Greg shook his head.
“No baby, that’s not it at all,” he countered with a sigh. “I made love to you just now because I love you, and I always will. You’re my first love, Amanda, and the mother of my children. In some ways, though, it was a gesture of farewell.” He paused here, adding in a low, sad tone, “I’ve been in love with Pia since the day I met her—and if anything, our lovemaking session only confirmed what I already knew. I’m so sorry, Amanda.”
He cringed as, with a smooth flourish, Amanda turned for the door; holding it open as she waved him out of her life.
“You know where you can stick your gestures of farewell,” she snarled. “Get out of here. Now.”
Chapter Two
The moment he saw her, he knew he’d made the right choice.
Oh, his wife Amanda always had been cute enough, with her shoulder length chestnut hair, her wide, kind blue eyes and her curvy figure; although he had to admit that, following the birth of two children and due to the possession of an untamed sweet tooth, she was actually a bit too curvy for his taste—not to mention a bit too fair of skin, this owing to her steadfast refusal to visit tanning beds.
His perfect Pia, by contrast, boasted a slender frame, inhumanly long legs, silky reams of long, coal black hair and wide dark eyes; features accentuated still further by her bronzed features and full, moist, ruby red lips.
Adding an air of exotic mystery to the finance office in which both had worked as administrative assistants for the past year, Pia Samuelson drew the heed of every man in the room; but in Greg’s mind, she was all his. Or she would be soon, anyway.
“Pia.”
Approaching her desk with a broad smile, Greg leaned forward to take her hands in his as he invited her to join him for a cup of coffee in the break room; one that they would have barely 10 minutes to enjoy before they began their day’s work.
Work that would not earn or garner his focus until he had expressed his true feelings to his beloved; the woman whose arms he never wanted to leave.
Right now, though, he was content to pour just a little extra cream in her coffee as they situated themselves at a plain wood table in the center of their company’s break room.
“You look a little down in the mouth today, sweetheart,” he observed, taking note of the uncharacteristic frown that marred Pia’s otherwise immaculate features. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Pia shook her head.
“Nothing wrong, per se,” she replied, tone quiet and tentative. “It’s just that everything is about to change, Greg. Emmanuel and I had a long talk last night, and we have decided to separate.” She paused here, adding with a deep sigh, “Although we’ll always be the best of friends, we just don’t seem to be deeply in love anymore. Maybe we’ve played a little too hard, or maybe not hard enough. Either way, we’ve decided that the single life might be the best road for both of us.”
Her eyebrows shot up as her co-worker met this news with a most unusual reaction; one that consisted of a broad beam, a fist pump, and an exalted cheer of “Yessss!” that drew the attention of everyone in the break room; and, or so she feared, everyone within a five mile radius.
“Now Greg,” she demurred, gracing him with a side eyes glance that served to quiet his robust round of inappropriate declarations, “Don’t be too unhappy or openly empathetic over the news of my impending divorce. I don’t want to have to pull you in from the window ledge of our two story building.”
Greg sighed.
“Sorry, babe,” he repented, adding as he took her hands across the table. “But when I tell you the news I have for you, I’m sure you’ll understand the reason for my—um—perhaps misplaced enthusiasm. And maybe, or at least hopefully, you’ll share that enthusiasm.”
Pia shrugged.
“Well lay it on me,” she encouraged him, adding as she took a hearty sip of steaming hot coffee, “I could use some good news this morning.”
Greg beamed.
“I asked Amanda for a divorce this morning, and she—um—seemed amenable to the idea,” he revealed, adding as he squeezed Pia’s fingers between his own in a warm, loving clench, “Don’t you see how perfect this is, baby? Now we can be together—all the time and for the rest of time.”
He gaped seconds later as Pia doubled over across the table, spitting scalding hot coffee across their joined hands as she exclaimed, “You idiot!”
Breaking their clench, Greg suckled his burnt finger like a wounded baby as he asked his glowering lover, “Baby, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be ecstatic to hear the news!”
