Healing the Wounds (31 page)

Henry hummed in quiet agreement, and Alice and Jay giggled.

William raised his voice, amusement threaded through every word. “Dear little Alice has only just learned to stand on two feet by the expedient method of gripping everything in sight. Furniture, pant legs, the dog if she has one—no?—very well, no dog in this tale. Pity. Every children’s story needs a dog.”

“Were you telling a story, Will, or merely rambling to yourself? I’m certain I could tell the story in the same amount of time you’ve spent on the prologue.”

William waved a dismissive hand. “You’re always in such a rush, Henry.”

She guffawed at the blatant untruth and clapped both hands over her mouth to stop more from escaping.

William patted her thigh at the knee, his expression triumphant. He must love teasing Henry as much as Jay did.

“In the wilds of New England, we find Henry, a strapping lad of eleven, already taller than all of his classmates—ah, wait, no, that’s me. Let’s see. We find Henry, a sensitive, focused
artiste
of eleven years, beginning the sixth grade. It’s the youngest grade offered at this academy, and both boys are new to the school. As luck would have it, the class is scant on W’s and lacking V’s entirely. Thus ‘Upton, William’ and ‘Webb, Henry’ are forced into cohabitation.”

Jay’d been right about Henry and William meeting at school. She’d imagined them older. Teenagers. Boarding school at eleven sounded lonely. Luck indeed.

“It is, of course, much harder on William, as he’s such an angel to room with. Perfect in all ways. This goes without saying, I’m sure.”

“If one were capable of not saying something, certainly. But we’ll make an exception for you, Will.”

“I’m exceptional in all ways, Henry.”

A snort in reply.

“But I’ll forgo sharing tales of my amazing athletic prowess and general brilliance, as I suspect the crowd at this story time is far more interested in hearing about young master Webb.” Eyebrow cocked, William gazed over her head. “Who, it must be said, was as devoted to the people he loves and as unconcerned about the opinions of others at eleven as he is at thirty-nine.”

“Mind you don’t make me a candidate for sainthood. My dear ones will develop unreachable expectations.”

Impossible. He’d always exceeded hers so far.

“Says the man who called his mother after dinner every day for the first semester to make certain she was coping well without him.”

“Will—”

“And—
and—
mind you, as this was before children ran around with cellphones in hand, made those calls from the public phone in the floor lounge with the taunts of ‘baby’ in his ears, to which he replied—” William cast a pointed glance across the low table. “Come now, Henry, you recall better than I.”

A story from Henry’s childhood was too good to pass up.

Henry sighed, and sipped his sherry, and stroked Jay’s cheek with one finger. The king of his castle with his jester lazing at his feet. “It was
one
day, Will.”

“And they never said a word about it after that day you spoke back to them, did they?”

Chuckling, Henry outlined Jay’s mouth and tugged at his lip. “No, they never did. Which was partly your doing.”

“You can’t leave your pets with half the story, old friend.” William leaned forward and touched Alice’s chin.

She jerked toward him, flushing with the awareness that she’d neglected him to stare at Henry.

“They obviously want to know you. And you want that, too.” His gentle push turned her until Henry filled her vision once more. “Now, the idiot boys were running their mouths about babies who needed to be tucked in and must be afraid of the dark, and our young hero said…”

Henry cleared his throat. “Why? Are you afraid to call your mother? Do you worry bigger boys will call you a baby? I’m sure she’d want to hear from you. I know mine does.” His tone stayed calm and even.

Oh hell. She knew what had happened next. No bully would hear that and not feel patronized.

Jay rocked side to side. “And then?”

William stroked her hair. “Oh, and then they thrashed us both, of course.”

“Only because you wouldn’t stand clear, Will.” Henry hugged Jay to him, kissing the top of his head.

“What, and let my roommate take a beating alone? Absurd. And then Henry calmly pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his bloody nose, and called his mother to tell her about his day.” William laughed. “Everything but the thrashing. It ruined their sport entirely.”

“I suspect your punches might have had something to do with that, Will.”

“Can I help it if my father put me in boxing lessons from the time I was eight? Certainly not.”

Henry made a sound of dismissal, if not disagreement, and gave Jay another hug before patting his ass. “Clear the table, my boy, and we’ll have games before dessert.”

