Ruff Trouble Read online

  A kiss pressed to Sam’s temple, whispered to his face, to his lips. As much as Sam wanted to turn his head and capture Bobby’s mouth with his, he stalled, prolonging the moment.

  Intimacy.

  This level of affection was something he’d never shared with anyone before. At last, he had a real family. Sometimes the thought almost broke his heart.

  Tightening his grip around Bobby’s neck, he buried his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. Maybe Bobby understood; maybe he sensed Sam’s emotions in his scent; the why didn’t matter. Something in the way Bobby held him was enough. Somehow, Chantelle and Bobby always knew what he was going through.

  “I’ve got you. We’ve got you,” Bobby whispered as they reached the landing. By the time they made it to bedroom door, Sam lifted his head. As they crossed the threshold, they kissed.

  Impossible for Sam to describe the heat generated from kissing Bobby. The press of warm lips. The hot breath mingling. The exchange always went deeper. Shape-shifters ran a little warm. Sam got hot just from being next to Bobby.

  Weaving his fingers into Bobby’s black and grey hair, Sam snagged him. He took command of the kiss; although he knew on some deep level Bobby allowed him to do so, he needed the illusion of being in charge. He hung suspended in Bobby’s arms. All Bobby had to do was let go and Sam would fall.

  He trusted Bobby not to. Wanted to show Bobby his trust. He ate at Bobby’s mouth, chewed on his lips, delved with his tongue, and drew Bobby’s tongue into his mouth, sucking, swallowing Bobby’s desire, his brain alive with doing the same to Bobby’s seed.

  Bobby let him have his way for some moments, but had already bent over the bed before Sam realised. The fact the other man lay him down, and let go, penetrated a warm haze generated by lust, and fuelled with love.

  Pain washed back in. Sam broke the kiss on a whimper. He fucking whimpered! Shit! Tears poured out as agony flooded his limbs. Throwing an arm across his face, Sam tried to lay back, to ease his ragged breathing. His leg cramped, and the pain shot to his hip.

  Breathe through the pain. Breathe through it.

  His body failed to listen. Gritting his teeth against another cry, still sound emerged. Sam lay alone in the darkness behind his closed eyes, his body a tight mass of damaged nerves.

  “Here, honey.” A hand slipped under his neck, lifted his head. Only dimly aware of his two lovers moving about the room, he took a second to respond. He opened his mouth, accepting the pill Chantelle slipped between his lips without protest. Bobby handed her a glass of water, and, as she held it for him, he took enough to help the pill down. She laid his head back, and he closed his eyes, fisting his hands, willing the pill to take effect. He’d given up trying to hide the torment. No way to do so.

  While he fought the pain, Chantelle wrestled with his buttons. Bobby removed Sam’s shoes. Though Sam opened his mouth to ask them to leave him be no words emerged. His inability to form speech scared him. His whole body was one taut knot. Even his tongue pulled tight. He might have cried if he’d the strength.

  “Don’t resist us.” Bobby’s deep voice drifted from the base of the bed as the man now removed Sam’s socks. When he attended to Sam’s bad leg, his touch was steady and careful. Shocks drove jagged spikes up his calf. Sam gasped. Moaned. Blinked. Cried. Fucking hell. He wept.

  “Do you need a doctor?” Chantelle’s urgent tone broke through the fog. He managed a slight movement with his head, took a deep enough breath to speak.

  “What can…they do?”

  “Nothing we can’t.” Bobby’s words held a darker promise, one which spoke straight to Sam’s cock. Maybe the pill kicked in, or maybe, even in agony, he still responded.

  Gazing at Bobby through slitted eyes, Sam watched him move closer. Despite Bobby’s words, concern masked his lover’s face. Bobby’s clear worry along with Chantelle’s query of whether he needed a doctor at last sunk in. “I’ve really fucked myself up today, haven’t I?”

  “No, honey. A bastard drunk driver did.” Her soft, warm hands caressed his chest. “But that’s it. We’re changing the rota. You’re not to spend so much time on your feet.”

  Sam tried to argue, sobbed out a laugh instead. These two possibly knew, but he forced the words out in a rush. “Can’t be a cop. Can’t run a restaurant. What fucking use am I?” He tried out and invented recipes but didn’t even get do as much cooking as he’d envisioned. What was the point?

