“Connected. We’re connected, the three of us, and far beyond anything I’d expected going into this.”
Two handsome, chiseled men. One beautiful, curious woman. Years of wicked fantasies. One vacation that promises everything…if their relationships can withstand it. Now in a three-book box set.
Shared – James, Millie, and Luke
For years, Millie has known it’s wrong to want her boyfriend and his best friend—together and separately—and has battled guilt at every turn. What if she doesn’t have to choose?
Competition – Aaron, Cassie, and Kyle
Since their college days, Cassie has spent years reliving a first kiss…with two different men, who were—and still are—best friends with both each other and with her. Will a competition between the two men end with all as three winners?
Corrupted – Bryan, Annette, and Grant
Good girl Annette knows better than to lust after the unattainable. Does she have what it takes to attain her fantasies–in triplicate?
The Beachside Ménage series. Three lengthy novellas, each featuring three points of view and chock-full of dirty dialogue, titillating foreplay, and steamy sex that focuses entirely on the woman with no MM scenes.
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I wanted to write a book that focused on female pleasure–erotica written “through the female gaze,” according to one reviewer–and I didn't just do that. I wrote three! The Beachside Ménage series delves deep into steamy sex that places female pleasure at the center of the story—and hopefully also reader pleasure too.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I aimed to write relatable characters that the reader could imagine as themselves or their friends. As all nine characters in The Beachside Ménage series are friends with one another, I wanted the reader to be able to see aspects of their own friend groups in the dialogue, banter, and relationships between characters.
The first chapter from 'Shared,' the first of the series:
“He’s watching you again.”
The ocean air smells of sand, salt, and the suntan oil that glistens across my boyfriend’s thick shoulders and broad, bronzed chest. In the same breath that I turn my head to face him, he rolls onto his side. A single bead of sweat slips down his neck and rolls downward, arcing over strong pecs and into the dark dusting of hair that sprinkles underneath his collarbone. The urge to lean over and suck that drop between my lips, and to lavish the heavy muscles of his chest with the keen attention of my tongue, swells so strongly that it takes serious effort to merely lick my lips in response.
We’ve been together three years, James and I, but my desire for him hasn’t waned a bit. I’m starting to think it never will.
He reciprocates those thoughts exactly, evident in the soft, pleased sigh that escapes his mouth. His sunglasses obscure his eyes, merely mirroring my own reflection back at me, but I know his gaze lingers on my lips. I can simply feel it, and the knowledge wells a deep heat in my stomach that only grows as he shifts across the fine, white sand to clear the few inches that separate us. “You’ve noticed this time, haven’t you?” he asks, his voice plunged lower still, and he passes a wide hand down the bare column of my spine with fingers light as air. He bends towards me, drops a kiss onto the top of one shoulder, and allows his head to linger near mine. “You can’t deny it anymore, because there’s no way you could have missed the way he stared at you when you came downstairs in this fucking bikini.” His hand comes to rest at the line of my bottoms, placed more on my ass than my back—and my bare ass, at that. The slick, baby blue fabric barely covers anything. “He looked like he could hardly contain himself, and I don’t blame him. You look unreal.”
James has said similar things about other men, and often. His rampant jealousy—a jealousy mixed with a strong inclination of pride—had become something of a running joke among our friends from the moment we’d started dating our senior year of college. During nights out, in the middle of classes, seated in the dining hall—it hadn’t mattered, and it still doesn’t. He’s remained convinced that other men want me in the same way that he does, with the same single-minded determination and deep conviction and obsession that has kept typically us more in bed than out of it.
And yet he’s never sounded as pleased about it as he does when it comes to his best friend, Luke, who lays sprawled out across a beach chair several feet away. Just as I can feel James’ eyes on me, his chin tipped to watch the progress of his hand across my skin, I swear I can feel Luke’s too, even as he laughs loudly with our other friends.
