Winding Her Up

by Kelly, Sahara

  Torn between desire and shock, he rode out his orgasm, managing to lift his eyelids and watch her as she rocked and rolled through her own maelstrom.

  Her breasts were flushed, her nipples taut and distended, only relaxing as her tremors eased and she sagged limply in his arms.

  Tad was pale, his eyes wide and wild as he eased himself from Marielle's ass. "Holy Mother." He sat back on his heels. "I think I saw angels."

  "Yeah. I know what you mean." Ian let Marielle tumble toward him, catching her fully in his arms and gently picking her up to cross the room and lay her on the bed.

  After taking care of necessary chores, both men collapsed, chests heaving, limbs weary, desires fully sated. Ian tugged the sheets up and made a halfhearted attempt to cover them.

  "Shit, man. That was something else." Tad turned onto his side.

  "No kidding." Ian turned as well, facing Marielle who lay between them.

  She was sound asleep.

  Tad was snoring shortly thereafter and Ian finally closed his eyes, still bemused at the strange sensation of two other people in his bed.

  He slept deeply and well, waking only when the morning sun made its way through the skylight on one side of his bedroom ceiling. He stretched, smiled and turned to one side. Tad was still sound asleep.

  But between them was nothing but a wrinkled pillow.

  Marielle had gone.

  *~*~*~*

  Daybreak was arriving later and later as the year made its inevitable progression toward autumn. Marielle sat at her own kitchen counter, wrapped in her own robe and drinking her own coffee. She watched the sky lighten over Boston Harbor, silhouetting clouds gathering offshore. They might burn off later on or more might come scudding in from the Berkshires bringing rain.

  She didn't know. And right this moment, she didn't care.

  Her body was aching, in spite of the hot shower. Her muscles protested with each breath, her nose had picked up a tiny touch of sunburn at the Festival of St. Anthony and the less said about her girly parts the better.

  All of which would be easily cured—a few aspirins and a solid eight hours sleep ought to fix everything.

  But she wasn't sure how to fix what was going on in her mind. Simply put, she was agonizing over the choices she'd made last night. It had seemed so obvious. She really liked both men. Found them attractive in so many ways, not the least of which were physical.

  They had demonstrated their interest in her and she'd reciprocated.

  With a groan, she leaned forward and rested her head on her folded arms. Dear God, how she'd reciprocated. She'd put on a performance that would have wowed an adult video audience.

  She winced at the memory of how she'd grabbed them, sucked them and urged them to come. How decadent was that? What must they think?

  Every moral precept she'd been raised to accept—well they were either standing with their hands on their hips, frozen in shock, or they were screaming in abject horror. Last night had released something inside Marielle that she'd never known was there. It was a helluva lot more than just unleashing an inner slut. This had been—well, she didn't know how to describe it. But obviously it had nothing to do with thinking clearly.

  Something more along the lines of a sailor on shore leave after fifteen years at sea, might come close. Or, more accurately, it was as if her entire repressed sexual identity had been given a twenty-four hour pass.

  She sighed and sat up, needing more coffee. If she was going to wallow in this dramatic post-sex guilt stuff, she'd do it with a really nice vanilla blend at her side. As the mug filled, she acknowledged a lot of her confusion stemmed from her upbringing. This was waaaay beyond the nice-girls-don't page. This was in the if-you-even-think-about-this-kind-of-thing—well-don't-even-think-about-it section. The punishment was too bad to put a name to. Sister Mary Elizabeth would have fainted on the spot.

  The coffee warmed her, as did the first shimmering rays of sunrise. With the return of light came the return of some sort of rational thought, pushing the whimpering schoolgirl inside Marielle back into her mental closet.

  She'd had sex with two wonderful men—at the same time. Okay, that was a pretty wild thing to say, but she wasn't the first and she doubted she'd be the last. They were all adults and it was extremely unlikely any film of the event would end up on the Internet.

  She trusted them, both Ian and Tad, otherwise she never would have had sex with either man in the first place. So other than the three of them, who was to know? Were they likely to take out an ad in the Boston Globe announcing the insanely erotic goings-on above Time Travelers antiques?

