The Trashy Virgin: A Menage Romance Read online

  And the alphas shot glances at one another before looking away quickly. Actions speak a thousand words, and that momentary exchange was an entire dialogue. They desperately wanted to beat each other to a pulp, desperately wanted to pound in the skull of the other but were holding back because of me, knowing I’d be devastated. So instead, the men compromised.

  “No, we’re not going to fight,” Brent assured smoothly, squeezing my fingers. “So long as you’re with us, we’re not gonna fight, we’ll find a way to work things out.”

  “Yeah,” drawled Jason. “But trust me, I’m ready if you ever want to go at it,” he challenged Brent, the air pulsing with energy, with tension suddenly.

  But the older male wasn’t perturbed at all.

  “Any day, boy-o, any day,” Brent said silkily in return, not even looking at Jason.

  And I sighed deeply.

  “Well that’s something,” I murmured, suddenly exhausted. Maybe it was the two days of continuous sex, the two days of improbable events, but suddenly I felt limp, really beat. Thankfully, our sandwiches had come and we could focus on food instead of our difficult situation.

  “Mmm,” I groaned, biting into my grilled cheese, savoring the melty, salty flavor of American and Cheddar mixed together. “Mmm,” I moaned again, almost closing my eyes with ecstasy, “I’ve never tasted anything so good.”

  And I opened my eyes to see both men staring at me, hot, hungry, two pairs of blue eyes trailing every inch of my pout, my swan neck, the big breasts that almost sat on the table.

  “Honey, I’ve never seen a girl eat like you,” rasped Brent. “It’s a fucking turn-on.”

  “The way you bit into that, chewing and swallowing, shit baby,” grunted Jason, “but it’s enough to make a man fuckin’ lose it in public.”

  And I giggled then.

  “Oh both of you are so silly,” I said coyly, looking up through my lashes. “Should I do that every time we’re together then? Make a big grilled cheese sandwich and bite into it to turn you guys on, get the engines revved?”

  And the men grinned at me.

  “Couldn’t hurt,” ground out Brent.

  “Fuck yeah, sounds good,” added Jason. “While you’re at it, why don’t you coat your naked body with chocolate syrup and sprinkles too?”

  And the comment made me laugh, lilting, melodic peals ringing through the empty diner, both men puffing their chests out, happy and proud.

  “I love hearing you laugh baby,” began Brent. “It’s music to my ears.”

  Jason just nodded.

  “You’re sweet, Katy-Kat, sweet,” he growled, his eyes like lasers on me.

  And with that, I smiled, my energy restored somewhat, feeling happy, hopeful about our future.

  “This has been a lot to take in,” I murmured, “a lot to digest in a short amount of time. But I feel we can make it work,” I said slowly. “It can really happen, somehow, some way. I guess the Monday, Wednesday, Friday idea wasn’t the way to go, but we’ll think of something else,” I added with a rueful smile.

  And Brent nodded, taking my small hand and squeezing it once more.

  “We will, honey, we will, because both of us,” he said, shooting Jason a meaningful glance, “want this to work. So we’ll definitely put in our best efforts, give it the old college try.”

  And I turned to Jason, eyes wide, inclusive, trying to drawn him in.

  “Will you, Jason?” I asked softly. “Will you?”

  And Jason groaned, seizing my other hand.

  “Sharing is caring,” he ground out. “I never thought this would happen to me, but shit, I want you so bad …” his voice trailed off.

  And I finished his sentence for him.

  “You want me so bad, you’ll try right?” I whispered, looking deep into his eyes. “You’ll try, won’t you?”

  And he nodded before rumbling in his throat, “Yeah, I’ll try.”

  I took a deep breath then.

  “Well, that’s settled … sort of,” I said, fingers drumming on the cheap linoleum countertop. Because nothing had been hammered out in detail, we’d agreed we were going to share, but the boundaries were unclear. When was I going to be with each man? Whose bed would I sleep in? Who could touch where, when? And so I decided to propose a waiting period, a time for things to sink in.

  “Everything’s been so crazy lately,” I began slowly, “that maybe we should give it some time. What do you guys think about a waiting period, some quiet time before we start up … um, our relationship?”