Pia shook her head.
“First of all, Greg, I’m not your baby. I spent the evening with you as a favor to you and Amanda, to help spice up your marriage—not to destroy it,” she informed him, adding with an emphatic finger pointed high in the air, “I will not see you break the heart of that fine woman over a misbegotten one night stand.”
Greg gasped.
“A misbegotten one night stand?” he asked her, tears now flowing free down the surface of his carved cheeks as he added, “I love you, Pia—and I thought you felt the same way about me.”
Pia rolled her eyes.
“Based on what evidence? The fact that we had good sex?” she scoffed, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “Emmanuel and I have good sex with a lot of people. And while we are attracted to them and we do care about them, we don’t fall in love—not even with each other, or so it would seem. The reason that we’re separating, as a matter of fact, is so I can pursue a single, unattached life. I don’t especially want to be in love with anyone right now,” she paused here, adding with a pointed look in Greg’s direction, “Especially not with a man who just might abandon me the moment that a prettier, shinier girl comes along. Really Greg, you’re a husband and father who already has a magnificent woman in your life. How could you be such a fool?”
Greg thought a moment, and then nodded.
“You’re absolutely right,” he assented with a sigh. “I almost threw away an amazing woman like Amanda for the sake of a fantasy—a dream that, so now I see, will never come true.” He paused here, adding with a slight smile, “I’m sure Amanda will understand. I’ll just apologize profusely, maybe buy her something nice—I’m sure she’ll take me back.”
He frowned as his lover met these words with a low, dry laugh.
“Not so fast, Romeo,” she scoffed, adding as she looked him straight in the eyes, “First of all, Amanda impresses me as being a strong, highly independent who takes guff from no one—you in particular. I’m thinking it won’t be so easy to buy her back with pricey baubles and weak explanations. Second of all, I hate to tell you this; but you just may have some competition for the heart—and, I must hasten to add—other body parts of your dear wife—and from a pretty daunting, even intimidating source.”
Greg froze.
“Are you talking about Emmanuel?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Pia rolled her eyes.
“No, I’m talking about Channing Tatum,” she deadpanned. “He did the sequel to Magic Mike just to get your wife’s attention.”
Greg bit his lip.
“Well she did go to see the first one the day it came out—only because it was an R rated movie, and she didn’t want to go into a theater overrun with crying babies and boisterous little kids,” he mused, adding as he stroked his sculpted chin in a show of keen contemplation, “Of course, that doesn’t explain why she went back to the same theater three times, throughout a two week time span.”
Pia had heard enough.
“How can a single human being be so totally clueless!” she exclaimed. “Of course I’m talking about Emmanuel!”
Greg shrugged.
“Well now I realize that he did send Amanda a bouquet of roses this morning,” he admitted, adding with a snort, “I just figured that was a standard ploy with him, though. I figured he probably made the same gesture for every woman who shared his bed. Plus I wasn’t really sure tha
t Amanda would be his type. I mean, I love her and everything, but she’s not exactly supermodel material.”
Pia shook her head.
“Emmanuel likes all types of women. But he’s never sent flowers or gifts to any of our lovers, as far as I know,” she corrected him, adding in a lower, contemplative tone, “I know that man, and I know when he’s really drawn to a woman. I can tell by the way his eyes light up whenever he talks about her—and he’s been talking about her nonstop since the night we all spent together.”
Greg shook his head.
“Well he might be better looking than I am, and more talented,” he allowed through gritted teeth. “And OK, so maybe he’s more creative, as well, and more artistic—those artist types really annoy me, but chicks sure do dig them.” He paused here, casting a tentative gaze in Pia’s direction as he queried, “Do I at least get a point for being better in bed?”
Pia thought a moment, and then shook her head.
“Nope, sorry,” she informed him. “He gets the advantage in that court as well.”
Greg snapped his fingers.