  Ruefully she admitted that, human nature being what it was, such an ad might have done wonders for sales. But that thought was immediately dismissed. Ian would never do that.

  Ian. Yes, Ian. Thinking of last night, his was the face she recalled so clearly. Tad was a body, a wonderful body and a splendid cock. He'd loved her passionately and enthusiastically. If Ian hadn't been there, she'd have been ecstatic with Tad's abilities.

  But Ian...there was something—a tenderness in his gaze maybe, or his touch—just something that had reached a place inside her no cock would ever find. The way he looked into her eyes, as if he wanted to climb into her thoughts and share them. The intimacy of his caresses, just a few steps beyond the usual foreplay.

  He had touched her, Marielle. He had fucked her, Marielle. He'd spent the night with her, learning her, exploring her and letting her do the same.

  Tad had spent the night with her, but that little extra connection—well, she hadn't felt it from him.

  Almost immediately the guilt roared back in. Of course she'd connected with them both. In ways she would find it hard to describe if she ever wanted to, which she wouldn't even if somebody held a gun to her head. The proverbial wild horses didn't have a ghost of a chance should she ever be asked about this kind of behavior.

  No, this was her secret. Hers alone. And Ian and Tad's.

  So, there it was. She walked to the window, holding her coffee cup, seeing not the ocean and the harbor, but her reflection like a painting on glass.

  Fallen Woman Pays For Night Of Divine Pleasures.

  She snorted out a chuckle. Maybe she should go dig for sackcloth and ashes. She shook her head and faced herself. "Get over it, girlie. It's done. You got fucked but good by two great men."

  The delicate chimes of her clock collection sounded behind her, and one little gong lingered. For the first time, Marielle ignored the fact that one of her darlings needed winding. It was an epiphany, to find herself disconnected from her personal and private existence for the first time she could remember.

  She spun on her heel, away from the vision of a tousled redhead with the erotic eyes and slightly swollen lips. Time to put that woman away and get back to her comfort zone. Yes, Marielle had lapsed into sin and loved it.

  Now Marielle had to return to reality.

  She walked into the living room and identified the little carriage clock requiring her attention. While she gently turned the key, she considered the biggest question...what to do about the men? And that thought was uppermost in her mind as she dozed off in her own bed, determined to make up for the sleep she'd lost last night.

  What was Ian doing? Had he heard her creep from the bed, dress and quietly go downstairs? Had he heard his front door open and close or the sound of the cab she'd been fortunate enough to find within a few minutes of walking down Newbury Street? Did he wonder if she was all right? Was he even thinking of her at all? Was he...

  Sleep claimed her, but not before an image of dark eyes smiling at her danced across her brain...they'd wound her up tighter than any of her clocks. But it had been Ian's hand turning the most important key. It had been the one that touched her heart.

  The call that woke her drove all thoughts of Ian and Tad from her mind and they didn't return until long after she was sitting in the cardiac intensive care unit of Massachusetts General hospital, holding her father's hand.


  Chapter Six

  "What the fuck do you mean you don't have her number?" Ian ran his hand through his hair in frustration as he yelled out the question for the tenth time.

  Tad, who was showering, didn't answer.

  Ian restrained himself from kicking at the bathroom door and stomped into the kitchen to stare angrily at the coffee pot, willing it to work faster. He needed to jump-start his brain because at the moment it was stuck in a continual loop revolving around Marielle. Where was she, anyway? Was she all right? Why didn't she leave a note so he'd know where she was? And back to the start—where was she, anyway?

  "Aaargh." He wanted to punch something.

  "What the fuck is your problem?" Tad emerged with a towel around his waist and another rubbing at his hair.

  "She's gone. Marielle. Gone as in not here. That's my problem, you moron."

  "Well yes. She's gone." Tad disappeared into the towel, muffling his voice. "What did you expect?"

  "What?"

  "You expected her to be here this morning?" He emerged, raising an eyebrow at Ian.

  "Yes, of course I did."

