by Solace Ames
A woman stood by the couch.
Just as he’d imagined, Adriana appealed to him much more than in the picture, especially the charming tilt of her hips. The lines of her face were strong and distinctive. Wide-set eyes that came alive in the warm, low light, signaling some deep emotion as yet opaque to him. Lush lips. He liked the lipstick, but it wouldn’t last long, if everything went well.
He shrugged off his jacket, held it to one side, and beckoned behind him with the other hand.
A risky play. If it fell through, he already had several backup ideas. But after a few seconds of intense silence, he heard Jay padding across the carpet.
Paul never took his eyes from Adriana, not as Jay took the jacket from his hand and retreated. Without a single word or a touch, he’d reached into the space between them and twisted.
She hardly reacted on the surface. Her lips parted slightly, that was all—and oh yes, he looked forward to taking every single privilege granted in that area—but he couldn’t tell if seeing her husband put into service had excited her.
So he moved closer. An arm’s span away from her. Not so far into her space that he couldn’t still see her whole body, but close enough that he could hear her slightly labored breathing.
Close enough to get a taste of her fear.
The analytical part of his mind kicked into overdrive. He had to make sure this wasn’t animal fear: the fight or flight response. But her body wasn’t presenting as a barrier. When he followed the delicate curve of her neck downward, her shoulder muscles weren’t tensed. She’d lowered her head, turning it slightly to the right side, eyes downcast, sleek waves of hair hiding half her face.
It was her face that she’d turned away from him, not her body. It was another kind of fear, one that edged into shame: I have a gift for you. But I’m afraid...will you really take it?
Well, then. He wouldn’t leave her waiting.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, grabbed her chin in his hand and tipped her face upward. “Do you know why I’m here?” He kept his voice quiet, low and steady. “You can speak,” he added, before she had a chance to answer.
A thankful whisper of “Yes” was her first gift to him.
He stuck his hand up her dress, dipped two fingers down into her panties and crooked them into her hot, wet cunt. She let out a strangled noise and ground against his hand. He loved the feel of her but putting her on his time, well, he wanted that even more. So he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on her cheek, deliberately. The scent was intoxicating. This is only the beginning.
Words might drive her down quicker than any whiplash.
“On your knees, whore,” he said, almost gently.
One flinch and then she fell there, the motion smooth and sweet. Then tilted her delirious, adoring face up to meet his regard.
He could hardly wait to shove his cock down her throat, but as he unzipped his pants he reminded himself, with some difficulty, that a check-in on Jay would probably be a good idea. When he looked up from Adriana’s pliant kneeling form, Jay was standing about ten feet away, balanced on the balls of his feet and tense as a spring.
“I’d like a glass of water,” he told Jay. Calm voice, always. “You can put it on the end table right there.”
Jay still looked lost and more than a little angry, but he nodded. Paul had stretched the trust between them, but he hadn’t broken it yet.
Paul grabbed a fistful of Adriana’s hair and pushed her face into his crotch. He was wearing black boxer briefs, and the diagonal bar of his erection strained the thin cotton. He made sure to drag her lips along it, soaking up the sensations: the sticky glide of lipstick, the warmth from her panting, moaning mouth.
Jay came back from the kitchen and set the glass of water down.
“Come here,” Paul said. “Stand next to me.”
Jay came slowly, no fluidity to his movements, like a puppet on strings. This wasn’t going to be easy for him.
Paul tipped Adriana’s head back. She had a smear of lipstick across her cheek; he wiped it clean with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were staring into another world.
She looked beautiful and unruined and wild, and he wanted Jay to see that, and to understand.
He wasn’t going to be pedantic, he decided. Jay probably understood, even if he’d never been there himself, the need some people had to be used. This wasn’t so different, logically speaking, although emotionally was another matter.
