Title: Three's the Charm
Series: Maths, Book Three
Author: P.A. Friday
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: February 12, 2018
Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage
Length: 57800
Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, menage, college professor, musican, film-maker, promiscuity
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Synopsis
James, Laurie, and Al are settling into a surprisingly easy life as a triad. Finally, things seem to be going well for them. But when an unscrupulous journalist takes advantage of Al's blossoming film career and the men's unusual relationship to write an exposé article, cracks begin to show. Can the three survive with their love, their careers, and even their sanity intact?Excerpt
Three’s the Charm
P.A. Friday © 2018
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
Al
The text was brief and to the point.
I hope you’re behaving yourself. L.
Al glared at his phone, as if it were
his boyfriend Laurie himself. Up until that point, he’d been fairly successful
at forgetting that he’d been driven to the point of madness the night before by
his lovers, who had made him beg and then refused to allow him the satisfaction
he was craving. Okay, that ‘forgetting’ bit wasn’t entirely true. He’d managed
to deal with the fact that he was absolutely fucking desperate for a wank, or
to get off in some form or other. And then bloody Laurie sent that, just
reminding him. Rubbing it in.
Al wanted to rub one off, not have
things rubbed in. But Laurie, who was not ‘just’ a boyfriend but—when they both
chose—his Dominant, had ordered him not to. To wait for this evening. Scowling
so hard at his phone that his boss, Fenella, asked him what the matter was
(“Nothing”), he sent a one-word reply.
Yes.
There was silence for an hour. Laurie
was probably giving a lecture at the university about filmography or something.
Probably doing it well, too—Al had been to a couple of Laurie’s lectures in the
past, and he was a good speaker, and knowledgeable. Al should know, as well: he
was a prominent short film-maker on a minor level, though it was not a career
which allowed him to devote himself to it full-time. Hence the job in the wine
shop. During the text silence from his boyfriend, therefore, Al talked to
various people about wine, advising them on which bottle might suit them best,
and managed to ignore the worst of his frustration. Then the phone buzzed
again.
Are you hard? L.
Al seethed. Well, if he hadn’t been
before, he was now. He was bloody hard and fucking desperate. Laurie knew it—he
knew precisely what he was doing, damn him. Al was tempted not to answer, to
just leave Laurie hanging. But on the other hand, Laurie would be in charge
once he got home. Provoking him to further teasing was a seriously bad plan.
Hating his boyfriend, he sent the same one-word answer.
Yes.
The ‘fuck you’ wasn’t explicitly written
afterwards, but Al was pretty sure Laurie would get that too. Ruffled, he
texted James. James, his other boyfriend. Laurie’s boyfriend, too.
Your boyfriend is a fucking sadist.
Al smiled apologetically at Fen, who was
looking unimpressed by the amount of texting going on in work time.
“There’s no one needing serving at the
moment,” he offered.
She snorted and shook her head. “I
suppose you’re texting your many partners,” she said, trying to sound grumpy
but not quite managing it.
As far as Fen was concerned—and it was
fairly close to the truth—Al slept with pretty much anyone who offered. He
certainly had sex with a lot of people, but not only did he live with James and
Laurie, he was also in love with them, which made rather a lot of difference.
And, he admitted grumpily, the sex was best with them. Partly because Laurie
was the best Dom Al had ever come across, and the only one he’d thoroughly
trust with the submissive part of himself; and partly because…well, (a) they
were both bloody marvellous in bed, and (b) all right, yes, because he was in
love with them and it turned out that that did make a difference, just as
everyone claimed. Damn them all.
His phone buzzed again.
Needing a wank? J.
Al had the distinct temptation to smash
his phone hard against the counter. James was supposed to be showing a bit of
sympathy. Which that was not.
Fuck off.
He got another hour, that time. An hour
in which to calm down and to think about wine, and talk sensibly to a customer
about which white wine might be the optimal choice to go with a nice fish
dinner (“What sort of fish?” “Dead,” said the customer, helpfully.)
It was Laurie, again, when the text
came.
You’re going to have to beg. L.
Al hated how much that turned him on.
How much he wanted to be on his knees to Laurie, pleading to be allowed to
come. Hated the visions which were flooding his brain after reading it. Fen was
giving him a peculiar look, and he excused himself to the toilet. Not to
touch—he knew better than that—but to try to compose himself a bit. He could
hardly serve customers with a raging hard-on, and at the moment all he could
think about was sex. Fuck. Bloody, fucking Laurie. Fuck. Al pushed a hand
firmly (painfully firmly) between his black jeans-clad legs, squeezed his eyes
shut, and tried to think about other things. Awful things. Running out of money
at the end of the month. Stepping in a deep puddle and getting a trainerful of
water. Anything. Anything but the thought of Laurie making him beg. Jesus.
Eventually, he knew he’d have to come out or face Fen’s wrath.
“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Not
feeling my best.”
“Hmm.” Fen’s lack of belief would have
been mortifying at any other time, but at the moment, Al was too busy trying to
deal with his rebellious cock.
