by Lily Harlem
“Hi, yes, made good time,” Gabe said, walking up to him with his hand outstretched.
Brent took Gabe’s hand, grinned and placed his other hand on Gabe’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze.
“Thank goodness,” Brent said. “I completely forgot it was regatta day. Never used to, all the hype that goes on in town, but being in the City it just slipped my mind.”
“No, worries,” Gabe said.
Brent looked from Gabe to me. “Hayley, great to see you again. And I’m thrilled that you had a free weekend to come and pay me a visit.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” I said and gestured up at the house. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you, but I can’t really take credit for it. My parents bought it many years ago and painstakingly restored it to its Georgian glory. My mother, Lord rest her soul, also had exquisite taste in antiques.”
Gabe went to the back of the car and lifted our two overnight bags from it.
Brent quickly took one. “Come on, I’ll show you around. Plus, you must be desperate for a drink in this heat.”
“Yes, a bit dry,” Gabe said laughing. “Especially after all of that wine last night.”
Brent shook his head but smiled. “Was nice, though. Can’t beat a two thousand and four Bordeaux Merlot.”
“It sounded delicious,” I said, following them up the stairs.
“It was,” Brent said over his shoulder. “But I know you prefer white, Hayley, so I have some chilling for later.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
“I try.” He threw me a wink.
* * * *
After a tour of the house, which included admiring a magnificent drawing room, a long, sleek dining room table, seven bedrooms and an outdoor pool, Brent sat us on cushioned chairs on the back patio and popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.
“Oh, look, the river,” I said, slipping on my shades again and pointing over the stone wall and the lawn. “You can see it from here.”
“Yes, the regatta teams will go past soon.” Brent handed me a glass of bubbling golden liquid.
“Thank you.” I smiled.
He really was incredibly good-looking and with that dense stubble going on and his thick, dark hair, it was no wonder both men and women liked him.
I swallowed and turned my attention to Gabe.
He, too, was studying Brent. He had dark wrap-around sunglasses on but I could tell his focus was on our host.
I wondered what my husband was thinking. Was his mind going down the same paths that mine did? Had images of Brent fucking another man crossed Gabe’s thoughts?
“Cheers,” Brent said. “To trips to the countryside.”
“Cheers,” me and Gabe said together.
We clinked glasses then a rhythmic shouting and splashing down at the river caught our attention.
“There they go,” Brent said, holding up his crystal flute. “May the best man win.”
“Is that a tennis court?” Gabe asked, pointing to his right.
“Yes,” Brent said. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “Do you play?”
“Well, not brilliantly but I’ll give it a go,” Gabe said.
I raised my eyebrows and pressed my lips together. Gabe was notoriously rubbish at any sport that required hand-eye coordination. He could run, swim, had even progressed through the karate belts, but anything that required him to be accurate with a bat and ball, no, that wasn’t for him.
“Would you like a knock about?” Brent asked.
“Sure, why not.” Gabe downed his drink and grinned. “Let’s do it.”
“Gabe,” I said with a smile and a shake of my head.
“Oh, sorry,” Gabe said. “I shouldn’t, I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I said. “The court is only there, I can see you. I’ll be fine. Go and play tennis.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” Brent rubbed his hands together. “Give me a minute to throw some gear on.”
Gabe looked down at his black t-shirt, khaki shorts and soft shoes. “Will I do?”
“Yes, of course, it’s only us,” Brent said. “I just need some different shoes.”
Brent disappeared through the huge French doors.
“Gabe,” I said. “You’re asking to get beaten.”
“I’m not that bad.” He frowned.
“No, of course not, darling.” I suppressed another giggle and had a mouthful of my drink. “This place is gorgeous. Those trees are surely hundreds of years old, and this view, down the gardens to the river, it’s divine. He must have a full-time gardener to tend all of those flowerbeds.”
“Yes, I’m sure he has.” Gabe bent and kissed my head. “Don’t get too hot or drink too much bubbly. I’ll see you in a bit.” He turned and walked toward the court that was partly obscured by a tall privet hedge.
I settled back and crossed my legs. If nothing else it was nice to see him going to a court for fun, rather than work, and sun and bubbly, well, that suited me very well.
Within a few minutes Brent was back. He’d changed into white shorts and what appeared to be proper tennis shoes.
“Go easy on him,” I said. “He’s an amateur.”
Brent laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be gentle.”
He turned and strode away. He held two tennis rackets in one hand and swung them backward and forward.
I found myself studying his ass. It was high and taut and the shorts he’d pulled on allowed me to just decipher the outline of what must be white boxers beneath. Gabe had been right when he’d told me Brent had a great body, long and lean and strong. It was clear that he kept in shape, plus he had a certain something about him. It was the way he moved, the way he spoke, smiled and paid all of his attention to whoever he was talking to. Yep, he had the essential ingredients that some men lacked and he had it by the bucketful.
I licked my lips and wondered what Samuel had been like, his male lover. Had he been big and burly and taken Brent whenever and however he wanted or had he been small and dainty, willing to submit to Brent and obey every command?
