All I Want For Christmas Is Them: A MMF Medical Romance (The Truth or Dare Series Book 3)

The rest of the night goes by in a blur.

We dance. We drink. I’m on cloud nine.

No, cloud ten. I’m on clouds that didn’t exist before tonight.

We dance our hearts out, and Crystal Savage kills it. The show ends, and the three of us spill out from the oppressive heat into the chilled city night.

It feels good. Refreshing.

Diego peels away from us and starts to head toward the glowing orb lantern above the train station.

“Diego!” I call out, and he turns, one foot already descending the staircase. “Why don’t you come over for a bit?”

He glances at the clock on his phone. “The LIRR shuts down in an hour.”

“So you have an hour.” I lean against Otto. I savor the heat of him. The hardness of his body. He winds his arms around my middle, keeping me close.

“Come on,” Otto urges. “It’ll be fun.”

Diego hesitates still. Then, he climbs back up the steps and shoves his hands in his pockets, heading back to us.

“One drink,” he says.

The three of us pile into my shoebox apartment. I call out my roommate’s name, but no one responds.

“Just us,” I announce. I hang my jacket, and the other two follow suit. “Sit where you want.”

There’s not a lot of options—the beat-up sofa or the worn-in lounge chair I found on Craigslist. Otto snags the chair, and Diego takes the couch.

“Tea?” I ask.

“Oh, yes,” Otto says. “Please.”

“Sure,” Diego replies.

I have to scoop Milo, the tabby cat, off the stove before I put the kettle on. I didn’t use to be a tea girl, but Otto turned me on to that, too.

Milo yowls angrily when I remove him from his spot and trots over to the living room. There’s no real divider between the kitchen and the living room, so I watch as Milo inspects the boys, tail swishing. Otto leans over and extends a hand, pst-pst-psting.

Milo leaps on the couch and climbs into Diego’s lap instead. Diego pets Milo, and the cat’s tail crooks upward.

“Traitor,” Otto complains.

While the kettle is going, I sneak into my bedroom. My bag from the record shop rests against my drawer. I pull out Doolittle, take it from the sleeve, and carry it back into the living room.

Technically, the focal point of the living room is the TV. My roommate and I veg out here more times than I can count. My dad’s old record player sat completely unused for months in the corner of the room, the case gathering dust.

Finally, one day I was staring at the thing and thought, Fuck it. I’m going to go out and get a record and see if the thing actually still works. I can’t say what inspired the change in me…nostalgia, maybe. Or maybe it was fate. Because that was the day I walked into K-Records and into Otto’s life.

I lift the case, gingerly put the album on, and set the needle down. It spins a second before it catches and starts to play.

“Holy shit,” Otto says. “Is this…the album?”

“You bet your ass.”

“Oh my god. This is perfect. This night is. Fucking. Perfect.”

I put my hands on my hips, feeling pleased with myself. “Surprise.”

He’s grinning ear to ear. “Come here.”

I come closer, and I yelp when he sweeps me off my feet, scooping me into his lap. “You’re a saint,” he tells me. “Do you know that?”

“Does that mean I have to save your soul?”

“Too late for that,” Diego says.

Otto grabs a throw pillow and tosses it at him. It only sends Milo running.

“Hey!” Diego says. “Watch the cat!”

Otto takes the back of my head in his hand—such strong hands—and I melt into his grip. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

He pulls me into a kiss. His lips are soft. Reverent.

Until he bites my bottom lip. I chuckle.

The tea kettle hisses.

“Do you want me to get that?” Diego offers.

“No, I’ve got it.” I put my hand on Otto’s chest and push off from his body. He grunts. “Be good,” I tell him and muss his hair on my way to the kitchen.

I fix Otto’s tea just the way he likes it—black tea and a splash of milk. Diego and Otto chat as I grab some lemon juice from the fridge.

“Diego, want a poor man’s hot toddy?”

“Oh. Hell yeah.”

