Preview: Morning Yoga from Let It Go

Preview: Morning Yoga from Let It Go

Let-It-Go-cover-blue-800Guess what! Let It Go, my newest friendly MMF menage tale, comes out on Friday, August 2!

Let It Go follows Helen, Tommy, and Al (from Let It Snow), as they reach their gold at the end of the rainbow. Their ride off into the sunset. Their polyamorous honeymoon on an idyllic tropical beach.

Unfortunately, a cloud from Helen’s past threatens to darken their paradise. Will her wonderful new relationship with her best friend Tommy and his husband Al survive the arrival of her former fiancé… and his new wife?

By the way! Book 2, Let It Snow, is on sale for just US$0.99 for a limited time at Stillpoint/Eros or at your favorite ebook retailer! If you haven’t checked it out already, now’s your chance!

Morning Yoga from Let It Go

Helen was happy.

Of course she was happy. Why wouldn’t she be happy? She had every reason to be happy.

Here she was, walking down the path from the beachside, open-walled cabin where she’d left her lovers, Al and Tommy, back asleep after an amazing morning of passion — of passion for real, as Tommy put it. Passion with a purpose. Passion to make the baby they all wanted.

She could feel the remainder of that passion as she sauntered down the sandy path toward the yoga studio, her rolled mat over her shoulder. It felt wonderful.

It felt… terrifying.

It was one thing to want a baby. To dream of a baby — especially when Helen’s longtime boyfriend Ben had said emphatically he didn’t want them.

Just as well.

If he’d wanted babies as much as she had, she might have said yes sooner. And then they might have gotten married before she found out that Ben was a lying, cheating bastard. She might have had his child, and then they would have been linked together for the rest of their lives.

And then Helen might have had to kill him. Which would have been tough to explain to their child.

Helen reached the studio — another open-walled building, filled with the gentle sound of surf breaking on the white sand beach just through the palms. The teacher, a tiny, curvy Fijian woman, was on the floor, stretching. “Bula, Helen.”

“Good morning, Meleni.” Helen rolled out her mat. “Just you and me?”

“Nah,” Meleni said, rolling to to the other leg. “Another lady from your part of the world. She’s in the loo. Out in a minute.”

“Cool.” Actually, Helen was surprised to find she was disappointed. Ridiculous. Give a girl a bunch of money and two fabulous lovers and she expects a life of private yoga lessons and sex on the beach. Helen smirked at herself.

“Here I am!” called an American voice. “Hi! I’m Lena!” The newcomer was grinning enormously. She was the kind of woman who usually made Helen hate yoga classes. Skinny-skinny, hipless, flat-chested, long-legged.  An even, deep tan, with no lines anywhere.

But her smile was so genuine and so infectious that Helen couldn’t help but smile back. “Hi. I’m Helen.” She held out her hand.

Lena blinked for a moment, then took Helen’s proffered hand and shook it. “Honeymoon?”

“Uh…” It wasn’t worth trying to explain — Al and Tommy had been married for seven years; sure, they had told Helen that, as far as they were concerned, she was part of their marriage now. Still… “Yeah. Been here since Tuesday.”

“Me too! Honeymoon, that is. Just got in last night. Isn’t it beautiful?” She gestured out toward the beach, then toward the “village compound” that was the center of the resort.

Meleni the yoga instructor answered, “It is. Shall we get started?” When Helen and Lena both nodded, Meleni bowed. “Namaste.” Then she launched into the Sun Salutation and an hour of Helen focussing completely on her body and letting her mind wander.

Helen knew that she was a strongly left-brain person — she liked order, logic. Lists. Lists of lists. When left to its own devices, her mind shifted into problem-solving mode, and if there wasn’t a problem to solve, it would go searching for one.

She’d tried meditation, but had always given up in frustration. The only things that seemed to shut down her relentless code-breaking brain were reading urban fantasies, listening to baroque music, and yoga.

Oh, and sex. Sex did a remarkably good job of turning her mind off. Thank Lovelace. One of many reasons she loved it so much.

Especially with Tommy and Al.

Tommy and Al. Fair and fine. Dark and square. Their eyes half-lidded, their beards glistening with sweat as the three of them made love. Made a baby, maybe.

A baby. Maybe.

Usually, when yoga classes got to the corpse pose at the very end, Helen fell asleep, which the teachers usually assured her was fine. This time, lying there, listening to the distant waves breaking, feeling the soft, warm breeze flow over her, she found her mind focused on a spot half way between her pubic bone and her belly button — between her second and third chakras. Experiencing it as warmth and light, a tiny sunburst inside of her. Nothing there yet. But potential.

It had been her idea. Making love this morning without any protection. Knowing she was ovulating. It had seemed not only logical but right, the proper next step for the life that she, Tommy, and Al were building. But that hadn’t stopped her from crying when  Al came inside of her, the familiar pulse followed by an eruption of wet inside of her that was completely new. Hadn’t stopped her from crying again when it was Tommy. Hadn’t stopped Tommy either, come to think of it. Clamped together like limpets,  they’d clung to each other, weeping, Al stroking both of them. Comfortingly.

