The Virgin Threesome

by Brit M.

  “No, no,” Adrian said. He patted her on the shoulder and took the seat at the head of the table, between them both. “Things just happen this way sometimes. You're—I'm very fond of you, already.”

  “Me, too,” Paul said.

  “I like you both a lot,” she said.

  “Now that we've got that settled,” Adrian said. “Let's eat. Then we can cuddle. I want to get another cuddle in, before—well. You know.”

  She nodded her understanding and began assembling her sandwich. It was all very normal. The steady pulse of an ache that was growing in her chest wasn't, but she'd be damned if she'd let the sorrow set in early and ruin her last few hours. Lunch itself passed quickly, quietly. It was a companionable silence despite the discomfort they were all sharing. A weekend of sex had been wonderful, but the strings that had appeared over the nights together weren't.

  “Let's go to bed,” Paul suggested, sounding weary, as he pushed aside his empty plate. “There's hours of day still left.”

  Marissa took Adrian's offered hand and Paul hooked a finger through his partner's belt loop, so they walked connected down the hallway. She glanced in the guest room and a small office before they reached the door at the end of the hall and went inside. Their bedroom was painted a pleasant chocolate color with cream highlights and baseboards. It made the space seem warm and inviting. Their bed was huge and piled high with pillows, some of which had spilled onto the floor. No one had tidied the covers before they'd left for the weekend.

  Adrian tugged at the waist of her pants and she jumped a bit, giving him a shy glance. It was a little different, stripping in broad daylight in their bedroom without the pressure of lust guiding her. All the same, she pulled her shirt over her head and unhooked her bra, dropping them into a pile. She saw them both disrobing as she stripped out of her pants and underwear. Nude, she climbed up onto the broad, soft mattress. The sheets were crisp under her knees and hands.

  “Mm,” Adrian murmured contentedly as he climbed in beside her, pulling the covers up. Paul's taller body pressed against her other side and she rolled onto her back so she could see them both, touch them both. “I need this.”

  His voice was raw, unexpectedly emotional. Marissa looked away from the revealing emotion on his face and found Paul was staring at him, a soft look like wonder on his own. Adrian guided her onto her side with a push so she faced Paul and huddled against her back, his hands wrapped tightly around her stomach. He buried his face in her neck. She felt the slight dampness of tears. The warmth and smoothness of his body pressed against every inch of her from calves and up was soothing.

  Paul tangled his legs with theirs and dropped an arm over them both, facing her. She was eye level with his chin. A brief tilt of her head and she pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth. He shifted to give her his lips and she planted a sweet, close-mouthed kiss to them. He moved to press another to the top of her head and gathered them in against him. It wasn't that her body didn't react to all of their beautiful, naked skin against hers, but that it wasn't about sex. They'd had plenty of that, plenty of ways.

  This was what she needed, they needed, to say goodbye. She breathed in the musk of Paul's cologne, her face in the crook of his shoulder, and relaxed into the feeling of being held. Adrian's hands were still gripping her as if he was afraid she'd slip away. She fumbled one of hers back to grasp him in return, clumsily hugging him closer with a hand on his hip.

  He sighed against her hair, almost a sob, and Paul clutched them into a tighter hug. She felt her own eyes stinging. The overwhelming heat and presence of these men and their candid emotional intimacy were too much. She cried quietly, without much movement, but knew Paul must have felt the wetness on his skin. He said nothing to reprimand her. If anything, she thought he might have been crying too. The catharsis of holding each other and letting out the impending sorrow was perfect.

  “I don't want to go back to my apartment, or work, or anything else,” she confessed weakly. “You've gotten under my skin.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” Adrian whispered. “Damn, I know.”

  Paul kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. She sighed into the touch and let him deepen the embrace, their mouths sliding together. She felt his restrained passion and his unspoken need. What were they going to do? There was nothing for it but to go home, and deal with the life ahead of her. It was a good life. It just seemed empty without Paul and Adrian in it.

