Brick by Brick

by Maryn Blackburn

  “And pay for,” I said. “He’s not competing with the regular bricklayers now.” When he could find a customer, anyway.

  “It was hard to get to that point. For a while I worked twelve- and fourteen-hour days instead of paying overtime, and weekends I did some modeling and acting just so I could meet payroll.”

  “You’re an actor too?” Gage sat straighter, his expression freshly attentive.

  I rarely saw James flush with pride, not even when customers gushed about his artistic masonry. “Just TV ads.” He drank. “None lately.” He lifted himself from the recliner with a little groan, then added another log to the fire and prodded it to life.

  “They still show his cotton ads,” I said. “Putting on a T-shirt. Taking a pair of jeans off the clothesline and smelling them, and the camera goes back and you can see there must be hundreds of pairs. Flopping onto this big bed and the sheets puff up around him. My sister thought that one was dirty, the expression on his face.”

  Gage was a good audience, listening more than talking, laughing a lot when I blurted whatever was in my head without thinking first. Time glided past rapidly. Gage moved to refill my glass; I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. I asked James with my eyes if I was doing all right.

  “Go ahead, Nat,” he said. I knew that lazy smile. He wasn’t drunk, just uninhibited, loose to the nth degree. Some of our best sex included that look—and some of James’s best TV ads did too. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Gage filled my glass halfway before the bottle emptied. “A good party.”

  “With only three, I think we have to call it an intimate gathering,” James said.

  Gage’s smile dazzled. “Do I open the next one?”

  What the hell. “If you like your gatherings really intimate,” I said.

  “I think she wants you to stay,” James said, laughing. “Open it, already.”

  The cork squeaked out. “See if you taste layers of fruit.” Gage sounded a little buzzed too.

  James sipped, rolling the wine in his mouth with a frown of concentration.

  “Taste it? Blackberries and raspberries? Kind of voluptuous and round. God, listen to me, one bottle and I turn into a pompous wine asshole. Anyway, it’s really ripe and full-bodied. Like Natalie.” He held his glass up, admiring the color.

  Or toasting me? No. Ridiculous.

  James raised his glass as well. “She’s something in that dress, isn’t she?” At Gage’s nod, he added, “You ought to see her out of it.”

  “James!”

  “She’d do it, I bet, if we did.” James loosened his tie and pulled it off, carefully folding the silk and placing it in his jacket pocket. “Come on.”

  “Too bad I’m not wearing a tie. Guess I’m out of the running.”

  “You could take off the jacket. You might even…unbutton your collar.” James peeled off his own jacket and unbuttoned his shirt fully. “Come on, do something.”

  Laughing and shaking his head, Gage undid the tiny button closing the collar band at his throat.

  James stroked my back lightly while Gage tossed his raw silk jacket aside and unbuttoned his shirt’s next two buttons.

  My husband slipped his shirt off and let it drop to the floor. For the thousandth time I admired his broad shoulders, the golden down on his chest, the delicate pink nipples, the flat belly.

  “Topless. Pretty wild.” James sipped his wine. “Come on, Gage. If we both do it, she will. What do you think?”

  “I think,” Gage said, “I’d better call a cab.”

  Chapter Five

  “Don’t.” James picked up his shirt and threaded one meaty arm into a sleeve, then the other. “It’s just—I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Do what?” His eyes narrowed to slits, Gage watched James with suspicion anyone could see.

  James drained his glass in two gulps. “French courage,” he said. “Damn, that’s good. Ask you to join us. She’s—we’ve—talked about another person a lot, and this seemed perfect.” His face glowed pink. “I’m a little high, or I wouldn’t have done anything. Or maybe I would have, but more gracefully. In a Lafite-Rothschild kind of way.”

  His crooked grin melted me, as usual. Gage’s expression softened too.

  James poured himself a dollop of wine. “Excellent wine, really, too good to take the blame. It wasn’t the wine talking; it was me.” James shrugged. “I’m sorry. You can button your shirt. That’s the end of it.”

  “You mean,” Gage said, addressing the wineglass he rotated in his paired hands, “that you both want to add another guy?” He turned his gaze on me. “You meant it about two men?”

