Three to Come

by Annice Dare

  “My God, Cilla, do you know what you’re doing to us? I’m hard as a rock!” He drew my hand toward him and took my middle finger between his lips. His tongue touched the end, then wrapped around the tip. I barely reacted when Larry took the other hand and started licking the fingers there, not taking them into his mouth as Pete was, but running his tongue the length of each one, wrapping it around each finger. His tongue—that incredibly long, prehensile tongue—stroked and licked and teased, until I wondered if I was going to dissolve into a puddle of desire, right here under the table.

  A gentle suction on the other hand pulled my attention back to Pete. He was working on my forefinger now, and as I watched helplessly, he sucked it farther into his mouth. The hot wetness inside shot a shiver of pure lust up my arm and straight to my lower belly. My thighs clenched together and the walls of my vagina tightened. I felt myself growing damp, as my whole body became hyper-aware of every touch, every sensation.

  I sat, helpless, as they toyed with my fingers. After a while Larry held my beer glass to my lips. I opened my mouth like a baby bird, and drank.

  “Not too much, sweet Cilla,” he said, into my ear. I heard laughter in his voice...and something more. “You don’t want to lose control.”

  Lose control? I was beginning to think I’d lost it long since. I shivered, as Pete bit gently on the tip of my thumb before sucking it into his mouth.

  Larry set my glass down. “Cornbread?” He broke off a chunk and buttered it. “Honey, too, I think,” he said, “not that you’re not already sweet.” He held the bread to my mouth.

  Oh, it was delicious! I chewed, savoring the contrasting flavors, the texture of the crunchy cornbread. Larry leaned close and took a crumb from my lower lip with the tip of his tongue. I shivered at the heat of his breath on my face. I closed my eyes, because if I’d kept looking at him, I might have grabbed him and pulled him to me for a real kiss.

  After an eon or two of mindless pleasure, Pete released my hand. “Let her eat more,” he said, sounding just as amused as Larry had. “She’ll need her strength.”

  “For what?” I challenged. But my heart wasn’t in it. Somehow I’d lost all interest in anything beyond this room, these men.

  The next moment, both of them were back at the ribs, as if they’d nothing more on their minds but filling their bellies. A flare of exasperation surged inside me, but changed to amusement when Pete caught my eye and winked. His pursed lips told me that he was simply taking a break. He wasn’t through with me.

  Neither was Larry, I realized, when his long leg tangled with mine under the table. When I felt the stroke of his wool-clad foot atop mine, I realized that he’d slipped his foot out of his Birkenstock. I tried to concentrate on the rib I held, but the slow, sensuous glide of his foot, up and down my leg, made me forget to chew.

  Once again they cleaned my hands for me. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny little voice told me I was being a reckless fool, but I ignored it without effort. These men wanted me. Two handsome, intelligent, charming, sexy men, and they wanted me. Me! Cilla Trent!

  How could any woman resist that?

  I don’t know how many ribs I ate, or how I managed to consume most of the cornbread. I certainly don’t know how they ate all they did—the mountain of ribs had turned into a heap of gnawed bones—because it had seemed like my fingers were in their mouths most of the time. But eventually Larry picked up the tortilla warmer and offered it to me.

  Inside were several warm, damp washcloths, scented with spices. Cinnamon and cloves, I think. I took one and wiped my face, not caring if it removed what little makeup remained there. Although the cloth seemed warm in my hand, to my face it felt cool and soothing. Without thinking, I patted it down my throat and into the open placket of my shirt, where it should have steamed, so hot did I feel.

  I went to the restroom while Pete called a cab and Larry paid for dinner. As I entered, I saw myself in the mirror. And then I looked again. Good grief, was that me?

  My face was flushed, my lips were swollen as if from a thousand kisses, my eyes were slumberous. Anyone knowing what a cool exterior I usually offered the world would be convinced I’d just come from a night of wild, hot sex.

  I turned away and entered a stall. But the thought wouldn’t go away.

  A night of wild, hot sex. So tempting.

