Three to Come

by Annice Dare

  “I...I...”

  “No, Cilla, this is not a joke. I dream of you at night. You in my bed, your round, soft body in my arms. I wake up remembering your taste, your heat. It’s making me crazy!”

  A swarm of butterflies filled my middle as I stared at him. Uncertain of what to say, I licked my lips.

  “Don’t do that, for God’s sake!”

  “What? What’d I do?”

  “Lick your lips like that.”

  “Well, excuse me, but my mouth was dry.” I was wet somewhere else, though. Wet and ready. My treacherous body wasn’t waiting for my brain to decide anything. It was hot to trot, swollen and tender. I squirmed, and that only made it worse.

  I was so confused, so uncertain. I’d already admitted to myself that I wanted this man, but admitting it to him was an entirely different matter. Once I did that, I was committed.

  Who’s it going to hurt?

  I quashed that thought as soon as it emerged. Or tried to. Trouble was, the words I’d silently spoken to Bill last week came back to haunt me. I wouldn’t trade you for either one of them. But I’d sure like both of them in addition to you.

  I took one more bite of my dinner, and it tasted like so much sawdust in my mouth. Laying the chopsticks aside, I said, “All right. Let’s suppose for a moment that we decide to engage in an illicit affair. Have you considered the implications? We’ve got to work together on this project for the next few months. I’m not much of an actress, even if you are. Pretty soon people would start noticing that we’re...we’re—” I wasn’t sure what word to use. Intimate seemed to nice a term to describe an adulterous affair. Having sex was accurate but far too tame for the fantasies I’d had about this man. “—having sex,” I finished, in an embarrassed whisper.

  “That tears it,” Larry snarled. He grabbed my wrist. “Let’s go. We can’t talk here.”

  Unfortunately we had to stop at the counter to pay, because the office required us to turn in receipts for all meals. Janie, in Accounting, loved to give us a bad time if we didn’t. I could just hear her. “You paid cash for dinner? And you didn’t have time to ask for a receipt. What were you thinking, Cilla? You’re the Project Manager. You should set an example for the others.” She treated us all like we were irresponsible nine-year-olds.

  As I stood beside Larry, waiting for my credit card receipt to print out, I wondered what would be so awful about being an irresponsible nine-year-old, just one time. Except the thoughts in my head weren’t the least bit childish.

  “Let’s go,” he said, snatching the receipt from the hostess’s hand. Once again he caught my wrist in an unbreakable grasp.

  “Wait! My umbrella!”

  He paused long enough for me to pull it out of the stand beside the door. The rain had stopped for now, but more was forecast. I didn’t want to have to buy another umbrella. I’d already lost two this year.

  We walked back to the hotel, even though we’d taken the light rail down to Chinatown. Larry never let go of my wrist the whole time, but neither did he speak. Just dragged me along the sidewalk, crossing against the lights at most intersections.

  I have no idea why I didn’t set my heels and demand he release me. The thought didn’t occur to me. There was something thrilling, something exciting, about being dragged along the street by a man who’d admitted to wanting me so much that it kept him awake nights.

  I wondered if he was going to drag me all the way to his hotel room, three doors down from mine.

  If he did, then I wouldn’t have to make a decision. If he dragged me to his room, I was committed.

  We saw Pete getting out of a cab as we turned the corner half a block from the hotel entrance. He saw us at the same time, and stood, waiting, for us to meet him.

  “I didn’t expect you back this early,” Larry said. His voice sounded strained.

  “Deb caught me on the train. Her baby is pretty sick. Strep throat. I was already halfway to Beaverton, so I went exploring. Caught a bus there, heading back toward town. I ended up somewhere up in the hills—” He gestured toward the west, where the town climbed foothills and spilled over their other sides. “I found this little tavern. Best Reuben sandwich I’ve eaten for a long time.” He held the door open so I could go through. Even then Larry didn’t release me. “How was your dinner?”

  “What dinner?” I said, wishing I’d asked for a take-out carton for the food I’d barely tasted.