  A finger tapped him on the nose. Sam blinked, met Bobby’s gaze. “Do I have to put a young pup in his place?”

  Sam wasn’t young or a pup of any description, but there was no mistaking what Bobby meant. The lead dog took over. Real anger brightened Bobby’s eyes, even the brown one.

  “Don’t you ever let me hear you refer to yourself like that again.”

  Sam swallowed. “Yes, Bobby.” He’d try to remember, but Bobby couldn’t stop him thinking such things, feeling them. On one level, Bobby was right, but common sense didn’t always speak to one’s heart. The country pub and restaurant had been one of his dreams. With staff, he’d managed; the business ran well, the lunch and afternoon crowds flocked in. Being they were a little off the beaten track, the evening throng was lighter, but that was fine. Profits were good. They had Bobby’s income, and Bobby and Chantelle had the surrounding woods through which to run. Life was better than good. They had many reasons to be grateful. Maybe Bobby was right. Sam was just having a bad day. A day—judging by the expression in Bobby’s eyes—about to get better.

  “We will undress you, honey. Don’t help. Lay still, and we’ll try to do this without hurting you.”

  No doubt Chantelle meant without hurting him any more than he hurt now. He could live with that. He waited without protest until they lifted him enough to tug off his shirt, keeping his hips still, before laying him back flat to the bed. Bobby undid Sam’s belt and now came the hard part, pulling off his jeans.

  “If this doesn’t work, get a pair of scissors and cut them.” Sam waited until both Bobby and Chantelle stared at him in apparent surprise. “I want to get naked with you.”

  Bobby’s mouth tugged to one side. A wide grin bloomed on Chantelle’s lips. “Honey, we will do a lot more with you than get you naked.”

  “I figured.”

  Desperately wanting them, and as gentle as they tried to be, Sam swallowed the next scream that tried to rip through him.

  Chapter 2

  The oil might ruin the sheets. Laughter bubbled at the idea. Sam tried his best to hold it in, but he must have given something away for Bobby glowered at him. Sam painted on a smile. Bobby scowled, unconvinced, his gaze scolding, but Bobby poured more oil on him and winked. Sam’s underlying laughter died away.

  The pill had kicked in. Pain receded to a dull ache. Still, Sam’s body burned with it. His brain knew agony existed, under the surface, merely suppressed. He didn’t know how he would manage sex, not even if he lay there while the lead dog sucked him off.

  With Bobby in charge, Sam had never imagined him doing such a thing, so the first time he had, Sam had hit the ceiling…the roof…floated clear into the sky with the surprise and pleasure. They’d been together two months before Bobby took Sam’s cock in his mouth all the way to release, licked every spilled drop, then his lips, gazing at Sam, an amused, smug expression on the Alpha’s face.

  Where Bobby gazed now, Sam swallowed, tried to will his erection away. The mere notion of movement made him sick, and if he lay back to be serviced, he’d still want to move his hips.

  “Too easy,” Chantelle teased.

  “Too eager.” Bobby’s attempt at reproach sounded pleased. “Close your eyes.”

  Sam did. Hands went to work on him, spreading the oil, kneading his muscles, concentrating on his shoulders, arms and chest. Chantelle worked along one side, Bobby the other. Aside from the size, shape, and texture of their hands, Sam would have struggled to define one from the other without knowing on which sides they sat; he detected no variation in stren
gth.

  His body objected. Muscles fought his lovers’ hands, refused to release. His lovers didn’t give in. They wore him down until…God…that felt so good. Muscles slackened. The need in his groin eased. They nudged him toward sleep.

  Had he dozed? Sam recalled moments where the attention to his body moved from one place to the next as another knot of muscles gave up the fight. Ow!

  Sam jolted. At once, Chantelle was there, hands pressed to his chest. He opened his eyes. The comfort, reassurance, and command in her eyes made him motionless. A moment later he was shaking his head, the gesture growing wild, rapid. Bobby’s hands whispered to his damaged leg even as Chantelle stared at the other man, a question in her expression. Bobby’s hands moved over Sam’s injury sending pinpricks deep into the muscle.