Jay gathered dishes, rose to his feet, and headed to the kitchen without complaint.

Instead of sending her to help Jay clear, William crooked his finger. “Come closer, little Alice.”

She knelt on the pillow, her knees touching William’s hip. He clasped the side of her neck. His thumb brushed her ear. Leaning close, he whispered, “Was that the sort of story you wanted to hear, pet? Do you see things more clearly now?”

She tried to picture the two of them as boys, Henry calm and composed, William throwing punches, but her mind kept returning to the night at the club. Henry. Calm and composed. William. Throwing punches.

“You’ve been friends for a long time.” Understanding clicked. William didn’t feel she owed him anything because he’d been doing what he’d always done. “You’ll always have Henry’s back.”

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “And yours and Jay’s, little one, so long as you’re his.” Pulling away, he gave her a slight push. “Now, go and help young Jay clear. I’m eager to see what entertainment Henry has planned for the rest of the evening.”

She scrambled to gather plates. William’s satisfied sigh and Henry’s quiet hum informed her she’d flashed her ass at the former and given the latter a view straight down the front vee of her nightgown. She savored the heady sense of her own power, even now, when she’d technically handed that power to another. The extra sway in her hips as she walked to the kitchen wasn’t an accident.

The games would be fun, though Henry hadn’t agreed to her original suggestion. For the best, anyway. Her mouth had been running on pure bravado when he’d sat her down at the table and asked what sort of thank-you she’d wanted to give Santa.

“You could give me a spanking. The good kind. So I can get it right this time.” Right almost certainly did not involve sobbing like a child.

“Get what right, sweet girl?” Neutral-Henry acted as if he didn’t know what a poor reflection of his training she’d demonstrated.

“Show your friend that I’m not such a baby, that you
did
train me and I
can
take it.”

Henry looked at her for a long moment. “No, Alice.”

She leaned in, reaching for him. “But—”

He laid a finger to her lips. “Your response wasn’t babyish. Nothing was shameful in any of your actions that night, Alice. You’ve nothing to prove.” He cupped her cheek. “Neither you nor Jay is ready for that, even in play. Something more entertaining is in order, I expect. We want Will to laugh with us.”

Between Jay’s story about Santa’s wife throwing a hissy fit and Emma calling the woman a harpy, Henry’s reasoning needed no further explanation. “To see our happy home.”

“Precisely. We’ll give Will an evening in a happy home, with a charming companion.”

She shook off the memory as she set her dishes on the counter alongside Jay’s. He was already on his way to get the rest. Santa had been right about one thing, for sure. Jay had one fine ass. And she got to play with it.

She picked up the bowl waiting on the counter. No food in this one. She and Jay had spent part of last night filling it with slips of paper. Henry had set down a few rules but otherwise allowed them to write whatever they chose, refusing to vet the slips on the grounds that it would give him an unfair advantage.

Passing Jay in transit, she carried the bowl to the coffee table. She knelt and waited. Jay returned with a tray of two glasses of port, two dessert plates with thin slices of Henry’s chocolate torte, and a plate of truffles that had to be William’s gift to them.

“Lovely, thank you, my boy.” Henry waved toward the open space beyond the coffee table. “Will, if we may borrow Alice for a bit, she and Jay will do some acting for us in a game of charades.” A curving smile overtook his face and lightened his eyes. “There are, of course, valuable prizes to be had.”

“Going head-to-head, are we?” William sank back against his pillow. “All right, then. Bring it on. I’m feeling brilliant tonight.”

“Mmm. I’m feeling motivated to win, myself.”

They haggled over the rules, settling on alternating guesses, with her and Jay allowed to act out their words singly or together, at their option. The first correct guess earned a kiss from the primary actor, with placement at the winner’s discretion. As William was the guest, “his” submissive would be up first.

She drew a slip from the bowl and unfolded it. Jay’s handwriting, not hers. She suppressed a grin.
Why am I not surprised?

She beckoned him up beside her, turned their backs to the men, and showed him the slip. After waiting for his goofy grin to subside, she whispered, “Stand still and look happy.” The second part would be easy. The first part would give him fits.

Turning him sideways, she held up a finger toward William and Henry in the universal charades sign for “one word.”

