Ménage a Moi – Polyamory - Three Book Collection Read online

  Ménage a Moi – Polyamory

  Three Book Collection

  Book 1 of Ménage a Moi – Polyamory

  By Lainey Fox

  Published by Scarlet Lantern Publishing

  The following story is full of romance, sex and sensuality. See the preview below for a bit of foreplay.

  “I like it,” he said, into her mouth, pulling the camisole top off over her head. “Easy.”

  He unbuckled his belt and put it on a low table before kicking off his shoes. She got hers off, and continued unbuttoning his shirt. He got his own pants off as she got hers off. The couch had an ottoman. He took off the rest of her clothes. She sat on the ottoman as he removed her socks last. Mike moved the cat off the couch, a black one with huge eyes, and it squawked and stalked off. A sleek grey greayhound took a sniff at this hand, and went back to sleep on the huge dog bed in the corner.

  He took off his briefs and she gasped at how huge he was. Danielle cupped his balls in her hand, and it was his turn to gasp. He pulled back her hair, kissed her. She ran her tongue down his neck, biting his ear. He ran his fingers down her spine, making her shiver. He knelt, kissed her, and kissed her neck. He parted her legs, and kissed his way to her thighs, then stuck his tongue inside, flicking it in and out. She cried out, grabbing his shoulders. She arched her back, screaming, as he used a finger and his tongue to make her crazy.

  He put his fingers inside her and found her other sweet spot, going between his fingers deep inside her and flicking on the outside spot with his tongue. Danielle came again, twice, in quick succession.

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  Copyright © 2016 by Lainey Fox

  & Scarlet Lantern Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.

  All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  Ménage a Moi – Polyamory

  Book 1 of Ménage a Moi – Polyamory

  By Lainey Fox

  Published by Scarlet Lantern Publishing

  1

  Newly-minted Sergeant Mike Kyll needed a jolt; a big one. He put on his glasses as he stepped out of the frigid office into eye-stabbing light and bone-melting heat, even at 7:15 AM. Armed with a list, he rounded the corner to Corner Java, a nearby favorite. True to form, office coffee was sludge. He made a mental note to buy a halfway decent coffee pot and an electric kettle, and throw away the indecently old equipment in the office.

  He opened the door for a woman in purple scrubs; she nodded her thanks. He noted an ID around her neck, but he didn’t catch her name. The tag was for the urgent care center around the corner from the coffee shop. She had her auburn hair up in a high ponytail, with an oddly-shaped sort of device holding up her hair, something made of maroon plastic, he decided, as he stood behind her in line. She was half a head shorter than he, with tiny hands and black-and-pink tennis shoes.

  He scanned the room as a teen in skinny jeans and blonde hair braided on one side, shaved on the other, in front of both of them ordered an acai berry smoothie. There were some teens in a corner, all on cell phones, no one speaking to each other. Each one had a brightly-colored iced drink in hand. There were four separate road warriors scattered across the room, alternately typing furiously on laptops or staring into space, dressed in varying colors of chinos and golf or T-shirts. All of them, male and female, had short hair.

  People came in behind them, teens in slouchy shorts and the standard Panic! At the Disco and Killers T-shirts, one Hispanic, one Asian. Their conversation centered on a video game that apparently involved driving a truck across Europe.

  Why would anyone want to drive a truck across Europe in a video game? Mike thought.

  The purple-scrub person with the auburn hair ordered three different smoothies. Mike smiled, thinking of his own list, but in the iced-coffee genre. He swung his eyes to the door--and shouted, “Get down!”

  The Hispanic teen pulled the Asian one behind a display of coffee. Mike blessed them for getting out of his line of sight. The kid at the door was about fifteen, eyes gyrating around the room, brandishing a carving knife, blood dripping from the tip onto the floor and down towards the kid’s hand. She wore a bikini top in turquoise, twisted string wrist bracelets, and cargo shorts bulging with things that were hard.

  Weapons?

  He recognized the outline of a cell phone in another pocket.

  “Hey,” Mike said, holding out his hand, the other on the gun he’d unsnapped from his side holder and taken out. He pointed it at the floor. Shooting a kid was not on his list for the day.

  “Fuck you,” said the girl, her words both sped up and garbled.

  The medical person called out from behind, “Flacca.”

  Flacca was a particularly nasty new street drug. It caused bizarre behavior coupled with high temperature spikes in victims. The dilated, darting eyes and copious sweat were clues to the teenager being on some sort of drug.

  The medical person walked to the side, drawing the girl’s attention, causing the teen’s head to whipsaw from side to side. Mike was stunned to find the woman in purple scrubs was holding a Taser in her left hand.

  A civilian with a weapon, just what he needed. She better not get in his line of fire.

  “Why don’t we talk about this? You can tell me exactly how you want me to fuck myself.” The medical person snorted.