I crossed my legs and sipped the cool champagne.
Brent went onto the court and held out a racket to Gabe.
Gabe gave a few practice swings, acting like he knew what he was doing.
I smiled indulgently. He didn’t stand a chance.
They were talking, but I was too far away to hear what they were saying. I hoped Gabe wasn’t building himself up to be better than he was.
I turned to the river as a slower boat went past, a punt. Yes. I was glad I’d escaped London. It was pretty damn perfect sitting here with a nice drink and an exceptional view. Not to mention the company of two men.
The sound of the ball bouncing on the surface of the court grabbed my attention. Gabe was in my line of view but Brent just out of it.
Gabe volleyed the hit back but missed the next one. He dashed to the right, missed again, then lunged for a backhand which he made, but the ball hit the net.
He stood, hands on hips and laughed.
“Oh, dear,” I said, helping myself to a top up of champagne. “The usual carnage.”
Brent appeared, racket tapping on his calf, and stood next to Gabe. He was smiling and his posture relaxed. He wasn’t taking it too seriously, I was pleased to see.
A sudden popping sound echoed towards me as a ball flew over the net and Brent bashed it back.
He spoke to Gabe, who nodded.
Another ball flew their way. Brent whacked it and it skimmed the net.
I guessed there must be a ball delivery machine just beyond my eyeline.
Brent stepped aside and indicated for Gabe to hit the next ball.
I crossed my fingers, hoping for Gabe to return the shot. It was clear he wanted to impress his new friend.
It was a backhand, not good, and Gabe missed it by several inches.
Brent set his own racket aside and s
tepped up to Gabe. He slotted in behind him, close, and wound one arm around Gabe’s waist and put his other hand over Gabe’s—the one that gripped the racket.
I widened my eyes and sat forward.
Damn, that was pretty close and cozy.
A ball flew toward them and with Brent’s help Gabe smashed it back.
Gabe half turned and smiled at Brent, triumph on his face.
Almost immediately another ball came at them. Again Brent helped Gabe return it to the other end of the court.
Their bodies moved as one with Brent’s groin lodged against Gabe’s ass. I was reminded of the construction workers on the Tube and thought of their familiarity with each other.
Brent was being pretty damn familiar with my husband right now. But Gabe wasn’t exactly complaining
And, I found, neither was I. There was something seriously sexy about watching them locked together. Brent’s mouth was at Gabe’s ear; he appeared to be giving him instructions before each shot.
I squirmed a little on the seat and had a big glug of champagne as an image of them naked, together like that, seared into my head—Gabe tense and being held by Brent as Brent wedged in behind him, his cock hard and slipping between Gabe’s buttocks, teasing, wet with lube, getting ready to penetrate.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered.
I stood and went to the wall, stared at the river in the distance.
The heat and the champagne were getting to me. That must be it. Why else would I be turned on thinking about my husband being fucked by another bloke? My hormones must be out of whack or something. My head wasn’t right this week.
Whatever it was, though, I couldn’t deny that a new fantasy had grown within me, and that was to see Gabe bent over and taking it from a man. I hardly dared admit it to myself, but like a germinated seed it was reaching for daylight and demanding to be taken notice of.
Chapter Seven
“Hey,” Gabe said, jogging up to me twenty minutes later.
I dragged my gaze from a bird in the reed bed that stretched along this section of the Thames, and turned to him.
He had a drip of sweat running down from his temple and his top was damp and stuck to his chest.
“Eww,” I said, “you need a shower.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. You coming up to the room?”
“Where’s Brent?” I looked over Gabe’s shoulder. Brent was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s gone for a shower, then he’s going to start dinner.”
“Oh, he cooks too?”
“Apparently.” Gabe grinned and turned back to the house.
I followed. “Seems he’s pretty good at tennis as well.”
“Yeah, he almost went pro. He was telling me it was only because his business took off and needed his full attention that he ditched it. Said it was a pretty tough decision.”
“I’m sure.” I slid my hand over Gabe’s ass, feeling his shape through his clothing. “Very tough.”
Gabe twisted and raised his eyebrows at me but kept on walking.
I released his bum and swirled the stem of my empty glass in my fingers. “Was he a good teacher?”
“Yes. Very.”
“It looked like it. It seemed like he enjoyed having a willing student.”
Gabe turned to me again. There was a questioning expression on his face, like he wasn’t quite sure how to take my comment.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well...he was standing pretty close as he showed you those moves.”
Gabe huffed. “I guess that’s how you learn.”
I bit my lip. I wanted to say learn what? Or ask him if he’d thought of Brent’s bisexuality as he’d shoved his groin against him. But I didn’t. A couple of glasses of bubbly could make my tongue run amok and I didn’t want to regret my words later.
We went up the grand staircase to the guest suite Brent had pointed out earlier. Once inside I shut the door and looked around the sumptuous room. It was at least three times bigger than our one at home. The two windows were huge and had lavish burgundy pelmets and swags folded over the curtains. There was a stone fireplace set with a large bunch of fresh flowers, a long, walnut dressing table and a magnificent four-poster bed with drapes and covers that matched the curtains.
