Menage (18 page)
Then he'd attack whichever songbird was closest, backing us into the nearest wall for a big, wet kiss. Needless to say, we learned to listen carefully to his tunes.
One Sunday, contrary to habit, Joe tacked twenty minutes' worth of carpet in complete silence. Thanks to Sean's obsessive-compulsive leadership, our exercise room was almost done. The
panelling
was up, and the new ceiling treatment. We had a turn-of-the-century, wall-length mirror complete with gilded frame and
barre
. The
barre
was intended for my use, in spite of the fact that I could barely spell
plie
. In the opposite corner, Sean had constructed an 'L' of seating and storage space. Non-domestic that I was, I hired a seamstress to upholster its cushions in muted rose and moss. All that remained was to finish the carpet, install the skirting board - which I was sanding to fit - and rescue Sean's weight-lifting gear from his parents' basement. I knew he was looking forward to that. He spoke of his bodybuilding equipment with a warmth most men reserved for their first car.
'No more gym fees,’ he'd crow. 'You have no idea the return I could be getting on that money.'
I didn't bother to ask. Our soon-to-be graduate could wax poetic on his first share purchase, too. I'm not certain he
realised
I knew how to invest my own money. His advice wasn't bad, mind you, and he meant well -just as he did when he dropped to his knees behind Joe, gripped his neck muscles and squeezed.
'
Yo
, buddy. You tired today?'
Joe's head swung around in surprise. 'What do you mean?'
'You weren't singing. Did we wear you out last night?'
'I'm fine.' He shook Sean off and returned to tacking the thick maroon carpet. 'I'm saving my voice.'
'Saving it for what?' I asked.
A blush stained the back of his neck. 'I've been composing some songs for a student musical. I thought I'd audition.'
Sean set down the glue gun. 'What musical?'
Joe mumbled something I couldn't make out from my post at the sanding bench. But Sean could hear. He sat back on his heels and smacked his forehead. 'Captain Blood? Don't tell me it's that vampire-pirate thing everyone has been talking about.'
'I'm afraid so.'
Sean wrinkled his nose. 'I thought you didn't want people rolling their eyes at your stuff.'
Joe rubbed his temple with the heel of his palm. 'The story isn't mine, just the songs.'
Sean opened his mouth.
‘I think that's great,' I said, before he could put his foot in it again. 'Is the audition tomorrow?'
Joe shot a wary glance at Sean and nodded.
'Well, I hope you get it. I can't imagine anyone else doing your music justice.'
'Of course, they could,' Joe said. 'I made sure the songs weren't too hard to sing. I mean, not every person with a good voice can read complicated music.'
Sean pretended to strangle him. 'If they're that easy, maybe I should audition.'
Joe twisted free and looked at him. Sean couldn't sing his way out of a paper bag. Still, Joe was nothing if not polite. 'Um, well, sure you could.'
Sean slapped his shoulder. 'Just kidding. I'd rather watch you sing your heart out.'
"The director might not cast me,' he warned.
Sean dismissed that possibility with a soft
fft
. 'He'd have to be blind as well as deaf to pass you over.'
'I agree,’ I said, and Joe gave us both a bashful kiss.
The call came through while I was up on the coffee balcony consulting with a publisher's rep. Four times a year the reps landed on Mostly Romance's doorstep, slavering to sell me the next season's releases. The process required many hours per salesperson, but I enjoyed it. The high-stakes gamble of it got my blood going - with the thrill of haggling thrown in for good measure. Plus, I loved seeing what my
favourite
authors had in store for me.
Consequently, when Keith tapped the balcony with our ivory-topped cane - the magic phone wand, Marianne called it -1 told him to take a message.
'It's Joe,’ he said, just loud enough for me to hear. 'It sounds important.'
My heart stumbled. Had something happened? Was he hurt? Barely taking time to excuse myself to the rep, I rushed downstairs.