You’re hot on your knees. J.
Al hadn’t even heard that text come in.
He’d picked up the phone to check the time—to see how long it was before he
could go home and persuade his boyfriends (his absolute bastard boyfriends) to
allow him to get off. He’d not replied to Laurie’s last text—potentially
dangerous in itself, but he was damned if he was going to plead over his phone.
Bad enough that he knew bloody well he’d break down and do it in person the
first second he saw Laurie; he was not going to humiliate himself in writing as
well. And now James, too. James, who knew him too damn well, and knew what a
text like that would do.
Thought I told you to fuck off, he
wrote.
The response was quick; presumably James
was home from work.
Sorry. Thought you asked me to fuck you.
Or was that last night? J.
It wasn’t murder if your boyfriends had
asked for it, was it? Al had a sudden memory of the previous evening, where he
had indeed done as James had suggested. And James had acted like he was going
to give in, and then not done so. Fucking tease.
Al gave an involuntary moan, and Fen
looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Anything wrong?”
“Told you,” Al said, hoping he wasn’t
blushing. “Not feeling great.”
Unexpectedly, she looked sympathetic.
“You can head home early if you like?”
Oh, bloody hell, that was worst of all.
Laurie and James would rip the piss out of him something chronic if they knew
about this. Fen offering to send him home early because he was so ‘unwell’.
He’d never live down the fact that he’d been so desperate for them that he
hadn’t been able to finish a day’s work.
“No,” he said, knowing his face was
definitely red, and quite probably radish-coloured. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need to leave,
though, Al. Honestly, you don’t have to suffer.”
Tell that to my boyfriends, Al thought
bitterly. Apparently they delighted in making him suffer.
“Thanks,” he said curtly.
Thankfully, they left him alone for his
last hour at work. Al was beyond relieved: today had been more of an ordeal
than he’d ever had at the wine shop. It wasn’t taxing work, and usually he
enjoyed the banter with customers; but today, with the constant erection
pushing at his trousers, distracting his attention, making him need things he
couldn’t have…it had been horrendous. He was halfway out of the door before the
final text came.
Come in, take off your clothes, and
kneel by the sofa. L.
Laurie had timed it deliberately for the
moment he left work. It left a strangely warm feeling in Al’s chest that Laurie
knew to the minute when he would be leaving the shop; he was angry with himself
for getting so much pleasure from that thought, but at the same time it was
very hot. The texts, he realised, showed that he’d been on Laurie and James’s
minds as much as they’d been on his. They wanted him. His cock throbbed hard at
the thought.
When he got to the flat, there was no
one in the sitting room. Obeying his instructions, he folded his clothes up and
knelt naked by the empty sofa. Where were they? What were they doing? As Al got
used to the sounds of the house, he realised that Laurie and James were in the
kitchen. He could hear voices, and then the sloppy sounds of kisses. The noises
got closer, and he glanced up to see that they were in the doorway between the
sitting room and the kitchen, arms around each other, frotting up against one
another as they kissed passionately. God, they were hot like that. And, Al
realised, with frustrated fury, they knew he thought so. This was a show put on
entirely for him…well, maybe not ‘entirely’—James and Laurie were shamelessly
obsessed with each other at any time—but the fact that they were simulating sex
somewhere he could see them and not be part of it… They were deliberately
teasing him, even more than they’d been doing all day. A frustrated growl burst
from his lips.
James looked over, the faintest smile
tracing his lips.
“Al’s home,” he told Laurie, as if it
were a surprise.
“Mm-hm?” Laurie sounded supremely
uninterested, going back to touching and snogging James as if there was nothing
more he wanted from life.
And Al was going to bloody die if he
didn’t get any attention soon. His lovers were stripping each other’s clothes
off, kissing any part of each other which they could reach as they did so.
James’s mouth on Laurie’s nipple, Laurie’s head thrown back in pleasure, a hand
behind James’s head, encouraging him. James’s hands busy on Laurie’s trousers
as he sucked, pushing them down, exposing Laurie’s hard, heavy, large cock.
They were distracted enough that they wouldn’t notice if Al just had a quick
touch. He couldn’t bear it any longer. His left arm slid round from its
required position behind him to take himself in hand, and he gave the tiniest
hiss of relief at the sensation of fingers against his erection. Too quiet for
anyone else to hear, you would have thought. Except that Laurie, with some
psychic instinct, was suddenly gazing down at Al, a feral expression on his
face.
“Oh, no, Al,” he said, his voice dark
and measured, his hand slipping from James’s head. “That won’t do at all. Did
yesterday teach you nothing about obedience?”
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Meet the Author
P.A. Friday fails dismally to write one sort of thing and, when not writing erotica and erotic romance of all sexualities, may be found writing articles on the Regency period, pagan poetry, or science fiction. She loves wine and red peppers, and loathes coffee and mushrooms.Website | Facebook | Twitter | eMail
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