ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) (111 page)

Dez tickled her ribcage and she giggled loudly. It was one of her most sensitive areas, and Dez knew it. She began bursting into hysteric fits.

“Ssssshhhh,” he said. “Keep cool. You’ll wake up Charlie.”

“I’m already awake,” Charlie groaned from his bed.

Samantha rolled out of the covers and knelt down by the side of his bed, clad only in a bra and panties. “Hey there, stranger,” she beamed broadly at him, holding her head up with her hands. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You mean I’m cute when you’re drunk.”

“Could be. ‘Cept when you’re drunk, you’re pretty handsome. Sober, you’re downright sexy.”

Dez chuckled, even as she leapt into his bed. “Hope you don’t mind,” she slurred as Charlie laughed, rolling over to make room for her. “Come on over to this side, the water’s great!” she beckoned to Dez. He walked over, slowly, methodically, taking in the sight. Their bodies against one another seemed playful, like two feisty kittens wrestling with each other. But underneath, he could tell that their hearts yearned for one another, yearned for this strange nativity between this, this sacrament to be known only in secret—and only by all three. He jumped into the bed eagerly, hungrily as Samantha nuzzled her cheek against his chest.

“Mmmmm… the two most beautiful men in the world, laying right next to me.” She turned her head and kissed Charlie between his shoulder blades, rubbing and kneading his tired flesh. “You know what would be the perfect ending to our little celebration now, don’t you?”

Charlie turned around and placed his mouth against hers. Even drunk, it tasted of youth and brazenness alive with a fire he hadn’t known for quite some time. His tongue explored her mouth greedily, as Dez’s fingers trailed along the elastic of her panties, letting it snap back ever so lightly. His hand slid across the crack of her ass as Charlie unfastened her bra, never once taking his eyes off hers. Dez wrestled her panties off, her muscular thighs helping the cheap black cotton slip down. He pressed himself against her, brushing her hair back gently until he could wrap it around his fist. As he did so he tugged gently, causing her to gasp as he held her back against him, nibbling on her shoulder blades as her palms caressed Charlie’s broad, unyielding chest. She felt Dez’s palm smack against her the side of her ass cheeks, causing her face to blush as the sound rippled throughout the room. She knew what she had to do.

Dez forced her down, her head now directly against Charlie’s chest as he knelt behind her. She felt him entering her swiftly from behind, parting her with such savage grace that she felt she could cry out at any minute. Her hands gripped her hips firmly as he thrust in and out of her, her head nodding back and forth as Charlie watched, entranced by her jade green eyes. The lids fluttered in perfect time to the rhythms of Dez’s movements, her eyes signaling a wanton frenzy, a secret flame within her that seared her entire body. It was a fire that was magnetic and Charlie knelt down to study the outline of her face. The finely carved cheekbones seemed to expand, swelling with each of Dez’s gyrations inside he. He traced the side of her face softly, a sad look in his eyes betraying his bond with the two lovers. Even as that bond seemed to grow closer, he seemed to grow more distant plagued by ghosts he was incapable of containing. He felt himself dissolve as he looked in her face, wanting to cling to its beauty like a rudder. A rudder anchored in the tempest of his heart.

Samantha took Charlie in her mouth. She had always loathed giving head, mainly because all of her partners had insisted on using her mouth as a substitute. But Charlie was gentle. He brushed her hair back and looked down at her appreciatively, letting himself savor the sensation of Samantha’s tongue exploring him. He groaned as she applied the smallest bit of pressure to him, and even she was surprised by his sensitivity. She could feel the ridges of Dez’s hips hitting hers, and she had difficulty keeping concentration. Samantha stopped and took him in her cupped hands. She stroked them up and down the shaft of Charlie’s cock ritually, as if she was summoning some ancient fate, some ancient omen that would possess all three of them and consecrate them anew, absolving them of all weaknesses, of all their myriad flaws and imperfections so they could merge together in one new skin, as pure and free of blame as time itself. Samantha began to spasm as Dez’s thrusts continued their dizzying crescendo, galloping in leaps and bounds, pulling her apart until she felt like a wad of chewing gum stretched too thin. She felt herself convulsing and writhing, the sweat dripping from between her legs, baptizing all three of them. They never even heard themselves cry out together. All they could hear was a soft low hum that seemed to emerge from a point that began and ended somewhere inside themselves.

