could see the strain in the stretched leather across his knuckles. He imagined the warmth of the leather as it rubbed across his arse, fondled and caressed his cock and balls. He suddenly had a vision of being spanked by both Freddy and Anne, both wearing their fine gloves.
He began to fuck Anne in earnest while he watched Freddy work his cock. Anne was moaning and thrashing beneath him, her sheath so wet and hot that the air was shockingly cold on his cock each time he pulled out. It was a relief in every way to slam back inside her. He turned to see her lovely face, to see the pleasure there, and saw that she was as mesmerized as he with Freddy’s hand on his cock. She was flushed and panting and so beautiful in her arousal.
“Do you like what he’s doing?” Brett asked her roughly. He slid out and held his cock there while Anne fought against his hold, fought to bring him back inside her. She tore her gaze from Freddy.
“Yes,” she cried out. “Yes. As do you. Brett, please!”
Brett slid inside and went deep, hard. At that moment Freddy’s hand on Anne moved. Suddenly his fingers were spread around Brett’s cock, feeling Brett inside Anne, while his thumb still worked the center of her pleasure. The feel of that leather on his cock at last made Brett cry out loudly.
“Do you, Brett?” Freddy said breathlessly. “Do you like what I’m doing?”
“Damn you,” Brett ground out as he swirled his hips and rubbed his cock on those leather-clad fingers.
“Say it,” Freddy demanded.
Brett swung his infuriated gaze to Freddy. “Yes, damn it. Yes.” The last word ended in a hiss as Brett pulled out and fucked back into Anne’s heat, his cock dragging down along those fingers. It was too much. He’d never last.
“Come, Freddy,” Anne pleaded. “Please. Come.”
Freddy’s fist moved roughly on his cock, pulling the skin taut as he dragged his hand down to the head and then back to the root again. Freddy doubled over and threw his head back and his fist moved faster and Brett held his breath. He and Anne were both frozen, watching Freddy.
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Suddenly Freddy gave a high-pitched cry and his head fell forward and jets of semen shot from his cock to land on Anne’s stomach and then more ran out to cover the fingers of his glove.
Anne cried out with Freddy and she clenched on Brett’s cock. Brett couldn’t catch his breath. Freddy was gorgeous as he came, just like yesterday. His cheeks were bright spots of red, his eyes were squeezed shut, sweat dampened his forehead, the hair on his nape, his upper lip. Brett could smell him, smell his sex and his sweat and it was as intoxicating as the scotch he had drunk so quickly last night.
When he was done Freddy was panting, his chest heaving, his eyes heavy-lidded.
He held up his gloved hand, shiny with the cream of his release. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said breathlessly. Freddy stared pointedly at his other hand, still buried in their pubic hair, still cradling Anne’s mound, surrounding Brett’s cock. “Your turn.” Freddy pulled his hand away and a distressed whimper escaped Anne. The whimper turned to a groan as Freddy ran his hand through the white residue on Anne’s stomach. When his fingers were covered with it, the leather slick with an opaque shine, he thrust his hand back down into the same position.
Brett shuddered and groaned at the wet feel of the gloved fingers around him, at the thought of Freddy’s semen on his cock. Without being asked, Brett began to move.
Brett was fucking them both. Fucking into Anne’s wet heat through the slick tunnel of Freddy’s fingers. It was heaven, and it was hell. Because it was better than any sex Brett had ever had. It was better than anything he’d ever dreamed.
“Freddy, Freddy,” Anne cried, and in his mind Brett echoed that cry, biting his lip to keep it inside.
“Anne, I need you,” Brett finally cried. “I need you to come, darling, please.” For some reason he couldn’t explain he looked at Freddy. “Freddy.” He didn’t know what he meant. But Freddy did.
“Yes,” Freddy answered thickly, staring into Brett’s eyes. “Yes, Anne.” He turned from Brett to look at Anne, and Brett’s gaze followed. Anne was wild, wanton, desperate. The look she gave them was incinerating in its heat. Brett and Freddy’s exchange had obviously pleased her. “Come, Anne,” Freddy whispered, and Brett slammed into her just as she arched her back and screamed. Brett stayed deep inside her, feeling every ripple of muscle, every convulsion as she rode out her orgasm.
“God, Anne,” Freddy said in awe as he watched her. Then Brett felt Freddy’s fingers tighten around him, squeezing him in counterpoint to the clenching and unclenching of Anne’s vagina around him, and Brett threw back his head and roared as he came harder than he’d ever come before. His cock actually hurt as it pulsed over and over, and Brett felt the heat and wetness of Anne’s sheath increase as his semen filled her.
When it was over Brett fell back on his haunches, breaking the hold of Anne’s legs, his hands on his knees, and his rump on his heels. He was panting as spots danced before his eyes. After a minute his vision was back to normal and he looked down at 117
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Anne. She was smiling softly with satisfaction. Her legs were bent and he was still between them, still holding them open with his knees. And Freddy’s hand was still on her. His glove was soaked through, the fingers now a dark brown, moisture seeping between them. Brett realized it wasn’t only Anne’s moisture. It was Brett’s own release leaking out of her onto Freddy’s hand. He caught his breath.
Freddy slowly held up both hands with a grin and looked between Anne and Brett.
He turned his hands, examining them. “Well, it appears we’ve ruined another pair of gloves.”
Anne laughed weakly. “I may be wrong, but I don’t believe they will be the last.”
Freddy laughed with her while Brett looked down at his knees and shook his head, smiling.
