French Quarter (17 page)

And she meant it. She was so aroused by the very idea of being shared by Jack and Ty that she’d have done anything in that moment, anything at all. The memory of meeting Ty and feeling so instantly attracted to him, so aware of everything that was lean and muscular and hot about him, only added to her heated desire. She wanted to do
everything
with Jack. And at the moment, that meant she wanted to know the joy of two men, two cocks—two real, live, hard, flesh-and-blood cocks—at once.

Chapter 7

The following night Liz walked hand in hand with Jack toward an elegant French Quarter restaurant called Cicero’s, on Decatur. She wore a sexy red dress of puckered fabric that clung to every curve. The halter style neckline was low cut, allowing for an exceptional amount of cleavage that made her feel ultra-sexy, and certainly didn’t permit wearing a bra. As they walked, her breasts jiggled slightly against the hugging material, making her aroused already—when, she thought, by all rights, she should be nervous.

Jack had driven her home that morning, and later he’d called to say he’d invited Ty to dinner with them. “I…thought you might want to get to know him a little better.”

The very idea of being with both of them at the same time had swum vigorously through her mind, a forbidden thought. Whereas, last night, she’d have invited Ty into their bed in a heartbeat, today she was a little more wary—yet still interested, still seriously considering the possibility. God knew the idea was beyond exciting—two hot, sexy men pleasuring her together. But…could she?

“Okay,” she’d simply replied.

He’d clearly heard the new doubt in her voice. “But you set the pace,
chere
. If you don’t want anything to happen, it won’t.”

She’d spent most the day after their phone call alternating between—
no, no way, I can’t do it
, and priming her body for pleasure. She’d taken a long luxurious bubble bath, again shaving her pussy just to make sure it remained smooth, and then she’d lounged around in a silky robe that rubbed sensuously against her nipples and ass when she moved in it. And when it had come time to get ready for her date, she’d donned one of Lynda’s sexiest dresses—and as usual, it was just a little too small in the chest and certainly made the most of Liz’s assets. Clearly her body wanted what her mind had grown tentative about.

And even now, as she and Jack stepped into the dimly lit restaurant where she knew Ty awaited them, she wasn’t sure what she would do. Would she allow herself this ultimate forbidden liaison? Or would this be the one thing to which she’d say no?

After Jack informed the host that they were meeting a friend, they entered the plush dining room to find Ty in a small half-round booth. He was as ruggedly handsome as Liz remembered, a lock of dark blonde hair falling over his forehead, a darker stubble on his chin. He waved and smiled when he spotted them.

Jack led her across the big, high-ceilinged room where each table glowed with candlelight and a jazz trio played in one corner. As they approached the table, a little of the nervousness Liz had expected to feel came back to her.

Ty got up to greet them. He wore dark pants and a sports coat, a white shirt underneath with a few buttons undone. “Great to see you again,” he said to Liz, holding out his hand. She offered her own and he bestowed a delicate kiss upon it. Despite her nervousness, a tingling awareness skittered through her body.

She sat down between the two men and instantly
felt
them there, surrounding her. That quickly, it was as if sex were a palpable, living thing and as if it were squeezed into the small booth along with them. The sensation reminded Liz vaguely of what she’d felt that very first day, meeting both of them in Jack’s office—together, they’d seemed to fill the room with heat and testosterone. Only now did she realize that somehow these two men, together, were truly a sexual force to be reckoned with. No wonder they’d gone after the same women in college; no wonder they wanted to share one. It was almost as if the two of them gave off an accelerated, amped-up sexual energy that was much greater than the sum of its parts.

Somehow, as the day had gone on, as she’d both feared and anticipated this event, she’d envisioned Ty coming on strong, being blatant and blunt, making her uncomfortable. But now, as he drew her easily into conversation, she was instantly reminded he was a pleasant, smooth-talking man. “Have you eaten here before, Liz?”

She shook her head. “No, but Jack tells me it’s wonderful.”