My insides quickly set aflame, burning with a combination of desire and shame that I’ve felt for years when around James and Luke together. “We’re in public,” I remind James as his fingers slip lower, gliding along the almost-indecent cut of my bikini bottoms. Despite my words, his fingertips burn a pattern into my eager flesh. “And you picked out this suit, so don’t—”
He cuts me off neatly. “You didn’t seem to care that we were in public last night when you sucked my cock on the balcony,” he says against my ear, and my stomach twists. Instantly, I’m hurtled back twelve hours in the past, lunging face-first into the memory of his panting encouragement and his hands messy in my hair and his thick cock deep in the back of my throat. Desire floods my mouth and bikini bottoms at the same time, summoned by the mere thought of his salty taste and his sheer desperation that had sent his voice into tatters from the moment I’d reached for the buckle of his belt. “And with everyone just below us on the deck,” he adds, his tone mockingly judgmental. He slides one powerful leg across both of mine, and the fine, dark hairs that line his leg tickle my smooth calves. His hips press into my side, and I feel him growing there, stiffening as he surely recalls all the same thoughts. “How naughty of you, Millie. Tell me—” His index finger drags along the curve where my ass meets my thigh, and my back arches outside my control, desperate to press into his hand. He groans quietly, a hoarse sound trapped somewhere in the base of his throat, and he presses a kiss underneath my jaw. “Were you thinking about Luke down there with everyone else? Did you imagine him finding us, or him hearing me sing your praises as you fucking sucked my soul out of my cock? Did you—”
“James!” His name slips from between my teeth, a hiss that could be taken as pleasure or rebuke. He certainly takes it as the prior, evident in a second low, throaty sound pressed into my neck as he palms my ass. “You—”
He shifts again with a subtle thrust of his hips that seems instinctual. “I told him about it this morning,” he says. The wicked words brand my skin, burning with the same intensity as his tongue when he locates a familiar spot on my neck and gives a brief, taunting swipe that makes the muscles of my pussy jump. “Before breakfast, I told him about how you sucked on my balls until I begged you to put me out my misery, and then how you finally took me so deep in your throat that your eyes watered. I told him how you told me to fuck your pretty little mouth, and how you spread your perfect legs for me and had three fingers in your pussy before I could even tell you to do it. I told him how you pleaded with me to blow my load in your mouth, how greedy you were to swallow every drop, but how there’s nothing like coming deep inside you, so I bent you over the balcony railing and took you that way. I told him that he probably would have seen you if he’d looked up, and he could have watched your tits bounce and seen you put your hand over your mouth as you tried to keep yourself from screaming my name when you came. And I told him how when I came, I—Jesus, babe, you had me squeezed so fucking tight that I could have passed out right there. Just thinking about it—fuck—”
He has me breathless by then, with all thoughts of propriety swiftly set aside as I tangle my hand in the dark, messy hair that gathers at the nape of his neck. Without hesitation, his mouth finds mine, and a familiar dance ensues of tongues slowly stroking and lips softly sliding and teeth gently grazing before he tilts my body, drawing me off my stomach and more towards my side so he can slide a sun-soaked, finely-built leg between both of mine.
Ocean breeze blows past one peaked nipple, reminding me of something I’d forgotten the second he’d first put his hands on me: I had untied the back of my top.
“For fuck’s sake—”
Only Luke’s voice could pull me back to reality in that moment, although it doesn’t exactly quell my desire.
Something soft hits my back as I hurriedly extract my legs from James’ and press my chest back to my towel. Luke has thrown something, presumably, and I turn my head to find that he’s launched his shirt in protest. Like James, he wears a pair of dark sunglasses that hide the exact path of his gaze, but he has his eyes somewhere on my body—at James’ hand on my ass? At the exposed side of my breast? At the bare length of my back?
It doesn’t matter. Just his attention on me, paired with the tight hold of his jaw, is enough to send my legs squeezing together for some hint of relief.