  Chapter Six

  Once again they crowded into the back seat with me. This time, Larry put his arm around me, instead of simply resting it across the seat back. I stiffened, then relaxed when he simply let it lie gently across my shoulders. Pete took my hand. He wove his fingers with mine and pulled our linked hands over to rest high on his thigh.

  “It seems a shame for the evening to end so early,” he said. There was a question in his voice, one I couldn’t possibly misunderstand.

  Decision time. I stole glances to the left, to the right. Pete was looking out the window, apparently not at all concerned with my answer. Larry was leaning back, his eyes closed, equally unconcerned. I chewed my lower lip, wondering what to say. Wondering what I was supposed to say.

  So I said nothing at all. If they wanted to take the next step, they had to be a lot more up front about it than subtle hints in taxicabs.

  Besides, as long as I didn’t commit myself, I was safe.

  The short trip to our hotel was spent in tense silence. In spite of my confusion, I felt comfortable, cherished, with them holding on to me. Pete released my hand when he climbed out. As he stepped forward to pay the driver, Larry came up behind me and wrapped one arm around my waist. “A drink first? Or straight to our rooms?” He was using that warm, syrupy tone again.

  Damn him!

  “I’m tired.” Of disappointed anticipation, of unseized temptation, of unkept promises.

  Of being a fool about two teasing boys. It was time I started acting my age.

  I stepped away, out of his reach. “You two are on your own tomorrow. Just be at the depot by two, Pete. I’ll meet you there.” In my own ears my tone sounded harsh, strident. A deep breath, some conscious control. “Good night.” I stalked inside and headed toward the elevators.

  They were right beside me.

  “She’s pissed,” Pete said.

  “‘Scared?” Larry wondered aloud.

  I spun on my heel, faced them. “I am not angry, and there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Pete crowded me, until I took a step back. Another. Larry was beside him, not giving me room to go around, and after the third step, I was inside the elevator.

  The door whooshed shut. Larry pushed a button. Not to our floor. “My room’s on five.”

  “We’ve got a surprise for you, Cilla. You’ll like it.”

  Pete stepped so close to me that I felt the warmth of his body on my breasts, my thighs. “We thought we were being subtle. Guess we were wrong.” His hand cupped my chin. “Cilla, will you come with us tonight? Will you trust us?” His smile was gentle, sexy, and his soft brown eyes held no more threat than a puppy’s.

  “Trust you? To what?”

  “To take care of you. To lead you on an exciting adventure.” The syrup in Larry’s tone smothered my irritation. The promise in it sent shivers of anticipation down my spine.

  The elevator slid to a silent stop. Over the door, the red indicator lights showed 12. I knew, from having stayed in this hotel before, that the twelfth floor contained the VIP suites, each of several rooms, with amenities not available to us common working stiffs.

  I could have said no. I waited for my conscience to prod me. But no small voice advised caution. In fact, I thought I could hear a little red devil urging me to yield to temptation, because I might never get another chance.

  I looked at Larry, tall and dark and handsome, and always a little crumpled, in his loose wool sweater and rumpled Dockers, his scuffed Birkenstocks. Then at Pete—a little shorter than I stood in my heels, but well-built and cute, with his snub nose and his shock of
unruly hair and his cool, ultra-stylish clothes. Good friends, good companions, honest and decent.

  Even their propositions had been gentlemanly. Well, mostly.

  “One night,” Pete said.

  “Because we can’t let it stop here,” Larry added.

  I looked from one to the other. Tempted. Oh, so tempted. “But never again? Promise me that.”

  Pete nodded. “Some things should be unique.”

  “We’ve come too far to go back, but there’s no ahead to go to.”

  Larry’s words made a crazy kind of sense. I looked at him, then at Pete, searching their eyes for any trace of dishonesty, of threat.

  All I saw was kindness, affection. “All right,” I said.

  As Larry inserted the card key, I realized I wasn’t feeling even the smallest twinge of apprehension. Just that tiny glow of desire that had been smoldering inside of me for weeks.

  The room was huge, with a long sofa facing floor-to-ceiling windows. They looked out on the city, to the river, a dark, faintly gleaming ribbon dividing downtown from the East Side. I smelled a faint tang of chlorine and looked for the source. Before I could find it, Larry went to the low credenza behind the sofa and lifted a bottle halfway out of a silver bucket. “Champagne?”

