Something Special: The Three Graces Book Six Read online

  SOMETHING SPECIAL

  (The Three Graces Book Six)

  by

  Nia Farrell

  SOMETHING SPECIAL © 2016 Nia Farrell

  Edited by Anita Quick and Anne Bright

  Cover Design by Crystal Visions

  Stock Photography from bigstockphoto.com

  Length 21,578 words/105 5x8 pages

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used without the written consent of the author, except for brief quotes in reviews. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. Such action is in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.

  Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  First Edition May 5, 2016

  ASIN: B01F6FOQ0S

  Long Branch Books

  Shattuc Illinois

  Look for these titles by Nia Farrell:

  THE THREE GRACES SERIES e-books:

  SOMETHING ELSE (The Three Graces Book One)

  SOMETHING DIFFERENT (The Three Graces Book Two)

  SOMETHING MORE (The Three Graces Book Three), nominated for Best BDSM Book of the Year, Ménage Category, 2016 Golden Flogger Awards

  THE THREE GRACES TRILOGY paperback

  Contains SOMETHING ELSE, SOMETHING DIFFERENT, AND SOMETHING MORE

  DARK MOONS RISING e-book and paperback

  Disclaimers

  This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  BACKGROUND

  Something Special is the continuation of Something Else (The Three Graces Book One) by Nia Farrell, released August 25, 2015, by Dark Hollows Press. In Something Else, psychic medium Grace Murphy has been saving herself for the men of her dreams: Nicolas White, a bisexual American Indian musician, and J. T. Santiago, a Latino veteran with PTSD. Something Special begins six weeks after Grace and Nico meet J.T.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Author Biography

  Previous releases

  Upcoming releases

  Acknowledgments

  The journey here has been a long and winding road. I have been blessed to meet so many people along the way who have shared their talents, expertise, and encouragement, for which I am forever grateful.

  Thank you…to my husband, who told me that I could write a book and set the wheels in motion. To our children, who share my love of reading, genre differences aside. To Author T. S. McKinney, for encouraging me to submit to her publisher Dark Hollows Press, who subsequently acquired the first Three Graces books. To Johnna N. Seibert PA, Carmen Alicea PA, Pam Ackerson, Christina Mandara, Kathleen Banks, and the Tall, Dom & Dirty Facebook group for their support and promotional efforts on my behalf.

  To my author friends from my MoRWA days with whom I’ve stayed in touch: Anna Schueler, Virginia Elizabeth Hayes, Rhonda Grasle, Elle Nyman, Allison Harris, Karen Hudgins, and Kathleen Sage.

  To my very large circle of psychic friends. You know who you are! The paranormal and metaphysical aspects in Something Else and Something Special might be written as fiction but they are based on personal experience, mine and others’. To my friends from past lives who’ve reconnected, thank you for sharing my path once more.

  A huge thanks to the readers who enjoyed my books and took the time to rate and review them. If you want to support an author, please read, rate, review, and recommend!

  ~ Nia

  SOMETHING SPECIAL

  Introduction

  Grace Murphy, Anna James, and Rachel Givens aka Rae Simmons live in the fictional town of Posey, Minnesota. They call themselves the Three Graces, because their first names mean just that.

  Grace Murphy is the local psychic medium who saved herself for her soulmates, bisexual American Indian musician Nico White and Latino veteran J.T. Santiago. Grace is submissive, Nico is a switch, and J.T. is the dominant in their MMF BDSM ménage.

  Before they met, J.T. had never been with a man. He’d never been serious enough about a woman to consider marriage. But Grace and Nico came as a package deal, and he’s fallen in love with them both. When morning sickness hits the house, both men bend their knees and plans are made for a very special honeymoon. They’re giving Grace the capture fantasy of her dreams at Replay, a BDSM theme resort where patrons come to play in the past….

  Chapter One

  I hear Grace retching through the closed bathroom door and rap a knuckle in warning. “I’m coming in,” I growl, as sick of this shit as Nico, who’s gone on an emergency run for more crackers and clear soda. We both agree, she needs to see a fucking doctor.

  Our woman is on her knees by the commode, one hand fisting the length of her ginger hair, the other desperately clutching to the seat while she dry heaves over the edge. Damn it, I hate to see her like this. She’s had stomach issues off and on for the past three days. She’s already lost weight and she’s too fucking pale. The girl needs meat, not saltines and ginger ale, which is about all she’s able to keep down these days.

  She spits into the bowl and starts to push herself up. I grab her arms and help her stand. I may tower more than a foot over her five feet two inches, but I feel helpless as fuck. Surely there’s something they can do. People die of food poisoning, influenza, and God knows what else that she may or may not have. My brother Esteban was a medic in the service. He says we should find out what the hell’s going on before Grace gets dehydrated and ends up in the hospital, hooked up to an IV.