  At the same time, Larry said, “It was fine. Goodnight.” He jerked me towards the elevators.

  Pete stepped between Larry and the elevator door. “Something happened tonight. What?”

  “None of your god-damned business,” Larry told him, and shouldered him aside.

  Or tried to. Pete stood his ground. “Anything to do with Cilla is my business,” he said.

  “That tears it!” I broke Larry’s hold on my wrist, as I probably could have done at any moment. “I am not a toy to be fought over, guys. I am your boss, and I say it’s time for us all to get some rest. I’ll meet you for breakfast at seven. We’ll decide how we’re going to divide up the tasks we need to accomplish tomorrow.”

  As if I’d personally summoned it, the elevator door opened behind me. I stepped inside. “Coming, gentlemen?”

  From the expressions of hope on their faces, it was obvious that they both would like that very much.

  Chapter Three

  Strong masculine arms encircled my waist from behind. I knew, from the glint of golden hairs, that they were Pete’s. “Let’s fuck, baby.” The words didn’t fit the tone of the voice, which was soft, seductive. I’ve never been turned on by dirty talk, but somehow this time I was. I wiggled my bottom against him, feeling his erection.

  “Oh, yes,” I breathed. But before I could turn, his hand was up my skirt and between my legs, rubbing, stroking, his fingers pressing into me. In a moment his fingers had slipped under my panties and were probing. One slipped inside, then two. They separated and I could feel myself stretch wide.

  Suddenly his other hand was on my shoulders and I was bent over my desk.

  My desk? Wait a minute! I’m in my hotel room.

  His hands were hard on my bottom, and his wool slacks prickled my skin. Then his pants were gone, and his cock was pushing into me. Slowly. One delicious inch at a time, until I felt I’d split open.

  He was enormous!

  And I loved it. Oh, God, yes!

  He withdrew, and I moaned, pushing myself after him, wanting him fully inside.

  “Patience, Cilla. I don’t want you coming too soon.” He held himself just barely inside me, the head of his cock rubbing against the mouth of my vagina, slipping, sliding, a soft friction so gentle, so subtle, that I almost didn’t feel it. Yet it was so insistent that I kept trying to rear back and impale myself again.

  One of his hands held me bent over the table, and the other one drove me higher. He teased his fingers through my thatch, dipped into my slit and gave my clit a quick rub.

  Almost before I could react to the charge of heat that touch sent through me, he was back to threading fingers through my thatch, never touching skin, yet I could feel the heat of his hand on me.

  I couldn’t help it. I screamed. “Pe-e-e-te! Now! Please. Now!!”

  “Oh, yes, sing to me, you beautiful little bird. Tell me what you want.” He rammed himself in, then just as quickly withdrew. “Sing, Cilla! Sing a song of sinful sex!”

  I was on the edge, and I couldn’t topple over. “Pete, damn you, do it! Now, you bastard!”

  He withdrew even farther. “ Do what, Cilla. Fuck you? Say it. Say it!”

  “Oh, God, yes! Fuck me!”

  He withdrew completely, and I woke. On the panting edge of orgasm.

  For the longest time I just lay there, reliving the dream. What on earth possessed me that I should be dreaming like this? I never had before.

  Rolling over to my side, I saw the clock. A quarter to six. If I got up now, I’d have time for my Yoga stretches for a change. />
  The orgasm still hovered, just out of reach. I rolled back. Raised my knees.

  Touched myself.

  Old habits returned. My hands remembered this, even if my head had all but forgotten. I drew my fingernails along my inner thighs, raising goose bumps from knee to groin. The scent of my arousal filled my nose. Slowly I touched myself, parting labial lips, touching my clit lightly. I took it between thumb and forefinger, slid two fingers of the other hand inside. As I teased myself, I wiggled my fingers, seeking that one perfect spot in my vagina, the one that Bill had always seemed to miss. Moisture flooded my hands as a surge of heat started at my toes. I stopped all motion, but held the pressure on my clit, kept my fingers bent and pressing in just the right place, as I let the heat climb slowly up my legs.