I shove aside the clutter on the coffee table and set the three mugs down. I’m not nearly organized enough for a wine rack, but I do have an assortment of bottles shoved underneath the coffee table. I pick up the Bulleit whiskey, pop it open, and tip it to Diego’s mug. “Say when.”

He watches it carefully, then says, “When.”

Another thing I like about Diego—he’s a solid guy. He can drink and barely feel it. It makes me less self-conscious around Otto, who doesn’t drink because of his condition, even though he’s said countless times that he doesn’t mind if I partake.

I take a sip. It warms me down my throat and into my chest. And this feels good. Like taking-off-your-bra-at-the-end-of-the-day good. I’m still high from the thrill of the concert, my ears blown, my pussy wrecked, my blood on fire. I need to come down with the easy music on the record, a toasty drink, and good company.

I lean into my spot beside Diego. My leg brushes against his as I get comfortable, but he doesn’t pull back. “Let’s play a game.”

Diego perks up. “What kind of game?”

“Never Have I Ever?”

“Remind me the rules?” Diego says.

“You say Never Have I Ever, and then you give an action. If you’ve done the thing, you have to drink.”

“I’ll start,” Otto interjects. “Never Have I Ever orgasmed in a crowded room.”

“Too soon,” I say and take a sip.

Diego chuckles.

When I see that Otto hasn’t touched his tea, I chastise, “Otto. Drink.”

He knits his eyebrows at me. “I haven’t.”

I raise my eyebrows. “The Carousel Bar?”

“Oh.” He grins sheepishly. “Right.”

He takes a sip.

I switch it up. Maybe it’s the booze, or the music, or just the vibes of the night, but I feel like being bold. So I say, “Never Have I Ever met my soul mate.”

I drink. I stare fixedly at Otto.

He does not drink.

My mouth twists in a frown.

Otto lifts his hand. “I have an addendum.”

“It better be a damn good one, because I’m two seconds away from kicking you out of this apartment.”

“Okay, I don’t believe in soul mates. So how can I find something I don’t believe? That’s like asking me if I’ve ever met Santa.”

“Why don’t you believe in soul mates?” Diego asks conversationally. Diego—bless him—is far more patient than I am.

“The idea that there’s one person for everyone?” Otto shakes his head. “No. It’s depressing. What if you never meet your soul mate? What if they live all the way across the world? Worse, what if they die? Then what? Then you’re screwed?”

“Then you fall in love again,” I counter. “But you only get one soul mate.”

The corner of Otto’s mouth pinches at that. “I think people are varying shades of compatibility.”

I roll my eyes. Hard. “Do you hear that, Diego? Romance isn’t dead. Otto and I are a shade of compatibility.”

Diego gives Otto a look. “Dude.”

“Now,” Otto says—and I can tell he’s getting worked up, because he leans in closer and starts gesturing with his hands, “if you’d said Never Had I Ever found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, then yes, I’d have had to drink.”

I narrow my eyes at him. It’s a start, but it’s still not exactly what I want to hear.

Still. I can’t punish him for being honest. That’s what attracted me to him in the first place, isn’t it? “Thin ice,” I tell him.

Diego takes a swallow from his mug and defuses the situation with “Okay. My turn.” He clears his throat. “Never Have I Ever had sex.”

I blink at him. If his goal was to distract me from doghousing Otto—well. It worked. Because that throws me. “What? You’re a virgin?”

He nods. The mug looks small as he cradles it in both large hands. “Yep.”

He’s a little awkward but not embarrassed. Just stating a fact.

“For religious reasons?” I pry. “Or…?”

“No, nothing like that.” He glances down, pets his thumb over the curved handle of the mug. “I’m open to it. It just…hasn’t felt right. Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay,” Otto says. “Never Have I Ever—”

I hold up a wait finger. But my eyes don’t leave Diego’s. We’re not finished here.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” I ask him.

Again, he shakes his head. “No.”

I set my mug down on the table. “Do you want to?”

My question hangs in the air between us. Diego looks at me, surprised. I can see his brain working over the question. I can see the moment he thinks yes, when his eyes dip down to my mouth. When his tongue accidentally betrays him and licks his lips.