James feels it. In turn, his thumb once again grazes along the line of my swimsuit that curves over one cheek.
“Perverts, the pair of you,” Luke says—or declares, rather, as he leans forward in his chair. In contrast to James, whose mere shoulders could block many a doorway and whose dark hair and eyes match the night sky, Luke is longer, leaner, more wiry but still powerful. He’s all gold, from tousled hair to tanned skin to eyes the color of hot honey. The veins in his arms bulge as he swings his feet onto the sand and then presses his elbows onto his knees. “I don’t know why we brought you with us on this trip. You’d think after all these years that you’d lay off each other once in a while, but—”
I hear James’ smile from behind me as he speaks. “Don’t judge, bro. You wouldn’t lay off her either.”
Our other friends—Kyle, Aaron, Grant, and Bryan, and my best friends Cassie and Annette—all sit in various spots and poses behind Luke. Everyone else looks locked in some deep conversation, but Cassie’s neck lifts from its lounging position. Subtly, she plucks one of her earbuds from her ear.
Luke doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t know anyone who would,” he says shortly, and he stands. “I need to cool off.”
He rises to his feet and jogs towards the sparkling blue waters that lap onto the shore. He cuts a striking figure that turns more than one interested head as he passes several clusters of women our age, as well as some younger and far older still.
I can see why. Even if he didn’t glint under the sun like some bronzed god carved of blocks of sinewy muscle, he’d still hang heavily underneath his swimming trunks. I have just enough time to see him adjust himself unselfconsciously, one hand gripping the thick line of his cock that presses up through the navy material, before he disappears from view.
James gives my ass another squeeze, and it draws my attention back to the chiseled lines of his face. In contrast, his consideration remains locked on Luke’s retreating back. “I know you saw that,” he says, the words once again nearly whispered. “He’s been hard since you untied your top.”
My breath comes in sharply. “I hadn’t noticed.”
But he had, and he sounds…what?
He’s certainly the latter, his cock still hard against my hip, and it twitches as he touches my face with his free hand, the one attached to the arm he leans on with a casualness I know he doesn’t feel. He skates his thumb across my parted lips, and I know what he wants. I draw it into my mouth instinctually, roll my tongue across the callused tip, and taste the salt and sand that clings to his skin. He swears faintly, a low, muted, “Fuck,” that sends a fresh wave of arousal through my bloodstream. “You want him,” he says, his thumb pressing further to sink into my mouth. “Admit it.”
I freeze, my tongue twisted around his short nail and my breath swollen in my throat.
It’s not the first time he’s voiced something similar in the years that we’ve dated—some mention of Luke’s eyes on me; or a teasing remark on the obvious chemistry that crackles between us; or even a declaration that Luke certainly wants me, even if I hardly believe it. He even brings it up sometimes when we fuck, in what sounds like a fantasy that has somehow grown further and further into a potential reality without me even realizing it. Yet he’s never twisted things the other way around, claiming that I want Luke, and certainly never with such staunch belief leaking from his every pore. He sounds like he simply knows I want him, knows it as deeply as arousal swirls in my insides and stains my cheeks, and guilt swiftly follows. Wanting Luke usually ends up feeling that way.
He must see some note of that in my face, because his jaw softens suddenly, and his mouth curls upwards into a smile I can only qualify as tender. “It’s okay,” he says, and he brushes a kiss over the bridge of my nose, a familiar caress of his lips that often wakes me in the morning. “It’s okay,” he repeats, kissing higher to press his lips between my brows. His thumb slips from my mouth, and his hand rises to wind into the thick curls that have escaped across the back of my neck. “If it were anyone else, I’d hate it. I’d hate it. But—” He offers me a gentle caress that slides easily across the heat gathered at the base of my neck. “I don’t mind with Luke. He’s—you know, he’s basically my brother. And—”
He’s so close that I can smell the faint mint of his chapstick, chapstick he’s stolen directly from my lips. “Say it,” I breathe when he falters, and his teeth gleam brilliantly in the grin that steals across his face.