  The men were silent.

  “Naw, not necessary,” rumbled Brent.

  And Jason was the same.

  “Fuck no,” he ground out roughly. “Because shit Katy, I need to touch you ….”

  But his statement nailed it.

  “That’s exactly why we should wait,” I concluded firmly. “We need some time without touching one another, the physical is so strong between us that we can’t think clearly. Some alone time will give us an opportunity to digest, figure out if this is what we really want.”

  And it sounded so adult, so mature, that even I was surprised by my words.

  But Brent spoke up again.

  “Well, how long were you thinking?” he asked, eyes deceptively casual. “Because like this dude here, I don’t think I can wait long. I need you, honey, need your sweet pussy wrapped around my dick.”

  And I gasped, his words took away my breath with their directness, the way he was so upfront with what he wanted, what only I could give.

  I looked between the two men.

  “How about a week?” I proposed softly. “That’s not too long, is it?”

  Both men rejected the idea immediately.

  “Fuck no, your body was just breached, it needs immediate love again,” began Jason.

  “Absolutely not,” grunted Brent. “I know we promised not to fight,” he said, shooting a look at Jason, “but if you’re not in our arms in a couple days, there’s gonna be way too much testosterone brewing in the trailer, shit’ll go down for sure.”

  And Jason glared right back at Brent, shoulders tense, almost growling like he was ready to take it up right there. But I stepped in before things could get crazy.

  “How about forty-eight hours then?” I said softly, seizing each of their hands. “We’ll give ourselves two days to think things through, and if we’re all still on-board, then we’ll regroup and hammer out the details.”

  Silence for a moment. Both men looked like they’d swallowed something gross, something that made them choke and hurl. But forty-eight hours was doable, we were human beings and not animals with no self-control.

  So Jason nodded.

  “Fine,” he grunted, none too graciously.

  And Brent agreed as well.

  “We’ll re-group in two days and see where everyone is,” he intoned smoothly. “But honey, I know I won’t change my mind.”

  The heat in Jason’s eyes told me the same, that these two men were so intent on loving me, on taking me, possessing and cherishing, that whatever form or fashion was enough, they’d take whatever I was giving.

  And the knowledge made my heart sing, made me unbelievably happy, my emotions soaring on Cloud Nine.

  “Oh good,” I said softly, “because I want you too, both of you,” I amended. “This break is just a small precaution, just in case. Because who knows what could happen?” I said with a wry smile. “Maybe lightning will strike.”

  Silence for a moment.

  “I’d need a lobotomy to change my mind,” said Brent wryly. “I’m forty-five honey, forty-eight hours isn’t gonna make a difference.”

  And Jason nodded as well.

  “Naw, me neither,” was all he said, staring at me intently, making me grow warm all over again. And whaddya know, but our nosy waitress sashayed over once more.

  “Anything else I can get for you folks?” she asked sassily, cocking one hip out, forcing us to notice the way her apron was tied tight around her waist, boobs
busting out. “Water? Coke? Beer? Another sandwich?”

  The way the middle-aged woman gushed made me embarrassed for her, how she fawned over the two men, ignoring me completely. And was it my imagination, or had she blown out her hair while we were eating, taken a hairdryer to her strands? The locks looked suspiciously silky although she hadn’t held back with the hairspray, the artificial smell filling my nostrils, making me choke.

  But my lovers took it in a stride.

  “Naw we’re good,” drawled Brent. “Just the check.”

  And the waitress simpered, nodding agreeably, probably slipping him her phone number as he paid. But it didn’t bother me because these were my men, they belonged to me, we belonged to one another and the waiting period was a mere formality. Because what could really change? We’d already sampled each other physically and knew we were a fit. Plus, living together for a year made sure we were on intimate terms, our personalities complementary.

  So I turned back to the men before getting into the truck cab.

  “It’ll be good after,” I promise, I breathed. “It’ll be really good, you’ll see.”

  Jason and Brent nodded again, their eyes hard, hot and hungry on my curvy form, saying nothing, the air crackling with feeling, with sheer need.