  “Daydream number 1A, useful during masturbation, subtitled films, and traffic jams,” I said.

  Smiling, Gage turned to James, whose shirt still hung open. “And you don’t mind, another man with you and your wife?”

  “I don’t number my daydreams,” James said, “but it’s up there. With real-world conditions.”

  “Sure,” Gage said. “Safe sex. Time to talk travel and transfusions and every partner we ever had. God, I hate this part.”

  We weren’t the risk. There must be millions of women who’d forget boyfriends or husbands to have sex with Gage Strickland. He could easily have had hundreds or thousands. Had he been safe every single time? “Married forever, faithful the whole time,” I said. “What about you?”

  “Now I wish we’d gone to my hotel. See, in a couple weeks I start a movie, and they make you get a physical first. To insure the production? Last time, there was some kind of paperwork screwup, a nightmare. So I got copies of everything, for in case. I have written proof that I’m healthy. Want to go see it?”

  “Yes,” James said.

  “Okay. Are you good to drive, after the wine? I’m not sure I would be. We could still call a cab.”

  “Safe isn’t just about sex,” I said. Were we really going to do this? The possibility of sex with a movie star was bizarre, checking his papers surreal.

  James caught my eye and raised an eyebrow, silently asking. I gave him my opinion in that near-telepathic way long-married couples use, without saying a word.

  He beamed first at me, then at Gage. “Never mind. That you’re willing tells us you’re healthy.”

  “I am. When I was young, I wasn’t always careful. I never got anything, but only an idiot trusts luck in the long run.”

  James took the lead, easing me to the center of the sofa. He gestured for Gage to remain at one end, where he sat with his hands folded, prim as an altar boy awaiting his cue. Was he hiding the stirrings of a fledgling erection?

  The kiss was slow and deep. My hands explored James’s back and the upper part of his buttocks. At first, I would have liked to see Gage Strickland’s face, but I forgot about him by the time James pulled back.

  “God, you’re sexy,” James said, leaning me back against the center cushion and nodding at Gage. With a half smile playing on his lips, Gage hesitated a moment, then touched his lips to mine.

  Gage was a different kind of kisser, every bit as good as James. Where Jamie’s kisses revealed urgency before sex, and the languid aftermath, Gage’s was tender, unhurried, more for the pleasure of the kiss itself.

  I stroked his back with one hand while the other squeezed Jamie’s hand. Could he feel my excitement, my gratitude, my anxiety? Maybe we should have left this an act of the imagination.

  Gage paused, smiled at me for a moment, kissed me again, then eased away. “He’s right. You’re sexy.”

  “Natalie likes the room pretty dark before she’ll undress. How about just the fire? Set your glass someplace safe.”

  Naked in front of Gage Strickland, who’d done nude scenes with size 2 movie stars? Colossal Cave wasn’t dark enough.

  James flicked the three-way lamp to medium, bright, then off. He took his and my wineglasses to the mantel and added another log to the fire.

  I watched Gage put his glass up, a little away from ours, then pull o
ff his shirt. In the dancing firelight, a jagged scar on the side of his belly caught my attention. Without thinking, I stood up, my fingertips tracing the rough braids of skin above his belt as if I had the right.

  “Car wreck,” he said. “It’s so ugly.”

  James lifted my hand away. He brought it to his lips, kissing my damp palm. He tongued it while he let his fingers run down my back. Although the room was warm, it gave me a little chill. His hand lingered on my bottom until I pushed my backside toward his touch a little, demanding more. Instead his fingers walked up my zipper.

  I knew what was coming and froze, petrified. Unaware, he grasped the dress with one hand, the tab with the other, and pulled it down slowly. Gage’s hand traced the curve of my spine as it was revealed, and I shivered.

  It turned into outright quaking when the dress hung up on my hips and Gage slipped his hand inside the cloth to free it. The green dress dropped past my hips to puddle on the floor. Gage’s hand remained on my pantied bottom longer than it needed to.

  I stood in my lacy underthings chosen with my husband in mind, exposed to another man. A man I’d met only tonight, who had his hand on my panties. Although my lingerie covered as much as a typical bathing suit, my face flamed.