  “Chica,” I croon in her ear when I feel her tensing up, like she’s just waiting for me to scold her. Of course, she is. She’s goddamn psychic. It’s nothing for her to slip inside my head and listen to my thoughts, although I’ve found ways to work that to my advantage. I like rough sex in the bedroom and the playroom. Most of the time Grace knows exactly what I want without even being asked. She’ll take as much as I can give her and when she senses I need more, she lets Nico handle the rest. The past couple of days, it’s been the two of us rather than three.

  “Sorry,” she croaks, her throat raw from vomiting. There are dark circles under her brilliant green eyes, and her faint freckles stand out more than normal from that pale Irish skin of hers.

  “Hey, this isn’t about that,” I tell her, holding onto her with one hand and flipping a tap with the other. Wetting a washcloth, I chuck a finger beneath her chin and lift her face for cleaning. “It’s about you not getting any better. If anything, you’re worse. I don’t care what you say, we’re taking you to the doctor tomorrow. No more excuses.”

  Done, I drape the washcloth on the edge of the
sink and run a glass of tap water. “Rinse,” I order, making sure she swishes at least twice. Stomach acids are hard on teeth enamel.

  “Good girl.”

  Those two words are ones she’s learned to crave. She gives me that look, the one that says she’s willing to please. Willing to play. But I’m her Dominant. Her needs come before mine. Get her clean. Make her comfortable. Find her something she can hopefully keep down. Maybe later she’ll feel well enough, Nico and I can rock her to sleep.

  “Yes, Master.”

  Swear to God, her voice just dropped an octave. The low note hits below the belt and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, not with Grace, anyhow.

  “There is,” she says, eavesdropping again. “You can mark me.”

  I must admit, there are times when I love being wrong.

  “You sure?” Looking into those green glass eyes of hers, I see love shining in their depths. Her mouth curves upward, soft and sweet perfection.

  “Yes, Master. I’m sure. Fuck, I’ve got to change clothes anyway, otherwise I’m going to make the whole house smell skanky.”

  Grace looks like a soap princess and swears like a sailor. We’ve known each other six weeks, and she still manages to shock me.

  “Potty mouth.” I temper my scold with a grin.

  “Blame Anna. I never swore until I met her.”

  So I’ve heard. Anna is Grace’s best friend and Nico’s songwriting partner. Anna’s been mopey as all shit since the Thomason twins left to finish their Caged tour. The four of them – Anna, Nico, Jackson, and Jacob – are working on an album. Tonight was their weekly Wednesday music writing night. Nico says that Anna was in tears by the time the guys got done Skyping with her in the playroom. She told Nico that she’ll be turning in her notice at work tomorrow. Two more weeks, and she’s out of here – at least until Jackson and Jacob are done touring.

  We had a bet how long it would be before she hit the road and joined them. I’m so looking forward to that blow job. Nico’s mouth, and that deep throat of his. He’s done a great job, helping Grace learn and hone her technique, but when it comes to giving head, I’ll be honest. A man knows how to please another man.

  Grace pauses for the briefest, telling moment, with her hands poised at my leather belt.

  Fuck. I don’t want her to think she sucks.

  Still tuned into me, she hears a double entendre and giggles. “I do suck,” she quips, a sultry smile in that husky voice of hers. “Maybe not as good as Nico, but I don’t think you mind my smaller mouth. I think you like it tight. Like the scrape of my teeth. Like coating my tonsils with spunk. Like painting my tits. Please, J.T.? Make us both feel better and pour your love on these tender boobies of mine.”

  “Ah, chica. I love you, baby girl.”

  Grace gets back to business, unfastening my buckle and pulling until the two ends come apart. Hooking a finger in my waistband, she works the button free, fishes for the zipper pull, and slides it down, metal teeth snicking as she opens my jeans. My half-hard cock bulges the front of my boxers. Rather than pull it through the opening, she grabs the elastic top of my underwear and tugs until it’s below my balls, pushing them up as it presses on my taint. Not exactly a cock ring, but it still feels pretty damn good.

  “Grace,” I murmur, taking over. As much as I love the feel of her touch, she needs rest, which means this needs to be quick and she’s still off her game. I fondle my sac and stroke my length, with a twist and a pull on the end of each upward motion, while I watch Grace watching me. So hot, so pretty, even in her illness. She stares at me, squeezing her sensitive breast with one hand while she slides the other lower and buries it in her crotch. I pick up the pace. She bites back a moan and rubs her clit harder, panting through parted lips. The sight of her pink tongue sneaking a swipe to moisten them is enough to tip me over the edge.

  “Now, chica.” She climaxes almost on command. I grunt as I shoot my load on her chest, spraying ropes of cum across her breasts and hand.

  “Fuck.” I give one more jerk and wipe my fingers and dick on the hem of Grace’s shirt before helping her out of it. I’m careful – or lucky – enough to avoid making too much of a mess. A quick wipe down with the washcloth, and she’s good for the go.

