Winding Her Up

by Kelly, Sahara

  This time it was Marielle's turn to pause. She felt there was more to Tad's comment than a simple invitation to see their store. "I won't be taking either of you out of your way?"

  "Not at all." His voice was reassuring. "Ian rents the apartment above the store. Horridly expensive but he doesn't need a car, so that offsets the cost. I have a place a few blocks away. Neither of us will be going out of our way. And we will, of course, see you home afterward."

  There were the usual polite protestations from both sides, but eventually the deal was struck. Marielle would meet them on Newbury Street late Saturday afternoon and together they'd head to the North End for fun, food and total immersion in the Italian experience. Then they'd grab a cab and head back to Time Travelers where Marielle would be allowed to play.

  Play. Tad's exact word. He and Ian would be pleased to allow her to play amongst their treasures.

  Was it her? Was she reading things into the conversation that weren't there? God, she hoped not. Because now, with this "date" less than forty-eight hours away, she was itchy, half-aroused, plagued with erotic dreams and excited in ways she'd never imagined.

  She wanted to play with their treasures and hoped they'd play with hers. And yes, that was the most double-entendre-filled statement she'd ever made in her entire life. She was turned on at the notion of getting naked with two handsome men. She didn't know how the mechanics would work, but she was more than ready to find out.

  Her skin tingled, her palms were damp now and again and her panties...well, the less said about them, the better.

  She felt, for lack of a better word, alive. Awake. Aware of her surroundings—the heat of the late summer sun on her shoulders, the weight of the humidity in the air and the distant tang of sea air permeating Boston. Her body responded instantly to the slightest stimulation; the swish of her light skirts around her knees or the brush of her silk top as it slid down over her body.

  She was one trembling sexual nerve, waiting the right touch. A naked Cinderella waiting not for a glass slipper, but a man's tongue, or his cock. Or any combination thereof. Doubled.

  Shit. She was gonna be in big trouble if all they wanted to do was sell her an antique footstool.

  Chapter Four

  Marielle was as wide-eyed as a child on Christmas Eve.

  Tad derived enormous pleasure from watching the play of expressions on her face as they led her into the North End on Saturday. It was late afternoon and the air was heavy with the threat of a storm or two later on.

  Most of the locals swore it would hold off until after the festivities, and Tad was inclined to agree.

  But even so, it was hot. And it was made hotter by the crowds of people celebrating their patron saint. There were one or two marching bands, a lot of Italian tenors singing from the windows and crowds of vendors selling everything from sweet torrone to the biggest sausage sandwiches he'd ever seen.

  He knew more than a few of the revelers, and managed to respond to them with a smile and a wave. If the women's eyes followed him, he ignored it, being focused on Marielle and her obvious enjoyment.

  She'd arrived on schedule at Time Travelers--that didn't surprise him. She was fastidious about time. What had surprised him, and Ian too, was that she'd chosen a light and flowing dress, in an assortment of blues. It looked cool and casual, and very sexy, especially the way the hem fluttered around her legs and the top revealed the curves of those wonderful breasts.

  She drew more than a few appreciative glances as she walked between them down Endicott Street. She'd let her hair down, literally. Long tresses of deep red lay on her shoulders and tumbled down her back, held away from her face by two small clip things.

  She looked every bit as elegant as she had at the Steampunk Society meeting, but now there was an air of fun about her. It was sexy and beautiful, and he couldn't help but wonder if the loose hair was as flagrant an invitation to sin as it seemed.

  He couldn't stop touching it.

  Ian, on her other side, seemed fascinated with her skin, and Tad noticed his friend stroking her bare skin. Arms were intertwined, occasionally fingers locked when the crowd grew thick, and they walked together as a unit—as if they'd been doing it all their lives. The woman beside them bridged a physical gap he'd not realized existed.

  For some strange reason, Marielle fit. She fit the empty space between the two men like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

  Their steps matched, even when the press of the crowds pulled at them. They'd part, only to link again within moments.

  Marielle's laughter rang out, and her appetite for the sights and sounds of the festival was inexhaustible. The food...well, the food. What more needed to be said? Tad and Ian enjoyed introducing her to the tastes and epicurean magic of Italian cuisine. They made sure she tried a sausage sandwich. In between snacks they worked their way down Endicott and arrived in time to catch the end of the outdoor celebration of the Eucharist, a special Mass in honor of Saint Anthony.