And then I see the moment where he thinks no. When he remembers where he is, when his eyes panic and dart to Otto. He runs his hand over his thigh and clears his throat.

“I. Uh.”

Angel boy is stuck in limbo. So I make the choice for both of us.

I don’t know why I do it. Maybe I’m punishing Otto for his soul mate comment. Maybe I’m oversexed and worked up from getting teased with my toy all day. Maybe, some nights, I’ve thought about Diego’s rough hands and thick body on top of mine. Maybe this is just a long time coming, something Otto and I have communicated about in our own way, through side-glances and dangerous smiles.

Or maybe Diego is so sweet, such a good guy, and I want to know what an angel’s first kiss tastes like.

I take his face, pull him closer, and catch his mouth with my own.

He freezes at first. But he doesn’t pull away.

He leans in. His lips are soft, full, and warm. He’s not gentle the way I thought he would be. His want is heavy, and he pushes his mouth against mine. It’s clumsy and hungry, and I moan into it. He’s as delicious as the whiskey, a heat that pours from my lips down the center of my body.

He breaks apart, dipping his chin down. He takes a breath.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask.

He turns to Otto, those big eyes questioning. “Is this okay?”

Now, I turn to Otto, too. He’s staring at us. I know that look in his eyes. It’s a dark, piercing look. The look he gives right before he rips my panties off and pounds me hard enough to make me scream.

A little angry.

A little possessive.

A lot aroused.

“If it’s okay with her, it’s okay with me.” Otto runs his hand up his thigh. I can see the thickness of him. The shadowed outline of his stiffening cock in those tight pants.

The primal way he’s watching us…I feel yearning pull through me like a thread plucked from my heart and down through my cunt, where it gets tight and taut.

I want more of it.

I take Diego’s mug from his hands and set it down on the table. No accidents. Not yet, anyway. I straddle Diego, and he lets me, resting his hands on my thighs.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” I ask him. I feel my hair tumble down my back, tickling my shoulders.

“Uh-huh,” Diego says. Then his eyes meet mine. He swallows, and I see his Adam’s apple bob as he remembers his words. “Yes,” he says, clearly this time. Firm. “I do.”

I tilt my head and brush my lips against his. This time, his grip squeezes my thighs. I invite him inside, and he takes it, pushing his tongue in my mouth. Hungry, sloppy explorations that feel simultaneously so innocent and so filthy.

“Slower,” I whisper against his mouth. “Like this.”

I open his mouth with mine, but I don’t enter right away. I nibble his bottom lip. Brush my mouth featherlight on his. Then, slowly, I caress his hot tongue with my own.

My palm rests on his chest for balance. His heart is beating so fast against my hand.

Is there a wicked part of me that gets off on corrupting this sweet boy?

Yeah. Maybe.

I flick the tip of my tongue against his, and he shivers. The reaction makes me smile.

Then he does something unexpected.

He cups the back of my head in his hand and roughly plunges his tongue in my mouth. It’s a move that takes the breath out of my lungs.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this sweet boy is going to corrupt me before the night is over.

When we finally break apart, we’re both panting. My lips are swollen and wet with him.

My eyes flicker to Otto. I’m not going to lie—I nearly forgot he was there. He’s so still, so calm, and there’s something infuriating about how collected he is.

I want him to get up, grab me by the hair, and tell me to stop playing games. I want him to push me to the floor and claim me.

Instead, he waits. And watches. Not a lion, but a panther. Observing.

“You want to touch her, don’t you?” Otto asks. His voice is a dark, smoky murmur.

“Uh…” Poor Diego. Always hunting for permission.

“Go ahead. Put your hand in her panties.”

His brown eyes meet mine, hunting for consent. I give him a small nod. “It’s okay…”

I lift my hips slightly, digging my knees into the couch, and unbutton my jeans, pulling down the zipper.