“Damn!” he exclaimed, adding in a more hopeful tone, “One thing he doesn’t have, though, is a history with Amanda. He didn’t give her a ring, or children—I mean, that has to count for something, right?”
Pia shrugged.
“It didn’t count much with you, now did it?” she asked him, poising her chin on the base of her fist in a most reflective manner. “You were more than ready to throw her over, and for a woman you slept with once and barely know.”
Greg sighed.
“You’re not making this very easy on me, Pia,” he complained.
Pia shook her head.
“You’re not making this very easy on any of us,” she countered, adding as she made a broad gesture between them, “You came charging in here this morning, ready to destroy your marriage and mine, just so you could have what you wanted—or, more specifically, what you think you want.” She paused here, adding as she pinned him with an inquisitive look, “Do you know what you want, Gregory?”
Greg thought a moment, and then nodded.
“Well I think I have it figured out,” he allowed, tone quiet and reflective. “I want you, but I need Amanda. And I love you both.”
Pia shook her head.
“Do you think that will be good enough for Amanda?” she asked him.
Greg sighed.
“It’ll have to be,” he insisted, adding as he choked back a telltale sob, “because while my feelings for her may have changed over time, I know without a doubt that my children need her. My home needs her. And I need her.”
Chapter Three
The moment she saw him, she knew that—somehow and in some way—everything would be all right.
It was going to be a far site better than all right, as a matter of fact.
Ensconced in a darkened pit of a room he identified as his artist’s studio, Emmanuel Samuelson cast an element of light onto his dark surroundings. An ebullient vision of long golden hair, bronzed skin, carved cheekbones, full, moist lips, and a strong, exquisitely muscled form, he looked more like an angelic muse than an artist. And he most certainly inspired feelings within her that filled her heart and aroused her body.
Along with her scarlet hued, dew kissed bouquet of ebullient roses, Emmanuel had sent along a gift card that came emblazoned with the address of his artist’s studio: a downtown office that looked nothing like the accommodations that housed her place of business.
Far from a conventional office, the artist’s studio was a beautiful catastrophe of paint cans and tubes, brushes, canvases, and—adorning the walls—samples of various oil and watercolor paintings, all signed with a script signature of “E.S.”
She beamed serene at the vision of tropical florals captured in sparkling watercolors, as well as elegant, richly toned oil paintings that portrayed a variety of intriguing subjects; many of them female and absolutely beautiful.
She stared in blatant admiration at images of classic icons that ranged from Queen Elizabeth I to Marilyn Monroe, from Audrey Hepburn to Hillary Clinton.
“He really does love all types of women,” she reflected, losing herself in his smooth, fluid techniques that seemed to bring out the beauty in every woman.
Her dreamy mood dissolved in a fire of anger as she saw an image that looked too familiar; and as she stared into the wide dark eyes and beheld the bronzed skin and too perfect mane of silken black hair that could belong only to Pia Samuelson, she felt a wave of rage and ire that threatened to overwhelm her.
“She’s not the enemy, baby.”
His smooth, soft voice acted like a soothing balm to calm her enflamed, fractured nerves.
Yet it did absolutely nothing to convince her as to the truth and validity of his words.
“How can you say that?” she asked, not yet turning to look at the man whose presence filled the room. “The man I love belongs to her.”
She took in her breath as a pair of warm, strong arms encircled her fully made waist and pulled her flush up against a firm muscled form; one both exciting and familiar to her heightened, inflamed senses.
“The man you love?” Emmanuel purred into her ear. “Would that be the one you married, or….”
Turning in the warm cocoon of his powerful muscled arms, Amanda looked her lover straight in the eyes and announced, “Emmanuel, our spouses are leaving us for each other. Greg gave me the news this morning. What are we going to do?”
Emmanuel shook his head.
“Women do themselves a disservice when they believe even half of everything that their husbands tell them,” he said with a chuckle, sweeping her up in comforting arms and holding her closer than close. “Let me assure you, my darling, that Pia is not in love with Greg. And, for that matter, I am no longer in love with Pia.”