He’d probably been crying too.

She knew they were all happy — excited. But Jesus, it was scary to suddenly find yourself not just not trying not to get pregnant, but actually going for broke.

And it wasn’t as if she were right up against her sell-by date or anything, but spending five years wearing yourself down, convincing yourself to marry a man who had no interest in having children, and then turning around just a couple of months later and accepting not just the possibility but the reality of starting a family with your new lovers, new boyfriends, new SOs, new… whatever the hell Tommy and Al were to her…

Terrifying.

It felt… terrifying.

But she wouldn’t want it any other way.

 

When Helen opened her eyes as Meleni brought them out of the corpse pose with a quiet namaste, the soft, filtered light of the studio imparted a kind of clarity.

Terror was okay.

Helen could see the future she wanted as clearly as the white ceiling.

Oh, her and Tommy and Al building a family together in years to come. Absolutely that.

But mostly herself in their huge bed back by the beach, her legs wrapped around one and her mouth around the other. Now.

Helen quickly rolled up her mat. “Bula, Meleni.”

The instructor smirked. “Someone’s in a hurry!”

Lena threw her arm over Helen’s shoulder. “You know us newlyweds — can’t wait to get back to our husbands,” she laughed, wiggling her ring finger.

“I bet,” said Meleni, her smile bright, her eyes dark and knowing in a manner that should have made Helen uncomfortable.

But it wasn’t her Helen was looking at.

It was the ring. The ring.

White gold, with eight -carat chips of diamond in a cathedral setting on either side of a 3.5-carat, blue-white princess-cut stone. With a matching wedding band. Both of which looked a bit loose on Lena’s thin finger.

Depending on his mood, Ben had claimed that the smaller stones represented Buddhism’s Eightfold Path or the number of times he had proposed before she had accepted.

Helen should have known. He couldn’t even commit to a symbol, for Turing’s sake.

Helen found herself stumbling out of the studio, the younger woman’s arm still draped over her shoulder, the stone flaring in the tropical sun. 

“It is a husband, right?” asked Lena. “I mean, it isn’t —”

—isn’t two husbands, who are actually married to each other, not me, but we’re all working at making babies? “It isn’t… a woman. No.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t presume.”

“No. Yeah. It’s all right.”

They were drifting toward the beach — toward Helen, Tommy, and Al’s cabin, since on the small, private island, every direction led to a beach, except the bridge to the mainland — and Helen couldn’t think of a reason to detach herself from this sweet, insufferable women who was wearing her ring, the ring Helen had finally accepted from Ben a year and a half before. The ring that she’d handed back to him just before Thanksgiving. Well. Thrown back at him. That had never really felt as if it had belonged to her.

Lena was chattering, singing about her whirlwind romance. “So it was this looooooong flight back from Singapore — I love Singapore! — anyway, I can’t sleep on planes, even in amazing first-class seats like that flight, and he was just sitting there, looking glum, so we struck up a conversation. And it turns out we’re both on the rebound — he’d found his ex cheating on him and mine was leeching contracts from my family’s business, the asshole —”

“Ben’s ex was cheating on him?”

“Oh, yeah, and… Did I say his name was Ben?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh. Anyway, the first four hours, Singapore to Hong Kong, we talked about everything under the sun. Families, being onlies, favorite beaches. We both love Fiji, no surprise. He’s older than I am, but we have sooo much in common. Same college. We both love sushi, Malaysian street food. And of course, we’re both coming off of heartbreak, you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So then, Hong Kong back to SFO, things got deep, you know?” Helen shrugged, but Lena was already gushing on. “We talked about our hopes and dreams. He told me about his company, this amazing startup—”

His startup, which he’d leached money out of to fund his visits to Southeast Asian brothels featuring underage boys. His startup, which Helen owned a single share of — his least romantic birthday present.

“—and I started telling him about how much I hated being The Robichaud Heir, you know?”

“Robichaud… like… rubies?”

Lena shrugged and pulled a delicate gold necklace out from her batik-patterned yoga top: a pendant with a stone bluer than the South Pacific. “Also sapphires. And emeralds.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, but Ben, he didn’t care at all. We kept talking all night. Somewhere around the time we flew over Hawaii — the lights were out — I found I’d climbed over to his chaise, and…” Lena tittered, a very sweet, unselfconscious giggle that made Helen want to smack her. “Well, I officially became a member of the Mile High Club.”

“Go you.”

Again the giggle, louder this time. “I know, right? Anyway, as the sun’s coming up, he slips out of the chaise — to visit the men’s room, he says — and when he comes back, he gets down on one knee and…” She wiggled her ring finger once more.

“Congratulations.” They’d reached the spot where the short path to Helen and the boys’ cabin split off from the main one. Helen was torn between wanting to throttle the lovely, dewy-eyed young woman beside her and wanting to run away. “Um. This is my cabin.”