"How wet are you right now?”
Embarrassment and guilt have both fled, chased away by pure need. “Drenched,” I tell him, and his grin flickers as he swallows. I know the look that must cloud his eyes, but I tug his sunglasses from his face to check for certain. Sure enough, lust clouds eyes dark as coal, and his gaze flickers back and forth between each of my eyes, searching, hunting, hungry. “I’m dripping. Take me home and find out.”
His tongue darts out across his lips to drag slowly. “Later,” he promises darkly. “Later. Right now, I need to go make fun of Luke.” He reaches down in between us, his own adjustment much more discreet than Luke’s as he presses his erection flat against his stomach and tucks it into the waistband of his trunks. “But, just for the record—”
He kisses me again, another slow, careful meeting of mouths that makes a promise with his tongue that I can nearly hear, although he says no words. His body feels like one solid slab of marble pressed into mine, with his muscles pulled so tight that it will almost certainly take hours of effort to unspool the tension that ropes across his shoulders and down his arms and through his hips and into his legs. I want nothing more than to take those hours, to use my hands and tongue and pussy to drag every last bit of rigidity from his body and every last sound from his lips.
Somehow, he knows—perhaps because he always knows, because he knows me, knows me in the depths of my soul and down to my shaking core like no other man ever has. “Later,” he says a third time, an assurance against my lips, and he says it more promisingly still. “But, for the record…I wouldn’t mind it. With Luke.”
He has me so distracted by his hand drifting to my hip that the words hardly register. When they finally do, they crash through the hazy longing in my brain like a hammer smashing through a wall. “Mind what?”
He shrugs a single shoulder, and his other hand slides up to bury fully in my hair. “You know.” He licks his lips again. “You and him. You know I’ve thought about it before. It’s hard not to when he’s constantly staring at your tits or your ass. He has been for years, since before we even started dating, and…I’ve wondered what it would be like to share your body with someone who would appreciate you. Worship you. Like I do.”
As if his words don’t give enough away—or the way he says them, all thick desire that reads in the depths of his eyes and the hold of his jaw—his cock does. Tucked securely into his waistband or not, it throbs against my hip, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and touch him.
God, I love him. I love him so much that it hurts.
“James—” I say a second time, my throat tight and my voice constrained, and it doesn’t matter that dozens of other people surge around us on the beach, filling the air with shouts and laughter and shrieks as waves crash repeatedly under it all. Suddenly, we’re the only two people there, and we’re teetering on the edge of something intense and irrevocable and—
Something I want badly. Very badly.
“I want you,” I tell him, the words rushed together, and his hand contracts on my hip. “God, I want you. Take me home. Take me home and give me your mouth for five minutes. I don’t even know if it’ll take me that long, because I’m—fuck, baby, I’m aching for you. Make me come and then you can have me however you want me. Use me. I want—”
Victory washes over him, flooding his handsome features and dripping down the tightly-coiled springs of his body. “Later,” he says again, a fourth time, and I’ve suddenly never hated a word more. He sits up and then leans over me, his strong arms on either side of my body as his chest presses into my back and rubs tantalizingly, skin brushing and creating sparks just like when he takes me slowly from behind. He drops a kiss to my temple and pauses for a moment with his nose buried in my hair. “I’m going to lick you clean later,” he says throatily, and I whimper as my fingers grip his wrist. “And he’s going to watch.”
Maisie Beasley writes contemporary romantic erotica that focuses upon mutual consent and shared pleasure—erotica written “through the female gaze,” according to one reviewer. Whether that means two lovers—or three or more—may depend upon the story, but Maisie promises to deliver dirty dialogue and steamy scenes to keep you titillated until the final page.
Links to Purchase eBooks
Link To Buy Beachside Ménage: The Complete Collection: three mfm romantic erotic novellas On Amazon
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