  “But I know you must be a good professor,” Paul murmured. “So I know you want to go back to that.”

  She nodded.

  “And you'd get tired of not having any clothes to change into,” Adrian joked. “So you'd have to go home sometime.”

  That forced a small laugh from her. “I'm sorry. I know I'm being a pain.”

  “No, you're not,” Adrian said.

  “It's hard for us, too,” Paul reminded her.

  Marissa snuggled in tighter between them, hugging them as if it meant that time would stand still. But it wouldn't, and she knew that.

  “Let's just nap,” she said. “I don't have to go yet.”

  “Amen,” Paul said.

  It was easier than she thought it would be to fall asleep cradled in their embrace, despite her internal upheaval. She drifted off into a dreamy haze within moments. The soft murmur of their voices woke her halfway at one point when the light was low, but then they quieted and she heard a small snore from Adrian. He'd fallen back asleep. Paul's eyes were half-lidded and he met her curious, sleepy gaze.

  “A little longer,” he breathed.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  But the spell of sleep was broken, and now she tried instead to memorize the feel of their embrace and the way they touched her, touched each other. Adrian stirred finally after what could have been another hour or only ten minutes; she wasn't sure. The light from their windows said it was evening. Time to be heading home.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “I know,” Adrian muttered.

  “We'll see you out,” Paul said. “Don't lose touch. Please.”

  “I have your e-mail address,” she said.

  Dressing was like a dream in and of itself, hazy and slow with reluctance. Marissa found herself lingering over straightening her hair in their bathroom and staring at herself in their mirror. It was time. She went out to the living room and they put on a brave front of meeting her at the door, arm in arm.

  They hugged as one unit, mouths finding mouths and hands questing for a last grab and a last feeling. She was out the door and on the way to her car before she could stop herself. It was almost like running away because if she stopped to speak she wouldn't be able to go. Moisture blurred her vision. She managed to get behind the wheel of her car and saw them standing on the porch, waving.

  It was easy to lift her hand in return, easy to smile, but impossible to start the car. She found she could do it even though she thought she couldn't.

  She was halfway home before she had to pull over at a gas station and sob, her heart breaking like she'd never felt it break before. She'd never been in love until now, she thought, and wasn't that just a damn shame.

  * * * *

  Work the next day was a harsh snap back to reality. The scarves had made a return just because she needed to cover the lingering marks on her neck and long sleeves were necessary because somebody had left a hickey on her inner elbow. She didn't even remember that happening.

  So when Marissa collapsed into her chair at the podium before her classroom filled, she was exhausted and hot, already tired before the day even started. She'd barely slept the night before. Too long of a nap during the day and too much hurt balled up in her chest. It wasn't Paul or Adrian's fault. It was just having to give them up so soon. But really, they'd never been hers.

  The auditor came in smiling but his expression had a damper once he looked at her.

  “Are you ill?” he asked.

  “A little,” she lied. “I just feel under the weather. I'l
l be better soon.”

  He frowned but nodded. “Don't hesitate to take a personal day if you're sick. I won't grade you down for that.”

  “I know,” she said with a smile. It was mostly forced, but not completely. He really was a nice guy. “Like I said, I'm sure it'll pass.”

  * * * *

  Lita was waiting for her when she got home with a bottle of gin and a bag of limes. Marissa barely had the energy to raise an eyebrow at the fact that her best friend had appeared on her apartment steps with liquor. Her neighbors were going to think she was an alcoholic or some kind of party girl. Lita's smile mellowed when she looked her over.

  “Not a good time?”

  Marissa sighed. “Great time. Too great.”

  “Oh, honey,” Lita said.

  The hug almost undid her. “Stop, I'm going to cry.”

  “Let's get you inside, lovebird,” Lita murmured and ushered her over to her own couch once she opened the door. She found herself divested of scarf and briefcase and with a drink in hand in short order. “Now. Was it good?”