They lay down, crumpled against one another, with only the low metallic whir of the air conditioning to keep them company. No words were spoken. No cigarettes were smoked. Only the blissful netting of sweat and their heaving chests reminded them of their own bodies. They were exposed. Simply nerves and dreams in the dim glow of the hotel room, where the coming dawn could be the only promise kept.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The ‘72 Nova stalled in front of the Plano Inn. Dez had noticed it for the past two days, speeding up and down the North Central Expressway, but never bothered to pay too much attention to it, until now, as it sat idling directly in front of his motel room window.

Dez had never been one for people watching, but the unequivocal air of stagnation and boredom he experienced in Plano over the past week had driven him to it. He had no idea why he felt so compelled towards the Nova. After all, it was just another sedan, one of countless variations pulling in and out of the motel parking lot. Still, there was something irrationally mesmerizing about its presence, a presence that began to unnerve Dez; it may not have been visible, but it was assuredly palpable. He watched the driver emerge from the car, and took in a short, swarthy and physically unpleasant man walking
—more accurately, waddling—towards a door some two rooms to the left of Dez. He watched him enter and re-emerge some ten minutes later with a silent but malevolent leer on his face. It was enough to make Dez shudder.

Samantha hummed as she folded the laundry. Her insistence on cleanliness and perfectly pressed clothing for the three of them—no matter how minimal—was the sole remnant of her past life prior to meeting Dez, and she was determined to keep it. Never mind that both Dez and Charlie only had no more than three shirts between them; it was her only way of trying o keep some semblance of order in the face of uncertainty. Though she had long grown comfortable with the notion of a transient life on the road, she still needed an anchor. Some people had homes; Samantha had fresh laundry.

“Charlie mention what time he’d be back from Bingo?”

“Probably no later than 9:30.”

“Never would’ve suspected him of being into it.”

“Bingo? It takes all types.”

“Yeah… but Bingo?”

“Deep down, Charlie’s a homebody; bit of a square, no matter how much he might lead on. I think he’s honestly going to try to meet someone.”

“We’ve been here almost a week now. You don’t think he’s planning on settling down here, do you?”

“In Plano? Doubt it. Despite what I just said, I’ve known Charlie for a while now and if he was going to be settling down, I doubt it would be here. Too… sterile for him.”

“You mean, too white.”

“Nah. With Charlie, race doesn’t matter much. I think deep down, he’s probably just incredibly lonely and could use some company. See with Charlie… he gets attached too easily. Always chasing some great, unrequited love that just winds up breaking his heart. Can’t see him with a Texas gal.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“You think he’s attached to me?”

“Babe, as enticing as you are, Charlie’s a one woman sort of dude - too much honor. He’d rather have one woman to devote himself to for the rest of his life. Why… you’re not getting attached to him yourself, are you?”

“Get real! No… no way… It’s just that he’s… such a sweetheart, and I’d like to see him happy.”

“Oh, don’t worry… You’re quite good at that,” Dez replied, playfully patting her on the behind.

“Not everything’s about sex, you know.”

“Oh, I never claimed it was. But it does certainly make things a bit more rewarding now, doesn’t it?”

“If I lied and said it wasn’t, would you still take me out to dinner tonight?”

“What is it with women and their little hard to get games?”

“Part of our generation. Didn’t you get the invitation? There’s a sexual revolution going on. Gotta up the ante somehow. Dinner?”

“That revolution already came and went before either of us were even born. Just nobody was willing to admit it,” he continued, pressing his groin against her leg.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Neither am I.”

“I want dinner at a
nice
restaurant, Dez. No more of this diner crap. When was the last time we were alone, just the two of us? You take me out to a decent place and then we can discuss the revolution. Generalissimo..”