  Behind him, the baristas were getting people out the back, and people were slipping behind the girl with the knife and running out the door.

  The teen brandished the knife. “Don’t!” She screamed. The medical person was edging around the coffee display.

  “Don’t what?” asked Mike. “My name’s Mike. Why don’t we…”

  The medical person lifted the Taser, sighted it, and shot. The leads from the Taser snaked forward and hit the teen in the torso. She hit the floor and dropped the knife.

  Mike holstered his weapon and took out his cuffs, kicked aside the knife, and waited until the leads were off the girl to handcuff her. He flipped her over, and saw blood on one leg. The medical person was all over it.

  “She’s cut herself. There’s probably more cuts.”

  He looked down at her tag. “Doctor Kun,” he said, snapping each cuff closed.

  She ignored him, pulling back the leg of the shorts.

  “She’s bleeding too much. She’ll need sutures. And treatment protocol for synthetic cathinone poisoning.” She had a hand on the girl’s neck. “Erratic pulse. We’ve got to get her in treatment.”

  She looked up into Mike’s eyes. He saw that her eyes were huge, brown/green hazel, heavy on the green. She had high cheekbones and lips flattened by tension. She tapped her ear and said, “Office”. She then began barking out instructions to some sort of medical staff.

  The girl, recovering from the shock of being Tasered, began to kick out. Doctor Kun stopped her flow of words, something about benzodiazepine. She grabbed the girl by the neck.

  “Stop it,” she said, her voice ringing in Mike’s ears--and the girl’s. “You need to be still because you could have a heart attack.”

  Mike took out the girl’s pink cell phone, and threw it at Lia Molina, his partner in Missing Persons, who was running in
the door, gun out. She put her gun away with one hand and caught the phone with the other.

  “Find Mom on this phone,” Mike ordered. “This girl needs medical treatment.”

  Two people in scrubs, one in blue, one pink, fanned out behind Lia. One ran around Molina, knelt beside the doctor, opened a red box and started passing pads and tape to the doctor to stem the bleeding. Another took out a needle in one hand and a bottle of something in another.

  “Got her,” called out Molina to Mike while waving the phone.

  The doctor held out her hand, and Mike nodded for Molina to give the phone to the doctor, who, to her credit, put the phone on speaker and held it out to Mike. He took it, as Molina bagged the knife, then started interviewing people. The EMT’s showed up, and Doctor Kun walked a terrified mother through her daughter’s name--Dakota, and her age--13. Mike was still furious over a civilian using a weapon on another civilian, but he realized in the back of his brain that shooting a 13-year-old Dakota would have been as ugly as ugly could get. He knew he should have pulled his Taser first, but he saw the knife, and went for the gun in the millisecond he had to make a decision.

  Danielle Yu, another of Mike’s coworkers, knelt behind him and took the phone. Mike uncuffed the girl, and cuffed her to the gurney the EMTs wheeled in as she shouted expletives, drowning out her mother’s voice on the phone. The medical person in blue got a line in. The shot calmed her down to an expletive-laden mumble. The doctor was talking to the girl now, as Yu had hung up because the distraught mother was on her way. They strapped the girl in as she mumbled an impressive array of expletives, and the EMTs, the doctor, and her minions took the girl to the Urgent Care center a few blocks away.

  “Follow the blood trail,” said Mike to Yu as they followed them out. They found an elderly man halfway down the street, already being seen by other EMTs. Mike showed the EMTs the bagged knife, and the man gave a story of some strange girl pushing him aside, and the sharp pain of a knife cutting into his arm. Yu kept going. Luckily, everyone else had stayed out of the way of the teen brandishing a knife. They went all the way to the girl’s house, an apartment in a halfway nice building, a little hibachi on the balcony. Mike felt sick relief that she hadn’t decided to fire up the grill.

  Mike was halfway back to the urgent care center when he realized he’d never gotten an iced anything. He sighed, and stopped in a convenience store for Jolt Cola. Yu laughed, and Mike got two more, one for Yu and one for Molina. “Bring this back to Molina and make sure she has enough help. I’m heading to the urgent care.”

  Yu nodded. “I’ll notify myself and start doing some digging.”

  Mike laughed, and they went out into the now-vicious pounding heat. Yu was Vice/Narcotics, a different desk entirely from Missing Persons, but occasionally their cases crossed.

  Yu matched Mike’s fast pace. “That doctor was good.”

  Mike sighed. “She shot a civilian with a Taser right in front of me.”

  Yu took a swig of his cola. “Damn,” he said.

  “Yeah. And flacca caused heart irregularities. She could have killed her own patient.”

  Yu looked pointedly at Mike’s gun. “So could you.”

  ***

  The Urgent Care was a madhouse. People were coughing, moaning, and filling out forms. The receptionist let Mike and Yu back to see Dr. Kun, and they stood in the hall while she injected a screaming toddler with something.