  “Oh, God.” Marissa half laughed. “It was better. It was perfect. It was—everything I ever wanted. I loved it. I loved them.”

  Lita shook her head and settled with her own drink. “Then we're going to get all kinds of fucked up tonight and you're going to cry it out and feel better. Once the lonely passes, you'll be able to enjoy the memories.”

  “Have you ever—” she started and couldn't finish.

  “Fallen in love too quickly?” she whispered. “Yeah, honey. I just don't talk about it. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be. If it's not, you have to move on.”

  “My grandmother found out,” Marissa confessed.

  Lita winced. “Oh.”

  “I know. I don't know how to deal with it.”

  “You know, maybe you shouldn't,” Lita said. “It's her problem, not yours. You were happy. She's the one who's upset.”

  “I know that in my head.”

  The lime-and-gin drink was too strong and it tasted a little bit like Pinesol. Marissa drank it anyway. Lita had the right plan: get tanked. She hadn't done that in forever, years at least. Now was a good time. Especially since she doubted she had any e-mail from the men she wished were a part of her life.

  “I'm going to make an appointment with a therapist. A kink-friendly therapist,” she announced to the room or Lita or both.

  Lita said, without pause, “Thank God.”

  They both laughed, surprised, and Lita toasted her. Their glasses clinked. Marissa smiled, and it was watery, but it was there. She had a life to live. She had to learn to accept herself. She had to get out there and do things with the newfound passion locked up inside her.

  For the time being, though, it was all about moving past the pain in her gut.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marissa's pen flowed in smooth black lines over the pages in the small leather-backed notebook. She had her feet tucked under her, sitting in her bed with her laptop open at one elbow. The nights were coming so soon now. It seemed like barely a week since she'd been grasping at the last of summer, starting her first semester teaching. There was only one week left before the winter holidays. The air was crisp and sharp outside. She'd taken to wearing scarves again, though not to hide anything—just because she liked the colors.

  The notebooks were the best suggestion Doctor Ringel had given her. As she wrote her dreams and fantasies, so many of them starring those-men-who-will-not-be-named, they came to life for her. They weren't a burden but a joy, something to thrill in. Not to mention, the constant effort at writing beautiful erotic scenes to make her body warm had improved her craft significantly, if she said so herself. Even her essays and scholarly work had more flair.

  The sudden jangle of her phone ringing made her jump, pen skidding on the paper. She huffed, tossed the notebook aside in the middle of a scene about having two pairs of hands caressing her body, and picked up the cell phone from her bedside table. The number showing on the screen had her heart in her throat in an instant. She hadn't forgotten it. Three months wasn't such a long time that she would have let the memory of that number slip away.

  “Hello?” she answered. It was mostly a steady sound, only a little bit of a quaver.

  “Hello there,” said Adrian. The sound of his voice, the teasing lilt to it and the rich warmth of his affection was enough to make Marissa close her eyes and just breathe for a moment. Her chest was tight with renewed emotion. “Is this a good time?”

  “Yes, sure,” she babbled. “What are—what have you been up to lately?”

  It was such an awkward sentence that she winced. “Paul and I have been thinking quite a bit, mostly. Is it the end of the semester yet?”

  “In a week,” she said.

  “Damn, misjudged it,” he said with a snort of laughter.

  “What is it, Adrian?” she asked.

  He was quiet for a moment, though she heard his breathing. When a week had passed, she'd just assumed they weren't going to contact her again. A month, and therapy, made her even more certain. It wasn't that the good doctor had advised her against seeking them out—the opposite, really—but she'd decided to wait. It was their relationship she would be intruding on. It would have to be their first move.

  “We were wondering, if you…” he paused midsentence, clearing his throat. “God, this is hard, darling. Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No,” she answered.

  It was a thoroughly uncharitable but still somehow sweet thrill she got, listening to suave Adrian behave like an awkward teenager. She would let him continue this at his own pace.

  “Would you like to be?” he asked.

