The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes (47 page)

The winter block party was about to begin. Much like a summer block party but the street was peppered with chimineas instead of barbeque grills. Most houses were open to guests. People congregated out in the cold, warming their hands and chatting around the small fires, or wandered in and out of each other’s homes for lovely buffets and booze aplenty. Any door that was open was an invitation to the open house within.

“You sure you don’t have any ideas?” he asked. His face said he thought I might. It was a gentle question, though, not an accusation.

I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. It was solid and warm and familiar. A hand that had run over every inch of my body, given me untold pleasure, knew me inside and out. I squeezed again and tried to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I’ve considered a few. Some of them are definitely out; some are possible. We just have to be careful. We need someone discreet, preferably unattached. Open-minded.” I sighed and stood on my toes to kiss him.

Evan kissed me back. He cupped my face with those big warm hands as his tongue played around my own. I shivered despite the jacket. We were really going to do this. We were scouting for a lover. He would start; I would finish. Another shiver worked through me and he laughed. “Nervous?”

“A little.”

“Excited?”

“A lot.” This time it was my turn to laugh. I took his hand again and pulled him forwards. “Come on, then. He’s not going to come find us. We have hunting to do.”

I saw him before we were even halfway up the block. Christopher Sweet had moved in just two months earlier. He was just a guy. Not too pretty, not too slick. A normal guy with normal-guy looks. The only thing that really made him stand out from the crowd was the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, and the laugh itself. Slow and warm like thick syrup dripping from a bottle. The sound of that laugh was enough to warm me from the inside out. Starting deep between my thighs and spreading up and out like a starburst under my skin. There had been an attraction the moment I had introduced myself the day he moved in. I had ignored it. I knew it was human nature to feel attraction even in a committed relationship. Human nature to flirt, even. If I was honest with myself, though, if there was going to be a third party, I wanted it to be Christopher.

I felt Evan watching me watch Christopher. Then he turned to look too. “Is it him?” he said.

Before I could answer, Christopher spotted our combined stares and raised his hand in a friendly wave. He grabbed three beers from a snow bank and started our way.

“Allyson, he’s coming. Is it him?”

I was afraid to answer. Afraid of the feeling in the pit of my stomach. The trembling fl utter of my pulse in my throat. What were we doing? This was crazy. I loved Evan and I was risking it. This would ruin us. Ruin everything. I would lose him.

Evan squeezed my hand again and then he smiled. That warm open smile that had made me fall in love with him. A smile that always let me know everything would be OK. “Allyson, it’s OK. If it’s him, it’s OK.”

So I nodded and smiled back despite an aching urge to cry. “It’s him,” I breathed just as Christopher arrived.

“Hey, guys. Happy holidays! What’s going on?”

“Not much,” Evan said, accepting a beer with thanks. “We were just discussing what we were going to get each other for Christmas.”

I accepted a beer and my numb lips nearly lost the liquid as I drank. The only thing that kept me from dropping the green bottle and running was Evan’s warm arm around my shoulder. His fingers paling gently in my hair. Something that always calmed me. I laughed at a joke Christopher told and when he laughed along with me, I felt my insides warm a little. Some of the fear ebbed away and was replaced with a smoky curl of desire.

We wandered the street, the three of us, stopping to warm ourselves at the outdoor fires, laughing, chatting the way neighbours should. On beer three, Evan took the lead. Once the sentence was out, I felt a shock ripple through me. No turning back.

“Do you want to come home and have a real drink with us?” Evan asked, his gaze sliding to me for just a second. His smile was warm and comforting. “I’m getting a little cold, and judging from the look on Allyson’s face, she’s half frozen.”

I nodded, knowing full well that half of the cold blanketing my body was from nerves. “We have that nice bottle of Merlot.”

Christopher smiled and gave a good-natured shrug. “Sure, why not? I don’t know most of these people real well anyway. I could go for defrosting all my fingers and toes.”

We started up the street together, the two men ahead of me. Christopher taller and blond. Evan closer to my height, with thick dark hair. Two sets of broad shoulders. Two men walking side by side. For just an instant, my mind supplied another picture. Evan on his knees before Christopher. His mouth around Christopher’s cock. Moving. Sucking. I shivered again, but not from the cold. I had never realized how badly I wanted to see something like that. What it would do to me. How it would make me feel. In the next half-hour I should know if it was a possibility. At least with Christopher.

