Fun with Brady and Angelica (Kit Tolliver #10 (The Kit Tolliver Stories) (5 page)

Angelica made it easy for her by taking the lead, which was no real surprise. Their roles in this performance were a given, with herself as the bottom and Angelica as the top. “Just close your eyes,” Angelica said, in case there was any doubt, “and lie back, and let me love you.”

Easy enough to comply. Easy enough to give herself up to Angelica’s hands and Angelica’s mouth, and, really, what could there possibly be to object to in any of that? There wasn’t a thing Angelica did to her that hadn’t been done by men, and if some of those men had been awkward or clumsy or in a hurry, not a few had known what they were doing and done it with skill.

Angelica, a woman herself and the experienced lover of women, knew what to do and how to do it, and picked up cues from Missy’s responses. And she was in no hurry for Missy to arrive at her destination. Instead she kept taking her to the brink, keeping her right on the edge, then easing back and letting her cool down just a little before she started in all over again.

There was an element of torture to it, because she reached a point where she really wanted to come, and yet it was all so exquisite that she didn’t want it to end. It was a little unsettling to have a lover who was so utterly in control of her responses, and at the same time it was quite wonderful.

Oh, and there was something she hadn’t been expecting. Angelica’s spit-lubed finger, finding its way unerringly into her bottom. And moving in an insistent rhythm, but not the same rhythm Angelica was employing elsewhere. Jesus, the woman was playing her like an African drum. With a tap tap here and a rat-tat-a-tat there, and, omigod, oh,
yes
. . .

Don’t stop
, she thought.
Please don’t stop
.

Jesus, did she speak the words aloud?

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to stop this time, she was going to come, yes, and she kicked her feet and thrust with her hips and cried out, because why not, men liked it when you made a little noise, so why shouldn’t a woman like it, and what difference did it make who liked what, because she could no more hold back her cries than she could hold back her orgasm.

Yes!

Was there anything more beautiful than two women making love?

If so, he couldn’t imagine what it might be. He was not, in ordinary circumstances, a voyeur. He could neither imagine himself as a peeping Tom, lurking at bedroom windows in the hope of a glimpse of the forbidden, or as a spectator at orgies, watching others having sex. Watching a man with a woman, or a man with a man, held no appeal for him.

But two women, that was somehow different. And when one of the women was his woman, his Angelica, the appeal was irresistible.

And this one, this Missy, this doe-eyed ingénue, complemented her perfectly. He couldn’t imagine a more ideal partner for his magnificent wife.

He’d given them a few minutes in bed before leaving his den and taking up his position behind the Japanese screen. He was barefoot and the floor carpeted, so no one could hear his footsteps, and the screen was so situated that his brief passage from the doorway was invisible to anyone in the bed. Even so, he’d walked lightly and quickly, and held his breath until he was where he wanted to be. Then he put his eyes to the tiny viewing slits, and saw the two of them, and he’d been watching them ever since.

He never tired of watching Angelica bring a partner to climax. She loved to tease, and he sometimes suspected that he was no less the object of her teasing than the woman upon whom she was performing. He fancied that he could feel what Missy was feeling, that her excitement was his excitement, and when she came he felt a tremor of the spirit, a sort of psychic equivalent of orgasm.

And now it was Missy’s turn.

And now it was her turn.

As she lay quietly beside Angelica, giving herself over to the afterglow, she was struck by the sudden undeniable awareness that she was being observed. She could feel him there, behind the Japanese screen, could feel his eyes on her. She had the urge to look over there, even to wink at him, but she suppressed it. She was, after all, sweet young Missy, who could not possibly suspect Angelica’s well-heeled traveling man was even in the house, let alone in the room with them.

So she couldn’t acknowledge his presence. But she could damn well give him something to watch.

She rolled over on her side, kissed Angelica’s mouth, put a hand on Angelica’s breast, caressed it, then ran her hand over the flat stomach and down. Angelica was smooth as silk, she must have had it waxed, and was that a lesbian thing? Did they all do that, and was she herself less desirable for having hair there? If so, she thought, the woman had done an Oscar-worthy job of concealing her distaste.

Still, it was something to think about. Touching it—and she couldn’t seem to stop touching it, not that Angelica gave any sign of wanting her to stop—touching it was quite irresistible.