  "I didn't."

  "Jesus. Cryptic much?" Ian drummed his fingers on the counter. "Care to elucidate?"

  Tad sighed. "Wait a minute. This conversation needs clothing and coffee."

  "Coffee's on."

  "Good. I'll be right back."

  As good as his word, the coffee had just burped its last satisfied gasp and produced a pot of steaming hot magnificence when Tad returned.

  He filled a cup, slow enough that Ian found himself barely able to hold back another scream. Christ, he needed coffee too. "Here." He passed Tad another mug. "Then sit down and tell me what the fuck you mean."

  Tad obeyed. "Look, man. You need to pull your balls out of your brains and start thinking."

  Ian lifted an eyebrow but decided he wanted coffee more than he wanted to pound his friend to a pulp. He let the insult pass in silence.

  "Marielle is a lovely lady, and I reckon she's also, underneath that stunning exterior, a good Catholic girl. What we all did last night...well some of it's making even me feel guilty and I managed to get rid of any lingering conscience pangs around the time I discovered strip clubs."

  "So..."

  "So here she is, waking up in a strange apartment, naked between two men she's known for what, a week? She's just fucked them both silly, done anal and a whole bunch of other fun things...so—dude. What do you imagine she felt?"

  "Like she wanted to do it again?" Ian looked hopeful.

  Tad snorted. "I doubt she'd have been able to. We worked her over, Ian. She was probably sore physically as well as stressed mentally."

  "Jesus." Ian blinked. "Should I call the emergency rooms, d'you think?"

  Tad choked on his coffee, put the cup down and coughed. Then he held up his hand to forestall Ian's next words as he cleared his throat, just staring across the counter at him.

  Finally he spoke. "You've got it for her, haven't you?"

  Ian frowned. "What does that mean, for chrissake? Got it?"

  "You want her. You want more of her."

  "Well, yeah. Who wouldn't? She's pretty damn incredible."

  "You'd have her clothes off and be fucking her right this minute if she was here and willing, right?"

  Ian felt his cock stir at Tad's words. He couldn't bring himself to lie to his best friend. "Hell, yeah."

  Spreading his hands, palms down on the counter, Tad assumed a judicial mien. "I rest my case, Your Honor. You've got more than the hots for Ms. Marielle. More than just an I-wanna-fuck-you thing. You like her." He pointed a finger at Ian. "You wanna date her."

  Knowing Tad, Ian quickly interrupted him before the conversation descended to a level that would have embarrassed an eighth-grader. "Of course I like her. Who wouldn't? Don't tell me you don't like her too. Not after last night."

  "I like her fine, Ian." Tad eased his posture into a more relaxed angle, leaning his forearms on the counter and cradling his coffee mug. "She's a lovely lady, like I said. I had one hell of a night last night, and if my life passes in front of my eyes before I die, I reckon that experience will be the grand finale of the presentation. However..."

  He paused, a maneuver Ian recognized as Tad's careful thought about what he was going to say next. "Last night was unique. But for me, it was a one-of. I don't see setting up a relationship where you and I share. God, what would we do, hire her a secretary and start making appointments to get our rocks off?"

  Ian frowned, but again Tad forestalled him.

  "Look, what I'm trying tactfully to say is that I had a wonderful time and Marielle is a lovely lady. But it's not what I'm looking for right now and neither is she. It's too complicated for me. I think she would make a wonderful friend and I'd enjoy spending time with her. She has an incredible body and a lust for sex that's incomparable. But you and I both know there has to be that extra something there before we get too far in." He chuckled. "No pun intended."

  Ian digested his words, slowly sipping his coffee. "So what you're saying, in essence, is that she was a great fuck, but a one night stand in your book?"

  Tad winced. "I went to great lengths to say exactly not that. God help me, you're a moron. A stupid moron some times, if that's not a redundant phrase. Sadly, you can't fix stupid." He sighed. "Let's be clear here. If you would like to pursue a relationship with Marielle, I will support you one hundred percent. But I am not interested in pursuing her myself for any further sexual activities. Is that clear?"