Gabe went into the ensuite and switched on the shower. I could see his reflection in a mirror over the sink and watched him strip out of his clothes.
I decided to join him. I was hot too, after the long drive and standing in the sunshine. It would be nice to freshen up before dinner. My head was a bit champagne-fuggy, a shower would wake me up.
Quickly, I slipped off my Capri pants and white blouse. I peeled off my thong and discarded my bra.
I went into the bathroom. It had a large glass shower cubicle at one end. Gabe was already standing in it. He had his back to me, his arms were outstretched, his hands flat on the tiled wall and his head bowed. The water was lashing onto his back, bouncing off his shoulders and running down the gutter of his spine into the crack of his ass.
I didn’t speak, I just sneaked in next to him.
Taking a deep breath, I wound my hands around his waist and flattened myself against his body.
He tensed slightly but didn’t move.
I kissed his wet skin, just at the base of his neck, and reached for his cock.
He was solid and erect.
“Oh, Mr. Stone,” I murmured. “What are you standing here thinking about?”
I meshed closer to him, my pubic hair rubbing up onto his ass. I was as close to him as Brent had been only minutes ago.
“Hales,” he said breathily.
I gave his cock a few firm push-pulls just the way he liked. “So tell me,” I said again as water splashed onto my hair and face, “what are you thinking about to get this damn hard in the shower.”
“Fucking,” he said.
“I could have guessed that.” I ran my other hand down his outer waist, stroking his skin and exploring the dips and rises of his right hip. For a mad moment I imagined I was Brent standing behind him. I’d have big hands, a broad chest and a fat, thick cock slotted into Gabe’s ass cheeks.
A small groan escaped my lips and I pressed my mound harder into him. My clit was stiff and yearning, my nipples aching buttons pressing into his back.
While continuing to massage his cock, I slid my hand over his buttocks, pulled away slightly and slipped my fingers through his crack.
He was wet and warm and his asshole clenched when I touched it.
Damn, if just my finger had him trembling?
“Ah, Jesus, Hales,” he murmured.
He was probably being bombarded with the memory of my dildo and our new and wild experience together.
I pressed harder and eased into his hole, the water making it a slippery, easy ride.
He gasped but didn’t shake me off, didn’t move, barely breathed.
I went a little higher, knuckle deep.
“Bloody hell…” he gasped.
“Shh,” I whispered as I tugged on his cock with more enthusiasm. I wanted to work him up to orgasm.
“Just think…” I said, “about me in here.” I moved my finger, stroked his internal wall.
“Fuck, it’s all I’ve thought about...all yesterday...all today.”
“Me too.” I paused. Did I have the courage to say what was in my head?
Yes.
“And what did you think about,” I asked, “when Brent was holding you close, his groin in your arse?”
“Jesus, Hales…I…”
“You liked it.” Damn, now I’d started my tongue was beginning to race ahead of my brain. “And who can blame you, he’s a nice-looking guy.”
“But—”
“And he’s into you.”
“He’s not…I…”
“Shh…come, come now.”
Gabe grunted and his body shivered, jostling against my breasts and within my arms.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
His cock was thick and solid.
I tunneled another finger into his anus and stroked over where I thought his prostate was.
“Ah…ah…” he panted. He shook, his knees weakened and he braced them locked and curled his hands into fists on the tiles.
“Imagine,” I said, closing my eyes and relishing what I was feeling inside him. “Brent fucking Samuel all those years ago. His cock big and thick in Samuel’s arse, pounding, shunting, making him come so damn hard. I can just see Brent’s handsome face now, screwed up in ecstasy, coming, coming and coming…”
“Argh…I…” Gabe moaned, yet another quake taking over his spine.
“Imagine you’re Samuel, you’re coming with a hard, fat dick screwing you senseless.” As I’d spoken I’d upped the pressure on his cock and rammed harder into his ass, using my fingers like a small dildo. “Brent’s gripping your hips, dragging you onto his dick. You’re trapped there, trapped in pleasure. Come, Gabe, come now.”
He did.
He released a big huff and his shaft pulsed in my hand. His back bowed and his ass thrust toward me, pressing his hole onto my fingers. Three big spurts of semen burst from him, coating my hand and lubricating my palm as I continued to work him.
Opening my eyes, I blinked in the harsh light of the bathroom. Fuck, this was so hot but what the hell were we doing? I’d just made my husband come by projecting a gay fantasy onto him.
“Hales,” he gasped.
“I’m here,” I said, kissing then nipping the strip of skin between his shoulder and neck. “That’s it, I’ve got you.”
He tugged upwards. I took the hint and withdrew from his ass.
In an instant he’d turned to me.
His eyes were flashing and his cheeks red. He spun me around. My back, shoulders and buttocks hit the cold shower wall and air puffed from my lungs.
He captured my wrists and hoisted my arms above my head, stretching my torso and making me gasp.
“What…” he said through gritted teeth as he pressed the length of his body to mine, “…the fuck was that all about?”
I dragged in a wet breath—the water was streaming down my face—and blinked rapidly.
