Inn on the Edge (19 page)

“Thanks,” whispered Valerian, so quietly I barely heard him.

He went back to the blanket.

Logan’s hands moved under us, spreading the lube on his cock
and on my ass. When he was finished, he leaned in to me, his chest flush with
my back. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Now?”

“Yes!”

The pressure at my ass built and built, and then I opened
up—something inside me relaxed, just as Logan had predicted—and the tip of his
cock was in me. Holy
shit
it felt good. His cock was entering me, big
and hard, going in, going in. I wanted to holler. I wanted to yell. Hell, I
wanted to scream, it was so shockingly, so insanely superb. I wanted to put my
full weight on his cock so it would
go in
.

But even
I
knew that slow was the way to go with
ass-fucking. What I hadn’t known was that it would feel so damn fantastic. I
loved it…my god, but I loved it. Why had Josh and I never tried this? What was
wrong with us?

“Okay?” Logan asked again, breathless, kissing the back of
my neck, loving me in the ass. He hugged his arms around me, holding me,
rocking me. “You like it?”

“Fuck, yes!”

“Mmm…me too. Me too! Can I go all the way in now? Yes? You
want to?”

I nodded vigorously, pressing my back to him. In what world
wouldn’t I want to?

He helped me to lower myself all the way onto his lap,
helped me to take more and more of his cock into myself. I opened up even
more—I could feel it happening—and he went into me deeper, deeper, deeper. And
it was good. So very, very good. Unlike anything I’d ever felt before. And I
loved him for it, for giving this to me.

Logan hugged me again. “You’re amazing, Angie. So tight. So
soft. So lush. I could fuck you forever. God’s honest truth.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

I leaned against his warm chest, my eyes closed. I rocked in
time with him, feeling him in my ass, feeling him where no man had been before.
My
god
, but it was good. Different in every way from a regular fuck.
Wait until I told Josh about this. Wait until I showed him how wonderful it
was! I couldn’t wait to do this with my husband. Logan and I rocked gently back
and forth, enjoying ourselves immensely.

“Spread your knees a little,” he whispered, his lips
tickling my ear.

He kissed me then. But that wasn’t the best part. The best
part was his hand between my legs, his thumb massaging my clit, his fingers
deep within the folds of my pussy. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Time
stood still. We enjoyed each other’s bodies in a concentrated, beautiful
silence, sharing our joy with each other and with our adoring audience. It
seemed as if it would go on forever, but it didn’t. Everything came crashing
down—suddenly, horribly, catastrophically.

“Very nice! Very
nice
!” said Mr. Abiba, and he was
clapping.

Clapping
.

Aghast, I opened my eyes. I stared at him.

“Fine show! Lovely in every respect. My compliments to you
both.”

Neither of us moved.

Logan blew on my neck. He was pissed. I could tell. So was
I.

“Your turn is over, my man. It is now Valerian’s turn,”
announced Mr. Abiba.

He waited. We still didn’t move.

“Why the sour looks, my dears? There is a time limit on your
shenanigans, isn’t that so? Two hours, if I recall correctly? The end of the calling
card game is but nine minutes away! Up and at ’em, Logan! Unhand the lady! Make
way for the next gentleman!” He clapped again, sharply.

Logan stiffened. He took his fingers from inside me, rested
them on my leg. “We’re not stopping! We don’t want to!” But his voice held a
distinct whine and his cock was already beginning to shrink. I could feel it.
Our lovemaking was ending whether we wanted it to or not.

Mr. Abiba sighed theatrically. “Oh dear. My poor Valerian
needs a turn with the lovely Angela! Will you deny him, Logan, my good man?
Where is your compassion?”

I sucked in a quick breath and clenched my jaw, hearing the
blood pounding in my ears. Since when did people
take turns
with me?
Where was the compassion for
me
? I glared at Mr. Abiba. How dare he
treat me this way? I wasn’t a plaything! But my anger didn’t faze him. Smiling
sagely, he leaned forward and reached out a long, thin finger.