Normally, I take personal calls in my office, but at the moment that was thirty steps too far. Instead, I joined Keith behind the counter, turned my back to the shop, and
stoppered
my second ear against a mixture of Latin jazz and happy customer hubbub.
'Joe?' I said, my palm sweating on the phone.
'Kate.' He sounded out of breath. 'How soon can you get off work?'
'I'm busy with a rep right now.' His groan of disappointment sank straight to my gut. 'Why? What's wrong?'
'Nothing,’ he said, making me sag with relief. 'But I got the part and I-' His voice dropped a register. 'I really need to celebrate.'
I clamped my thighs together against a sudden flare of heat. I pictured him in a phone booth on campus somewhere, his muscular shoulder propped on the glass, his prick a painful swelling between his legs. He'd cup it in that way he had, squeezing the whole package hard, as if he could contain his lust by pressure alone.
'Oh,’ I said. Now I was breathless. 'Congratulations. I wish I could get off but -'
'I wish I could get you off.'
I swallowed and clutched the receiver tighter. 'I'm tied up for at least a couple of hours.'
'I wish you were tied up,’ he responded, not missing a beat.
Heat flooded my face. I covered one cheek with a trembling hand. Beneath my grey cashmere dress, my nipples grew erect with embarrassing zeal - and he was just warming up.
'Tying you spread-eagled against the wall would be nice,’ he continued. ‘I would like to go down on you first, but I don't think I can wait. I'll have to fuck you first, I think, real hard and fast, with long, thick strokes that go deeper and deeper until I'm lifting you off your feet every time I drive home. I'll try to last as long as I can. I'll clench my fists and grind my teeth, but it won't do much good. I'll need it too bad, need you squirming hot and silky on my dick, need your tongue in my mouth and your breasts in my hands. You'll want to hold me, to grip the small of my back and keep me close. But it'll be impossible. Your hands will be tied, and your ankles. You'll feel how badly I need to come and you'll wonder: will he last long enough to get me off? But I might not, Kate, because you'll feel so good and I'll have waited so long. It'll go fast at the end - real pile-driver thrusts.
That knot will tighten at the base of my cock, that ache in my balls that says, now, now, now. I'll pull back slowly, trying to hold on. I'll stop with the head clasped inside your beautiful cunt. You'll feel me shaking. You'll say, "Do it, Joe. Do it." So I'll ram back as deeply as I can. And then -'
He paused. "Then I'll come so hard, I'll fill you with jet after jet, shooting straight for your womb, dribbling hot and thick down your thighs. I'll go down on you then,
Katycat
. I'll suck your little clit like a chocolate kiss. I'll
savour
the way we taste together. It's so good, salty and musky, like eating sex. Mm, I could suck you for hours. But I'll just wait until you start making those kitten cries in your throat. You know the ones: "Ah, ah, now, Joe, please."'
His mimicry was uncanny. I blushed harder. As though he knew, he chuckled wickedly. "Then I'll give you everything you've been waiting for - everything.'
He paused to let the images soak in. I heard him breathing hard on the other end of the line. Oh my God, I thought, what I wouldn't give to have him inside me now.
'Kate?' he said, shaking me from my thrall.
Til
finish as quickly as I can,' I said, my throat so tight I sounded hoarse. Evading Keith's knowing smile, I hunched closer to the phone. 'Unfortunately, there's no way I'll be done in less than two hours. I'm with a book rep and I simply can't delegate.'
'Hell.' I pictured his hand falling away from his crotch.
'Sorry,' I said, wanting to call him sweetie but constrained by Keith's big ears.
'No, I'm the one who's sorry. I know you've got a business to run. It's just I've got a stiff the size of
'I want that too, honey,' I said, touched by his disappointment.
Keith stifled a snicker. I glared at him. 'Look, I'll come straight home as soon as I'm done. And I promise, I promise I'll make it up to you.'
Til
hold you to that,' he warned.
'Good,' I said, and kissed the phone as discreetly as I could.
