Varian Krylov (17 page)

But he smiled and looked into her and drew her inside. Already he was flushed and warm as he pulled her back to his chest and mouthed her neck where he'd pulled her hair out of the way. But then she heard the shower running and she realized. It wasn't because of her his body was hot.

“Something to drink?” he breathed by her ear.

“No. Thanks,” her breathing had already changed, just feeing his warm body against hers, feeling his touch, his breath.

Galen turned her around to face him, sank into her with his eyes.

“How are you, Vanka?” he asked, his voice low and serious.

“Happy to be here. With you,” she answered coolly, keeping her thoughts penned behind the partitions she'd put up.

He smiled and drew her with him, over to the fire. He let his robe fall to the floor, and sank down, naked, onto the thick rug by the hearth.

“Get undressed.”

She looked back over her shoulder. Toward the bathroom.

“Khalid will be with us in a few minutes,” Galen told her.

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She wondered what she was acquiescing to, now. Maybe tonight, it was Khalid's turn to watch. Or maybe they'd both want to fuck her. A heat licked at her insides, at her sex—the same heat that had thrilled her when Galen had invited her to join them, the same heat that had been teasing her the whole way over. As Galen sat at her feet, looking up at her, she stripped, and when she was naked, he reached up and coaxed her down, had her straddle his thighs.

Without prelude—no kiss, no other touch—Galen slid a finger into her. Leaning back, propped on his free arm, he watched her face as he touched her. When she moved to caress him, he looked at her hand on his chest and grinned.

“Put your hand down.”

She did it. Fuck, it was hard, just kneeling there, his fingers working over her sex, him watching her. When she caught herself groaning out loud, her chest and cheeks went hot and some feeling flickered over Galen's features—his eyes went sharp, his jaw set. The next moment she caught her breath and her skin went tight and tingly. A warm touch on her bare back. Khalid. Khalid's naked chest. His hands curved over her shoulders, his breath breezed warm into her hair.

“Hello, Vanka. I'm happy to see you again,” his rich voice seemed to pour over her.

He pressed his body to her, pulled her back against him, and her heart felt like lead in her chest.

“Ssssh.”

Khalid leaned her back against him, wrapped his arms around her, cradling her in his warmth as Galen went on watching and touching her. As her sudden fear seeped 156

away, now she thought Khalid would caress her, tease her nipples, just inches from where his hands curved over her ribs, but he only held her against him as Galen's touch brought on a slow, rolling orgasm, as she writhed for it, rode it out, raising and flexing her hips without realizing until after. Only then, Khalid pressed a kiss to her temple, and went on holding her as Galen leaned forward and gave her the first real kiss of that night.

It didn't feel strange, and Vanka didn't know how it couldn't. She stayed cradled in Khalid's arms, reclining naked against his naked body, as the three of them lounged by the fire.

“Vanka?”

“Hmmm?” she loved how her name sounded on Khalid's tongue, caressed into a new shape.

“I want to ask you something. Something very personal. Do you mind?”

“You can ask . . .”

“In the last year, how many people have you fucked?”

Personal, indeed. But it was no big secret. “Four.” That little word shocked her a little. Less than two weeks ago that would have been her answer to a question on how many people she'd fucked in her entire life.

“Galen. Me. And your,” Khalid hesitated, then, “David, is that his name? And who is the other?”

“A colleague,” she said automatically, before she realized she'd said it because saying she'd fucked her teenage model sounded so smarmy.

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“What about you, Galen?” Khalid asked. “How many people have you fucked this year?”

“Two.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

Because of something in Galen's expression at that moment Vanka wanted to turn to see what Khalid's face looked like. But she didn't.

“Two for me, too,” Khalid said. Vanka could hardly believe that for the last year the two of them had fucked no one but each other, and her. “This colleague of yours.

You used a condom?”

For some reason she was blushing, now. She looked at Galen and found he was gazing at her, quiet, intense.

“Yes.”

“Will you be fucking him again, do you think?”

“No.”

“Are you on the pill?”

She hesitated, then answered. “Yes.”

“I have a proposal to make. This little menage a trois. I suggest we forget about the condoms for tonight. For whenever we are together. Unless, or until, one of us decides to sleep with someone outside. Then back to condoms.”