“Angela,” he said, stroking my cheek, “why are you angry? Do
you not like me?”

His touch…his touch.

His hand moved to my leg. He fondled my inner thigh.

“Yes,” I said, “but…”

His finger trailing a line of fire along my skin, so lovely,
so lovely, like nothing I’d ever felt before. I sucked in my breath, forgetting
what I had been about to say. My asshole contracted, making Logan moan. He was
getting hard again.

“My dear,” Mr. Abiba said kindly, “I only wish the best for
you.”

I knew that. I did. It was just that I wanted…oh…oh…oh!

His hand settled on my mound and pressed inward, downward,
gently, relentlessly. And then a marvelous thing happened—something wonderful,
something made of pure white beauty flitted into my pussy, touching me,
stroking me, as light as a feather, heavenly. And then it was gone. I cried
out. So did Logan. His arms tightened around me.

Mr. Abiba’s finger! It had to be!

I bit the inside of my cheek, dazzled.

My
god
. If a mere touch of Mr. Abiba’s finger felt
like that—if it held such raw emotion, such desire, such power—what would the
rest of him feel like? I couldn’t follow the thought to its logical conclusion.

I just couldn’t.

“Angela,” Mr. Abiba said softly, “why all the fuss about a
simple change of partner?”

Why indeed? I was suddenly confused. Was I overreacting?
Perhaps it wasn’t really that big an imposition? Because I did want to make
love to Valerian—just not at that very moment. Not without being consulted
first. “Fine,” I said, making up my mind. I didn’t want to be a diva. “I’ll
fuck Valerian now. If you want me to.”

Mr. Abiba settled on the blanket beside the mountain man.
“Good girl,” he said, nodding.

Logan slumped against me, defeated. Working together, we
separated our hot, flushed bodies. Logan kissed me one last time, then joined
the others on the blanket. I couldn’t bear to look at his dejected face as he
rolled off his rubber and tossed it aside.

“Valerian—you’re up!” announced Mr. Abiba.

Every head turned to stare at Valerian.

The color drained from his face. He shook his head, waving
his hands back and forth. “No, no! I’m okay,” he sputtered, “some other time,
maybe?”

Mr. Abiba’s large fist crashed into the dirt floor, raising
a cloud of dust. We jumped. “Nonsense,” he shouted, “Take the lady
now
,
my man!”

Apparently the lady in question did not have a say in the
matter.

I crouched on my blanket, naked and shivering. I’d never
been so alone in my entire life.

Never.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about that magical touch.

“Valerian,” said Mr. Abiba, his tone icy. “One must never
leave a lady waiting.”

Valerian moved onto my blanket, avoiding my gaze. He reached
for me, touching my shoulder apologetically. He leaned in and kissed me but he
was nervous, I could smell it all over him. I felt sorry for the guy—why had
Mr. Abiba been so curt with him? It didn’t seem necessary. I kissed him once,
twice, three times, and he responded with a shy smile. He lay on the blanket,
pulling me down with him.

“Good,” breathed Mr. Abiba, leaning forward, “that’s it.”

Valerian and I. We tried. Really we did, but only a small
percentage of our former fire was there—a tiny, miniscule percentage. With
work, maybe Valerian and I could ignite a bigger fire. A bonfire, even. We
kissed and kissed, and after a bit our hands began roaming over each other’s
bodies, traveling over my rigid nipples, over his rapidly hardening cock.
Moving down my belly and around his bulging chest muscles. Massaging breasts
and thighs—massaging the ache of my abortive session with Logan right out of
me. Massaging lust back into me. And it was working.

I put a hand on each side of Valerian’s face, looked into
his eyes and nodded.

“Yes?” he whispered. His color was back.

“Yes,” I said, kissing him.

