Paul came over to the bed, handing her a glass of Champagne. Sipping it while Riley tongued her to the verge of climax was the most decadent thing she’d ever done. Her husband had shed his mask, and his face was a perfect study in lust as he watched Riley please her, stroking his cock through his shorts.
‘I want you,’ Rosalie groaned, directing her words at both men. They scrambled to obey her. Though Paul had been largely a passive spectator up to this point, he took charge now, taking a condom from the nightstand and fitting it on his erection.
Riley eased Rosalie up on to all fours, already working out the perfect position for what he had in mind. He guided his long, curved cock to her mouth, urging her to open up and swallow it. She did, relishing the faint salt taste and the way she had to stretch her jaws wide to accommodate the thickness of him.
Pulling him almost all the way out, letting her tongue flicker over the head, she fixed Paul with a look that implored him to enter her. Coming up behind her on the bed, her husband pulled down her panties, and she readied herself for the feel of his cock in her cunt. Instead, to her surprise and delight, he scooped some of her juice from the well of her pussy, smearing it over and inside her arsehole. Judging her to be ready, he entered her with a series of slow, steady thrusts, lodging his condom-covered length deep in her arse.
These were the moments they lived for as swingers: joined together so intimately, yet with room for another to be part of their shared pleasure. Finding a rhythm that suited all three, Paul began a slow, thorough reaming of Rosalie’s arse. He didn’t often fuck her there, but she loved it when he did, and with every thrust driving her head firmly on to Riley’s thick shaft, she was as full of cock as she’d ever been.
Panting, sweating, the three of them moved towards orgasm. Rosalie, already pushed so close by Riley’s clever tongue tricks, was the first to peak, the muscles in her arse contracting tight around her husband’s cock as she did. He couldn’t fight against the gripping pressure, and with a despairing cry, he shot his come into the condom.
That left only Riley. Paul pulled out of Rosalie’s arse, leaving her to concentrate on the task of bringing their new friend to climax. Taking him deeper into her throat, it only took a little sustained suction for her to accomplish that task.
‘Well, thank you, ma’am,’ he murmured, when he could finally speak again. ‘Thank you both. It’s been a real pleasure.’
‘You sound like that’s the end of the fun for tonight,’ Paul said, handing him a glass of Champagne. ‘And it isn’t, is it, Roz?’
Rosalind glanced at the two limp cocks before her. Cocks that would soon recover under her expert ministrations, growing hard and ready for more. And how could she let Riley leave before she’d experienced the thrill of being fucked by him? This could never be anything but a one-night deal, and she wanted to make the most of every moment. ‘Oh, no,’ she replied, ‘not by a long way ...’
They woke late the following morning, sunlight streaming through drapes they’d neglected to pull the night before. Rosalie felt a strong pang of regret that Riley hadn’t been able to stay the night, but he’d told them he had to be at work by nine, and on work days he liked to wake in his own bed. He’d left her with a long, lingering kiss and a promise to hook up again, should they ever find themselves in the same city.
Over breakfast, Paul asked, ‘So, was it everything you’d hoped for?’
Rosalie nodded, thinking back to the feel of Riley’s supple tongue on her clit, as Paul’s cock thrust in and out of her arse. ‘It was amazing. I’m so pleased we did it. So what are our plans for today? More sightseeing?’
‘Better than that. When you were in the shower last night, I rang one of the wedding chapels. We’re booked in for our vow renewal with Elvis at one.’
She couldn’t deny her husband was full of surprises. It was another of the reasons why she loved him so much.
After breakfast, they changed into the outfits they’d brought when they’d planned such a ceremony; a sober black suit for Paul and a simple cream shift dress for Rosalie, with a feathered fascinator to fix in her dark red tresses.
The couple before them were finishing their marriage ceremony as they arrived, emerging from the low white wooden chapel in a flurry of confetti thrown by friends and family. Waiting their own turn, Rosalie felt the same rush of nerves she’d experienced ten years before, arriving at the register office in North London where she and Paul had married.
While Paul dealt discreetly with the financial arrangements, Rosalie was handed a bouquet of white roses. The doors to the chapel swung open. She took a deep breath, and together, she and Paul walked down the aisle. The Elvis impersonator who was to perform the ceremony, resplendent in a tight white jumpsuit, hair styled into an immaculate quiff, crooned Can’t Help Falling In Love. Tacky but perfect, just as they’d hoped.
As they paused before the altar and Elvis opened his mouth to speak, Rosalie realised there was something very familiar about the man she and Paul now stood before. The voice, the pouting mouth, the beautiful brown eyes ... When Riley said he’d be working today, she’d never thought to ask where. Now she knew.
Nothing was said, but a look passed between the three of them, silent acknowledgement of this bizarre coincidence. Then Rosalie stepped forward, to reaffirm her love for her husband in front of the two witnesses the chapel had provided for them.
Only in Vegas could you find yourself renewing your marriage vows in a ceremony officiated by the man who’d shared a delicious threesome with you the night before, thought Rosalie, solemnly promising to love Paul tender, now and for the rest of her life. Only in Vegas.
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French Kissing Page 6