Ty nodded reassuringly. “This is one of my favorite restaurants in the Quarter. You can’t go wrong with anything on the menu. The Italian entrees are especially good, but they make nice Creole dishes, too.”

Liz took the initiative to change the conversation to something a little more personal. “You know, I can’t help noticing you don’t possess the same Cajun accent as Jack, but he hasn’t mentioned where you’re from.”

He smiled. “Unlike Jack, I’m a transplant. I came down on a scholarship to Tulane and never left. I grew up in Lansing, Michigan, but I’m a Cajun at heart.” He concluded with a friendly wink. “Jack says you’re from Maryland?”

She nodded and wondered if Jack had told his friend
why
she’d moved to the Big Easy, and what he’d investigated for her. She decided to steer clear of that unpleasant topic. “I’ve been here for six months, but before meeting Jack I really hadn’t had the opportunity to get out and enjoy the town very much.”

“And do you like it?”

“More and more all the time,” she said, again wondering exactly how much Jack had told Ty about their recent string of evenings together.

But that didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Because she regretted nothing she’d done with Jack and she wasn’t ashamed of it, either. And if she and Jack were going to invite Ty into their bed tonight, it was probably better that he knew a little of her recent sexual history.

She bit her lip, realizing with amazement that she was
truly
considering a threesome with Jack and his best friend. The very thought made her nipples pucker against the gathered fabric of her dress.

After they ordered dinner and a bottle of wine had arrived, Ty excused himself to the restroom, and Jack took the opportunity to place his hand on Liz’s thigh. He leaned nearer. “What do you think of Ty?”

She smiled at her sexy lover in the shadowy room. “He’s nice. Friendly.”

Jack nodded.

“How much did you tell him? About me, I mean. About us.”

He shrugged. “Enough for him to know what kind of entertainment we’ve been enjoyin’ together. Not enough that we don’t have any secrets.”

Secrets. She liked that, the idea of Jack and her having secrets from the rest of the world, the idea that Jack
wanted
them to have things that remained just between them. Somehow the thought put her more at ease with the concept of a three-way.

“Like I told you earlier, though,
chere
, it’s all up to you. No pressure. Whatever you want to do. I want to make you happy, want to make you feel good, want to do whatever will leave you the most pleasured in the end.” He concluded with a sexy smile and a caress to her thigh that shot straight to her pussy.

He lowered a soft kiss to her lips just as Ty returned from the bathroom.

As Ty scooted back into the booth, Liz thought perhaps he situated himself a little closer to her than he’d been before. It was probably a matter of centimeters, but his knee touched hers now, his thigh brushed against hers on the leather seat. On her other side, Jack sat close, his fingers still gingerly stroking her leg, just above her knee. The thought made her look down, made her see the dress that had risen more than halfway up her thighs upon sitting, so that the lace edges of her stockings were almost visible. She considered pulling it down, but as a ribbon of excitement wove through her cunt, she changed her mind.

That ribbon of excitement and awareness stretched taut over the course of their meal. It was nothing anyone said or did—conversation flowed normally as the men discussed sports, friends they had in common, their work, and Liz talked about her job a bit, too. No, it was how close each man sat on either side of her, the way her legs touched both of them beneath the table, making her sensitive and ultra-aware of each shift or movement anyone made. Adding to that was the way they
did
discuss normal things, acting as if a subtle form of foreplay weren’t slowly beginning to take place beneath the tablecloth.

The very act of eating became sensuous, given the sexual tension pulling at Liz from both sides. Her entire body began to feel overly-sensitized. Each soft, warm bite she took of the lasagna she’d ordered, each time she closed her lips around one of the garlic sticks that came along with it, made her more aware of her mouth, her tongue, the movements of her hands. Each drink of wine seemed to slither down through her body. Even the smooth stem of the wine glass in her hand turned into something sensual, so that she found herself running her fingers up and down its length. She felt both men watching her throughout the meal, perhaps becoming as aware of these things as she was.