Amanda pursed her lips.
“OK, so what exactly are you saying, Emmanuel?’” she snapped. “Greg insisted this morning that he was leaving me for your wife. But now you’re saying that—well at this point I’m not entirely sure as to what anyone is saying. Let me try and catch up,” she implored a grinning Emmanuel, adding as she ticked off her points on individual fingers, “My husband loves your wife. My husband doesn’t love me. You don’t love your wife. But you might just happen to love….”
The couple stared at one another for a long moment, the unspoken words hanging between them, as their joined breath seemed to suspend.
And when he kissed her, she exhaled.
Amanda thrilled as her lover claimed her lips in a hot, passionate kiss, his warm, moist lips massaging hers in a tender advance as he pulled her closer to him.
Her worries and anxieties seemed to evaporate when clasped in Emmanuel’s arms. And when he angled his head over hers to grace her with the perfect kiss, she couldn’t help but respond, plying his lips with hers as she reached up to caress the strands of his golden, heather soft hair.
Their hands and tongues united between them as they lost themselves in pleasure, kissing each other senseless as Emmanuel lead her over to a plush velvet couch that formed a centerpiece of his artist’s studio.
“If you have time today, love,” he whispered against her lips, adding as he settled her inflamed body at the center of the couch, “I would very much like to paint you.”
Amanda waggled her eyebrows.
“Interesting,” she purred, adding as she cupped his carved face in two tender hands, “Would you happen to have any of those tasty chocolate body paints on hand? Always have wanted to try those things.”
Emmanuel chuckled.
“No, you naughty girl,” he teased her, leaning upward to kiss her smiling lips before kneeling at her feet. “I meant that I’d like to paint you, as in committing your image to canvas. First, though, I have to do a little of what they call artist prep work.”
Amanda nodded.
“Well as it happens, I did take the rest of the day off at work, so I’m all yours,” she assured him,
adding as she settled herself in the luxurious cushions of her apparent posing spot, “Just out of curiosity, though, just what sort of prep work did you have in mind?”
Gracing her question with a devilish, white-toothed grin, Emmanuel knelt worshipful at her feet as he told her, “I’ve always found, love, that a woman is at her most beautiful when she has just climaxed.” He paused here, adding in a soft, alluring purr, “So with your permission, I would very much like to make you come, several times in fact, before I paint your portrait.”
Aroused and enflamed by this salacious suggestion, Amanda nodded her consent as Emmanuel took her feet in his agile hands and freed them from their confining pumps; leaning downward to lick and suckle her toes and rub her tired pads.
Her contented sigh evolved into a gasp as he kissed and licked his way up her sturdy legs; those magic hands massaging her fleshy thighs as he surged upward between them—bending his golden head to capture the border of her soft cotton panties between his flawless teeth and drag them down her legs, leaving them in a cottony mass beside her feet.
“Relax, my baby,” he whispered, rubbing her full hips in smooth, hypnotizing movements before returning to the source of her ultimate pleasure. “Just let me take care of you.”
Bowing his worshipful head low above her femininity, he opened her tender folds with a resounding lick and fixed his moist, full lips onto the surface of her clit; suckling her throbbing nub as shards of pure, erotic ecstasy spiraled upward throughout her entire body.
She moaned outright as he leaned his head inward and shifted it from side to side, gracing her with the intimate kiss as his long, wet tongue flicked wild against her skin.
Reaching down to stroke his long, silken strands with tender, loving hands, she thrust her buxom hips forward to intensify the wild wave of sensation that coursed her from head to toe; a feeling that intensified and ignited as—with a last resounding lick—he sent her hurdling across the bounds of an intense, incredible orgasm.
Biting her lip hard, she threw her head back and let loose with a sharp cry as ecstasy overcame her; searing her from head to toe with a wave of incredible, satiating feeling as her heart pounded in her ears.
ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) Page 46