“Oh! Great. Sorry for talking your ear off — I’m still so… It doesn’t feel real yet, I guess.”

That’s because it isn’t. “Sure.”

“Anyway, we’re just two doors further down the beach. I’d love to introduce you! And to meet your husband, of course!”

“Hmm. See you, Lena.”

“Bye!”

“Bye.” Helen waved over her shoulder, forcing herself to walk, not run.

 

Trembling from her toes on up, Helen slipped through the door.

Al and Tommy lay curled around each other on the big platform bed, head to lap. Dark and light. Yin and yang. Naked. Sweaty. It almost took her out of her shock. Almost.

They both looked up, hungry at first, but then concerned. They sat up. Tommy murmured, “Helen?”

Helen threw herself into their combined embrace. “BEN’S HERE!” She wasn’t aware of having started to cry — but she sure was now. Tears, snot — the full catastrophe.

Four arms enfolded her. Held her tight.

“Ben?” Al whispered into her hair. “Is… here?”

“He’s MARRIED!”

“Oh,” Tommy sighed. “Fuck.”

“WITH MY FUCKING RING!” Now she was screaming more than weeping. “TO A FUCKING HEIRESS!”

“An…?”

“A. FUCKING. HEIRESS. LENA FUCKING ROBICHAUD. OF THE RUBIES-AND-FUCKING-SAPPHIRES-ROBICHAUDS!”

Al grunted. “Damn. Bastard landed on his feet.”

Squeezing her, Tommy kissed the side of her head. “I’m so sorry, Helen.”

Helen sat there, breathing in their embraces, feeling the rage and hurt course through her. The rage was winning. “Want to know what FUCKING pisses me off the most?” When they both nodded, their foreheads rocking against hers, she growled, “I don’t WANT to be fucking thinking about Ben, and my fucking ring and  his fucking wife, who is too fucking nice to hate.” She grabbed each of their semi-erections in a still-trembling hand. “I want to be bathed in dick, in your dicks. I want to be fucked silly. NOW.

She could feel Tommy start to talk it through, fucking English major. Fortunately Al knew there was a time for words and a time for shutting up and sticking your tongue in your lover’s ear, which is what he promptly did.

Helen wasn’t completely sure what happened next, but somehow she found herself exactly where she wanted to be: on her hands and knees, slipping Al’s dark red cock through her lips — the ones up top — while Tommy slipped deliciously through the other set.

When Al had introduced them to the term spitroast that first morning in Jenny and Mike’s cabin, Tommy had sniggered like a twelve-year-old, but Helen had been vaguely offended. “I’m not a fucking lump of meat!”

And yet, then as now, Helen had felt like anything but a passive party in the act. Carnal, sure, and the guys may have been providing most of the motive force, each thrust pushing her onto the other cock, but Helen felt, for once, as if taking were more than just receiving. Her world was bounded by pleasure and nothing outside of that pleasure was real.

Their hands and searching fingers — those were very real: Tommy’s precise and smooth, sliding over her belly and her clit as his cock thrust into her; Al’s strong and callused, searching and teasing her rippling breasts.

When Helen had been taking linear algebra, she’d tried to explain what she found so satisfying about the notoriously abstract math to Gavin, her boyfriend sophomore year. She’d found herself saying, “The world just drops away when I’m working on an equation. It’s like sex. It’s better than sex.”

She’d meant to make him laugh, or at least to show Gavin how excited the math made her.

Instead he’d gotten insulted. They’d broken up a week later.

Asshole.

She still loved solving knotty math problems. But even that didn’t narrow her universe to a single point like this did. Like she hoped it always would.

Well. Two points. Which was kind of ridiculous and mind-blowing all on its own. “Fuck me,” she moaned — gargled, really, as Al’s cock slid over her tongue. “FUCK ME!”

And they did.

Helen was vaguely aware of her two men leaning over her, kissing as they alternated thrusts, ping-ponging her from the cock in her mouth to the one in her pussy.

Was vaguely aware that her body, which just minutes before had been tense with rage, was pulsing with rising tension of a completely different kind.

Then the tidal wave of sensation washed over her, and she wasn’t aware of anything at all.


What happens when your nightmare wanders into your happily-ever-after dream?

If Helen has anything to say about it, it isn’t going to end well for the nightmare

Let-It-Go-cover-blue-800Helen, Tommy, and Al have reached their gold at the end of the rainbow. Their ride off into the sunset. Their polyamorous honeymoon on an idyllic tropical beach.

Unfortunately, a cloud from Helen’s past threatens to darken their paradise. Will her wonderful new relationship with her best friend Tommy and his husband Al survive the arrival of her former fiancé… and his new wife?

The second story in K.D. West’s Let It Be series:

  1. Let It Snow
  2. Let It Go
  3. Let It Show (COMING SOON!)

(FMM bisexual romance, polyamory)

ORDER EBOOK ONLINE ORDER EBOOK @ STILLPOINT/EROS

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