  The beer I’d drunk with dinner was still buzzing in my head. “Not now.” I walked farther into the room, conscious of Pete following so closely that I could feel the heat of him on my shoulder, my bottom. As I passed the sofa, I saw the source of the chlorine smell. A hot tub, faintly steaming, sat in the middle of a gleaming expanse of tile, off to the side of the room. Beyond it a door led into a bedroom, dimly lit by a soft spotlight shining on an enormous bed occupying a dais in the center of the room. Sheer curtains surrounded it, hanging from a gilded medallion in the ceiling. “Oh, my!”

  “You like it?” Larry came to me and framed my face in his hands. “We wanted this to be a special time for you, Cilla.”

  “Special and exciting,” Pete murmured, as he stepped even closer and pressed himself against me. His erection fit nicely against my bottom. I couldn’t resist leaning into his embrace.

  As I did, Larry kissed me. A gentle, questing kiss at first, barely a touch of his lips against mine. But then he ran the tip of his tongue—that incredible, prehensile tongue—along the seam of my lips and I opened to him.

  He nestled against me, letting me feel his erection, too. Because he’s so much taller, it pressed against my belly, to well above my waist. He still held my face within the cradle of his hands, tilting my head to give him better access to my mouth. I was lost in the sensation of his tongue against the soft tissues inside, the sensuous tracery as he explored my teeth, the roof of my mouth, the insides of my cheeks.

  Pete’s arms were around me—when had that happened?—and when I tried to lift mine to embrace Larry, I found them held against my sides. “Uh-uh, Cilla,” Pete murmured into my ear. “You’re our captive. We can do whatever we want to you, but you can’t touch us, not unless we give you permission.”

  I remembered the feel of soft ropes on my wrists and shivered. Not in fear.

  “It’s warm in here, Cilla. Why don’t you take off your jacket?” Larry released my face and stepped back. His long, facile fingers buttoned my wool jacket.

  Pete let go of me to pull it from my shoulders. As he did, he ran his hands down my arms, squeezing slightly. He tossed the jacket somewhere to the side. I heard fabric rustling and realized he must be removing his own coat too. When his arms encircled me once again, I felt the slither of silk against silk, his shirt against mine. This time his hands didn’t simply clasp at my waist, but slid upward to cup my breasts.

  My breath hissed between suddenly clenched teeth as I looked frantically at Larry, embarrassed for him to see a man’s hands on me like that. But he was smiling. “What color is your bra, Cilla? Is it lacy?”

  “Yeah. I can feel the lace,” Pete said, over my shoulder. His fingers stroked and prodded gently. “Low-cut, but no padding.”

  “No, you don’t need padding, do you, sweetheart? You’ve got beautiful breasts.”

  “They sag,” I blurted. There was no hiding the ravages of time and feeding three babies.

  “They’re lovely.” He unbuttoned my shirt, pushed it aside so that my breasts, in their peach-toned, lacy bra, were revealed. Even in the low light, I could see the dilation of his pupils as he stared.

  Again Pete’s hand cupped, his thumbs lightly scraping across nipples already distended and hypersensitive.

  Larry bent and kissed my neck, just under the angle of my jaw. His teeth nipped gently, then not so gently. I gasped at the tiny pain, but not in protest. It had sent an arrow of hot hunger straight to my vagina. I felt myself clench, and clench again, in small spasms of anticipation as he nibbled his way across a collar bone and downwards. His tongue tickled across the skin just above my bra, and licked inside.

  Pete lifted my breasts, pushing them together, and Larry’s tongue delved into the valley between them. I could feel his breath, hot and humid, through the delicate lace of the cups.

  My knees were weak and I swayed. Pete wrapped his arms around me and held on.

  Larry straightened. “Your turn,” he said, his voice not entirely steady. He stepped back and stripped his sweater off, revealing his broad chest. Skin gleamed in the soft light, bronze and sleek, as he tossed it behind him.

