by Molly Molloy
She chewed delicately, swirling the flavor across her taste buds looking slightly embarrassed at two sets of eyes gouging into her. On the knife edge waiting for her response.
“Hmm,” she teased, enjoying her power. “Absolutely delicious.”
“Open wide.”
He pressed her to take another forkful, then another, while she laughed each time he told her to open up and let him inside. The blood pushed against the fascia of my skin until I felt I might erupt at the table, but I managed to remain calm. This too shall pass.
“God it's amazing, so tender. Is it liver?” she asked, glowing with the enthralling taste sensation.
“Lips,” he said.
“Lips?” she repeated, her nose pinching in an adorable twist. “Whose?”
“Lips of a lamb.”
“Oh. I didn't know you could eat lamb's lips. They're so sweet.”
She looked so happy I couldn't stand it.
“Yes. It's almost a shame to have to slaughter them,” he said.
“And the sauce. I love it.”
She had blood red gravy running down her chin.
“Juicy isn't it?”
He reached across and wiped her lower lip with his thumb. Taking his sweet fucking time about it until he made her cheeks color vivid as the liquid.
Once they'd lapped up the entire dish between them, he licked his lips lasciviously while she watched wide-eyed, then looked down at her lap and swallowed hard.
He went to the buffet and refilled her wine glass. A smile curled the furthest corners of his mouth.
Her fingers met his as they wrapped around the stem of the heavy goblet and she raised a toast. My mind filled with a vision of those small but firm and eager fingers grasping the breadth of my rock hard dick as she brought her mouth slowly down on the head. The mouth that just had that vile dish filling it.
“Cheers.” I raised my glass but said nothing and avoided meeting her eye.
Riley
Josh is on edge all weekend. He can't sit still at home and insists we go out. The three of us dress up and I have to say it's the most fun I've had – ever. Being the girl in a designer dress and shoes with the two most handsome men in the entire Veneto is exciting.
We drink Bellinis at Harry's and other bars around Dorsoduro. They're both so divinely and impossibly gorgeous I can't stop looking at them. And strangely they're the same with me. Sitting at the round table, it's hard to believe I have two rugged handsome studs fixed completely on me. Not looking over my shoulder for someone better, just gorging themselves, their eyes that is, on me.
I wake late again, sleeping right though my phone alarm. Every night I fall into the deepest sleep filled with the same dream. Although truthfully, I never see the face of my lover. I'm too subsumed in the overwhelm of pleasure, so realistic my thighs are soaked in the morning.
Shocked at my sensual indolence, I hurry out to find the guys and see what the plan is. It's such a trip being secured between two searing hot guys and walking through Venice, drinking up the surreptitious glances of the women of all ages we pass.
I trail through the piano nobile, looking in every room, which takes forever. My boys aren't anywhere. The kitchen rooms are unusually empty so I continue down the stone steps to the portigo level – the ground floor of the palazzo where Mark pulls the speedboat inside.
It ought to be called the water floor as there is no 'ground' on the ground floor in Venice. A rip of displeasure that they've gone out without me pushes me into trying all the doors along the passage, dank with ages old mold.
This is the level housing the old storehouses from the time Venetian aristocracy made their fortunes trading with the East. Maybe Mark spends his time down here at whatever work he does. Something he keeps cloaked in total mystery because he's rarely in his office on the piano nobile and I can never find him anywhere else in the palazzo.
His enigmatic behavior makes him even more alluring. Every day is carnival with Mark. I find it quaint the way he keeps his mask over his real identity. Same as the way he and Josh have a habit of describing themselves in third person, as though they're joined.
The first few doors I pull open are old store rooms, cold and slimy stone with centuries of dust and the next few are locked. Definitely locked no matter how vigorously I rattle their locks. The next I pull open and stand staring into for an age. The frown across my brow intensifies as incomprehension rattles through me. Questions, excuses, imagination.