He wets his lips, then slips his hand in my pants. Over the panties, first, he cups my sex. I gasp; my toy made a mess of me, and the fabric is completely soaked. Diego swallows, and I love seeing the way my arousal turns him on. He watches my face, though, as he pushes my panties to the side and his fingers fumble over my slick pussy.

“Fuck…” Diego moans, and the swear sounds are reverent on his lips. He touches me, exploring, running his fingers over my slit. He traces my hole and moves upward, finding that bundle of nerves. I jerk, because I’m so, so sensitive from my orgasms at the club, and his touch is rough.

“Gently, please,” I beg. He lightens his touch and slowly brushes against my clit. Then back down, teasing my entrance.

Otto’s eyes are alight. “She’s a good little slut, isn’t she?”

Diego enters me then, twisting his finger inside of me. I whimper. And that sound—finally—breaks Otto’s composure. His lips part just slightly, and I see him intake a quick breath.

And then it’s like a switch flips. He can’t sit still anymore. He gets to his feet and steps behind me. His hand encircles my throat, and he pulls upward so my head is pressed back against his stomach and I’m looking up at him.

“God, you two are so sweet,” Otto says. His thumb pets underneath my chin, and the way he’s looking at me makes me want to purr.

He tilts down and sucks my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth.

“So fucking sweet,” he sighs.

Then he plants his hand on the back of the couch, tilts down, and closes his mouth over Diego’s.

I freeze for a second. Otto is a do first, ask for permission later kind of guy. Which, most of the time, is hot, but I’ve adopted Diego now—Diego is mine, and I’m not going to let him push Diego into places he’s not ready to go.

But Diego doesn’t look uncomfortable. The opposite. He clutches Otto’s shirt, pulling him in closer, and moans heatedly into the other man’s mouth.

When they break apart, Diego has big, soft puppy eyes.

“Is this…?” Diego clears his throat. “Um…”

“If you ask if this is okay one more time, I’m going to slap you,” Otto says. “I want to fuck the both of you so bad, I’m going to lose my mind.”

And sometimes, Otto just says the thing that’s on everyone’s mind, and I’m so grateful for his unpolished honesty in that moment.

Otto’s hand travels roughly, thoughtlessly, down my body. He cups my tit, squeezes, and palms my belly. Meanwhile, his mouth leaves angry kisses down Diego’s neck, and I feel Diego’s hips give a small, involuntary jerk upward.

“Let’s get you out of these,” Otto murmurs and moves both hands to yank at my pants.

I shift to stand on the floor so I don’t have to do gymnastics to get out of my clothes. Otto helps me out of my pants and my panties and, once I’m bare, gives my ass a stinging slap. It wakes me up, and I squeak.

“Tell him what you want,” Otto demands.

I crawl back into Diego’s lap, and he turns his hungry gaze to me. I’m the object of both men’s affections tonight…and it’s erotic as hell.

I cup his face in my hands, and I tell him, “I want you inside of me.”

Diego nods. “I want it, too.”

I feel Otto’s strong, hard body against my back. He wraps an arm around me, getting between us, and palms Diego’s erection briefly through his pants before unzipping them.

“He’s big, sunshine,” Otto murmurs in my ear, his breath hot. “He’s going to split you in half.”

I shiver, already throbbing at the thought, fear and excitement tingling through me.

It’s Otto who helps pull Diego’s cock free from his pants, who gives his friend a couple of generous warm-up strokes.

Diego gasps. “Do you have…um…”

His eyes are wide. He glances at me, then Otto, then back at me. I see him struggling with the question, but he doesn’t seem to know how to get it out.

Otto seems to read his friend’s mind.

“Would you feel better with a condom?” Otto asks.

“Yeah.” Diego blushes. “Sorry if that’s…unsexy…”

“Hey.” I take Diego’s jaw in my hand. “Never apologize for asking for what you want.” I grin. “Besides. Call me a freak—”

“You’re a freak,” Otto breathes against the back of my neck.

“—but my favorite part of Christmas was always wrapping my gifts.”