Vanka was shocked, for some reason. Lots of reasons. But Galen looked alarmed.

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“Why look like that, Galen?” Khalid asked. “You know very well we're both clean.

And Vanka?”

“What? STDs? HIV? No.”

“It's no commitment. All of us, we fuck anyone we like. We only have to confess, if we do.”

“All right,” Galen said, sober and quiet.

And Vanka said, “All right,” too. Doing that, saying “all right,” made her see, all at once in that moment, her deep trust for these two men she barely knew.

And then Khalid's warm breath was gathering in her hair and he was saying softly,“I have my ways, Vanka. I take control. I give orders. That doesn't mean you don't have a say. You understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” the word echoed, soft, transfigured on Khalid's rich, sweet voice, that fucking gorgeous accent.

Behind her Khalid's body shifted, tilting her. Upright. Then forward. His arms—the arms that had been holding her gently, almost cradling her, for the last ten or twenty minutes, took sudden control of her, one belting across her abdomen, one pressing along the length of her spine until her face was almost in Galen's lap. Her body tensed with an instinct to struggle, but she willed herself to soften, to sink down under Khalid's hand, and she stretched herself, seeking Galen's cock with her mouth. But hands—

Galen's hands—coaxed her cheek down on his thigh and gently stroked her hair, her face.

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Only when Khalid had entered her, and after she'd gone hot and tense, struggling toward another climax, and after she'd heard Khalid say, “Let her, Galen,” did Galen let her take his cock in her mouth and suck him while Khalid kept at her from behind, working an angle that was prodding her right toward the edge.

“Don't, Vanka. Don't come yet,” Khalid sighed when she huffed out an urgent groan. “Let me hear Galen first.”

The angle of Khalid's thrusts altered, and she was in less danger of being swept over the edge. She focused on Galen—his breaths, his groans, how his thighs were flexing, almost twitching, how his balls had gone tight. Then, when she heard him, tasted him, the feel of Khalid inside her changed, he came on harder, back at that perfect, torturous angle, and fucked her through a hard, convulsive climax. And kept on.

Hard. Deep. Until she heard him, felt him coming after her.

Galen's cock was softening in her mouth. She liked that, almost as much as feeling him harden there. She let him go, watching as his florid prick settled against his thigh. But Khalid's fingers were up in her hair and his chest was heavy on her back, keeping her down. And he was still inside her. The length of him slid slowly from her cunt, then, warm, wet, still hard, she felt his cock nudging against her.

She caught her breath and swallowed.

“Will you let me, Vanka?”

She looked up at Galen and let him watch her as she said “yes” to Khalid, as Khalid slowly worked his cock into her ass, and as he fucked her.

What had she thought? That she'd be someone else. But Khalid was fucking her, Galen was watching her. Then Khalid had told Galen to kiss her, to open her and kiss 160

her and drink them, and Galen had gone still, strangely still, and when he'd touched her legs to part she'd stiffened, and he'd said, “Vanka,” with that laughing, demanding grin, and she'd spread for him. And then they'd all shifted and Galen was under her, his mouth sealed over her cunt, his tongue stroking into her sex, making her come while Khalid went on fucking her. And it wasn't some stranger, it was her, Vanka, when Galen went into her, too, and, buoyed and cradled between them they both surged up and over, both inside of her and instead of feeling reckless or dirty or like she'd gone mad, she felt warm and loved and safe.

Later, in Galen's bed, they were all soft and quiet and warm and clean after all their fucking and a group shower. On either side of her, they nuzzled in and were kissing her breasts. Both nipples tongued and nibbled and sucked, it was an almost unbearable pleasure, even in the wake of all the pleasure that had come before. Galen's hand settled over her sex and teased her just gently, but she came deliciously, passively, without a single flex in search of it. Her mouth under Galen's kiss, then Khalid's. It was so good, so sweet, she felt so cared for, that under those kisses she blushed for the ugly things she'd thought about them both that first night with Khalid.

“You kiss, too,” she panted between them.

Galen smiled down at her, and she followed his shifting gaze over to Khalid.

