by Selena Kitt
“I want her straddling my face.” Carrie threw her arms over her head, giving into the fantasy, no longer as threatened by the possible dangers of reality. “I want to wrap my arms around her hips and bury my face in her wet little pussy.”
“Mmmm that’s my girl.” He moved faster, driving his cock in to the hilt. “I’d love to watch you eat her out.”
“And you could kiss her,” she offered, opening her eyes to look at him, imagining it all—her friend’s hips rocking on her face, Doc’s hands on Daphne’s big breasts, thumbing her nipples, sucking her tongue into his mouth. “And touch her and play…”
“Oh god.” He groaned, just as into the fantasy as she was. “I want to suck those gorgeous tits.”
“After I made her come all over my face…” She smiled at her husband’s expression. Just the thought of Daphne’s climax had him going. “She could put her pussy down by mine,” she suggested, her fingers moving to her clit, the ache there growing unbearable again. “Lay on top of me, so you could play with her tits while you fucked me…”
“Yeah, oh yeah!” His hand found her breast, squeezing hard, his cock making wet noises in her pussy as he fucked her.
“And then you could fuck her too,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the base of his cock as he plunged deep inside. “Her, then me, then her… which one of us feels better?”
He groaned, shaking his head, already torn at the thought of making such an impossible decision.
“I want you to come all over us, Doc,” she insisted, her pussy blooming with pleasure. “Come all over our hot... pink… wet... cunts.”
He gave up, growling and reaching down to grab his cock, tearing it out of her and pumping it in his fist against her frantically rubbing fingers.
“Yeah! Yeah! Oh fuck yeah!” He gritted his teeth and thrust one last time, cum exploding from his cock, all over her clit. She came the instant she felt the first fiery blast, felt it flooding her pussy, dripping down her crevice. Her climax shook them both, her thighs quivering as she came, her hips bucking up to catch more of his cum, the second eruption rising over her belly, splashing her navel.
She smiled dreamily, reaching down and running a finger through his cum, then lifting it to her mouth, sucking it off. He watched her with dark, lustful eyes.
“If that was Daphne’s belly, I’d get down and lick her all clean,” she informed him, smiling as he collapsed next to her on the bed with a tortured moan.
“Enough, I can’t take anymore.” He threw a leg over hers and pulled her close. “You’re killing me.”
She knew just what he wanted, what he liked. And he wanted Daphne—maybe more than she did. Maybe. But she knew better than to open Pandora’s box. The fantasy was good.
Just as good.
Almost as good.
That was enough.
Wasn’t it?
* * * *
“Hewwo?” Carrie’s tongue felt too big for her mouth as she grabbed for and answered the phone, head throbbing. She closed her eyes against the brightness of the sun slanting through the blinds, turning toward the wall and taking the phone with her.
“Carrie? Is that you?”
She tried to gather saliva in her mouth so she could speak more clearly. “Hi Nan.”
It was her mother-in-law.
Of course it was.
“Are you sick, dear?”
Ah, the perfect excuse. “Just a little bug.”
“I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought noon would be late enough to call.”
“It’s fine, I was just napping.” Sleeping like the dead was more like it, but why quibble?
Doc snored beside her and she nudged him, shushing his groan as he opened his eyes.
“Your mother,” she mouthed.
“I was just calling about Christmas,” Nan went on.
“Mmm-hmm.” It was safer not to try and use any vowels.
“Chuck and I sent you tickets. I just want to make sure they don’t get lost in the mail. I overnighted them.”
“Oh.” Carrie rubbed her aching eyes. They had talked about Key West, but they hadn’t made any decisions. Apparently, Nan had made the decision for them.
“Is Stephen there?” Nan was the only one who ever called Doc by his given name. Even his father called him “Doc.”
“Hold on.” It was far easier to hand Nan over to her son.
He tried to push the phone away, but Carrie wouldn’t let him, forcing it to his ear.
“Hi, Mom.” His voice was far clearer than her own. “What’s up?”