Relief passes over his face, and his bones relax. Otto kisses the side of my neck and then pulls back.

“Stay here,” Otto says. He walks away, and he’s gone for only a couple of seconds. When he comes back, he has a condom in hand. He’s got the packet pinched between his fingers, and he holds it out to me. “Want to do the honors?”

“Yes, please.”

I’ll be honest—Otto and I haven’t used condoms in months, so I’m not even sure where he found that one. I wear an IUD, and we both got tested when we started dating, with the contingency that we’d get tested again if anyone else came into our mix.

And it’s been lovely. And fun. But there is something wonderfully erotic about putting a condom on a guy. I take it out of the wrapper, position it over the tip of him, and slowly roll it on.

As I fix it over Diego, I feel Otto move behind me. He unzips his pants and then rubs his cock between my legs. I moan as his hard organ rubs against my slit, the friction sending bolts of pleasure through me. My hand gets distracted, and I stroke Diego, badly wanting someone inside of me. It takes a moment before I realize Otto is lubricating himself with my arousal, and the thought makes my throat dry.

“Otto,” I whine.

“Take him,” Otto demands. “Then take me.”

I get close to Diego and feel the head of him press against me. I shudder because Otto wasn’t wrong—he’s thick. I’m dripping wet, my lust reignited with Diego’s sweet kisses and Otto’s rough touches, and there’s a push and then I lower all the way down, taking him fully inside of me.

“Oh my god,” Diego moans. The sound is so sweet coming from his lips. His eyebrows furrow, eyes squeezed shut for a moment to take in the sensation.

I need a second, too. It’s overwhelming. I’ve been tormented with pleasure all day from the vibrator, but this is different. Diego is blood-hot and steel-hard, and he fills me so sweetly.

Then Otto nestles in behind me. His fingers press inside me first, and then he nudges his cock against my asshole. We’ve done this before, but I still have to brace myself when he pushes it inside of me.

I whine and clutch Diego’s shoulders. “Oh god…”

They’re both inside of me now. I’m so full…and it feels so perfect.

Otto’s hand grips my thick hair tightly. It pulls against my scalp and makes me gasp. “No one told you to stop,” Otto says. “Ride him.”

I whimper and obey. I’m a bad bitch in the streets—but for Otto?

I’ll be his submissive slave in the sheets.

I rock back and forth, undulating over Diego. I let him slip out, just a little, and then rock back, taking him deeper inside of me. The feeling of his thickness and Otto’s rubbing my inner walls is exquisite, and I can’t get enough of it.

I drop my head forward, and my forehead touches Diego’s. We pant together, and his breath is warm on my lips. I feel so connected to him, and to Otto, and my head spins with it.

“God, you two are beautiful,” Otto says, his voice thick with want. “So fucking hot. Tell him you love his cock.”

“I love your cock!”

“Tell him you love the way it feels.”

“I love the way…oh god. It’s so good…”

I’m losing control, and so is Diego. He’s gone quiet, twitching, his grip at my hips relaxing, then tightening, then relaxing again. He’s struggling to keep himself together, and there’s honestly something so hot about watching him fighting his body’s impulses underneath me.

Otto notices, too. With the hand that’s not gripping my hair, he reaches forward and slips his fingers gently through Diego’s tight, dark curls.

Rough with me. Gentle with Diego.

“Hey,” Otto says, a breathy murmur, “don’t kill yourself. You’re trapped with us now, which means you’re going to cum, like, a million times tonight. Don’t sweat it if you can’t hold back.”

And, honestly, it warms me to see the way Otto is with Diego.

He’s filthy with me. Rough and cruel. Because he knows that’s what I like—and I know anything said in the bedroom is just play; it’s not real.

But he’s different with Diego. Sweet. Patient. Because that’s what Diego needs.

If Otto is good at anything, he’s good at reading people and giving them exactly what they need. Dangerously good. He actually cares about people. Wants them to be happy. If he ever decided to go into politics, he could probably rule the world.

Diego and I are just lucky to exist in his orbit.