Freddy deliberately returned to the library after dinner that evening. He refused to bring up this afternoon’s erotic interlude in the Goode drawing room, but simply by retreating to the library Freddy hoped Brett would think about it, would understand that not discussing what was happening between the two of them, with Anne, was foolish. He sat quietly in the same uncomfortable, spindly chair he’d occupied the night before. Brett paced in front of the cold fireplace. Freddy had just finished telling Brett what he’d learned from Stephen about his mother and her role in the Goode’s situation.
“You must marry her, Freddy.”
Brett’s quiet words startled Freddy so much he nearly dropped his port.
“What?” His tone was unguarded and incredulous. Brett was in love with her. This was his opportunity. And yet he was giving her to Freddy? A surge of anger went through Freddy. Anne deserved better treatment. She wasn’t some used garment to pass along when Brett was done with her. She was Anne, damn it. And Brett loved her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” The words were sharp and angry, and Brett looked back at him in surprise. Then anger clouded his features as well.
“Is she not good enough for you, Duke?” Brett’s tone was colder than Freddy had ever heard it.
“Don’t be a fool,” Freddy responded scathingly. “Is she not good enough for you?”
Brett looked astonished. “Now you are being a fool. I told you last night—”
“To hell with what you said last night. I repeat, don’t be a fool. Anne wants you, Brett. You can have her. Marry her.”
Brett looked pained. He set his glass down on a waist-high display case full of obscure artifacts that bordered the mantle. “I can’t.”
Freddy waited for more. He knew it was in vain. There was never more. Why was he so in love with this man who would share nothing of himself? He saw the pain, the uncertainty, the hopelessness in his gaze, but Brett would reveal nothing by choice. He shut Freddy out at every turn. And yet Freddy loved him more each day. Freddy wouldn’t be shut out anymore. “You will.”
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Brett’s posture stiffened, became aggressive. Freddy gained hope from his anger.
For years Brett had remained imperturbable. But in the last few days his anger couldn’t be held back anymore. If there was anger, there were other emotions simmering beneath the surface. If Freddy could get Brett to release the anger perhaps those emotions would have the chance to arise. “She deserves to be married, Brett. Don’t you respect her enough to make things right?”
Brett snorted in disbelief and his hand violently waved once through the air, as if clearing Freddy’s words away. “I respect her more than you know. I always have. I stayed away because I respected her. Because I respected her feelings.”
“Stayed away?” Freddy asked quietly.
Brett just shook his head and his lips thinned.
“Then marry—”
“That’s why I want you to marry her, Freddy. She deserves to be duchess. She should have been. You know it.”
The air escaped from Freddy’s lungs. Hadn’t he just been thinking that the other night? That Anne and Bertie should be here, ruling at Ashton Park. He turned away from Brett, but it was too late.
“You do know it,” Brett said with satisfaction. “If Bertie hadn’t died, then he would be duke, and Anne his duchess. You can make things right, Freddy. Marry her. Give her what should have been hers all along.”
It was Freddy’s turn to shake his head. “She doesn’t love me.”
Behind him Brett was silent for a minute. “She does. She wants you.”
Freddy turned to Brett, schooling his features to hide the ripping pain in his chest.
“It’s not the same thing, Brett. She loves you.”
Brett seemed genuinely surprised. “Are you mad? She just met me. She may be confusing lust with love right now, but she’ll come to her senses when she has the opportunity to be duchess.”
Freddy scoffed sadly. “Yes, there is that, isn’t there? She may not love me, but she’ll love being duchess.”
Brett sighed and walked over to take the seat next to Freddy. He looked so out of place in an identical small, spindly chair that Freddy chuckled. Brett saw Freddy looking at the chair and he glanced down as well. Then he laughed softly. “I don’t fit in here,” he said, twisting awkwardly and finally crossing his legs to the side.
Freddy’s chest constricted at Brett’s offhand remark. Did he really feel that way? If Anne and Freddy married would Brett feel more comfortable here with them? If Anne was Freddy’s duchess and Brett no longer had to worry about what was due the title, would Brett happily stay here as their companion, as their lover? If he wasn’t being forced to confront his feelings and make a commitment to either of them, would Brett stay with them both?
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Freddy dropped his head back and closed his eyes, in turmoil. He was so confused.
Was marrying Anne actually the right thing to do? It seemed to Freddy that Brett was well on the way to making a monumental mistake that could not be rectified. He was going to push Anne away. But if Freddy married her Brett could have her. He’d see her every day, and Freddy would not deny them. Brett could love her forever and never lose her, once he got over his guilt.
Freddy couldn’t deny his own selfish reasons for marrying Anne either. If they married he would have her always. He recognized love, no matter what Brett believed.
And Freddy knew he was well on his way to loving Anne. Perhaps he already did.
Perhaps it hadn’t been puppy love, but the beginning of the real thing that had only needed time to grow, as he had. He lifted his head and opened his eyes to see Brett staring at him, his face stoic, but his eyes sad pools of expectation.
If he married Anne, he would have Brett, a voice whispered in his head. Because Brett would never leave her. He might be afraid to marry her, but he would never leave her. And if she were Freddy’s then Brett would never leave him.
“You know Anne isn’t like that,” Brett said softly, responding to Freddy’s earlier remark. He lightly touched the back of Freddy’s hand with his fingertips. It was meant to be a soothing touch, but Freddy was oversensitive to Brett’s touch after the last two days. Tingles of awareness shimmied up his arm and made him shiver. Brett pulled his hand away.
“Is that what you want, Brett?” Freddy asked quietly. He felt helpless. Brett’s happiness was paramount to Freddy. But what of Anne? She loved Brett. Freddy knew she did. How could she not? He didn’t see how she could settle for Freddy when she was in love with Brett.
Brett nodded. “Yes, Freddy,” he said with a telltale catch in his voice. He cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice was firm. “That is what I want.”