“Aye, aye, comrade. Let me hop in the shower quick, and we’ll see what we can find.”

*****

They sat across from one another at the only Italian restaurant they could find in Plano, waiting for their appetizers and sharing a bottle of Merlot.

“Dez, there’s been something I been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you ever miss it? The drugs, I mean.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“All the goddamned time.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Not a whole lot. Guess there isn’t a real physical need anymore. There are drugs - and then there are drugs. Take grass, for example. I think if either of us were to blow some grass tomorrow, chances are we wouldn’t get the urge to start booting up on crank again. Then again, maybe we would. I don’t know. I’m not really willing to test that theory just yet. No strong desire to, either. Drugs to me are a memory. Like a lot of memories, some are good. Some are… downright shitty. Took my daughter to make me see that.”

“It sounds like you still miss her.”

“I do. Changed my life in a lot of ways. But not everything’s permanent, though. Not everything lives up to your expectations. Not everyone, either. She’s better off without me.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I absolutely can. Her mother needed someone to support the both of them. I did as much as I could. Didn’t work out, so now I can only support them from afar. She needed someone with better prospects I guess you could say. I can’t really fault her for that.”

“See, that’s what I find kinda messed up. If you’re with someone—husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend—you’re with them. Thick and thin…”

Dez raised an eyebrow.

“Sleeping around… Well that’s just sex, isn’t it? Natural behavior. It’s the same thing as any other animal, male or female. It’s not the same thing as love or even chemistry. It’s purely physical. But love, respect, need - that’s what you base a life around. Sex is just the icing on the cake.”

“Most forms of relationships, interactions are largely based on exchange and manipulation to some degree or another. That includes purely sexual ones.”

“I think that’s ridiculous. I think you’re taking a cynical view of things.”

“For example, my ex-wife… Sure, she knew what she was getting into when we first started seeing on another. She knew she could rely on me for dope, for money… and I could rely on her as a warm bed to come home to at night. When our needs changed, I was no longer able to fulfill them. I can’t fault her for the break-up any more than she can fault me for not living up to her expectations. There’s a certain honesty in realizing that that puts it into a whole different perspective. It’s why I can’t hold any jealousy against her.”

“All I know is that if I was your wife—”

“But you’re not. Even me and you are based on reliance.”

Samantha frowned. “That’s a fucking horrible thing to say, Dez Cawley!”

“Except it’s true. I have no idea what you want from me, or even what I can offer to you. Can’t speak for you, and wouldn’t presume to do so anyways. But this past month… You’ve actually made me feel like a man again, do you know that? Like I was alive again - full of fight, full of passion. I don’t know how long that’s going to last. Could be next week. Could be never. But I’m through with trying to explain it. Anyways, I’m through with trying to justify or analyze it. I have a life to live. Maybe you’ll be a part of it, maybe not. I can only hope so. But for now, I can only focus on what’s immediate, in front of me. You chose to come along, as strange as it may sound. You can choose to leave. But if you’re going to stay, then there’s no point in stopping to question these things. Or rationalize them. If you’re going to move forward, you need to follow your instincts. So… are you on the fucking bus or what?”

Their appetizers came; and for the rest of the evening, Dez and Samantha ate in silence. Samantha occasionally fidgeted with her hair as she ate her ziti, her eyes narrowing as she stared off into the shadows behind Dez. The stillness seemed to suffocate her, and even the bland gondola music playing in the background seemed to come from another plane entirely.

*****

They had decided to take a stroll nearby, to work off the heady wine before driving back. Dez had noticed a larger police presence in downtown Plano than usual over the past day or two and didn’t want to chance being pulled over. He saw it as an omen that it was high time to leave town. Still, he wanted one last look if only for curiosity’s sake.