  I kiss her forehead and keep my face to hers, noses touching, holding her still when she tries to wriggle free and keep me from smelling the sourness of her breath. “Sit tight, baby girl. I’ll bring clothes.” Smoothing her hair, I kiss the top of her head and fetch her a full change, her favorite pajama bottoms and the mismatched cotton T-shirt she pairs with them. Thank fuck Grace has her own fashion sense. Whimsical in private, New Age ethereal when she’s reading at psychic fairs, and hot damn she’s ours when Nico and I take her out on the town.

  The master bedroom’s en-suite still smells like puke and sex when Nico makes it back. Stopping by the bed where I sit with Grace, he tests the air but says nothing. Son of a bitch looks every inch the stereotypically stoic American Indian male, from his copper skin and black silk hair to the impassive features schooled on his handsome face. I cock an eyebrow to remind him of the pecking order in the bedroom and playroom. I top Nico. Nico tops Grace. I’m Master. He’s Sir. Grace is our lovely, psychically gifted, and very sick submissive.

  Frowning, Nico hands over the crackers and a room-temp can of clear, carbonated beverage.

  I set down the box and pour the pop in the glass tumbler on the bedside table. “Think you can drink, Grace?”

  “I’ll try,” she promises, taking the glass from my hand and sipping carefully. When a tiny swallow doesn’t send her stomach reeling, she dares to take another. “Sgood,” she says. “Thanks, guys. Sorry to be such a bother.”

  “It’s our job to take care of you,” I remind her, fingering the collar we just placed around her neck. The custom BDSM piece is a modern take on the traditional Claddagh design, a heart, typically crowned, held between two hands. In this case, the heart is a padlock with a keyhole. The engraving on the back names her OURS.

  Like we did with her first green leather play collar, Nico and I both have keys.

  “Nico, I’m going to leave a voice mail at the clinic, see how soon we can get her in tomorrow. I think they normally start taking patients at nine, but we won’t know how they’re booked until someone gets there in the morning.”

  Grace starts to open her mouth. She looks at me and thinks better of it.

  Yep, some days, having my thoughts heard pays in spades.

  Chapter Two

  I swear the clinic is fucking double booked. There’s standing room only in the waiting room, and half the crowd looks as green as Grace. We brought her puke pot, just in case, but the one time she heaved, she managed to make it to the restroom, so it’s still pristine.

  Finally, an hour after we were told to be there, they take Grace back to a room. Fucking HIPPA laws won’t let us go with her. We’re not married, and no one would mistake us for blood relatives, not with her Irish coloring, my caramel Hispanic skin, and Nico’s copper tones. Anyway, if we tried to pull that shit, they’d arrest us for incest. There’s nothing sisterly about the way we look at Grace, and the nurse with the cob up her ass can stop playing morality police and keep her damning looks to herself. Posey might have a population of 1,999, but Grace says there are at least three ménage couples in town, if you count Anna and the Thomason twins. Hell, given its size, Posey might just have the highest per capita ménage population in the country.

  I don’t know who started the trend. Grace does – only because she intuited it – but they aren’t aware that she’s onto them. Our girl can keep a secret, for damn certain.

  Forty-five minutes later, we’re driving Grace to the hospital in Charleston for lab work. The clinic faxed over the order so she could get results sooner than if they’d done the draw there in Posey. It’s more waiting time, getting Grace checked into admitting, taking her down to the lab, sitting in the waiting area while they take her back to stick her. When she’s
done, she’s told to call the doctor’s office in an hour.

  Grace throws up on the way home, but the puke pot saves the day. We get her bundled and tucked into bed, and take turns watching her and the clock. When time comes, she feels so puny, she asks me to make the call and put it on speakerphone so all of us can hear what they’ve found.

  The nurse with the attitude reads the results. “You’re low on iron,” she clicks off, “but everything else is normal. The doctor’s ordering prenatal vitamins and something for your morning sickness. Which pharmacy do you want it faxed to?”

  If possible, Grace just got paler, the last remnants of color leaching from her face.

  None of us speaks. We’re all processing what we’ve just heard.

  “Hello?” The disembodied voice is impatient. Someone doesn’t like having to wait for an answer.

  “Culver’s,” I say crisply, alerting Nurse Ratchett to my presence.

  “Oh. Kay.” She clears her throat. “Um. I guess congratulations are in order.”

  “Yes, they are.” I say this, looking at Grace. My voice matches the look on Nico’s face, as soft and full of meaning as the hand she has pressed to her belly.

  “Well, then.” Just that quickly, the snark comes flying back. “Let us know if you want a DNA test run when it gets here.”

  Goddamn bitch. You can fucking hear her smirk. Steaming, Nico ends the call. Brother looks like he’s ready to slap on paint and hit the warpath. Grace gnaws on her lip, eyes unfocused, clearly in shock. Hell, we all are. She’s been on the pill since she met Nico, six months before me. Not that she needed them yet. Our first night together, she was still a virgin. Not for lack of trying, but Nico made her wait. She’s the psychic, but he’s a shaman; he had his own visions of the three of us together, long before we met.