Keith's shoulders shook with amusement.
'If you laugh, I'll fire you.'
He turned his palms out in surrender. 'No, no, Ms Winthrop. I think it's sweet. But maybe you should train me to deal with the reps.' His grin bared his crooked front teeth. 'In case of emergency.'
'Pipsqueak,' I muttered, but my body sang with energy as I rushed back upstairs.
A trail of blood-red rose petals led me from the hall to the basement door. Over its cut-glass knob a white scarf was looped - a dashing silk scarf.
I tossed it loosely around my neck and rubbed the delicate fringe across my cheek. The scent of
Aramis
clung to its flowing folds: Joe's scent. Muscles humming with anticipation, I started down the stairs.
Halfway down, I found two sparkling goblets and a bottle
of
respectable
burgundy,
its
cork
partially removed to allow the wine to breathe. Tucking the booty under my arm, I descended the remaining treads. 'Joe?' I said, reaching bottom. 'Here,' he called softly, 'waiting for you.' I rounded the corner and laughed. Joe was lounging like a pasha on our new red exercise mat. Naked except for a long black scarf - the companion to my own - he sat with one leg bent up
and one bent down, his formidable jewels bared to the world. The trail of red petals ended in a puddle above his eager cock. The true piece de resistance, however, was his rakish black eye-patch. Joe was definitely an original. I'd never known a man
with
the
confidence
to
deck
himself
out
so exotically.
Too bad the mirror still wore its protective plastic coating, or I would have enjoyed a back view, too.
'Well, hello,' I said, quickening with arousal despite my amusement. 'The vampire-pirate, I presume?'
Joe lifted his hips in unmistakable offering. Petals fluttered to the floor. 'In the undead flesh,’
Tell me you're not wearing fangs,’ I said, though I doubted even that could dull my desire.
He bared his teeth for me. "The fangs only come out when I feel the hunger,’
I cast a suspicious glance at his sex. 'You look hungry now. Are you sure it's safe to approach?'
'As long as you bring the wine,’ He waved me closer with two fingers, the picture of an autocratic male. I hesitated. His arm lowered and he stroked his cock with his strong, graceful hand. 'Come. I grow impatient,’ His shaft lengthened at the treatment, demonstrating just how impatient he could get.
The sight of its swarthy glory convinced me to obey. I knelt beside him on the mat, and set the bottle and glasses down.
Mesmerised
, I extended my hand towards his petal-bedecked thatch.
'Pretty,’ I toyed with a single petal, a single glossy curl. His erection jerked. He let go of his shaft, unable to bear even his own touch now. My gaze rifted to his and he smiled, his face shining so brightly with love a flower of pure happiness blossomed in my chest.
'Joe,’ I whispered, touching his breastbone with one wistful finger.
He caught my hand to his lips and kissed the finger, and wrapped the soft curl of his tongue around the pad. My sex quivered with longing. I remembered his promise to suck me like a chocolate kiss. Joe had such a clever mouth.
'Do you still want a quickie?' I asked, game for anything at that point.
He released my finger and shook his head. A lock of hair fell across his silly, sexy eye-patch. 'Not yet. For now I want to anticipate how much I'm going to enjoy the quickie,’
He sat up and rubbed the front of his body against my grey cashmere dress. His erection stood far above horizontal. I could only imagine how good the downy knit felt against its stretched, sensitive skin.
'This is nice,' he purred, turning his cheeks from side to side across my breasts. 'Soft,’
A draught tickled my buttocks. He was gathering the dress up my legs. The feel of my lacy suspenders brought him up short. I wore stockings today, sheer white silk stockings.
'Kate,' he said with a quiet laugh. 'Have I mentioned you wear the best underwear?' Without waiting for a response, he pulled the stretchy dress over my head, pausing only to tug the white scarf back through the neck. When the dress was gone, he froze. My
underthings
were all of snow-white lace: my French-cut panties, my push-up bra, my suspender belt.