They passed by the old Plano Railway station. Even though it hadn’t operated for over twenty-five years, trains had always held a magnetic allure for Dez. To him, they represented the start of the last gasp in civilization, an attempt to harness the great American wilderness; and one fallen to the wayside thanks to more modern accessibilities. He had spent time in the missions of Lawrence, Kansas, listening to the old hoboes practically dying from tuberculosis and neglect, discussing their lives in the ‘20s and ‘30s with all the plaintive and heartfelt lyricism of a vast medieval epic. He didn’t give a damn if those stories were vast exaggerations or even entirely false. What mattered was the glint in their eyes when they spoke. He felt a tribal recognition with the grizzled wraiths groaning on their foldout cots; a token of recognition in an invisible brotherhood, scorched upon his skull like a biblical mark.

All Samantha saw were beat up old railroad cars; rust and weeds; corrugated iron and a strong medicinal smell. Still, Dez seemed so entranced, strolling along calmly, methodically, almost proudly with his hands behind his back and a loping gait in his footsteps. She followed him along, as he stopped to feel the long tarnished finish of the cars.

“It’s amazing… At one point, this line had over two hundred miles of track laid down… All the way from Dallas and Waco. Walked out here a couple nights ago… Here, I want to show you something. Follow me.”

Dez led her into the inside of one of the cars. Even though the dust was overwhelming, Samantha could still see the bright lights from the Municipal Works plant some two miles away catching its reflection across a broken pane of glass.

“It’s a railroad car, Dez. So—”

He pushed her against the frame of the car, holding her from behind and forcing her to arch her back slightly. His teeth sank into her smooth throat as he began pawing at her crudely; forcefully, tugging and groping at the soft cotton dress she acquiesced to wear at his insistence. She could feel him shuddering as he did so, the smell of his sweat and desire filling up the car with a musk that was as undiluted and primordial as the humid spark of creation. She felt his savagery, his rage; his very essence through the heat permeating his prying hands and felt herself wither under its spell.

He pressed himself against her, forcing his mouth upon hers. He seemed to suck the very breath from her lungs, his tongue moist, wine-drunk and boiling. She tried to squirm to allow herself breathing room, but he kept her firmly in place. His hands pried her legs apart, his voice growling lewdly upon finding that she wore nothing beneath the flimsy cotton. He raised her onto a seat and knelt before her, his feverish head resting upon her thighs. He reached his hands along their length, his fingers reaching around to toy with the crack of her behind. Dez knew that the slightest sensation would render her helpless, and she gasped as she opened her legs for him. The sting of his breath huffed hard against her as he wallowed in her taste on his tongue. It brought him to life, and Samantha felt herself breathing in time with his tongue, merging in one perfect accent. She wanted to cry out. It was only in her shamelessness; in her absolute surrender that she knew she had control.

Dez kissed her deeply, and she could feel her dampness still alive, still fertile on his tongue. He bent her down on her stomach against the seat and forced her to kneel upon it. He took her from behind, entering her gradually, leisurely, the head of his cock trembling inside her. He raised his fingers to her lips and Samantha sucked greedily as he thrust himself slowly inside her. He wiped the spit across the rouge on her cheeks, making certain to smear it. She arched her back and bucked up against him, locking him inside her. He wanted to spit in her face. He wanted to slander her with the most vile names imaginable, trampling her, and making her see the both of them as they really were; little more than animals sheltered from the storm and finding amusement in a dance so ancient, so sacred, that generations have murdered generations simply to unlock its secret.

The fine beads of sweat crowned them both like a shared aureole, and Samantha bit her own lips until they were frayed and chapped. This was no conquest; this was a simple call and response, a cadence known only to each other. Tears welled in her eyes, smudging her mascara as he cupped her small breasts; but they were little more than psalms to the friction that engulfed them both. The smell of sweat and sex; cracked dusty leather and steel; force and groveling; all seemed to merge in Samantha’s nostrils as she felt herself contracting, dissolving with each of Dez’s thrusts. Ten minutes could have passed… an hour… forty days… time was irrelevant in that cavern of cylinder and steel, of rust and cobwebs. All that mattered was the endless combustion generated by their entwined limbs.