Carrie pulled her pillow over her head, listening to him “mm-hmm” his mother until the end of the conversation.
“Okay, Mom, sounds good. Love you too. Bye.” Doc dropped the phone on the bed with a groan and Carrie scrambled for it, hanging it up before her mother-in-law could listen in on their conversation. She loved Nan, but she knew better than to share everything with her. Hangovers didn’t go over too well with parents, even when the children were technically adults.
“Let me guess.” Carrie shoved her head back under her pillow. “We’re going to Key West?”
“Don’t you want to go?”
She sighed. “Oh I don’t know…”
“I think it will be good for us.” Doc’s hand moved over his wife’s lower back, massaging.
She poked her head out, opening one eye. “Do you?”
“We need a vacation.” He smiled, sliding his hand over the curve of her behind. “Maybe we can recharge our batteries.”
“Are yours so weak?” she teased.
“Let’s find out.” He slipped his hand between her legs, seeking heat.
She scissored her legs closed, groaning. “Oh god, no, I can’t even think about it. My head is swimming.”
Doc chuckled. “You can thank the tequila.”
“I’m going to stay in bed all day.” She grabbed for the comforter, curling onto her side and settling in.
“Can’t,” Doc said regretfully. “We promised Wilson we would go get a tattoo with him today, remember?”
“Today!” She covered her eyes with her hand, shaking her head, which was a mistake, because her brain rattled around inside her skull, sending sharp pains down her neck.
He laughed, getting out of bed. “Well I didn’t know you were going to be hung over, or I’d have rescheduled.”
“Oh god, Doc, I can’t possibly.” She peeked out at him, pleading.
“I’ll make you my hangover special.” He sat next to her on the edge and kissed her cheek.
“It will make me puke.”
“Yep.” He grinned. “You’ll either puke or be cured. Either way, you’ll feel better.”
Chapter Three
“Chicken.” Doc poked Carrie in the ribs but she shook her head stubbornly, crossing her arms and watching as Wilson’s left bicep bloomed with blood and ink. The image was taking form, a serpent wrapping around his arm, over his shoulder, and across his back. He’d had work done on it before and this was the final visit.
“So I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative, isn’t it?”
She sat on one of the stools, too tired to keep standing. Her head had finally cleared, after Doc made her drink a horrible concoction—whiskey, coffee, Tabasco sauce, a raw egg and cracked pepper, mixed in a glass of orange juice—and as she’d predicted, she had thrown it up. But then she’d felt a little better, especially after four Advil and about a gallon of water. But she still had that residual kind of haze in her head, like it was wrapped in gauze.
“You said you were gonna get my name tattooed over your heart.” Doc poked her again, this time in the chest, and Carrie stuck her tongue out at him.
“A tattoo is forever,” Wilson reminded them, smiling at their banter.
“Which is why it’s not such a good idea to get anyone’s name tattooed anywhere.” The tattoo artist had clearly gone against his own advice—he had three names in a connecting heart on his forearm. But he explained that away almost
immediately. “Unless it’s your kids, of course.” He pointed to his arm. “Three girls.”
“Well I know I’ll be yours forever.” Doc wrapped his arms around Carrie’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I have no qualms about getting your name tattooed on my body.”
“You could get it tattooed on your dick,” Wilson joked. “Then no one would ever see it but Carrie. In theory, anyway.”
Carrie’s eyes widened as she glanced back at her husband. “I’d better be the only one to see it!”
“I’ve done cock tattoos,” the tattoo artist said, smiling up at her. His name was Brad and he was far more tattooed than Wilson, tendrils of black tribal marks snaking up his neck under his black t-shirt. At least you couldn’t see Wilson’s when he had street clothes on.
Carrie stared at him, a little shocked. “But… don’t they have to… you know… have an erection…?”
“At the beginning, yeah.” Brad winked at her, rubbing his chin with the back of his gloved hand. “We put a stencil on when it’s erect and then we can stretch the skin after that. Although the closer we get to the head of the cock, the more likely a guy is to stay hard.”