  “I promise,” I said again softly, shutting the car door. “I promise, it will.”

  And internally, my heart pounded. Because it was true, things would be perfect … they had to be.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Katy

  I couldn’t wait for the waiting period to be over, I was dying for my men. But what do you know, Jock McMahan called and asked me out right when we got back.

  “Hey yo, you wanna see a movie?” he grunted into the phone.

  My first instinct was to say no. This guy grossed me out and I didn’t care if he was a stud at school. I had my lovers and that was that. But a feeling of caution overtook me. After all, my set-up with Jason and Brent wasn’t exactly “normal.” I was a teen girl exploring a ménage with two men, what would happen if word got out? We’d be the talk of the town, people would surely think I was trash. So to preserve the illusion of normalcy a little longer, I agreed.

  “Sure,” I said reluctantly. What the fuck was wrong with me? I had to sound excited, like a cooing, fawning girl. So I forced myself to man up. “Which movie did you want to see Jock?” I chirped then, trying to sound eager and willing.

  And the dumb lunkhead was so clueless, so down on his ability to read other human beings that he grunted.

  “How about Insidious 2?” he said. “I saw Insidious 1, it was fuckin’ amazing.”

  I almost backed out then, unable to stomach the thought of Jock’s company and a horror movie combined together. Because I hate horror flicks, I hate worms crawling out of eyeballs, ghosts that come back from the dead, that stuff bores me. So my mind spun furiously, trying to think of something else.

  “Mmm, how about Star Wars? The new one, have you seen that one?” I asked. I honestly couldn’t think of anything, and besides, hadn’t it gotten great reviews?

  But Jock snorted.

  “Naw, I’m not into intergalactic shit. Insidious 2 it is,” he said with finality, overruling my suggestion. I gritted my teeth. This was gonna be bad, I’d have to force myself to stay in my seat, it promised to be three hours of torture. But at least there’d be movie popcorn with heaps of butter, I could feast on that and make myself feel better.

  But when I showed up at the theater the next night, Jock looked disgusting, his face slightly red, broken capillaries in his nose and cheeks. What the fuck?

  “Hey,” he grunted. “Let’s get tickets.”

  And the answer was immediately clear because his breath reeked of booze. Holy shit, this sucked. I was going to suffer through three hours of some shitty movie with a steaming human pile next to me, a dude who stunk to high heaven through every pore. This was going to be bad, and I braced myself for the worst, really expecting things to go downhill before ending in a ball of fire.

  And as I expected, it didn’t get better. When we stepped into the darkened theater, I looked around quickly, hoping there were some fellow movie patrons. I’m not sure what I was thinking, that these folks could save me from a bad experience like strangers standing in the way of harm. But the place was empty except for one old dude sitting in the far right corner near the door, bent over and elderly. I huffed, exasperated. This movie was so bad that no one was coming to see it, it was probably a huge box office bomb and I’d been forced here because of myself. Shit, I only had myself to blame, and mentally cursed again.

  And Jock didn’t make the waiting easier. He was so dumb that steam started to pour from my ears dealing with him.

  “You’re so pretty,” he grunted, shifting around in his seat and stuffing popcorn in his mouth.

  “Thanks,” I managed while leaning away. Because the alcohol smell was killing me, Jock must have downed a forty before the movie, it was like sitting next to a rag soaked in Jim Bean. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spontaneously combusted, there was so much alcohol.

  “Yeah, real pretty,” he grunted again. “I like it,” he said, seizing one of my brown curls in his fingers. I shuddered at what was happening, but at least he was touching my hair and not my body. I couldn’t actually feel his hands on me, thank god.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said, none-too-graciously. “Would you mind letting go of my hair? It kinda hurts,” I said shortly, my neck twisted way over so that I could maintain as much distance between us as possible.

  “Oh sure,” he grunted. “No prob.” And he let go, my curls bouncing back like springs. Thank god he hadn’t touched my body, I’d scream if he so much as laid a finger on me.

  But fucking Jock just wouldn’t leave me alone. Because once the movie started, he began pawing me like a crazed animal.

