by Serena Janes
She stifled a giggle, took a deep breath and did what she was told.
One, two. One, two. Oh yes—it’s so much easier with music.
Back and forth, twirl. Back and forth, twirl. Dip and up.
I’m doing it! I’m dancing the tango. In Spain. With a Spaniard.
The music lifted her heart and her feet followed. All was well and good in Jo’s little world once again.
She couldn’t read Brenda’s face as she danced past, but when the music ended and Danny took her back to the table her friend was applauding wildly. Brenda jumped up and embraced first Danny, then Jo, exclaiming at how beautifully they moved together.
“You told me the tango was the only dance you couldn’t learn,” she said to Jo, who was flushed and breathing heavily from her exertion.
“That’s because I hadn’t found the right teacher,” Jo said, embracing Danny and planting a big kiss on his mouth. “On top of everything else you’ve done for me, Bren—you’ve given me tango lessons!”
She laughed, holding onto Danny’s hard arm.
“You did a good job, Danny. Our girl looks smashing out there with you.”
“She was a troublesome student, at first. But eventually we got her straightened out,” he said, hugging Jo closely. “Once she focused, she was a natural.”
“I think this calls for some of the fizzy stuff,” Brenda said, motioning to the waiter. She ordered a bottle of their best sparkling wine.
Danny and Jo danced for most of the next set, but Danny was polite enough to insist that Brenda be twirled around on the dance floor too. She wasn’t much of a dancer, Brenda insisted, but by now they were all high enough not to care about anything but having fun.
After the bottle was drained they ordered another, and by the last tune—which they all danced together—Jo could hardly tell which foot was her right and which was her left. And it didn’t matter a bit.
The three of them laughed so hard they had to hold each other up to keep from collapsing in a heap on the middle of the crowded dance floor.
And then they stumbled home locked together in a tight embrace, Jo almost smothered between the two people who would have her.
Jo didn’t remember staggering through the dimly lit side streets of Ronda’s old town. She didn’t remember going up to the suite, and she had no idea at all how she came to be making love to Danny, on her own bed, with Brenda sitting close by in an arm chair, watching.
Her mind was almost numb, heavy and stalled like a truck bogged down in mud, unable to move forward or backward. All she knew was that Danny’s kisses were hot and sweet, and her skin tingled where his hands caressed it. He was removing her blouse, kissing her shoulders and neck. His lips warmed her skin and she shivered with pleasure. She felt loose and wanton.
By closing her eyes she could forget about Brenda, sitting quietly not five feet away.
She felt her Spaniard lower his head to kiss her belly, cup her breasts, rub them until her nipples grew hard inside their lacy cups. Then she felt him slide his hands under the flounces of her skirt, and run them over her thighs, front and back. Then up the inside, all the time crooning Spanish words that only fired her imagination.
Her thong was wet. She could feel it sticking to her as his hands undid the zip on her skirt and slid her out of it. Through half-opened eyelids she watched him peel off his pants and shorts while she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Her hands were on his smooth chest, along his sides, over his back as he shrugged himself free and rolled on top of her.
He kissed her everywhere, constantly muttering softly in Spanish as he coaxed her body into flame. At the same time his hypnotic words further lulled her mind into oblivion. She was melting into him, willing to do whatever he wanted.
Except with Brenda.
Dimly Jo realized that Danny was playing to his audience. She could feel him looking at Brenda as he worked her body, slipping her breasts out of her bra and lovingly caressing them as if they were a prize Brenda might covet.
“She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?” He spoke as if Jo was an object.
Jo heard Brenda shift in her chair before she spoke in a quiet voice.
“She is.”
“But you are a beautiful woman, too.”
Brenda snorted, but said nothing.
Danny lovingly licked one nipple, then the other before turning to Brenda and saying, “Why don’t you come closer so I can see how beautiful you are?”
“No. I’m happy right where I am,” Brenda said.
“With my camera,” she added under her breath.
But Jo heard her. Her eyes shot open and she saw Brenda had balanced her camera on a mini tripod and was clumsily trying to adjust the angle.
“Bren!” she called out in alarm, trying to raise herself on one elbow. “What the hell are you doing taking pictures. Put that thing away, you perv.”
Brenda kept her voice light. “Just foolin’ around, hon. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Normally Jo would have been upset at being photographed having sex. But these weren’t normal circumstances. She was drunk. And horny. And damned if she wasn’t going to have a little fun after all the sadness that had been crippling her over the past weeks.
And besides, Danny was removing her soaked thong and tickling her soft pubic hair with the tips of his fingers. She just had to open her legs a little more. Just had to experience that exquisite sensation a little more fully…
“Mmmph.”
“That’s right. Just relax and enjoy it,” he murmured as he bent down to kiss her most sensitive spots. She arched her back, spread her legs and closed her eyes against whatever it was Brenda was planning to do.
“Oh God. You. Are. So. Good. At. This.” She grabbed his hair and pulled.
Her breathing grew ragged and her toes curled as Danny used his expert tongue to make her forget all about everything in the world except her hot little pussy.
“Fuck!” She called out as she came in a series of ricocheting spasms. She pulled his head up to her mouth and kissed him deeply, loving the salty taste of her sex.