  "You know, there are times when you talk like a woman's magazine article."

  Tad shrugged. "You should try reading some of 'em. You can learn a lot."

  "Right. I'll pick one up along with my tampons next month."

  "Am I going to have to hurt you?"

  Ian chuckled. "No. Just tell me how to find Marielle. It seems we spent a decadent night of what really does fit the description of wild monkey sex, and the lady never gave us her phone number."

  Tad widened his eyes in surprise. "Really? We never called her from anywhere?"

  Ian shook his head. "Nope. She called us, remember? We gave her the store number, invited her for Saturday and she called us Thursday to confirm."

  "Shit. How did we manage that?"

  "Dunno. I checked the call log. She came in as a private caller, number blocked. Like you said, we're morons."

  Tad vanished and reappeared with Ian's laptop. "I said you were a moron, not me." He opened the cover and started it up, staring absently at the screen as Ian's desktop graphic appeared and smirked at him.

  "You getting rid of that creature soon?"

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "I'm not a Malfoy or a Slytherin, and I don't need a servant, thank you. The sorting hat would have put me squarely in charge of Gryffindor." He tapped keys. "Ah. Here we go."

  "What are you doing?" Ian rounded the counter to look curiously over Tad's shoulder.

  "Googling her. Why you didn't think of it, I don't know. But it probably has something to do with the moron thing."

  "Or the lack of caffeinated brain cells." Ian stared into his now-empty mug.

  "That too."

  A companionable silence filled the air, broken only by the soft sound of Tad keying in various bits and pieces of data, and Ian refilling his mug.

  "Well, crap." Tad leaned back. "The lady doesn't have much of an Internet presence, that's for sure."

  "What did you find out?"

  "She's executive assistant to Frank Hart. That would be the Hart of Hart and Miller."

  Ian whistled softly. "The financial people?"

  "The same." Tad nodded. "Here's a photo of her behind her boss at some charity do."

  Ian leaned in eagerly, frowning at the blurred and half-visible image. A flash of red hair was pretty much all that identified her. "Shit. What else?"

  "Nothing." Tad sighed. "I don't have one of those memberships to places where you can dig up dirt on everyone, from thei
r first grade failures to their illegitimate offspring or mortgage defaults. And I don't recommend you get one, since downloading those things gives you more viruses than a weekend with a Hong Kong whore."

  "Your analogies are always so picturesque."

  "Gets the point across." He shrugged. "At this point, since there's nothing more to learn from Google, I'd suggest a call to her office tomorrow. Perhaps that might lead to something. At least you could leave a message."

  Ian nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."

  Tad stood. "I'm heading home. We'll go over inventory in the morning?"

  "Okay. Listen...about the trip to the Cape we've got coming up..."

  His friend shook his head. "Shit, Ian, let me guess. You're going to ask me to go, right? Even though it's your turn? You want me to head down to Cape Cod after Labor Day, on a weekend, no less, when everything is closing up, just on the off chance that a person who has already turned us down might change their mind and put some antiques up for sale?"

  "Yes."

  "So that you can stay here and attempt to hunt down Marielle, or at least answer the phone if she calls? Or date her if you've managed to actually find her."

  "Er, yes."

  Tad grinned and thumped his fist on his friend's shoulder. "Like I said, man. You got it...bad."

  *~*~*~*

  Marielle wandered away from the crowd gathered around the illustrious Professor of English Literature and current best-selling author. His treatise on Jules Verne was getting a lot more attention now that his Victorian mystery novel had hit one or two popular lists.

  Ordinarily she'd be sitting with the others, enjoying his grasp of the English language and his phraseology. Some people could make music out of words and he was one of them.

  But this was the first Sunday in three weeks that she'd had chance to visit the Steampunk Society and she had yearned for the elegant tranquility during the first few hectic days at her father's bedside.

  Mild coronary artery disease, the doctors had said. Cut back on the beer and start living more healthily, they'd added. They wanted to monitor his progress, hoping that lifestyle changes would eliminate the need for any arterial surgeries down the road.