She’d wondered if she would know what to do when her turn came, but could see now that she knew everything she needed to know. She knew what she liked done to herself, for starters, and she had just learned what Angelica liked to do, and could thus be presumed to like it done in return.

And her fingers were eliciting the desired response. She found things to do with them, and got the woman off that way, because teasing was Angelica’s trick, and she sensed that she would not want to be teased in return. And then, while Angelica was still in the throes of orgasm, she put her mouth to work.

She’d thought that she might not like doing it, but she did. And, from what she could tell, it turned out she was pretty good at it.

Angelica certainly seemed to be having a good time. And Missy could only hope it was fun for the guy behind the screen.

Brady, perversely, was thinking of something else.

His eyes were glued to the action before him, and he was paying close attention to what they saw. But his mind had slipped almost a year into the past; while he watched one thing, he remembered something quite different.

The boy.

His name was Darwin, and he was their first—and thus far only—male playmate. It had been Angelica’s idea, and she’d made the suggestion several times before he agreed to it.

“For variety,” she’d said. “To test your limits, stretch yourself a little. And so that you can experience what I have every time, utterly dominating someone like yourself.”

He protested that he wasn’t gay, wasn’t bisexual, didn’t find himself attracted to men. “Curiosity,” she’d said, “You’ve had your cock sucked; what’s it like to suck one? You’ve fucked women; what’s it like to fuck a man? Or get fucked by one?”

“I wouldn’t let a man inside me.”

“Why not? You like it when I do you with a strap-on. Don’t tell me you haven’t got the urge to try the real thing.”

In the end he agreed to it. “To keep you happy,” he’d told her, but that’s not all it was. He’d dismissed the questions she’d raised, shrugged them off and waved them away, but they came back. They were, truth to tell, things he’d wondered himself.

But not where they lived. Instead they flew halfway across the country where they checked into a good hotel under false names. They had dinner in their room, and he barely touched his.

If he was this nervous, he told himself, then he really did need to go through with this.

There was a gay bar just blocks from the hotel. He walked to it and sat in a corner nursing a gin and tonic. Men approached him, and his manner was amiable but distant.

“Pick a cute one,” she’d said, but none of them struck him as cute. They were men, they didn’t appeal to him. But in the end he chose a sort of male ingénue, a willowy young man whose big brown eyes were his most remarkable feature. Their lashes were long, and enhanced by mascara.

Brady bought him a drink, a Stinger, and the youth said he could really use it, because his rent was past due and he didn’t know how he’d be able to pay it. Brady said he might be able to help, and Darwin said that would be just wonderful.

Back at the hotel, Darwin was not happy to discover that he had two people to play with, and that one of them was a woman. It took a few drinks to loosen him up, and Brady learned the answers to a couple of the questions Angelica had raised. The acts were interesting, though not ones he’d feel a need to repeat, and the satisfaction of imposing his will on the boy was similar to what he felt with the women Angelica picked up.

But Darwin cringed at Angelica’s embrace, and was unable to maintain an erection with her. And when they tried to get him to go down on her he burst into tears. It was not the ending they might have hoped for, and they stuck him in the shower to sober up, then gave him several hundred dollars and sent him off into the night. He left, whimpering, and that was the end of that.

Now, though, Brady realized the evening should have ended differently. With Darwin’s face forced between Angelica’s legs, while Brady was lodged deep inside him. And then, at just the right moment, one hand on the boy’s chin and the other gripping that long hair. And a quick yank, and the neck snapping.

It would have been so simple, and so satisfying. By the time anyone found the body, they’d have been halfway home, and no one would have a clue who’d snuffed out the young man with the slim hips and huge eyes.

And that young man wouldn’t get to tell his friends about the disgusting couple he’d been with, and how Mr. Macho Man had sucked him off.

Brady, watching the two women now, thought of what might have been. He wished he could turn back the clock and the calendar and make that singular evening come out right.

He looked at Missy, who was every bit as doe-eyed as Darwin. And he felt an unaccustomed tingling in his hands.

Angelica lay on her back with her eyes closed and felt Missy’s hand settle on her belly and make its way to her loins. How tentative that hand had been earlier, and how sure of itself it had become!