“I’m going to focus on her for a while,” he told Jay. “She can always safe-word or signal out—” he put an edge of harshness to his voice, now, “—you don’t do it for her.” A pause before he returned to neutral. “Sit over there on the chair and work on relaxing. Take a break anytime you feel like it.” He’d been dead serious, but now he couldn’t help a small smile, even as he pushed Adriana’s face back down between his legs. “You’ll need it for later.”
The moment Jay had taken the jacket, he’d given Paul an opening, and that was all Paul needed to pry him apart. To discover how much he really wanted to give.
Jay stood frozen.
Paul raised his eyebrows slightly in the same questioning way as a few minutes ago, although time had slowed to the point where those minutes felt like half a lifetime.
It was the same question. Do you know why I’m here?
Jay nodded. His hands trembled a little as if he wanted to touch, but lacking instruction, he backed away and sat exactly where Paul had told him.
“Good,” Paul said to him, and watched the shockwave of approval shiver across his slender, balletic frame. “Good,” this time to Adriana, as he took her shoulders and rocked her back against the couch. The movement of bodies according to his will brought his own brand of pleasure, spreading from the inside out, firing his imagination and flesh.
He took off his shirt and kicked off his shoes. Keenly aware he was also a visual object of desire, most of what he wore was calculated, like the long-sleeved gray T-shirt with a weave thick enough to hide the outline of the chest harness. It wasn’t ostentatious or glittering with metal, just a simple cross-body leather harness whose thin strips pressed into his pectorals, accentuating the muscles, and met in a metal ring in the center of his chest. That and the leather cuff on his left wrist were the minimum symbols to invoke a sense of tradition most of his clients held a deep affection for. The boots, so often licked clean, weren’t on the list tonight.
Adriana wasn’t looking at his feet, anyway. She gazed upward, long eyelashes casting shadows over eyes dark as the ocean at night. He was stunned by the image—he could almost hear the waves rolling. He didn’t let his body language show it. Eyes kept narrow, no swallowing. He touched the side of her head softly, smoothing a strand of her hair, working with this unexpected connection. She sighed and tipped her head against his hand.
He considered slapping her with it.
No. The mood didn’t call for that, not yet. Let her heartbeat settle into a slower, worshipful rhythm—yes. He pulled down his briefs and pants. Stepped out of them. Stroked his cock from base to head, pulling her gaze along the line. His fist felt too cool; he wanted to bury himself in her warmth.
“You,” he said. He hadn’t settled on names. Might not settle at all. She looked upward, then down again, unable to look away from his cock for long. He allowed himself a bit of smugness. As good as the pictures. Always. “Lick your lips and open your mouth.”
She did it immediately, a hint of joy in the curve of her wet lips as she opened fully, so wide he could see her pretty rose-pink tongue, then wider until there was no expression possible besides acceptance.
He dragged his cockhead over her lips, smearing them with precome. “Lucky girl,” he said. “Stay. Open.”
Pushing inside her felt like carnal heaven. Only half his shaft fit before he rubbed agai
nst the tender skin at the back of her mouth. She trembled but didn’t gag, and tried to lick him wet as best she could. Not easy—he was thick. Her hips undulated. “Don’t touch yourself,” he warned her. “Hands on your thighs.” She did it almost before he finished speaking. “Perfect.”
Hearing she pleased him triggered something, made her try harder, take more, bob her head in lovely desperate little motions. And she was good for a woman. He had no access to her psychic life, but he suddenly wanted to know when she realized she loved this, whether it was watching porn or kneeling between her first man’s legs, or with Jay—the thought turned physical, pulsing tight and satisfying through his balls and goddamn, holding back wouldn’t be easy.
With the back of his hand, he stroked her hollowed cheeks. Feeling her outside. Inside. Deeper. When he nudged his hips forward and her head touched the back of the couch, she moaned around his shaft. He liked her there; he took a half step forward and probed deeper, forcing his cockhead down the tight ring of her throat.