  Thirty-three years old and blushing furiously because a new man was seeing some skin and touching some nylon lace. This would never work. Was it too late to change my mind?

  “Nobody pushes anybody,” James said, moving Gage’s hand to my waist.

  Now it was Gage’s turn to flush pink.

  “Natalie hasn’t been with a lot of men, and we’re going to respect that. No pressure on her, or either of us, to do anything. It’s all when and if you feel like it. If you don’t do anything but watch, that’s cool.”

  “Thanks,” Gage said. “I’ve had lots of lovers, I guess, but I’m still pretty nervous. As much as you, Natalie. This is…different.”

  “We hope you’ll join in, or cut in, any time, at anything. If somebody doesn’t like something, all they have to do is say so and it stops. Does that work for you?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Are you good with that, beautiful?” James asked me. “God, you’re shaking like a leaf. You want it to stop now? It’s okay if you do. Isn’t it, Gage?”

  “Of course. Do you want this to stop?” he asked me.

  “No.” Not yet. Soon? I hoped not. Maybe I’d be better once we started. When James’s lovemaking was good, I sometimes lost myself in it.

  “Okay, then,” James said and unzipped his trousers. Turning his back, he had them and his underwear off in seconds. “Come here, Natalie.”

  Gage retreated to the sofa. I stood between James and the fireplace. He was aroused, his penis bobbing in the firelight. He glanced over his shoulder at Gage, then pressed the front of his body to mine, pressed his stiffness against me, pressed his hands on my back, my waist, cupped my buttocks and pressed me closer still. As we kissed, he undid my bra.

  Over Jamie’s shoulder, I saw Gage watch with a small smile. His hand, splayed over his fly, subtly pushed at his penis through his pants, and when Jamie removed my lacy bra and allowed his thumb to brush my nipple, Gage stroked himself outright.

  Jamie lowered me to the sheepskin in front of the fireplace, at a diagonal angle that let Gage watch us. The white fleece felt wonderfully soft under my bare back. Jamie bent over me, his rear end toward Gage, to kiss me again.

  We both startled when the flames snapped loud as hidden sap melted, ran, and exploded. Despite my apprehension, part of me had begun to melt and run too. My husband could make it explode, often more than once. Maybe Gage would be content to watch, touching himself through the trousers of his expensive suit. I would be all right with that. Good, even.

  I turned my head toward the sofa, where Gage lightly massaged himself. He caught me looking and smiled, then wrapped himself with one hand, as bold as could be. Something about his eyes changed, a thousand-yard stare that saw me and Jamie but looked within. His lips parted slightly.

  So handsome! Maybe I did want him to do more than observe. Maybe it would be mutual, me watching him work himself, and not just through his clothing, as he watched Jamie and me make love.

  A fresh snap from the fire made me turn my head, so I only heard the susurration of his zipper and the sofa’s springs’ soft creak as he got up.

  Jamie kissed me, but my mind wasn’t on him or the kiss but on the whisper of pants dropping, the muffled clink of a belt buckle hitting the rug, a muted jingle of pocket change.

  Gage Strickland wasn’t going to sit and watch, or perform by touching himself. He was going to touch me, and expect me to touch him, and probably enter me too. What would that be like? I felt my nipples crinkle tight, and my sex pull inward.

  It’s all right, I reminded myself. If I need it to stop, I’ll just tell them and it will. They both said so. James would never lie to me, of course, and if Gage insisted, I knew James would protect me.

  Naked, they knelt on either side of me, lying on the sheepskin in nothing but lacy panties. I marveled at how much more exposed men were when they were bare, and how unabashed they seemed about their penises waving around, above testicles dangling vulnerable.

  Jamie gave me the same reassuring smile I’d first seen the night he told me he loved me. That look said trust me, and I did, whether it was about sex or whether we’d be able to pay our bills this month.

  Just do it, I ordered myself, but my body didn’t obey. Jamie lifted my hand, kissed it, and folded it around his penis. “Now do him,” he said.

  I took Gage in my other hand, delighting when both men gave small pleasured sighs. They smiled at one another before looking down at me.