“Wow. I love the colour.” Christopher touched the newly painted wall in the dining room. I had chosen the colour. A pale buttery yellow. New England yellow. I watched his hands trail over the wall I had painted just two weeks before. My skin prickled as if he were touching me. A flush crept up from between my breasts to heat my face.

“Thank you. I had to choose a colour that wasn’t too girly.” I laughed, fl ashing a fake look of frustration at Evan.

“Well, you did a good job. Elegant without being too feminine. Enough colour to add to the house, but not overwhelming. Great choice. And it makes the furniture stand out. Really makes the old pieces look that much more elegant.”

I knew Christopher made furniture. His praise of my grandmother’s pieces was touching. I cleared my throat. “I’ll go get that wine.” I moved a little too quickly into the kitchen. Evan might have noticed the urgency in my gait, I doubted Christopher did.

I was wrong. I heard him say, “Is she OK? Should I leave?”

I strained to hear Evan’s response as I grabbed three glasses and the corkscrew. It was fading, though. He was leading Christopher into the living room where we had built a fire. I uncorked the wine and realized my hands were shaking just as I nearly lost my grip on the corkscrew. It clattered to the counter and I put my head down to breathe. What would I find when I walked into the living room. What look would be on that nice man’s face? Disgust? Confusion? Fear? My stomach flipped again and I sucked in a breath as if I were drowning.

“You ’ll never know unless you go in,” I whispered to myself. I glanced out the tiny window over the sink. The sky was darkening and I could just barely make out the fact that it was snowing. A beautiful light snow that danced on the fading light. Elegant and peaceful. I stared for a moment. Let my heart rate slow, listened to the sound of the blood rushing in my ears fade. I would be fine. We were asking. The worst he could say was “No.”

Gathering the glasses and the wine bottle, I took a few slow steps towards the dining room. Let myself grow even more calm. Then I walked out to see if Evan was making any progress.

I walked in and both sets of eyes were on me. Two beautiful men. One blond and blue-eyed, the other with gorgeous dark hair and startling eyes the colour of chicory-laced coffee. Both were smiling. Easy smiles. I felt a spark of excitement lick up my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. Those two smiles on me were as intense as two sets of hands sliding along my skin. That intimate. That intense. I almost lost my grip on the glasses.

“How about Christmas Eve?” Evan asked, standing quickly and relieving me of my burden. He poured three glasses of wine and handed them out until we each had one. “The day after tomorrow?”

I cleared my throat to steady my voice. “It’s fine,” I said. Then I laughed. Another high, twittering laugh so unlike my normal throaty laugh. “Yo u ’re OK with this?” I asked Christopher. His eyes travelled over me, soaked me in, and again I had the overwhelming sensation of being physically touched.

“I am.”

“And Evan explained it all?
All
of it?” I said a little too forcefully. I could see Evan nodding in my peripheral vision. I knew Evan. Knew he had. Of course he had. I still had to ask.

Another slow nod from Christopher and another easy smile. As easy and slow and sweet as that laugh of his. “I get it. He starts, you finish. I’m the odd man out. Or in. I guess it depends on how you look at it. Either way, it’s fine with me.”

I nodded and tried to sip my wine. Instead I managed to down almost the whole glass in one gulp. “You OK?” Evan said in my ear. His breath hot on my skin and familiar. Safe. He filled my glass and handed it back. “You can change your mind. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Y o u ’re more important to me than anything. That includes this fantasy of mine.”

But I realized as I cautiously sipped my refill that his fantasy had become mine. I loved him. Wanted to make him happy. I also wanted what I wanted. What I had asked for and he was willing to give me that. Fear of the unknown would not eat this dream whole, I decided. If we got through this in one piece, still together, we could be that much stronger for the experience. The exchange. The giving and receiving could be the best thing that ever happened to us. Or it could destroy us. I knew this, too; I wasn’t a fool. But I was willing to take the risk and hope.

Christopher sat on one end of the sofa, watching me. Judging my reaction. I swallowed hard and fought off the cold finger of fear that trailed up my spine. I would be fine. We would be fine. Better than fine.