  Slowly, but faster and faster, until it erupted into my very core, clenching my whole body, sending shockwaves of pure pleasure outward.

  I don’t know how long it lasted, but when I was finally lying sated and sweating on the torn-up bed, I didn’t have the half-satisfied sensation that had often accompanied masturbation when I was younger.

  I felt well and truly fucked!

  * * * *

  Breakfast was a working meal. Neither man stepped an inch out of line, almost as if they’d made a pact to behave themselves. We sorted out the day’s tasks, put together a loose schedule, and arranged to meet for dinner in order to update one another on the status of our preparations for the public meeting tomorrow night. While Gamlin Associates, the architectural firm that was the lead on this project, would be there, the meeting would be our baby, from start to finish. We were the public involvement specialists. The GA staff would be there to answer technical questions. Staff from the city planning office would also be present, but at this point in the process, they played a small role. Later on we’d be working closely with them. It was Pete’s job to make sure our interaction with them went smoothly.

  If anyone could do that, it was Pete Ivanov. He could charm the birds out of the trees.

  By the time I got back to the hotel about ten after five, I was exhausted. There’s nothing more wearing than trying to convince people that your way is the right way. Some of the GA people still thought hiring a firm like MSM was a waste of time. They’d always had a good working relationship with the permitting people in Portland. What they didn’t realize was that bringing other agencies in, like Aging and Disability Services, and the Office on Aging, changed the whole picture.

  MSM’s task was to make sure that everybody involved with the Gestalt Living Project stayed happy.

  Fat chance! But it was my job to try.

  The hotel lobby was too public, so I sat in the bar, picking a table from where I could watch the lobby. I wanted to catch Larry and Pete before they went somewhere for the evening. Tomorrow morning I was meeting Steve Gambel for breakfast, to bring him up to speed. He’d been unavailable today.

  The bartender had just set my too-expensive Coke before me when I saw Larry walking across the lobby, cell phone at his ear. Ignoring the sharp thrill of desire the sight of him evoked, I went to the doorway and called his name.

  He immediately changed direction. As he came through the wide doorway, he flipped his phone closed. “Pete’s going to be late,” he said, dropping his leather folio onto the table. “The woman who was going to interview him got stuck on another story, so Pete’s sitting around the station waiting his turn.” He propped his elbows on the table and ran his fingers through his long, dark hair. “Man! What a day! I don’t know what’s worse. Bureaucrats who believe that anything new is automatically suspect, or helpful staffers who think they need to dot every i and cross every t before they can cooperate.”

  Since I’d heard this lament from him before, I ignored it. Larry was one of those people who gave the impression he faced impossible obstacles, before he set to work overcoming them.

  He ordered a beer. “Do you mind if I hold off on reporting until Pete gets here? It’s really not worth telling twice.”

  “So you had a bad day? Did you accomplish anything at all?”

  One shoulder lifted in a small shrug. “Actually, yes, but it was uphill all the way.”

  I smiled, knowing that was Larry-speak for saying he’d accomplished everything he set out to do. “Isn’t it always?” I had to chuckle.

  “So, let me ask you something I’ve been wondering about. You and Pete knew each other before he came to MSM, right? Did you meet in college?”

  “A long time before that.” He seemed to look back into a distant past.

  Not too distant, because I knew he was thirty-one. His birthday had been last month.

  “I’ve known him all my life. We lived next door to each other as far back as I can remember.”

  “In Tacoma?” I knew that was where Pete’s parents lived. His father was in poor health, which was why he’d come back to Washington State to work.

  “Uh-huh.” He took a long swallow of his beer. “Ahh, that hits the spot. Pete and I, we were closer than brothers from the time we were in diapers. Did everything together. Even when my family moved away, when I was nine, we kept in touch. Somehow or other we always convinced our families that we needed to be together in the summer. He went with us to Disneyland one year and to Washington DC another. I went with his family to Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon. He’s the brother I always wanted. I think I’m closer to him than to either of my sisters.”

  I envied him. I’d never had a friend that close.