  “What are you boys offering?” she asked.

  “Us,” he said, and it was so desperate that it made her heart skip a beat. She heard longing, and perhaps a bit of pain, in that one word. “Just us. Would you like to talk to Paul?”

  “I assume you've spent the past three months debating this amongst yourselves, and you've decided it's the right choice?” she asked. “I want to be sure, you know. I don't think I could take another weekend and then having to leave again.”

  “I'm sure,” Adrian said. There was the sound of shifting bodies, then Paul's voice, “I am, too.”

  “Hi there,” she said.

  “Hello,” he replied, his voice low.

  “So what is this going to be?” she asked. “Are you asking me on a date, so we would be dating, the three of us?”

  “I'm not looking for just sex,” he said. “Neither is Adrian. We want you to be with us. We want to at least—try. I can't let it go without trying, seeing where things lead.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed out a breath. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry, her brain yammering at her to just say yes, say yes, say yes.

  “Where would you like to have our first date?” she whispered.

  “Thank you,” he said fervently.

  “Italian?” Adrian suggested, muffled.

  “I heard him, and that sounds fine,” Marissa answered.

  There was a beat of silence. “I missed you,” Paul said.

  “I missed you, too,” she said. “I thought some distance would make it less intense, but—talking to you both, it all comes right back.”

  “We had to give you space, and us space to figure it out,” Paul said. “It would have been a bad idea to jump right in. Even if it hurt to say goodbye.”

  “I agree,” she said. “You know, I've been seeing a therapist. I think you'll find I have a few ideas of my own now, about what I like.”

  “Really?” he said with interest. “What about your family?”

  She sighed. “Things are strained, but I refuse to pretend to be something I'm not or to feel guilty about it. We'll come to terms eventually.”

  “I can't wait to see you,” Paul said.

  “Me, neither,” Adrian added.

  She smiled. “We should really have just done a three-way call, you know.”

&nbs
p; “Too late now,” Adrian said cheerfully. He must have stolen the phone back. “So, we'll see you tomorrow night? Or would you rather wait ‘til Sunday?”

  “No, Saturday's fine,” she said. “I'll meet you there?”

  “I'll e-mail you the address. Around six?”

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  Another long, heavy pause.

  “Sweetheart,” Adrian said, and this time it was he who sounded chokedup. “I can't tell you how this makes me feel. You'll see us again?”

  “Of course I will,” she said. “I haven't thought about anyone else since I left.”

  “I—” He stopped. She imagined the words he wanted to say and wouldn't, not yet. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Goodbye,” she said. “And sleep well.”

  “We will,” he said.

  She hung up with more effort than it should have taken and flopped back onto her bed. Her eyes were burning, hinting at tears, but they would be of joy and not sadness. Her e-mail program pinged a moment later. Adrian had sent her a short message, just the address, and a small heart typed in at the end. She closed the laptop and moved all of her work onto the floor. She was ready for sleep now, and knew she'd have excellent dreams.

  She was going to see them again. They weren't gone from her life. They wanted to date. She had wished for it, dreamed it, but never thought it would be real. She tried to remind herself that there were no guarantees it would work out, but she couldn't convince her own mind to be less happy. It just wasn't going to work.

  * * * *

  The first thing Marissa noticed when she entered the restaurant—unfortunately fifteen minutes late, as her car had been nearly out of gas and she'd had to take the time to fill it—was that Adrian's hair had grown longer. It was a curtain of pale blond around his face now instead of just a shaggy mane. Paul, who had his back to her from the angle of their booth, still had the same short haircut. She moved through the tables toward the booths at the far side of the restaurant where they were sitting.

  Adrian noticed her first, and the way his face lit up with a smile made her chest feel tight. He really was happy to see her. She felt her own lips move in response, grinning. Paul turned in his seat, one arm tossed over the back of the booth, to look at her as she approached. He, too, couldn't hide his pleasure at her arrival.