  Though aware of what was coming, the knowledge did little to prepare him for the moment Bobby took a firm hold. Fingers dug into the damaged muscle and a keening noise escaped Sam’s lips. As the sound petered off, he realised he’d drawn his lips back over his gritted teeth.

  Fire flared in his leg. Bolts of lightning. The muscle didn’t cramp. It couldn’t. A massage didn’t cause already knotted tissue to cramp, but it twisted as if it had a mind of its own and wanted to get away from Bobby’s relentless concentration.

  “I’m sorry, Sam.” Bobby’s tone warned him of more pain coming. When it did, a sob slipped from Sam’s mouth, but he didn’t resist. He clutched the sheets, lay still under Bobby and Chantelle’s ministrations, and willed his body to obey the demands of their hands. Chantelle went back over all the muscle groups they had already worked on while Bobby fought with Sam’s leg.

  Burning. Fire. Hell.

  No telling how much time passed. He dozed again, the sleep of the exhausted instead of relaxed, sweet oblivion. His leg no longer hurt. The limb smouldered and throbbed, but at a level with which he could cope. He tried to move and shifted a little before falling slack. Despite the discomfort, his leg relaxed.

  “Can you move?” Bobby whispered into his ear.

  Hard to tell. Did he want to? “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  Bobby’s chuckle was the right reply. “That’s why I’m asking. Maybe because of something that will make moving worthwhile.”

  “But only if you can manage.” Chantelle always the voice of reason.

  “I…” Sam shifted, testing his body. “I can move.”

  “I want you to go to your knees.”

  Sam wasn’t so sure about that, but with a little guidance he tried, found he managed well enough. Nothing wrong with his knees. The pain was in his calf, radiated to his hip when especially bad. He waited, expecting more discomfort than the dull ache spreading out from the lower part of his leg, but almost sighed in relief when none came.

  While he’d been waiting, Bobby had moved behind him. Sam swallowed, his throat making an audible click. “What are you doing with me?”

  “I will make you feel so good.” Laughter trickled out along with the words. Bobby’s fingers skimmed over his shoulders, along his arms, over his back. A little shiver ran through Sam, altogether pleasurable, undeniable. Bobby chuckled, eased in closer, set his lips and his teeth at the left side of Sam’s neck. “This will feel sooooo good.” The promise whispered into Sam’s ear as Bobby broke contact.

  Trying to flip through all the positions they’d tried in the last few months, Sam tried to guess which one Bobby would choose.

  “Can’t you ever live in the moment?”

  Bobby’s question so surprised him, Sam asked, “Am I so transparent?”

  “To us? Honey, almost always.”

  Sam had grown used to Chantelle’s pet name, even liked it; he wasn’t so sure he liked them knowing all his thoughts or emotions. The why puzzled him. Hadn’t he always wanted to be close to someone? What did he have to hide?

  Chantelle’s hand on his cock shocked him out of too many self-recriminations and revelations. The slippery glide of her hand told him she had a palm full of oil. The aroma was strawberry scented and—he swallowed—likely flavoured. Not the same oil with which they’d massaged him. Chantelle worked him to full hardness as Bobby’s left hand drifted over his torso, scratching there, pinching here. His other hand…

  Sam gasped, although the touch was delicate. Fingers pressed into the hot crevice of his backside, seeking a point of entry. A gentle circling digit mimicked the things Bobby was doing with his tongue along the line of Sam’s neck.

  Was he sick? Fatigued? Sam drifted, light-headed enough to be dizzy. He closed his eyes, head falling forward, focused on pleasure—what the other two wanted of him. For him. Although he was aware part of their desire to bring him pleasure was owing to his damaged leg, he’d lost enough of his doubts to accept they loved him. Some days he struggled to let them love him to the degree they wanted to, but he was working on that.

  As they were working on him.

  A soft sound fell from his lips even as he drew the lower one between his teeth. Bobby had slipped a finger inside him, teased the rim at the back, while Chantelle used her fingers around the ridge of his cock head. The two worked in unison, at the same speed. Were they so attuned, or had they planned this?

  He didn’t know what to think, failed to care. The two, tickling, soft caresses hovered shy of maddening. As if he knew, Bobby’s left arm clamped around Sam’s waist, holding him immobile. No way to get free though he wanted to, needed to, wanted to stay, had to make them stop, wouldn’t.

  Ah fuck!