  “Come on, Katy,” he panted, his big hand on my thigh, squeezing. “Come on, give it up, I know you want it.”

  I was incensed. When had I ever indicated that I wanted it, that I was attracted to this douche? So I twisted away, my torso twisted in an effort to maintain distance, skin crawling. But Jock was insistent and his fingers dug into my thigh, cold and clammy, making me wince.

  “Stop,” I hissed, literally contorting myself in my efforts to get away. But a particularly loud scream rang out from the movie and my words were reduced to a muffled “mwmwmwwm.” What the fuck? Had Jock chosen a horror flick because the screams on-screen would drown out my own? Holy shit, he was one messed up motherfucker.

  And the douche just wouldn’t give up.

  “You want it,” he grunted. “I know you want it, I’ve seen you looking at me in class, you want it.”

  I was angry now, really mad. Jock McMahon wasn’t my type at all with his bulging steroid build, the slick of oil on his forehead, the small patch of acne on his neck. If I’d been looking at him it was because I was turned towards the blackboard and Jock just happened to be in my way, his hulking frame like a huge dog that refused to budge.

  “No, I don’t want it,” I hissed, still trying to squirm away. There could be no mistaking my anger now, I’d said the word “No” quite loud and had literally slapped his hands with my small ones, making sure he knew that I wasn’t into this.

  But some people have never been told “no” in their lives, and Jock was one of those idiots. He let out a harsh laugh before grabbing me around the waist and dragging me into his lap, planting his face between my boobs, lapping at the creamy flesh.

  “Oohhh fuck yeah,” he ground out, “I love a girl with huge tits and baby, yours are the best. Mmmph! Yeah!”

  I screamed then, literally let out a full-on shriek, but it was just my bad luck that someone was screaming on-screen at the same time. So no one heard, not our fellow guest, not the theater workers, my cry of fury and hurt drowned out by movie sound effects.

  But I grew up in a trailer park and know how to defend myself, I come with a set of street smarts like none other,
and no fucking way was this douche going to take me against my will. So gripping my keys in my hand, with multiple pointy parts sticking out between my knuckles, I punched the fucker in the nuts, making him shriek and clutch himself in agony.

  “Aieee!” he howled. “Oh my gawd, oh my gawd, I’ve been punched in the dick!”

  But it was Jock’s turn to be drowned out by the racket on-screen and I took the opportunity to punch him once more below the belt, hissing, “Fuck you mofo!” before grabbing my stuff and racing from the darkened theater. Hell yeah, he got what he deserved, that lunkhead had been mauling me like I was a piece of meat, and that was no way to treat your date.

  But once I was in the theater parking lot, reality took over. Because oh shit, Jock had driven me here so I didn’t have a car, and I could hear pounding footsteps behind me, Jock’s agonized roars of rage and terror growing louder. Furiously, I scrabbled for my phone, my only thought to text Brent and Jake. I needed them to come, to save me, but it’d be ten minutes before they could get here.

  So I whirled around, eyes panicked, but it was too late because Jock was on me. The dumb moron was like a lumbering monster, Godzilla with small arms, intent on causing pain.

  “Fuck you!” he roared, grabbing my hair.

  My scalp screamed in agony as I shrieked, doubled over at the waist, trying to get away, but my curls were clutched tight between those meaty fists.

  “Get away!” I screamed. “Get away from me!” I yelled again, twisting and wriggling, trying to yank myself out of his grasp even while trying to land a kick on him somewhere, somehow, without getting too close.

  But Jock had two big handfuls of my locks tight in his grip, and I was caught, my head stuck in a painful position with nowhere to go, and worse, no one to see in the deserted parking lot.

  “You’re gonna pay for punching me in the balls,” he hissed. “You fucking bitch! You punched my dick, you’re a fuckin’ goner.”

  And he let go with one hand, raising it and balling it into a fist, ready to deliver a death blow on my head, crush my skull with one massive pound.

  But suddenly I was yanked to safety and it was Jock who was a squealing, a screaming mess on the floor, curled up like a baby, tears streaming down his cheeks.