She let out a hissing, choking noise. Gagged. Her eyes closed, tears welling in the corners. He pulled back. She breathed. The give and take of this, so much more complicated than intercourse, struck him as beautiful. Aesthetic. Something to do with the musicality of the ugly-sweet sounds—God, the sounds she was going to make.
“We’ll go back and forth for a while,” he told her, softly but loud enough for Jay to hear. “When I pull you up, you’ll lie on the couch, head back over the arm.” She nodded. He stroked her throat. And pushed.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Moan after moan. Until the pretty dusting of glittery smoke on her eyelids ran down in streaks from the tears. Until her thick, treacly spit coated his cock and her rubbed-naked lips...then slid down the base of his cock and onto his balls, wet and tickling, a delicious sensation.
She was ready. He pulled her to her feet as quickly as he could without jarring her, keeping the motion smooth as dancing, and unwrapped her dress. He wasn’t particularly thrilled by the layer of lingerie underneath—he liked his women naked or bound, as a general rule—but since this clothing must be special to her, he sighed and ran his hands over the velvet that cupped her breasts. More stroking touches down her sides to her hips, then down behind the velvet panties barely covering her round, firm ass, squeezing—no, he wasn’t exactly faking it, the texture of velvet against skin felt too damn good.
She breathed harshly through clenched teeth and arched her body to his touch. But this wasn’t the time to slow down. “Over the couch,” he told her.
She knew exactly what to do. The arm of the couch was low and round, just right for the back of her neck to rest on. Seeing her displayed like this, all the lithe strength of her body actively yielding to him, throat bared...her throat...
He straddled her head and fucked into her sweet, waiting mouth. The angle was perfect. He hit the sweet spot and pushed past, pulled back—breathe, he willed, and she did, deep but measured, not panicked—and then pushed all the way home, every fucking inch of him.
Out. Again and again and again, because as much as he wanted, she’d take. His eyes narrowed as he kept thrusting, vision constricting to the sinuous line of her body. She dipped her right hand into the center of that burgundy velvet triangle—he should do something about that, he told himself, still wanting to channel the flow of desire in this room even with barely enough blood left in his brain to think. No, let her—let him—fuck, he almost came right there down her throat. Not now. He pulled out entirely, the sound of her long intake of air so high and sweet-toned he felt like an orchestra conductor.
Typical. He’d always had these strange power fantasies.
Roll with it. A new movement, then.
He nudged her up from the arm so that she sprawled, mostly seated, in the middle of the couch, and then sat next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder, her thigh across his knee. He could faintly smell her sex from here, the same intoxication as before hitting him. But he was in control now. Ready for a slower pace.
A wet curl of hair clung to her cheek; he brushed it aside and turned her face away, angling her toward where Jay sat. His figure swam into focus now, stock-still and looking very uncomfortable in his tight jeans.
Uncomfortable, but not angry.
Perhaps, based on the slight tilt of his head, a bit charmed.
Jay leaned forward, and Adriana bent her face toward him like a sunflower. The way they looked at each other, so sure—it sent a spike lancing into his chest, made his heart skip a beat. There was pain but pleasure, too, and he had no inclination to tease them apart.
“Jay,” he said, and watched Jay’s dark, warm eyes flicker to include him. “Can you run some water on a hand towel and bring it for Adriana?” The first time he’d said her name, he realized, and he liked the sound of it.
“Yeah.” Jay even smiled there, reassured by whatever silent thing he’d just shared with Adriana. He got up carefully and left the room.
She laid her head back against Paul’s shoulder.
“I saw you touching yourself,” he said, teasing. She raised her eyebrows but didn’t react otherwise, and the expression struck him as a touch nervous and withdrawn. “You’re not into being disciplined, though, are you?”
“I guess not,” she said, hoarse but clear, her messy, pretty face gone happy again. “But I—everything else—it’s good for me. And Jay, I think. You’re...thank you.”
“Do you want to come now?” he asked, back to that neutral tone that didn’t anticipate any answer in particular.
