Page 5 of Band of Brothers - MFMM Menage Romance (Sweet Treats 8)
Coke grins again.
“Heather’s never done the three on one herself, but she says the girls who do do it can barely walk afterwards. They’re limping because it’s so much hard and fast action. They don’t have to go to the hospital or anything, they’re just sore,” she adds quickly.
I lean forward, flushed with curiosity. My pulse is accelerating, and my heart feels like it might beat out of my chest.
“But did they like it?” I ask. “You know, did they go back for more?”
Coke grins again.
“Yes. My sister says that the girls who do three-on-one love it. She said that sometimes, that’s all they’ll do because they can’t be satisfied any other way. There are three holes, and it takes three men to plug them full each time. As a result, you get addicted, is what I heard.”
I sit back my heart thumping. Oh my god, is that true? Can you actually get addicted to being with three men non-stop? I lean forward again, about to ask another question, when suddenly there’s a gentle knock on the door.
“Cokie? Danger? June? I brought some cookies for you fresh-baked from the oven,” Coke’s mom chirps from outside. The door opens and Mrs. Lewis pokes her head in. She’s got salt and pepper hair, glasses, and a plump, motherly look.
“Hi girls,” she greets us. “I just want to make sure you get a snack while you’re studying. All three of you are such good students,” she praises while putting the cookies down on a nearby table. “Don’t mind me!” she sings while exiting and closing the door again.
We giggle while looking at one another and then make a dash for the baked goods. They’re so good and I moan dramatically while swallowing a mouthful of sugary dough and yummy chocolate chips. Coke and Danger are doing the same, and we settle down once more to study. There’s still some lingering excitement in the air, but the mood has shifted and we’re back to The Great Gatsby. Books are opened, and study guides pulled out as we ask one another practice questions.
However, in the back of my mind, I’m still wondering about three-on-ones. Do the ladies like it for real? It certainly seems so, if the girls where Coke’s sister works keep going back for more. I’d love to be in their position just to see what it’s like once, but who am I kidding? I’m not Coke’s sister, with her lean, lithe body, long legs, and wavy blonde hair. I’m June Merchant of the generous curves, wide hips, and Double Ds that jut out like the prow of a ship. Three guys aren’t going to be interested in me unless I get very, very lucky.
Little do I know, but luck has just happened to look my way, and my life is about to change for the better.
3
June
One week later.
“Hey,” I say, with a small smile. “So my dad brought me here,” I say, gesturing to the Lodge. “I didn’t even know it existed until last week, to be honest.”
The girl, who was introduced to me as Alizeh, lets out a trill of a giggle.
“Oh really?” she asks. “What did Owen tell you exactly?” she presses.
I already dislike Alizeh. For one, Alizé is a line of liqueurs, so I find it extremely hypocritical that Owen criticized my friends’ names when his friends have even more ridiculous names. Even more, Alizeh gets on my nerves. She’s got long, blonde hair like a mermaid; a figure like a sylph; and a high, tinkling laugh that makes me think that glass is shattering somewhere.
But I’m taking one for the team. Hopefully, after this sisterly “consultation,” Owen will get off my back and we can return to our formerly peaceful existence. I smile at Alizeh wanly again.
“Well, he told me that the club has a secret meeting place called the Lodge, which is where we are now. He said that the club is very private, which is why they purchased this place out in the woods to begin with. He said that the group is called Dads and Daughters, and that there are more men in the group than women, but that the ratios can change. Oh, and he told me that it has to do with trucking, which makes sense,” I say smartly. “Owen has been a long-haul trucker for as long as I can remember.”
Alizeh nods, while looking thoughtful. She steeples her fingers together and I notice the long, press-on acrylics decorating her fingertips. Ugh. It’s not a bad look, it’s just not for me. I don’t want my nails adorned with snowflakes and sparkles, and having nails any longer than half an inch makes me twitchy. I can’t type very easily, much less take out my contact lenses with claws that long.
But Alizeh merely hums in her throat, still thinking.