“Oh, fuck,” Diego whimpers. Then his hands cover his eyes, and his cheeks flush. It’s his first time cumming in front of people—two people—and I don’t blame him for needing to hide, that lick of shame that comes from too much pleasure. “Fuck,” he repeats, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I kiss the back of his hand, right on the club stamp, and I murmur, “Please, Diego. Give it to me.”

The permission unravels him. He swells and twitches inside of me, spilling, filling the condom. His moan is deep and long, and the sound sends me spinning.

I curl up against him and whine. My angry, abused cunt gives hard, intense pulses, and I moan and squirm in Diego’s lap, against Otto’s hips, rutting my way through my painfully good orgasm.

It’s blinding. Like white snow in the morning. I catch my breath, my mind hazy, like I’ve just stepped into a dream.

Otto presses a kiss to the side of my throat. He pulls his cock, still unspent, out of me, and I whimper, feeling emptier with him.

“You two are perfect together,” Otto says. “Do you know that?”

“The three of us, you mean,” Diego says, and I have to agree.

Otto pulls his pants up his hips, zipper still hanging open.

“I’m gonna wash up,” Otto says. “You two get in bed.”

I watch as he hops past the coffee table. He stops, however, to pick up his mug of tea and drains it.

I crinkle my nose. “Tea? At a time like this?”

“It’s almost cold,” he complains, as though that’s a crime.

I chuckle, and he exits, heading to the bathroom.

Now it’s just the two of us, and we catch our breath. I slip my hand over Diego’s hair and pet the small, spiky hairs at the back of his neck as he softens inside of me.

“Is it really okay if I stay?” he asks.

“I hate to break it to you, but you missed the train a loooong time ago.”

He laughs lightly. “Yeah. I guess.” Then his eyes move behind me. “I think we traumatized your cat.”

I glance over my shoulder and see Milo tucked behind my potted snake plant.

“Milo!” I tell him. “It’s okay! It was all consensual, I promise!”

Milo reaches up a paw and bats the plant.

Diego is grinning now. It’s really nice to see from the man who is normally so stoic and serious.

He shifts out of me, and I groan. I’m far too empty now. My cunt is sore, but I’m giddy, savoring that afterglow.

I reach between us and slip the condom off Diego’s softening organ. It’s heavy with him, and I pinch it between my fingers. It’s a strange pride, knowing he came this hard for me.

Almost seems a shame to drop it in the waste bin, but I do. Then I tiptoe my fingers across his chest. “Do you wanna see my bedroom?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Lead the way.”

Then he surprises me and lifts me up, carrying me in his arms. I yelp, then laugh, hooking my legs around his waist. I point down the hall. “That way.”

Diego carries me through my small apartment, around the corner, and into my bedroom. I wish I’d thought ahead, but honestly, it’d probably take a week to clean my bedroom. There are clothes, shopping bags, hangers, and cat toys scattered on every inch of the place. Diego politely steps into the few bare spaces of floor before setting me down on my bed.

I take off my shirt and bra and add them to the pile on the floor. Fully naked now, I sit up in bed and open my arms.

“Come,” I say. “I need skin.”

“Spoken like a serial killer,” Diego says. But he takes off his clothes, until he’s standing completely naked in front of me.

I let my eyes roam over him. He has a gorgeous body. Brown skin, strong arms, soft stomach.

He does the same, pouring over me with his eyes. “You’re a vision,” he tells me.

I can’t help but smile. “Kiss me.”

Diego climbs into bed. He pulls me against him, cradling me, and catches my lips in his own. My apartment is cold—fucking New York City winters are relentless, and my heater is trash. I’ve got goose bumps, my dark nipples hard on his chest, but his body is furnace-hot, and I can’t get enough of it.

His kisses are unpracticed but not exactly innocent—curious, exploring. We savor each other now, sweetly tasting one another.

I soak in his gentleness like a vampire.

Then I hear Otto’s voice. “This,” he says, “is exactly what I was hoping to walk in on.”