Gasping for air, she looked into Danny’s dark eyes and said, “This man has the most talented tongue you’ll ever meet, Bren.”
Then she shot a glance at her friend, who was sitting very still in her chair.
“I think you shouldn’t pass up this sweet opportunity.”
“You think?” Brenda’s voice was rough, like a man’s.
“Oh yeah,” Jo said as she reached down for Danny’s cock. “I think we can work out something mutually beneficial,” she mumbled as she lowered her mouth to take him.
The next thing Jo knew, there were three warm naked bodies on the bed. She felt hands on her skin, but wasn’t sure whose. She was playing Danny’s cock with her tongue and teeth, rubbing his balls with one hand and grasping the base of his cock with the other.
If the hands fondling her breasts were his, or Brenda’s, Jo couldn’t tell. And after a few moments she no longer cared. And when Danny came with a hot gush into her mouth, she felt soft fingertips playing at her clit and allowed herself to be carried away.
Chapter Eleven
Although Luc was certain that Hilda’s marital status was both none of his business and of no importance, something had changed between them. That night in bed, their last in Marrakech, he didn’t seem quite so keen on exploring her body. Maybe it was the heat, he thought.
She sensed his reluctance. “Does it bother you that I’m married?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Non. Not at all.”
“But something’s bothering you,” she said, sitting up in bed. She stretched her long body and then stood up and walked over to the open French doors overlooking a courtyard full of date palms. She was completely naked, and anyone looking up into their room would see her. But, if anything, she invited voyeurs. Luc had never met such an exhibitionist.
Maybe she was right. Something was bothering him. “Why do you travel without your husband?
” he asked.
And fuck strangers, he wanted to add.
Suddenly, he felt a little sad for her. And for himself.
She shrugged, still gazing out over the fronds. “We’re different people, Claus and I. He does his thing, and I do mine.”
“Is there anything you do together?”
She turned to look at him, a flicker of annoyance passing over her face.
“Of course. We live together. We share our lives. Our secrets. That’s more than a lot of couples do, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Luc said, as if to himself. She could be right, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he wanted from a woman. For him it had to be everything, or nothing at all.
She shivered a little, despite the heat in the room, and turned back to the view. He looked at her long, slender torso, her hips as narrow as a boy’s, her round little buttocks, and thought about how far away he was from where he wanted to be.
With Joanna, swimming naked in the sea. For the rest of our lives…
The next morning they moved on to Fez, which had always been Luc’s favorite Moroccan city. They drove through the Rif Mountains, enjoying landscapes of orange and olive groves and vineyards.
Luc was feeling cramped and uncomfortable from spending so many days in the saddle. He missed his swims, so in Fez they checked into a tourist hotel with a large swimming pool. After a day of exploring the medina—half a million people squeezed into less than two hundred and fifty acres—they swam laps, then hung out by the pool until darkness fell. Then they’d wander the hot, crowded streets looking for food, after which Hilda would again hole up in an Internet cafe and Luc would go back to the hotel to sit in the bar beside the pool.
It wasn’t a good sign, he knew, to start drinking every night before bed. But the novelty of Hilda was gone, and he felt the pain of loneliness creeping back. He fooled himself into thinking that vodka and fresh Moroccan orange juice would anaesthetize him.
They still tried to fuck each other silly before falling into a restless sleep, but Luc knew that Hilda was wrestling with at least as many demons as he was. He began to treat her with more kindness, and by the time they packed up their few belongings to head back to Europe he was beginning to think of her almost as a sister.
After their three nights in Fez they realized they were done—both with seeking out novelty and with each other. Luc turned his bike towards Tangier, and they crossed the Strait together back into Spain. Hilda offered to leave him in Algeciras, but he knew she was headed home, too, and offered to take her as far as Madrid or Toulouse, where she could catch a flight. She said he could drop her in Madrid, where there was a friend she wanted to see.
Neither Hilda nor Luc had been to the Hilltowns of Andalucia, so they plotted a route through Seville. After one day and one night in that beautiful city, they veered a little bit east to Ronda. On the morning they arrived, hot and dusty, they hoped to find some breakfast first, a room second, then tour the neighboring towns. They didn’t have much to say to each other, but had somehow worked out a mutual respect and companionship that Luc hoped would take them through to the end of their journey together.
After driving around Ronda’s almost-deserted streets looking for a restaurant open on a Sunday, he finally spotted something and roared up a cobblestoned alley, oblivious to the angry stares of the diners enjoying their meals outside on the patio.
Normally a considerate man, he wasn’t particularly bothered about interrupting other people’s tranquil morning with the sound of his bike. He was too hungry, not waiting for Hilda as he pushed through the restaurant doors.
* * * *
Jo awoke with a pounding head and a dry mouth. She was instantly aware that she wasn’t alone, and as some of the details of the night before crowded into her dozy brain, she cringed. She was afraid to open her eyes to see who was sharing her bed. She rolled over and took a peek, then let out the breath she’d been holding.
Danny! Thank God. Where’s Bren?