  Before I knew what was happening, he was behind me, holding me tightly against his lanky body, and Pete was kneeling before me, his face pressed against my belly.

  I felt the heat of his breath again. This time it enflamed me. I writhed, wanting my hands loose so I could press him closer...push him away. My panties were damp and the wool of my slacks seemed harsh and painful against skin suddenly tender and raw.

  Larry rubbed himself against me, then bent and bit the back of my neck. His teeth held me gently as he pushed his knee between my legs. Once again my own knees threatened to give way. As I swayed, his arms tightened.

  I had been so focused on Larry that the cool air wafting across my belly surprised me. Pete had unfastened my slacks and was slowly easing them down my legs. “Nice wool,” he said as he pulled them past my knees. “I like the lining. Bet it’s sexy to wear.” He tightened his hands and slid the slacks partway up my thighs.

  Yes, it was sexy, although I’d never noticed it before. The slick polyester lining was cool on my heated skin. As he rubbed it up and down, static electricity made the tiny hairs on my thighs stand on end, adding to the exciting sensation. I wondered if I’d never again be able to wear these slacks without getting turned on.

  “Pete—” Was that my voice? That high, thin, pleading sound?

  He leaned forward until his breath was hot on my mound. The thin, peach-toned nylon of my panties was no protection at all as he opened his mouth over me and prodded me with his tongue. “Ahhh, you smell so good,” he murmured. Then he kissed me.

  I screamed. And came.

  Chapter Seven

  When I came to myself again, I was on the bed. Pete was beside me, on his side, head propped on one hand. The other hand was stroking my breast. Well, actually one finger of the other hand was exploring my breast, a light touch against the lace, with occasional forays across a nipple aching with need.

  Oddly, I wondered where Larry was. Then I heard the unmistakable pop of a champagne cork.

  I sighed, and relaxed. As I did, Pete’s finger delved inside my bra and stroked across a nipple so aching, so tender that I could have screamed with the pain/pleasure of it. “You’re tense, Cilla,” he said, close to my ear. “Relax. The night’s a pup.”

  I had to laugh. My dad had said that often when I was a kid, and hearing it always made me remember how he’d find some reason to let me stay up another hour. “What time is it”?

  Until Pete answered, I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. “Nine-fifteen. We’ve hours yet. Our meeting tomorrow isn’t until ten, is it?”

  Before I could
mentally sort tomorrow’s responsibilities from tonight’s temptations, Larry knelt on the edge of the bed. He held two flutes in one hand, one in the other. They were filled with golden, bubbly wine. “We need a toast,” he said. He was smiling. I couldn’t help but smile back. Larry’s smiles always invited a positive response. A mostly happy fellow, he’d once said of himself. Seeing the glass half-full.

  Having been married to a pessimistic realist for twenty-six years, I enjoyed Larry’s outlook. Truth and gloom got tiresome, after a while.

  Pete nudged me, and I sat up. Way back in the depths of my mind, a tiny voice warned me that I didn’t look my best in peach undies that let the loose skin and the not-firm muscles show, but right now I didn’t care. I reached for the flute Larry held out to me.

  “To we three,” he said, his teeth flashing in a wide grin. “And to the adventure we are embarked upon. When tomorrow’s sun rises, we’ll be different people than we are now.”

  I raised my flute in response, but wasn’t totally sure I wanted to be someone else tomorrow. I rather liked who I was. Most of the time.

  “Not different, Lar,” Pete said. “Just wiser,” He sipped his champagne. “Cilla is perfect as she is. I don’t want someone else.”

  “Oh, Pete, you don’t know me,” I said, knowing that if he did, he’d be so disappointed.

  “I know what I need to know,” he told me, stroking his palm down my thigh. I sat tailor-fashion, not caring that I needed a bikini-wax, not minding that my tummy pooched instead of making a firm, concave curve above my pubic bone. The look in his eyes, admiring, desirous, hungry, told me that none of that mattered.

  There was something wonderful about being wanted, about being desired. It made me forget that I was forty-seven, and that my body was well-lived-in. I reached out and touched his mouth, tracing the outline of it. The first time I had touched him voluntarily, tonight. Either of them.