The windowless room is a wall of closed circuit camera screens. Every room in the palace has been bugged with hidden filming devices. Including my bedroom and the bath I spend long hours touching my rediscovered new body in.
As I scroll across the shadowy gray images on the screens, my eyes alight on an image of a room more like a cell. Bare except for a stark bed in the middle with shackles attached to the underside at all four corners.
I shiver all through, part insane fear, part greedy hunger. Some bizarre responses are coming out of my body these days and I feel like I have no control. My skin starts to crawl, a chill moving up my arms and spine and I whip around at the sensation of someone behind me.
Only the open door.
I thought it was closed.
Oh crap, I'm imagining ghosts and ghouls in the basement now. Maybe I should get out of here and ask the boys about their dungeon later. Except I'm too curious. My eyes stretch to bring the grimy gray image into focus. And I see the cell is not completely bare.
On the back wall is a huge cross, which I guess is not surprising in a city with an ancient church on every corner. Although why would they do their worshiping in the basement when there's a whole private chapel room, all gold gilt and painted dome ceiling, on the piano nobile?
The side walls are lined with closets but it's hard to tell what they contain. The door of one is open, revealing neat rows of – instruments. I recognize the whips and the lashes with many tails, although I don't recall the particular term for them. But there are many tools, toys, I can hardly imagine the use for. Whatever it is, there's no way it can be pleasant.
They're like items from a medieval torturer's chamber, or used by the inquisition back in those dark times. I know my history. Hundreds of thousands of women were tortured and put to death by the men who accused them of witchcraft.
My heart expands too large in my chest, forcing the air out as fear presses down. A cold shiver runs the length of my spine. I don't dare turn around again. Someone is there. I'm absolutely sure of it this time. And I don't want to face it.
Him.
There are no ghosts.
A finger trails down the back of my neck making my heart thound harder. My breath is dragging in bullet sharp points to my chest. The warmth of a solid chest brushes into the length of my back and I slowly turn my head.
As I come around to face him, his hand cups around the back of my head to pull my face to his and press his mouth over me. Before I've put it together in my mind still dazzled with terror, his tongue has entered me and is swirling around mine. Exploring me deeply.
He clasps my head in his firm palm, holding me immovable as his mouth claims me. He doesn't just kiss, he consumes. Totally.
I am overwhelmed, breathless, taken and totally in his possession as he bites and sucks on my mouth. My breasts are crushed against his rigid rippling muscles and spasms of desire flood down from my racing heart into my thighs.
If I don't break away from this right now I'll be lost. Even broken.
But I can't help but respond to his powerful devouring of my mouth and my pussy tugs with need. I arch my back so he can take more of me and he grips me tighter into him. He's a demon with his tongue, exploring every corner of my compliant mouth. Thrusting into me.
I feel as devoured as if he'd ripped off my panties and probed my other lips with his maniac tongue. I want him devouring my inner chasm, pulling it apart. Ohmigod. His other hand slides down my curved back to cup a handful of flesh. My eyes pop as he squeezes my as
s cheek lustily and presses his wondrous hard cock against the side of my hip.
His fingers curl around the flesh of my ass where it meets my thigh and opens into my crevasse. They pull gently, so I am compelled to lift my leg and wrap it around his thigh, allowing him access. His heaving bulge presses into my open spread and I feel the burning heat of him through layers of fabric.
I push back but his hold on me is too intense. He kisses me more urgently, taking my mouth with his firm tongue. Why is my body responding with such eagerness? He's hot and more stunning in every way than any man I've ever been within ten feet of. But somehow this isn't right.
If I don't stop this now-
I push him away harder which encourages him to pull back more violently. His mouth is filling me so I can't breathe, crushing my airways but part of me wants it. My body is twisted awkwardly so I can't gather enough force to get him off me.
His cock grinds into my swollen pussy and sends twanging pulses through me in response. I shudder and shudder again.