He nudged my legs apart with his. He lowered himself onto
me, his chest on my chest, surprisingly heavy. I liked the way he felt—so
different from the others. His shortish, fatish cock—I was beginning to be
quite a connoisseur of cocks—was sweet, so sweet,
so goddamn fucking sweet
as
it entered me.

I closed my eyes, enjoying it, enjoying him.

We moved together, getting used to the feel of each other. I
reached up to his head and ran my hands through that short spiky hair of his,
remembering how much I’d wanted to play with it. Our bodies took on a rhythm
with each thrust. With each moan we became better acquainted.

It was good. Not ass-fucking good. Not magical finger good.
But good.

And it was getting better.

All was not lost, not at all! I smiled up at Valerian and my
breath quickened. He closed his eyes, his face a mask of concentration, his
neck veins bulging. Fascinating, how people looked when they were making love.
How intense their sex faces. Perhaps I would paint a series of sex faces. There
was nothing like that on display anywhere. My series of sex faces would be the
first—people would love it! I smiled at the thought, tightening my knees around
my new lover, raising my hips to meet his.

My volcano was a raging beast within me—wild, getting ready
to blow—I was so close, so close, so close, and then…

“But I cannot see her!” cried Mr. Abiba.

Not again! Dear god, not again. Couldn’t the man just let us
fuck in peace?

“Valerian! You are
blocking my view
!”

Valerian and I stared at each other, unbelieving. Goddamn
it. Just as the sex got good. This time, I swear, it hurt.

“I want to see! Move out of my way!”

Valerian raised himself onto outstretched arms and leaned to
the side, hitching up one knee for support, causing some minor cock slippage.
He frowned. He maneuvered his hips against me until he was securely inside me
once again. Cool air brushed my belly, my breasts, chilling all the places his
warm body had covered me a moment before.

“Is this better, Mr. Abiba?” Valerian asked, his voice thin.
“Because I can move a bit more to the side if you want.”

Mr. Abiba must have given the go-ahead, because slowly,
tentatively, Valerian began fucking me again. But the magic was gone. It wasn’t
enough. He was touching me. Sort of. His cock was in me, one leg rested on mine—yes,
there was contact, but the magic was gone. I wanted him on top of me. I wanted
to feel his weight, to have his chest on mine, to have his heavy body mash my
breasts. I wanted to work to breathe.

But what Mr. Abiba wanted was more important, wasn’t it?

Damn him.

I gazed into Valerian’s eyes, knowing it was me Mr. Abiba
wished to see, that it was mywrithing body he longed to witness in the
throes of passion. “Ignore him,” I told Valerian, moving only my lips, hardly
even making a sound.

“I can’t,” he answered in the same manner. “Angie—I can’t.
None of us Guides can. We’re all but slaves.”

Had I heard him right? Slaves? Surely not!

Mr. Abiba’s voice slammed into us. “Valerian, you only have
four minutes. Are you planning on giving the lady an apex?”

Valerian turned around to look at his boss. “Four minutes?
Really?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yes. Finish the deed.”

But Valerian couldn’t.

My poor sheriff. He tried. He tried so hard.

He kissed me and kissed me and sucked my breasts and worked
on his cock with his hands, to no avail. Then I tried and fared no better. His
cock got smaller and smaller, his desperation bigger and bigger. His sex face
was replaced by an anguished face.

I had my own problems. My wild passion face—I assumed I had
one—had been brutally replaced by an unresolved needface,and I
thought I would cry with the utter misery of it.

And then we heard it.

A sigh. Loud and long and hopeless. Mr. Abiba.

It was over. Valerian and I pulled apart. There wasn’t much
left to pull apart, truth be told. His erection was long gone. Withered away.
Mortified into oblivion. We sat up. I huddled next to him on the blanket,
racked with furious trembling, shaking with all that pent-up desire.

And I was close—this close—to blaming it on Mr. Abiba.