After they’d eaten and their plates were taken away, Jack returned his hand to her inner thigh, higher this time, his fingers delivering a maddeningly soft caress through her stocking. When she attempted to place her napkin on the table and instead accidentally dropped it underneath, Ty reached down to retrieve it. As he rose back up, he let both his hand and the napkin graze her calf all the way past her knee.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding a bit breathy as he returned it to the tabletop. At that precise moment, Jack’s silky touch rose slightly higher. She parted her legs a little, unwittingly pressing her other thigh more directly against Ty’s. The contact made her look up at him—his eyes held a hint of awareness, a hint of fire. But they also reminded her of what Jack kept saying—this was up to her. The men would follow her lead, she supposed. So even as she lowered her gaze, not quite able to maintain the intensely close contact with Ty, she licked her upper lip and made no move to shift her body away, and hoped that told him she was interested in at least a little more of this experience.

“So, what’s your pleasure, darlin’?” Jack asked with a hint of raw sensuality that made it impossible not to hear the double meaning of the question.

Let’s go back to your place. All three of us. I want this, want both of you on me, in me.
But Liz couldn’t say those things, not yet. She still wasn’t completely sure. “Let’s stroll Bourbon Street,” she said instead, thinking a little more time with both of them would help her decide.

“Sounds good,” Ty said.

“Let’s hit Café duMonde on the way,” Jack suggested, “and pick up some beignets for dessert. We can eat ‘em on the walk up to Bourbon. Might get some to save for later, too. You know how I like my carbs,” he added with a wink in Liz’s direction.

Beignets from Café duMonde were one New Orleans treat Liz had learned to love very soon after her arrival in town. Although she’d never ventured too deep into the French Quarter before meeting Jack, she’d come to the Café duMonde with girls from work from the start.

As she and her two escorts ate the sweet, sugar-covered confections on the stroll to the party district, they soon found their clothing dusted and streaked with the heavy powdered sugar, and all three of them broke into easy laughter. “As my
grandemaman
used to say, you can dress us up, but you can’t take us out,” Jack imparted, and Liz found herself loving his easy-going manner. Even as he escorted her to an elegant dinner, he was not as proper and stodgy as Todd, not afraid to eat a messy dessert and laugh about it.

Once the beignets were gone, they dusted themselves off, and Jack kindly licked Liz’s fingers clean, sending a lovely little tingle to her already sensitized cunt. A part of her was almost tempted to playfully offer the same service to Ty, but it was still too soon—despite how much fun she was having with both of them, she still wasn’t ready to take that next step.

By the time they reached Bourbon Street, it was hopping. Crowds of people roamed the streets, neon lights lit the night, and music of all kinds—Cajun, blues, jazz, and rock—blared from open doors and windows. People wore cheap beads of purple, green, and gold, and held brightly-colored drinks or bottles of beer. Mardi Gras had been last month, but Liz thought the place still seemed wild and charged with an invisible sexual energy, an energy which she was beginning to realize was
always
here, part and parcel of the French Quarter.

When the trio stopped at a small, open air daiquiri bar for drinks, Liz’s attention was drawn to a group of four or five thirty-something men smoking cigars and whistling when a group of sexy, scantily-clad college-aged girls meandered past.

One of the girls looked back with a bold, saucy smile. “I want your beads,” she said to the men, who were wearing a variety of them.

“You know what you have to do,” one of them replied, laughing.

“Show ‘em to us, baby,” another guy said.

The girl came back to where the men stood, reaching down to the hem of her skimpy top and pulling it up to reveal a pair of large, pretty breasts with smallish nipples of dark mauve.

“Nice,” one of the men said in a lecherous voice.

“Beautiful tits, sweetheart,” another offered.

She smiled, obviously pleased to show off her assets, and kept her top raised as each of the men surrendered some of their beads, placing them around her neck.