  The act of being pinned heightened the sensation, leaving Sam breathless. He cried out as Chantelle exchanged her fingers for her tongue. At the same instant, Bobby’s grip became a vice. Sam would have bucked, thrown his hips forward, and invaded her mouth—not intending to penetrate her, but from the shock—if Bobby hadn’t held him still.

  “Enjoy,” Bobby whispered. All well and fine to take delight, another to remain immobile while they brought nerve-endings alive.

  The dull ache in his leg reminded Sam he’d begun this evening far worse. The ache wasn’t enough to make him budge. Anyway, as one finger became two, and then three, Sam dipped his head, defeated. They could do what they liked with him, and they’d get no argument.

  What came into view as he gazed down tormented him further. He might not love Chantelle as strongly as he loved Bobby, and not in the same way, but she knew. The relationship they shared was different, maybe even unique—something they were both aware of, although they’d not discussed it.

  She knew of what they got out of sharing her man, same as Sam did. The sex they took part in together was an exchange of pleasure, respect, and affection they might as well call love despite its differences. The vision of her painted lips pursed around the head of his cock, hair thrown back in a tumble of curls, and waves framing her beautiful face still aimed a punch at his solar plexus.

  As if she sensed him watching, Chantelle opened her eyes. They gazed at one another; saw each other. The exchange went beyond physical in a way impossible to explain. Sam didn’t try. He had no command over his body. They did. Chantelle’s gaze told him she knew what they were doing to him emotionally, physically, maybe spiritually, and he didn’t have a choice, not that he wanted one. No doubt if he could see him, he’d spot the same awareness and certainty shining in Bobby’s eyes.

  Her greased fingers worked on his length, squeezing him, pulling him to her mouth, relaxing, to repeat the tug. All the time her tongue swirled around his cock, making his mind spin. Bobby’s slick fingers invaded him, widened a willing orifice, tapped out promises against raw nerves.

  A brush of Bobby’s buttocks against his heels as his lover moved to sit over his legs sent a small stab of worry spiking through the pleasure before receding. He trusted Bobby not to drop on his injury. Casting his fear aside, he concentrated on being penetrated, especially as Bobby took his sweet time. One steady push, impossible to take…Sam breathed through it; Bobby would not let up until Sam had accepted every inch of him.
r />   Once in, Bobby didn’t move. His right arm went across Sam’s throat, pulling his head back. The position was all possession. Sam guessed there weren’t many differences between canines because sometimes he swore Bobby was more wolf than husky.

  “You don’t have to watch her or me. Just feel.”

  Sam almost said, “Yes, sir,” but remained quiet. His silence would do his talking for him.

  “Chantelle, let go of him.”

  Sam took the order to mean she was to stop her torturous spiralling with her tongue, but she didn’t. She moved her hand. Erect, his cock jutted out from his body, but she firmed her lips around it to hold him in place. Sam could no longer see her. The degree to which he was aware was the soft, cushioning ring of her lips and the circling sweep of her tongue. Heat, wet, soft sliding…around and around. A shudder passed through him, made Bobby growl. The growl made Sam’s nipples harden.

  Bobby still hadn’t moved.

  Though Sam longed for the thrust of Bobby’s hips, he didn’t ask for it. He hung in the other man’s arms, little jolts of sensation making their way through his limbs, displayed by minute twitches and jerks.

  “Squeeze me.”

  The words floated to his ear on a hot breath. Bobby didn’t mean with his hands or arms. Sam tightened his internal muscles, pleased to hear Bobby hiss.

  “Again.”

  Sam obeyed, two, three times—the constriction had to be almost painful on Bobby’s cock—but after a few repeats, the sensations deep inside Sam’s body were unspeakable. The cry to leave his throat was almost a plea.

  “Would that make you come?”

  Coupled with the continued assault on his dick, Sam was certain. He nodded.

  “You’d better stop then.”

  Like everything Bobby had done to him so far, something tore him between wanting it to end or never cease. Bobby seemed to be in a strange mood. Had the two rehearsed this? They appeared to follow a script—Sam being the one who hadn’t read it. They’d taken his mind off his pain—his leg hardly hurt at all now, maybe owing to the massage, maybe the adrenaline rush—but Bobby gave the impression he was on some kick.