Wallflowers Don't Wilt (7 page)

He watched anxiously as they turned to each other and kissed long and deep. Watched as Bella teased Serena’s cunt with the other dildo, and slowly, but surely fill her with it. Saw them begin to fuck each other, fingers on nipples, each using one hand to move the other’s jade to a sensual rhythm. Did this mean he was not wanted? He would fight to change their minds. Meanwhile he was having the pleasure of watching, as lips parted, and once again their breaths became harsh and choppy. Fuck, if he wasn’t feeling left out. Looking at his cock, he saw to his utter amazement it was up and eager for round three.

Bella tore her mouth away from Serena’s breast, where it had been suckling one now-taut nipple. “Ivo,” she reprimanded him teasingly. “Are you too tired to give your cock a helping hand?”

He was laughing as he pulled himself up the bed to rest his head on a pillow so as to see them better. His hands moved unerringly to his cock and began to rub. Satisfied, Bella renewed her onslaught on Serena’s nipple. The soft moans coming from them only served to make his arousal more intense. His hands moved faster. Suddenly they were removed, and he found each one firmly entrapped under two soft, rounded female bodies.

“Your oath they will not move?” Serena spoke firmly. “Excepting to caress any part of us presented to you?”

He had to clear his voice before he could speak. “My oath.”

“Good.” Each rolled toward him, lying on their sides. Each of his receptive nipples were firmly nipped and soothed. Two very different caresses with nothing to choose between the erotic sensations they aroused. Looking down at two heads—one dark, one light—both amazing, he could feel tears of joy welling. His cock twitched as it was firmly grasped between two soft, female hands.

“Now,” Serena briefly lifted her head, “we fuck you. Lie back and enjoy.”

He couldn’t answer, nodding as his eyes closed in emotion.

“Oh, Ivo, want you not to see?” That was Bella.

Smiling as he opened them, he spoke from the heart. “With all I have.”

He then proceeded to experience the most arousingly emotional, sensual time of his life. Never had his very soul been so affected. He came with a shuddering roar, cum spurting over each of them, his cock jerking with the sheer intensity of it before tenderly watching his loves bring each other to swift and, by their shouts of appreciation, equally pleasing climaxes as he had experienced.

Slowly his breathing quieted. His heartbeat returned to normal. And, he mused, did they have a decision? Had they made their choice? He would spend the rest of his life persuading them that what they had together was right and true, if it was necessary. He waited, wondering. Perhaps, he thought with wry amusement, this was now the time to beseech all his gods for their aid.

“Come, sit up between us, Ivo.” Serena plumped up a pillow for him as they sat on either side of him, a jade tucked neatly into each cunt. Each head moved toward him, using a shoulder to cushion a soft, silky cheek. Strangely he felt he was home, and his heart swelled.

Serena spoke, her eyes full of emotion. He looked briefly at Arabella to see the same sentiment reflected there.

“We need to discuss something, Ivo. Our love. How did you say we going to arrange our households?”

Biography

Ever since I won not one but two Cadbury “Where Does Chocolate Come From?” competitions in primary school, I was convinced one day I would write a book. My parents encouraged me. My schoolteachers despaired of me—flowery, romantic, not factual. Hey, I loved weaving stories about anything and anyone!

So what happened to my grand ideas?

Life got in the way.

So more years later than I am prepared to disclose (a woman has to have some secrets!), here I am, with Breathless Press giving me my big chance. Thanks, B.P.

Married to my own hero (how cheesy is that?) after a couple of failed hero attempts, we live on the edge of a Scottish forest with two cats and three children as frequent visitors. And now two grandkids. Lucky or what?

I write on my laptop in my study, watching the birds on the bird table, the strange big, black, fluffy “I’m pretending to be a bird” cat sitting on the table and trying to convince the many birds he is invisible, occasionally seeing deer and red squirrel moving past. I am privileged.

As a non-closet romantic, sometimes neurotic, and lover of words, I so enjoy getting involved with my hero and heroines. I hope you do too.

Wallflower’s Don’t Wilt is the first novel of mine to be published, and can I admit it was written as a dare? Yup, my crit group—Up And Coming Writers—dared me to write it, and then nagged, encouraged, edited, and niggled until I sent it to Breathless Press. My lovely editor, Jackie, saw something in it…and hey, presto, (well, not really, but it sounds good) I am a published author.