Evan took my hand and led me to the sofa. I took a final sip of wine and put the glass on the coffee table as I sat. Right next to Christopher. Close enough that my thigh pressed up against his. Evan sat on my other side and rubbed my arm. “You sure about this?”

I nodded not trusting my voice. Then he leaned forwards and kissed me. I tightened up for just a second, second-guessing something that is normally the most natural thing in the world for me. Kissing Evan. In public, in private, it didn’t matter. I did it easily. Now, though, feeling Christopher’s eyes on us as we kissed, I felt suddenly stiff. Then Evan’s tongue pressed against the seam of my lips. Licked me gently. I loosened, felt myself go soft and opened my mouth to him. The kiss deepened, he pushed his tongue into me further, probing gently and warmly with his. My body responded – years of pleasure, years of enjoyment. My nipples tightened. And, as the kiss continued, I felt hands that were not Evan’s on my breasts. Hands that I had looked at, wondering what they would feel like on my body. Now I didn’t have to wonder. A slow tremble worked through me, and I gasped into Evan’s mouth.

Christopher’s hands were bigger than Evan’s. His touch was firm but gentle. Unfamiliar and intoxicating. I arched up into the kiss and into the hands that were on me. Pressing against two different points of contact that mingled into one vortex of pleasure. I felt Evan reach over my lap, heard Christopher draw a startled breath. Not breaking the kiss, I opened my eyes just a bit, just enough to peek. Evan’s hand slid the length of Christopher’s denim-clad erection. Each sweep of his hand defined the other man’s cock through his jeans. I watched, mesmerized. The kiss went on. Christopher’s fingers plucked my nipples. The sight of Evan stroking another man was . . . A moan escaped me. I wasn’t even aware it was coming. I shifted on the sofa – the moisture pooling in my panties was both pleasant and torturing.

I watched Evan run his thumb over the head of Christopher’s cock, heard the scratchy whisper of denim being stroked. Then Evan broke the kiss. Christopher left his hands on my breasts. Then, after a long moment of warm contact, he removed them. Evan pulled his hand from Christopher’s lap, and we all regarded each other.

“Are we all still OK with this?” Evan asked in his normal, no-nonsense tone. There was just a touch of trepidation in his voice. Only I would notice.

I nodded. “I am.” My voice was small but firm. My heart was banging restlessly away in my breast. I felt just a tiny bit light-headed.

“I’ll be back night after tomorrow,” Christopher said, and stood. He brushed his hand along the length of my hair. Stroking me as if I were made of glass. Then he shook Evan’s hand.

“We ’ll see you then,” Evan said with a small smile.

“I’ll be here with bells on.” His rich liquid laugh filled the room for a moment and I held my breath at the sensual sound. Then he dropped me a wink and left.

“Bed? At least for a while?” Evan smiled. His eyes wandered my body, never staying on one spot for too long. I flushed under his gaze. He took my hand and led me to the bedroom without another word.

Sunday afternoon finally arrived, and I was already exhausted. Saturday had taken a hundred years to pass. I’d already had countless arguments in my mind both for and against what we were planning to do. One moment the anticipation and excitement nearly stopped my breath, the next the fear of it did. I would gasp. Unable to breathe. Panicky and unsure of my mental state. And then, for just a moment, I would see Evan. Unaware that I was watching him. Humming. Reading. Puttering in the yard. And I would think of how much I loved him. How much I wanted to give him this thing he had wanted for so long. To be the woman who finally said,
Yes, I love you enough to do this for you and give you something you desire
. And I would be OK, before the cycle started again.

Dinner came and we had an hour to go. I was too nervous to eat. I drank my wine and pushed my food around on the plate.

“Not hungry?” Evan’s eyes were kind. Worried even. They were that mocha colour that always made me stare a beat longer than I normally would. Flecks of green and gold and blue. Like looking at a picture within a picture, those unusual striations were one of my favourite things about him.

“Nope. Not even a little. I think I’m just a little anxious.” I ran my hands over my jeans. I mentally ran through what was on under my clothes. Black silk thong, black lacy bra . . . and me. That was it. Simple, but hopefully effective.