She blinked at him, his meaning finally dawning on her. “It feels… good?”
“Yeah.” Wilson nodded, agreeing. “It hurts soooo good.”
“You’re kidding me.” Carrie turned to him, her mouth agape.
Doc laughed. “You’ve got a tattoo on your dick?”
“What is it of?” Carrie couldn’t help asking.
“You wanna see?” Wilson reached for his belt buckle.
“Whoa there!” Doc punched him lightly on the shoulder. “We just crossed the line into too much information.”
Wilson settled back in his chair and Brad went back to work, but Carrie couldn’t help sneaking glances down at the zipper on his jeans, far too curious for her own good.
“So what are you gonna get, Doc?” Wilson looked back over his shoulder at the job the tattoo artist was doing.
“I don’t know for sure.” Doc shrugged, glancing at her. “I was thinking about—”
Carrie made a face when his beeper went off. That was never a good thing, never.
Doc swore, checking the number. He looked at her regretfully. “Babe…”
She sighed. “When is the emergency rotation over again?”
“After Christmas.”
“You should be on-call like I am for the OB rotation.” Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s actually worse. I spent seventy-two hours at the hospital last week, and I think I slept about three of those.”
Doc nodded. “That’s next semester.”
“Great,” Carrie remarked sarcastically. “Something to look forward to.”
Doc was already pulling on his coat. “Hey, can you take Carrie home for me?”
“Sure,” his friend agreed. “No problem.”
“How long will you be?” Carrie put her arms around her husband for a kiss.
He gave her what she was looking for, far too briefly. “I’ll call you.”
She pouted. “We were supposed to have dinner.”
“You can still have Mexican delivered. Save some for me.” He kissed her again and then let her go. When he got to the door, he turned back and called out, as if just remembering, “And hey—no showing off cock tattoos.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe I’ll get a vulva tattoo.”
“No you won’t.” He laughed. “Chicken.”
“Call me!” She waved as he pushed the door open.
“I will.” The bell tinkled as the door closed behind him.
Carrie sighed and took a seat next to the tattoo artist, watching his progress. They were the only ones in the shop.
Wilson saw the look on her face and nudged her with the tip of his combat boots. “Well, Tonto, I guess it’s just you and me.”
She smiled wanly. “Heigh-ho, Silver.”
They hadn’t spent much time together without Doc, so it was a little awkward at first, but by the time his tattoo was finished and Brad was greasing it up with Vaseline, they were talking everything from tattoos to their favorite television shows and laughing like old friends. She was surprised how easy he was to talk to.
“Are you suuuuure you don’t want to get a tattoo?” Wilson nudged her as he pulled out his wallet to pay for his new body art. “Last chance. You could get a lower back tattoo. Doc would love it.”
“Nope.” Carrie shook her head, adamant. “Not me. If they could do it without needles, I’d be all in, but I’m not into that pain thing.”
“You can do a temporary, see what it looks like. Just try it out.” Brad reached under the counter, pulling out a stack of temporary tattoos. “Look through, see if you find anything you like.”
Carrie frowned, pawing through them. “How do they go on?”
“Just warm water and a washcloth,” Wilson reassured her.
“No needles,” Brad agreed. “That one would look hot on your lower back.”
It was a Celtic knot design, twisty and winding and sexy. She imagined Doc’s reaction when she showed it to him—pretending, of course, that it was real, that she’d been brave enough to go through with it. It would be a fantastic joke.
“Okay, I’ll do it. How much?”
“For you?” Brad glanced at Wilson and smirked. “Free. Come here.”
Brad came around behind the counter and led her to the back, Wilson following behind. He wet a washcloth with hot water, instructing Carrie to lie down on what looked like a massage table.
“Undo your pants,” he instructed.
She looked back at him, wide-eyed.
“You want it on your lower back, right?”
Wilson grinned, watching as Carrie undid her jeans, inching them down her hips so they could both see the black triangle of the thong she was wearing.