“Not now, Vanka.” Khalid's gentle voice thrummed with finality. “This, tonight, is about you.”

* * * *

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“Morning, sleepy,” he lilted, then kissed her, his lips lingering soft and warm on hers. “Sorry to wake you.”

Galen was perched on the edge of the bed, leaning over her. Khalid wasn't in the bed anymore.

“What time is it?”

Early. Seven. I didn't want to wake you, but I wanted to say good-bye.”

“Mmmm?”

“I have to catch my flight.”

“Flight?” She struggled through her sleepiness, up to sitting.

“Chile?” he prompted.

“Chile?”

“Vanka,” he grinned, amused, “are you that groggy? Or didn't you get my message?”

She gave him the eyebrow.

“It just came up yesterday. A project. I'm meeting with the director in Chile.

They're completely wound up that I've got to see some ruins there, that there's no point in pitching the film, otherwise. I left you a message on your cell yesterday morning.”

“Oh.”

“Can you ferry Khalid back to Silverlake? I promised I'd drive him back, but of course now I'm running late. He's actually not that far from you.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“And Thursday. I'm sorry. We'll have to postpone 'til I get back. Next Wednesday? How's that sound?”

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Suddenly, she was cold. Shaking, she felt so cold.

“Sure,” she breathed.

“Last night,” Galen was saying, his breath caught up in her hair, heating her ear, her neck, “you were fucking delicious. When I get back, next Wednesday, you and I are going to wear each other out.” Now he was looking at her, the ardor melting away, furrow making a shadow between his eyebrows. “Hey, are you feeling OK?”

“Mmmmm. Just half asleep.”

Galen smiled, looking earnest. Boyish.

“Back to sleep, then.” He kissed her. “See you in a few days.”

“Bye.”

Her body felt weak and too light, naked soles pressed to the cool wood floor, shakey legs scissoring her over to the bedroom door. He'd packed. Maybe the day before. At the end of the hall he was saying good-bye to Khalid. A hug. No kiss. No caress. A murmur and a smile and Galen stooped for his bags and disappeared from the aperture at the end of the hall, and a second later a wedge of sunlight cut across the floor and bleached Khalid for a brief moment, then narrowed and disappeared. As if Galen had been the victim of an alien abduction.

Rushing, she pulled on panties and a T-shirt, afraid the aperture would open and Khalid would be beamed away, too.

“Good morning,” he said as she came down the hall.

“Morning.”

He was looking at her. Too intently.

“I hear Galen's left you stranded. May I be of service?”

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“Are you sure you do not mind? I can call a cab.”

“No, yes, it's fine. Sounds like we're neighbors.”

“Mind if I have a shower? Or do you need to get going?”

“Take your time. I'm working from home today.”

She knew Khalid was walking off, down the hall. She knew, because she was waiting. Waiting. Holding herself together. Then waiting, waiting, but nothing. Like she'd been packed tight with sawdust. So, she wouldn't fall down sobbing, after all. She'd just get her things and when Khalid was ready, they'd drive off. And that would be it.

* * * *

Khalid touched her stick hand just before she'd levered into reverse to back down the drive. She made herself turn and look at him. Flayed. Open. Every nerve laid bare to his gaze. But it wasn't Galen's scalpel look cutting into her. Khalid's gaze was warm.

Gentle.

“You seem,” he paused, serene and still until he chose his words, “unhappy this morning.”

All she had to do was make it through the next twenty, twenty-five minutes. Just to Silverlake, to his house, to the moment after he'd clicked his seatbelt open and opened the door and unfolded himself to standing and shut the door and she'd put it into first and put a definitive block or two behind her.

“Are you sorry about last night?” he asked.

“No.”

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“We didn't hurt you? I mean to ask, we didn't do anything to make you feel bad?

Galen and I—did we push things too far?”

Her chest went tight and heavy at Khalid's expression, his voice. More than concern. Fear. Or hurt.

“Khalid, last night, I'm grateful.”

His serene look was back, tinged with silent laughter.

“I mean, I feel fortunate, having had that. It was gorgeous.”

“Yes, for me, too.”

She couldn't look at him anymore. She got the car in gear and got on the road.

"Khalid."

"Yes."

"Tell me about you and Galen."