  “Lots of fluids,” she said, writing some sort of script. She handed it to the person in blue scrubs, who nodded at the police officers. The father cradled his daughter, and went to pay the bill.

  Dr. Kun strode down the hall purposefully.

  “She’s stable and stitched up. Some nasty cuts, two. One on the back of the leg. One on the side of her leg, both hidden by the shorts. Heart rate’s stable. She needs a drug treatment unit to get off the flacca.”

  “They got that in Juvenile,” said MIike.

  “Sergeant Mike…” Dr. Kun paused.

  “Kyll,” said Mike. “K-y-l-l. It’s a river in Germany.”

  She smiled at him. He saw high cheekbones, a narrow nose and mouth that looked like Dr. Pepper. He realized he was holding an empty cola bottle. He must have been thirsty.

  “River in Germany or not, this girl does not need juvie. Her mother’s insurance can pay for treatment. It’s a locked ward.”

  Mike nodded. “Still, that’s up to a judge to decide. I’ll call Nate. He’s a friend. He can get with the mom and get her transferred. As long as she’s locked up before trial or before the judge decides what to do, that could work.” He took out Nate’s card. “Give this to the mother. Now, I need to get her transferred.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “What?” she said.

  “Not a big fan of civilians shooting people when I have a gun out. You could have gotten shot.”

  Her warm eyes turned to ice. “So could she.” She turned away, grabbing a chart off the wall.

  “Good shooting,” he said, lamely. She gave him a brief smile, and went into the next exam room.

  2

  Mike was stunned to find the good doctor on the Dinner Professionals website he had joined two months before. He didn’t drink, so barhopping seemed to be a poor way to meet women. Dinner sounded...doable.

  “Danielle Kun, 32, divorced medical professional seeking someone able to handle long hours, urgent telephone calls, missed get-togethers, and odd schedules.”

  He laughed. That summed him up as well and he sent her a message: “We’ve met before. Let’s find a hole in our strange schedules. Italian? Sushi? Barbecue?”

  He had her pegged as a sushi woman, but she surprisingly chose the barbecue.

  It took one missed date before the pair were able to meet up. They both wore their uniforms to dinner, having both worked far too late. They munched their way through a full rack of ribs, making light conversation about the weather and how to avoid the killer taxis when crossing the street. He was starving, so he stole too many fries. She, in turn, stole well over half the bread, and most of the cinnamon apples.

  “So, you like a little bread with your butter?” he asked.

  “Honey butter,” she said, pointing the knife at him. “Thanks for Nate,” she said, changing the subject. “Dakota is now in Woodsbridge getting her body and brain cleaned out.”

  “It’s a good facility,” he said. “Promises House, nine years ago.” .

  Rowan smiled. “I’ve got two years on you. Figured when you didn’t order a beer. Still go to women’s meetings there, and help them with their yard sale.”

  He stared at her. “Did you get sober as a toddler?”

  “Was barely legal for me to drink at the time,” she said, “I worked at Kings Island selling potatoes and beer; got fired for drinking the beer.”

  “Sold popcorn and slushies,” he ate another fry. “Two summers. I hate beer,” he said. “And coffee.”

  “So what the hell were you doing in a coffee shop?” She asked over another bite of bread.

  He laughed. “The other cops drink coffee, have rather sophisticated tastes, actually. Yu will only drink Kenyan iced coffee, and Molina wants two shots of Jamaican in her iced blended. I go for the dalgi...strawberry..ice. I buy a Jolt cola at the corner store and I’m good to go. Or put Red Bull in the strawberry.”

  She shuddered. “Red bull in dalgi juice? Ugh! So, you know Korean?”

  His eyes opened wide as he realized she knew the Korean word for strawberry.

  “Korean grandmother,” Mike said. “I spent two years there as an English teacher, paying off my degree in criminal justice, before coming back. Hiring freeze for a while there.”

  She stared at his face. She could see the Korean, just a little, a slight tilt to his chocolate eyes. His nose was flat and flared, but slightly narrower than other African-American men she had known.

  She smiled. “Exchange student. Hated kimchi, and the winters. Loved the galbi, but love these barbecue ribs more. Never got
used to corn on a pizza.”

  He laughed so hard he had to drop his rib. “Never saw why corn needed to be on a pizza either.”

  He felt a sense of urgency, watching her drink her sweet tea and finish her cinnamon apples. If he didn’t move soon, he’d need a tent, not a napkin, to hide his arousal. “What should we do next?” he said.

  If she says go to a meeting, I’ll have to think of something really depressing for an hour.

  She smiled up at him. “Let’s go to my place.” She smiled. “Hope you’re not allergic to cats or dogs.”

  He laughed, a full belly laugh. “Got a grey stray cat named Never. He never behaves.”