  It was probably the wine, but I adored them both. I moved my hands slowly while I observed the men’s beauty at this moment, committing their faces and bodies to memory. Jamie, more thickly built, knelt above me in a V widening from slender hips to broad chest to big shoulders. Years of hauling brick and stone made him wonderfully brawny. The wheat-colored hairs on his chest and belly made me think of a bear.

  The lines of Gage’s body were straight, nearly teenager slim, and surprisingly hard. If Jamie was a strong golden bear, Gage was a sleek panther. He had no body hair beyond the patch at his crotch, making his scar all the more noticeable. His uncircumcised penis looked thick, more veined than my husband’s, although Jamie’s was longer. Gage’s cocoa-colored rod contrasted with Jamie’s pale pink blondness.

  Jamie reached for my nipple with forefinger and thumb and held it until Gage looked at him. He pinched lightly: she likes this. True. He knew me so well, and no wonder, since he’d devoted a lot of our early marriage into forging my orgasms. I’d never had one.

  Gage’s matching touch lagged by only a second, but when my nipple stood up, he licked his finger, then rubbed a warm, wet circle on me. Oh, this was new, and different. Although the room seemed still, the air currents flowed deliciously on my wet flesh.

  Jamie took my nipple firmly and pulled it, squeezing harder, then with a final tweak, let it go. It throbbed pleasantly. He knew from experience that made me moisten. Best of all, once I was wet enough, my small aversion to taking him in my mouth, or allowing his mouth on my sex, disappeared.

  Gage mimicked my husband exactly, setting my other nipple to beating along with my heart. I could feel my sexual lips slicken and plump, minimizing the minute catching of the lacy panties on my pubic hair as I rocked my pelvis. I was sopping.

  I released Jamie’s penis and gestured for him to lean over and kiss me, which he did. “I want to eat you, Jamie.” Should I say what else I wanted? Could I? I wouldn’t get it if no one knew what it was. “While Gage eats me.” It came out in a cracked whisper.

  In unison, they each took one side of my panties and lowered them past my feet.

  Chapter Six

  My husband was used to me naked, but I was terribly aware of Gage studying me while Jamie’s hand urged my legs apart. My husband moved int
o position but did nothing for a long moment.

  I’d never given much thought to whether I looked good there. Maybe I didn’t, and Gage, with his thousands of encounters with beauties, had to overcome some aversion.

  Gage kissed the wet-matted hair over my clitoris. “I,” he said, then kissed again, with a small touch of the tip of his tongue. “Love.” More tongue, gliding down the slippery center. “Women.” He parted my wet curls, then buried his face between my spread legs.

  I propped myself up on my elbows and turned my head to kiss Jamie’s penis. He worked his manhood with his hand, only the head entering my lips; seeing it go in was enough for him, for a while.

  Gage lapped at my sex, differently than Jamie. He started almost neatly, with pauses for kisses on my furred lips, my thighs, my belly, then back to my inner lips. He raised his head. “Are you okay with this?”

  Jamie pulled his penis back so I could answer. “Yes.” My answer surprised me a little. Gage Strickland was licking me like a prissy cat, and I was okay. My nerves kept me from being as aroused as I’d like to have been, but Jamie would see that I got there if Gage didn’t. Probably in front of him. And I was okay with that too. The idea heated me up a little further.

  “You don’t need to be so gentle,” Jamie said. “She won’t break if you give it a little, you know, enthusiasm.”

  “That’s okay with you?” Gage was cute, inquiring so politely.

  “Not just okay,” I said and tilted myself toward his mouth. Where had this brazen Natalie been hiding?

  “Got it.” Gage did it differently now. Faster. Sloppier. He wetly stabbed his tongue into the opening of my sex and circled my clitoris without touching it, then sucked it hard. Once he licked me where no one ever had, in back. It was not only different, but the dirtiest thing anyone had ever done to me. That he would put his mouth there was curiously exciting.

  This wasn’t just about me. I made myself concentrate on Jamie, whose pleasure mattered just as much. I took more of him in my mouth and circled the end with my tongue. When I looked up to see him react, he was watching Gage.