Mr. Abiba got slowly to his feet. He smoothed the wrinkles
from his robes, dusted off the fine fabric, stretched his arms, his shoulders,
his neck. He sighed again. Logan and Geoffrey huddled together, as far from Mr.
Abiba as they could get on their small blanket, wary.

Then Mr. Abiba looked up. His troubled eyes rested on me.
“You are angry, and I cannot bear for you to be annoyed. I cannot. You are a
plum of a woman. Lush and juicy and ripe for the taking. Any man,” he glanced
at Valerian, “
almost
any man would be pleased to make love to you. Come
to me, my dear girl—let me hold you, let me take your hurt from you. Allow me
to help. Please.” He held out his arms.

I went to him. Lord help me.

He hugged my naked body to his chest and smoothed the
sex-mussed hair from my face. He wiped tears of frustration from the corners of
my eyes, then gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. He put a hand on the small of
my back, his skin cool and dry on my own. He pressed me tightly against him,
not minding that I scrunched up his robes with my hot, sweaty limbs. The
pendant he wore, twin to mine, rested against my neck. I sighed in pleasure
even as my nude body quivered with unfulfilled lust. Mr. Abiba closed his eyes
and breathed deeply, serenely. He breathed in. Out. In. Out. In. Out. He kissed
the top of my head.

How I adored him! When would I get to have sex with
him
?

When?

He shook his head, as if he’d read my mind. He put a finger
to my mouth and gave me a sad little smile that said, as clear as day, although
no sound passed his lips,
No, no, my little plum. I’m not allowed.

My heart fell.

He ran a finger down my cheek, just as he had earlier. Then,
tenderly, he leaned over and kissed me. This time I thought I heard a quiet,
sad voice, almost as if it were inside my head.
I’m not allowed, my dear,
and what a shame it is!

He sighed.

After a moment he waved for the others to join us. Geoffrey
and Logan, and then Valerian stood up and came near. Mr. Abiba gathered us all
in the loving, caring circle of his arms. There we stood, four very naked
people and Mr. Abiba in his flowing robes, all of us swaying together in the
dim room. It was nice. So very nice. Healing, even. Relaxing. With his expert
help, the frustrated lust drained from my body, and I was at peace.

“There, there,” Mr. Abiba said quietly, “All better now?”

I nodded, suddenly exhausted. I felt weak, as if all the
energy in my body had been drained along with the sexual yearning. I wasn’t
even upset any more. What had I been so worked up about anyway? There was
nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

I closed my eyes and sniffed deeply, filling my lungs with
Mr. Abiba’s cinnamon scent. When I opened my eyes again, the ghost town was
gone. We were back in Logan’s room, in front of the fireplace. It was over. No
more tumbleweeds blowing down dusty, windy streets. No more windmills in the
distance. No more slatted wooden buildings with swinging wooden doors and
blankets in the corner. No more carefree sex with three horny, playful men. I
hugged myself, feeling bereft. Would I ever see our ghost town again? For that
matter, would I ever use the Storybuilder Tool again?

I had to—I had to share this with Josh!

Mr. Abiba patted my back, then stepped away. “I thank you
for your generous invitation,” he said solemnly. “To all of you I give my
deepest gratitude. Witnessing your passion has been such a treasure, such a
joy. I cannot thank you enough. The calling card game has been a resounding
success.” He bowed formally from the waist, his robes swishing against the
floor—and then his gaze fell on me. My breath caught in my throat at the desire
in his eyes.

His cheeks were flushed.

“Use liberal amounts of the salve I gave you, my dear
Angela. After your workout just now, I daresay you’ll have need of it.” Mr.
Abiba began to leave, then turned around to say one last thing. “I do hope you’ve
had fun.”

He left. I stared at the door, perplexed. Why wouldn’t I
have had fun? Tools were fun. Games were fun. Ghost towns were fun.

And sex.

Sex was always fun.

Why wouldn’t it be?