Oh shit, this is not right. His hand releases its grip on my ass to curve around my hip. Is he going to plunder between my thighs? Without thinking I move my raised leg slightly, just enough to open my legs a little more. My ravenous pussy twitches eagerly for his fingers.
No. What am I doing. I have to stop this.
Except it feels so amazing. His mouth is hot and soft and firm all at once. His body pressing into the full length of mine so we're touching at every point is making me delirious with need.
But.
His hand slips across my hip and up over my stomach to cup the underside of my full breast that he squeezes aggressively. My nipple, in a rage of hunger, reaches out toward his avid fingers. I am delirious with the need to feel his heavy hand crush and mangle my needy flesh. But no.
I'm going to be decimated by this.
“Please, stop,” I gather a massive effort to shove him off without too much insult. I rouse myself from the delirium and am horrified when I open my eyes.
“Josh, we can't-” My knees bend and I feel like I might faint. It's Josh. I cannot believe I was almost fucking Mark's son, a man years younger than me. But so fucking hot, I'd willingly burn to have him inside me just once. To be perfectly filled and possessed by him.
His solid mass blocks the path to the door and his eyes gouge mine, searching for answers. All the air has sucked from the room. Josh is too close to me still. Now I see his white shirt is undone, as though tossed on in haste and his abs are carved like a Thai chef's fruit tree.
They ripple in sliced chunks all the way down into his low slung pants. He's inked across his chest and around the tops of his shoulders with a black as night tribal abstract. My eyes are glued like a bee to honey, just staring at the way the voodoo imagery dances, thrusting along his flexing biceps.
“Do you like our playroom?” he asks, turning away from me to gaze at the screen. I open my mouth but no words will come out.
He turns back to me and crushes me to him with one tug of his iron force. I'm so wet my underwear is bunching damp between my thighs.
“I want you naked,” he growls as he mounds my breast in his fist, tugging the ravaged nipple through the fabric. His massive rod is pressed like iron into my pelvis. I'm mindless with the right and wrong of it. How much I want him to rip my clothes to shreds and force his way into my deepest inner cavern.
“Do you want to be naked for me, Rye?” He tears open the top of my silk shirt and pulls my globe of flesh from the lace cup.
“You do. I can tell.”
He rolls the engorged pellet in his brutal fingertips as he asks me again.
“Beg me, Rye. Beg me to fuck you right now.”
With beyond possible effort, I push past him and blunder from the tight airless room.
Chapter EIGHT
At dinner, Josh says nothing about our interlude and I'm sure he hasn't mentioned it to his father. It doesn't alleviate the guilt I feel at what we did. I don't know why it felt wrong, as though I was betraying Mark, which is completely ridiculous. Perhaps it's how much I wanted Josh to continue, to make my decision for me so I could not resist.
He knew. He said he could tell and he was right. I wanted him beyond all conscious thought. Just to tear my underwear to one side, rip his zipper down and shove his huge throbbing dick all the way into me. I'm boiling even now with the imagined memory.
Perhaps it's that good girls don't covet two men at once. Especially not when they're from the same family. I look back and forth between the two gorgeous hunks and can barely believe my good fortune. I feel like a movie star. People in the restaurant are looking at the three of us like we must be somebodies.
This is getting crazy, though. It's simply not possible that both these men find me attractive when they could have anyone. My mind is a fog and it doesn't help that I'm spending so much time in bed, sleeping like a princess out of a fairy tale. It's becoming impossible to make a decision, or take action.
I'm mindless with the hedonism of the situation. The crazy part is me being lost in overwhelming attraction to both men – me who can barely let one man get close. Maybe it's time for me to leave because two men can only mean one thing - twice the pain.
“I get so repressed in that pallaz, all that old furniture and ghosts of centuries past,” Josh barks, unaware of the women all around staring at him.