“Perfect.” Brad pressed the temporary tattoo to her back, applying the warm washcloth, which actually felt really good. “Now just hold still for a few minutes.”
“How long before it wears off?” She twisted, trying to see, but it was no use.
“A few days.” Brad lifted the edge to check it. “If you want it to come off before then, just rub it down with baby oil or vegetable oil.”
“Oh man, Doc is going to have a fabulous time doing that,” Wilson muttered, his gaze never leaving her ass.
Carrie laughed, blushing, asking him, “How does it look?”
“Sexy as hell.”
Brad nodded, agreeing. “Tattoos like you.”
“Can I see?” She rolled to her side, going over to the full length mirror hanging on the wall and turning so her back was to it. Her jeans were still undone, open in front, revealing the black lace top of her panties, but she was focused on her back where the tattoo had transformed her skin with black swirls, the pattern drawing the eye toward both dimples on each side of her ass. It was far sexier than she had imagined, and when she looked up at Brad and Wilson and saw identical looks of restrained hunger on their faces, she knew Doc would love it.
Brad cleared his throat. “Like it?”
“Love it!” She pulled her jeans all the way up, buttoning and zipping. “Thank you so much!”
“No problem.” Brad led them to the front of the shop. “Come back when you want a real one.”
She smiled, waving as they pulled on their coats and pushed open the door. “Maybe I will.”
Wilson’s Camaro got them back to her apartment in record time.
“Do you still want to order dinner?” she offered, her hand on the car door handle.
“Do you want to?” Wilson shrugged, rubbing at his goatee. “I don’t want to impose. This was supposed to be a threesome sort of thing.”
His words hung there, the suggestion in them palpable.
“Come on.” Carrie reached over and turned the key in the ignition to shut off the engine, sliding it out and putting them in his pocket. “It will be fun. Mexican food and reruns of I Love Lucy. What’s better
than that?”
“Can’t think of much.” Wilson followed her into the apartment.
As promised, the little Mexican place around the corner delivered hot tamales and quesadillas in under an hour. Wilson ate four burritos while Carrie ate only half her quesadilla, putting the tamales away for Doc.
“He hasn’t called me yet,” Carrie pouted, glancing at the clock. It was already late—going on ten—and she’d hoped he’d be back in time to at least hang out with them for a while.
“Emergency rotation is crazy.” Wilson wadded up his napkin and sat back with a groan, patting his belly. “That was so good. I’m stuffed.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
He raised his pierced eyebrow, glancing at her. “Sure.”
“What do you think of Daphne?”
“Nice girl.” He closed his eyes, sinking lower in the couch. “Cute. Why?”
“Just wondering.” She couldn’t help but wonder, after seeing them together. Daphne hadn’t answered her phone that morning and she hadn’t had a chance to call her again to see if Wilson had actually stayed a while at her place—or if she had gone to his. She found herself thinking about them together, wondering if Daphne knew just what Wilson had tattooed on his cock.
He squirmed on the couch, making a face. “Damn thing’s really starting to sting.”
“Your tattoo?”
“Yeah.” He sat up, pulling off his shirt and looking over his shoulder. Carrie looked too, she could help it. He was just as well-built as her husband—a little leaner, lankier, but still, nice washboard abs and a broad chest. Daphne could do worse, she thought.
“This is why I’m a fan of temporary ones.” She leaned over to inspect the damage on his bicep. “No pain at all.”
“Want to do me a favor?” Wilson reached into his jean pocket, pulling out a little packet. He tore it open with his teeth and squirted something gel-like onto his bicep, starting to rub it in. “Can you put some of this on my back? I can’t reach.”
“Sure.” She spread the grease all along his shoulder where the snake coiled, each scale a dark, almost glowing green singed with black.
Wilson hissed through his teeth, glancing back at her.
“Hurt?” She tried to do it more lightly, although she found herself wanting to really massage it into his skin, dig her fingers deep into his muscles. She smirked. “You must have had fun after you got the tattoo on your cock.”