She slid to her knees, trailing her hands over Jay’s bare chest, warm and firm, kissing the skin below his navel. She lacked permission to remove Jay’s shorts, but William wouldn’t have trouble guessing once she brought her mouth in position.

Kneading Jay’s ass, she dragged her cheek up and down alongside his cock and listened to his choked-off moans. Tsk-tsk. No sounds during charades. No climaxes, either. Bet he wished he hadn’t written “blowjob” now.

“Let’s see.” William stretched out his words in a syrup-thick drawl. “I’ve two minutes to figure this out before you’ll have a chance to steal, is that right, Henry?”

She hadn’t factored in William’s sense of fun. Logically, the object of charades was to guess as quickly and as often as possible until coming up with the right word. That’s how she’d have played. Obviously why she’d never played sex charades before. She’d have ruined the fun too fast.

“Two minutes, mm-hmm.”

“I must say, this is a difficult game. I think ‘ways to make a man moan’ would be a good guess.”

“It does run into that pesky one-word problem.”

“Oh, true, one word. Well. That makes things harder.”

She muffled her laughter against Jay’s shorts. No way he could get any harder in this fabric.

“Would you like to pass, Will? I’m happy to make a guess if the game is too difficult for you.”

“No, no, I’ll take my full two minutes. Is ‘ass massage’ one word, Henry? Do you have a dictionary for these tricky problems?”

“I could find one, I suppose. But the search might take a while, and you’ve only ten seconds left to guess, Will.”

“Oh dear. I’ll have to go out on a limb and say ‘blowjob.’ Do I win?”

“I believe Jay wins,” Henry murmured, laughter in his tone. “Though perhaps it’s more of a torture.”

She stopped her torment and raised the slip to display the word.

Broad smile in place, William clapped his hands. “Excellent. A kiss for me, then. Come here, please, little one.”

She trotted over for instructions.

He pulled her into his lap.

Straddling his thighs, not quite brushing the bulge in his pants, she waited for him to claim his kiss or direct her. Mouth? Neck? Some earlobe nibbling?

He raised his left arm, rolled his sleeve up, bent his arm back, and patted his elbow. “A peck here, pet. My elbow has felt terribly neglected all night. No fault of yours, of course. How were you to know it was crying out for attention?”

Giggling, she bestowed the kiss, the kind a child might give, or a parent kissing a boo-boo.

“Ah, such miraculous healing power in your lips, little one. My elbow feels much appreciated.” He patted her shoulder. “But I suspect your playmate is in need of your assistance now.”

Jay, holding a new slip from the bowl, had directed his watch-and-wait intensity at her with William.

“Run along, pet.”

She hurried to Jay’s side. He pulled her in front of him, dropping his arms around her, and showed her the slip. Her handwriting.

“I’ve seen how this works.” He tickled her ear with soft, full lips. “You seem to like it.”

His eager nudges and sultry tone promised he’d pay her back for the faux-job. He took his hand off her long enough to hold up two fingers to Henry, and then he gripped her hips tight and pulled her hard against his groin.

She went to her knees.

He followed, a solid wall behind her ass and thighs.

She about died of cuteness the way Jay imitated Henry, hips rocking against hers and hands skimming up her back. The side effect pushed up her nightgown, which left her bare ass rubbing Jay’s shorts.

Should she? Aw hell, why not?

Henry made a smart remark about whether “rug burn” counted as one word or two. She missed William’s reply as she crossed her arms on the floor and laid her head on them. Back arching, she shoved her ass into Jay’s crotch.

He sang out a groan as quick and automatic as his cock thumping against her. But the way he dropped over her back, his hands coming down alongside her arms, and the kiss he pressed to her spine demonstrated pure intent.

Pure intent to mimic Henry.

She closed her eyes, reminding herself this was just a game of charades.

Heated air coasted across her ear. A breath. Two. And then a growl.

Hips jerking, she shivered and moaned. “Unfair.”

“No talking, remember?” Jay was quick to tease.

“Ah, yes, I recall the term now. ‘Doggy style.’” Henry spoke warm, liquid syllables. “It’s the growl that sells it.”

Henry-style was more like it. Jay kissed her hair and helped her to her feet.