I steal a glance at his father, debonair in a tight cut dark suit. His biceps visibly curling against the wool. A wide bow tie hanging trendily loose around his neck.
He's unfazed by Josh's rudeness and meets my gaze with a small smile. Through the rest of the meal I find my eyes irresistibly drawn back to Mark and every time discover he's watching me. The smile he gives me is small, like our secret.
Josh also has a secret and passes the meal with long meaningful gazes at me when he drops snippets into the conversation and mentions hunger and kisses. After dinner Josh wants to party.
“You know I don't club anymore,” Mark says. “I'll see you tomorrow, when you roll out of bed.”
“What about you Rye?” Josh grounds his gaze into me, willing me to go with him.
“Riley's coming with me,” Mark states.
There follows a war of eyes that must be about the power battle between them more than the desire for my company. Except they both insist they want me with them and it makes me feel more desirable than I could possibly imagine.
“Okay, Mom,” Josh teases when I say I'm tired and going home with his father. Does he forget how he tried to fuck this momma just a while ago?
“He's like that every weekend,” Mark tells me as we walk the empty paved fondamenta back to the Palace. “Needs to go out and set loose a bunch of tension.”
“We were all that way at twenty.”
“You’re still in your twenties. Would you prefer to go clubbing?” he asks, searching my face for the truth as we reach the top of the step bridge beneath the old streetlamp.
“No.” I reply and I mean it. “I'd rather be- with you.”
In that instant I'm surrounded by his powerful arms scooping me into his broad shield of chest. I tip my face up and receive his lips as they connect to mine with an electric force. My mouth opens to take more of him, his tongue ravages deep into me, entwining and twirling expertly around mine.
I'm completely lost inside his kiss. Beneath distant sounds of lapping water and the clink of the gondolas moored against each other under the bridge.
I tip my head further back so my breasts mash against his chest. The pressure between us sending tingles all the way back down through me. The streets are so empty he could take me right here, with the black water sparking when a ripple meets a streetlight.
He pulls away and our eyes lock, searching. Is there hope buried in there? But he can't hold back and his mouth comes down over mine again for a deeper exploration of our connection.
We stand on top of the bridge in the soft pool of golden light, reaching into the other. Making our desi
re crystal clear as the length of our bodies press tight together. I feel his bulge growing against my lower stomach and the gathering damp between my thighs. It's been too long since I felt this extreme of intense need. Or not long enough.
Eventually, our mouths let go. He presses his lips to mine one last time. One more. And another. Then he takes my hand and leads me down the steps but instead of continuing along the cobbled street, he turns to the quay and whistles.
“I'm not waiting one more fucking night,” he growls as the sleek black boat slithers through the water toward us like an adder.
“Isn't this a funeral gondola?” I hold back from clambering down the slippery wet stone into the gondolier.
Mark has his hand extended from inside the boat, offering to steady me but I remain dumbly standing on the quayside. It's not a normal gondola. The tar black box cabin mounted in the center reminds me of a coffin.
“No, it's called a felze. All the high society people used to use them for their illicit assignations,” he replies, extending his large hand with an undeniable command.
“Get in,” he orders. “I told you, I don't intend to wait any longer.”
I make the semi-leap down into the boat and grab his powerful grasp just in time. The boat sways on the high water as Mark pulls me close into him. I'm crushed into his chest and the memory of that other night with the man who pulled me back from tumbling into the icy water looms vivid.
I shiver with the image of falling into the icy dark water as Mark pushes me toward the box. Every nerve is screeching against being locked inside the black carved casket and Mark has to tug me down through the low door.
I distinguish myself with an ungainly tumble through the low doors of the sinister cabin. The warmth hits me first. The small heater in the corner makes a significant dent in the Siberian chill.
“You can look now,” Mark says and I realize my eyes are screwed up tight like I'm watching a horror movie when the killer appears out of the shadows. The thought of four black walls closing me in is making me quiver all over despite the cozy heat.