Last night would probably change everything, she realized as she rolled over to fumble for her robe. How could she and Brenda just carry on like they always had? Nothing like this had ever happened before, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.
After showering, she came out of the bathroom to find Brenda already washed and dressed and seemingly hard at work at her computer. Danny was nowhere to be seen.
“Uh, good morning,” she said tentatively, rubbing moisturizer onto her face.
Brenda looked up and flashed her a genuinely sweet smile. “Good morning, princess. And how are we feeling?”
“Like shit, mostly,” Jo said, running her thick tongue around the inside of her mouth. She’d brushed her teeth until her gums bled but her mouth still tasted of alcohol. “I think I need to eat.”
“I sent our boy home to get cleaned up. Then we can all go out.” Brenda was typing furiously as she spoke. “I wanted to try that place down by the bull ring, okay? Maybe we can sit outside.”
“Sure. I’ll get dressed. Then I’ll have to dry my hair.”
“You take all the time you want, sweetheart,” Brenda said without breaking stride.
Princess? Sweetheart? Oh shit!
But the odd thing was that Brenda’s words sounded completely natural to Jo. She went back into her room, wondering why she didn’t feel more awkward in front of her friend. Was she becoming a lesbian?
While she worked the hairdryer Jo tried to piece together the events of the night before.
Did I let Brenda kiss me? Not my mouth, surely. But she must have kissed me everywhere else. Somebody did, while Danny was fucking me.
She didn’t know if she felt mortification or an odd kind of relief. Brenda had lusted after her for years, she knew, and what they did last night had given her the opportunity to fulfill some of her fantasies.
Maybe it was inevitable. I have to repay her somehow for all she’s done for me.
The thought began to creep Jo out.
But this is the one and only time!
But then she thought about the evening ahead. It would be Danny’s last day of employment. Wouldn’t he want to end it with a bang, so to speak?
And then there’s tomorrow. We aren’t flying out until the day after, so if he wants to stick around to play I won’t object.
But does it have to be a threesome from now on?
Jo didn’t know how she felt about that. Some food would help her make up her mind, she thought.
Through the sound of the hairdryer, she heard Danny’s sharp knock at the door and soon found herself squinting outside in the cool morning sunlight. Quiet now, the three of them walked over the Old Bridge towards the bull ring and found a seat on the cobblestoned walkway in front of the only restaurant open for business.
Neither Brenda nor Danny seemed to have much to say. Jo suspected they felt at least a little hung over themselves. When their food arrived, they all fell onto their eggs and toast as if they hadn’t eaten for days.
Once he’d cleaned his plate, Danny unfolded the map and began to plot their route back to Seville. He wanted to make some stops, he explained, so he could get some good shots of the hill towns from a distance.
“Fine. Okay,” Brenda said, stirring cream into her third cup of coffee. “What time do you want to leave?”
But Jo didn’t hear his answer. A large motorcycle had thundered into the narrow alley, drowning out his words.
What a jerk! You can’t bring a motorcycle in here!
Scowling, she watched the driver park across the street in front of a closed gift shop. His passenger, a lithe woman with yellow braids sticking out the back of her dusty helmet, slithered off the back and began unbuckling her jacket. The driver secured the bike and took off his helmet. As she watched him shake out his dark hair, Jo was pierced by a pain so sharp she almost cried out.
She couldn’t breathe.
The tall, broad-shouldered man unzipped his leather jacket, took the woman’s helmet from her and attached both it a
nd his own to the bike. He looked up the street to his left, down in the other direction, then began to cross it. The woman followed. They walked towards the restaurant. Towards Jo, Brenda and Danny.
Jo thought she would pass out.
It was Luc.
He didn’t see her, and as soon as he’d pushed through the door, Jo stumbled to her feet and was gone, mumbling some sort of excuses as she fled.
Tears streaming, she literally ran back to her room and crawled under the covers.
Her working vacation was over.
When Jo arrived home in Seattle she was as low as she’d ever been in her life. She couldn’t even look at Brenda. A combination of embarrassment and anger made her want to put as much distance as she could between them. Then the cold she’d caught on the plane home settled in her lungs. Too sick to go into the office, she lay in bed for days, torturing herself by replaying the moment she spied Luc getting off on his motorbike and walking right past her through the swinging door of the restaurant.
The pain of loss was excruciating, worse than what she’d already suffered. Sometimes she felt as if the Black Virgin kept throwing punishment at her over and over, willing her to break. After all, if it hadn’t been for the Virgin, she wouldn’t have gone to Spain, she thought. She wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and have her heart broken all over again.
After a few days, Jo’s lungs started to clear, but she still didn’t want to go into the office. Brenda was there.
Then she got an idea. It was a perfect solution, if only Brenda would sanction it. She would ask for a transfer to the magazine’s Vancouver office up in Canada.
“If that’s what you really want, Jo. But tell me, is it because of me?” Brenda asked across the desk in her office.
“Yes, Bren. Partly,” Jo said evenly, meeting her friend’s frank gaze. “But there’s another reason. I need to start over. You can see why.”
“Sure. Okay. I understand,” Brenda said, flashing her an uncharacteristically soft smile. “And I’m sorry.”