  My phone warbled. “Excuse me.” I flipped it open. “Cilla Trent.”

  “Hey, boss, Pete here. I’m going to be even later. Karen wants me to go out to the site with her. It’ll probably be a couple of hours before I get there. I’ll grab supper on my way.”

  “Okay, but you call me as soon as you get back. I need to be brought up to speed.”

  “Will do. Gotta run.” He was gone.

  “Well, I guess you’d better give me your report now,” I told Larry. “You’ll have to get together with Pete in the morning.”

  We sat there while he gave me a rundown of his day’s activities. I refused his offer of dinner because I wanted to get work done. A repeat of last night’s fiasco was the last thing I needed. But you want it, don’t you?

  I ignored the voice of temptation.

  When he’d finished reporting, I gathered my notes and said, “I’m going to order room service, so you’re on your own this evening. Just be sure and talk to Pete before you start tomorrow.”

  Did I imagine seeing an expression of disappointment before he nodded and left me?

  I was just finishing writing up my notes when someone knocked on my door. “Who is it?”

  “Pete.”

  I paused, my hand on the doorknob. In the past I’d never thought twice about inviting a male co-worked into my hotel room, particularly when it was a two-room suite like this. For one thing, I’m older than many of the men in the office. For another, there’s never been so much as a spark between me and any of them.

  Until now.

  On the other hand, not letting him in would show Pete just how much aware of him I was. Caught between a rock and a hard place!

  I closed the bedroom door before letting him in. “This better hadn’t take long, Pete. I’m beat.”

  “Ten minutes, max. I’ll talk really fast.” He walked in and eased himself into the easy chair.

  I perched on the edge of the desk, too tense to sit down.

  He gave his report quickly, hitting the high spots. In far less than ten minutes I was up to date on what he’d learned, what he’d done, whom he’d met. “I’ll write it up later and email you.” He yawned. “Don’t know why I’m so tired.” A short pause. “Maybe because of the crazy dreams I’ve been having.”

  Without thinking, I said, “Crazy dreams? You too?”

  His eyes went sleepy and his voice turned to warm, sweet syrup. “Oh, yes, Cilla, I’ve been having wild, crazy dreams. Of you. Naked. In my bed.”


  “Pete,” I warned.

  He held up his hand, palm toward me. “Not to worry. I’m cool.” He pulled himself out of the chair, moving with his customary grace. “I’ll see you...later.”

  I followed him to the door. When he’d gone, I made sure the night latch was set.

  * * * *

  I woke lying on my side. A warm body was snuggled against my back, a questing hand cupped my breast. “Mmmmm.” Heat curled in my belly, spread though my whole body. I started to turn over, but he held me.

  “Lie still. Let me drive you mad,” he whispered. A moment of fumbling, and his cock, hard and insistent, slipped between my thighs. I clamped tight and wiggled just enough to cause him to inhale sharply. “Hold still, you little vixen. This is my game.”

  He toyed with my breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, then plucking at it, until it was full and hard. After a while, he transferred his attention to the other one, and quickly brought it to full attention too.

  I did my best to lie quietly, to enjoy the build-up of heat and tension. I could feel myself growing wet as a throbbing insistence grew in my belly. Again I thrust backwards.

  “Ahhh! She’s getting impatient. Maybe she’d like something a little different.” His hand left my breasts and caught one wrist. “Give me your other hand, Cilla. Let me hold you.”

  I never even thought about it. I clutched at his fingers. The next thing I knew, both my hands were manacled by his long, strong fingers.

  “Gotcha!” He chuckled.

  The sound of his voice, the first above a whisper, brought me to full awareness. “You...you’re not Bill!” I tried to pull away, but as soon as I moved, his leg came over mine and I was held firmly against him.

  I should have been scared, but I wasn’t, for I recognized his voice. “Larry? How’d you get in here?”

  “Your key card. It was just sitting there on your desk. Such a temptation, Cilla.” He flipped me onto my back.

  Before I could react, he was sitting astride my thighs, still holding my wrists. In the dim city-light from the half-open blinds, I looked up at him.