“No, that’s okay. It just feels right to wait, you know? Do you want—” Her fingers trailed up his thigh.
“Back on your knees, then, and lick my balls clean. That’s what I want.”
She nodded. Slipped down to the floor and, catlike, went to work. He was immaculately shaved, of course, and her tongue’s tip made his skin there shiver and crawl, changing texture in response to the touch.
“Paul. I’ve got the towel.” Jay’s patient reminder. Head back in the game, he told himself.
“You can clean her face yourself, Jay.” He patted the empty space to his left and smiled. His first thought had been practical—they might want to take pictures, after all—but when Jay sat down beside him and stroked Adriana’s cheek with the towel, the intimacy between them was beautiful in itself. She closed her eyes and presented herself; Jay dabbed a corner of the towel across the tender arcs of her eyelids. His fingers almost brushed Paul’s cock, and it should have been fucking impossible but he still felt even stiffer, harder.
The possible outcomes cascaded before him, some of them preferable to others but all of them ending well, naturally, properly, as if he was opening a well-loved book to a random page. Or perhaps Jay and Adriana were the characters floating through those pages, and he was the spine... “So,” he said, looking down at Adriana, “would you like him to join you?”
She made a wordless questioning sound.
“I’m fine, baby,” Jay murmured.
She nodded.
Paul guided Jay down. Hand on his shoulder, thumb against the fine line of his collarbone, opening to the promise of the next page.
Chapter Four
All the history that bound her and Jay, all the love, the hardships, only made this moment richer. And as time slowed, she couldn’t help looking back with—well, not anger, but a certain degree of triumph.
Fuck you, Steve. Fuck you, every motherfucker who ever grabbed my ass on the line. Fuck you, Tía Luz, for telling me on our wedding day that Jay would leave me for another man and we’d both die of AIDS. Fuck you, football team captain who called me a dirty slut for getting up the courage to say I wanted more than two minutes on his dick before he popped. I don’t care what any of you think about me. I never did. Well, maybe a little, but definitely not now.
Not now that Ja
y was fulfilling every fevered fantasy that got her wet and made her come and doing it so, so well.
Jay sucked Paul’s magnificent cock with supreme confidence. He swirled his tongue around the proud, flushed head, kissed the slit, took him in and out—Jesus, she wanted that cock inside her again, but watching was just as good in its own way. The best part was knowing how in tune they were, giving the absolutely ideal oral erotic service at Paul’s pleasure.
“Hold hands,” Paul said. He wrapped one hand around the base of his shaft, angling it downward. “Kiss.”
They did. He rubbed his cockhead between their lips as they dove for each other’s mouths, Jay’s fingers woven firmly in her own. Licking and kissing and sucking and sliding until she was half-crazy from wanting someone, anyone, to come.
A burst of wetness struck her cheek, then ran warm and thick down to the corner of her mouth. He’d jacked off all over their faces. Her stomach clenched in reaction; her cunt throbbed and clenched in reaction to that, but before she could lick her lips, Jay was kissing her there, lapping up the trail of semen. She kissed him fiercely back, fighting for the taste, and was rewarded when another thick spurt struck Jay’s cheek. All hers. Paul tasted different from Jay—not as bitter, slightly more sour—but what it meant was more important than how it tasted and—fuck, she didn’t even know why she loved it.
They kissed and licked until everything was wet and clean and new.
All while Paul, in that outrageously calm, deep voice, told them how beautiful they looked.
In the back of her mind, a nagging voice reminded her that of course he would say that, wouldn’t he. But the sex was too damn good for second-guessing. And anyway, when she looked up and saw the satisfaction in every line of his brutally handsome face, well, that was truth enough.
Jay pressed a glass of water into her hands. A sudden thirst flaring, she drained half the glass, handed it back to Jay and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He smiled at her as he drank the rest, that sweet, crooked smile that shone with a thousand watts of charm.