  Tad immediately realized Marielle was no stranger to this religious ceremony. Her responses were automatic and he exchanged a glance with Ian, getting a nod back, telling him Ian had noticed as well.

  Marielle was a good Catholic girl.

  It was just another little facet of her personality she'd not revealed. She wasn't trying to be a woman of deliberate mystery, but Tad was enjoying peeling back the layers she kept so tightly closed.

  She tried some local wines, her reaction less than enthusiastic. He tended to agree, since he wasn't a red wine fancier. She did enjoy the sweet-tart tang of the uniquely Italian Limoncello, a lemon liqueur offered at a beautifully decorated vendor's cart.

  There were a variety of recipes for drinks made with this particular brand of Mediterranean sunshine, and Tad's mouth watered at the thought of them. He couldn't walk away without buying a bottle.

  Ian zoomed in on his favorite pizzeria and they all laughed as an older woman erupted from the doorway screaming his name.

  "Ian, you handsome son of a dog. Come here and hug Mama." She held out her arms and seized him, pulling him hard against her copious curves. Looking over his shoulder she spied Tad. "And Thaddeus of course. The devil and his henchman." She blinked at Marielle. "You two have lured an angel to earth." She laughed uproariously at her own humor. "Come inside. Eat. Let me look at you two and warn this lovely angel away from you."

  Dragged inside, along with a spate of loving insults, Tad listened as Mama explained to Marielle that she wasn't actually Ian's Mama, but that he and Tad were definitely her special adopted sons. Helpless in her strong embrace, Ian just shrugged and placed a smacking kiss on her cheek. "Mama and the rest of the DiGirolamos used to shelter Tad and me when we got into trouble."

  "Which was often, you scamp." The older woman grinned hugely.

  "Yes it was." Tad shook his head. "When our families despaired and threatened to kick us out, there was always Mama and a slice of pizza." He managed to look wistful. "I don't suppose you've got one in the oven, now, do you Mama? Pepperoni and mushroom, maybe?"

  "Would I let you take this bellissima signorina away without a taste of my pizza? What are you, idiots? You leave your brains on that fancy uptown street of yours?" She whacked Tad in the arm and thumped Ian's shoulder, dragging them all to a small table toward the back of the restaurant where it was a little quieter. "Sit. I get you real food." She looked at Marielle. "You are a beauty. What you doing with these two fools, I don't know. But they'll take care of you. They're good boys."

  Marielle smiled. "I know. They're treating me wonderfully, Mrs. DiGirolamo. Buon cibo, buoni amici, bei momenti."

  Tad knew what that meant. Good food, good friends, good times.

  The woman's face lit up. "Oh Blessed Mother. A nice Italian girl. With red hair." She beamed at Tad and Ian. "You have done well bringing this one. She is welcome." Turning to Marielle, Mama leaned down and kissed her, first one cheek then the other, European style. "You come any time. Call me Mama. From now on you are mi fami
glia."

  "Grazie, Mama."

  Marielle's polite response made them all smile and when Mama returned with several plates and napkins, Tad produced his liqueur and asked her if she had any vodka around. She snorted and a few moments later the table was laden with not only the most mouthwatering pizzas imaginable, but also martini glasses, a bucket of crushed ice, a bottle of vodka and some lemon slices. All of which came with a warning to keep quiet about it and not mess up Mama's precarious relationship with the licensing board.

  Mama left them with a parting whack to the back of Tad's head and the admonition to behave himself.

  He rubbed his scalp. "I'm not sure how she does it but I always feel like I'm still twelve when I come in here."

  Ian nodded, busy making limoncello martinis. "Me too. But for this, it's worth it." He put a glass down in front of Marielle. "Try this. See if you like it."

  Her delighted smile was answer enough, and for the next hour, they talked, ate, laughed and shared all sorts of conversation from jokes to travels to strange people they'd met and pets they'd like to have but probably never would.

  The lights were coming on when they finally finished, emerging after a last hug from Mama and with a promise not to wait so long before returning. The three of them were well-fed, happy and warmed by the martinis.

  The Benvenuti parade was well underway, the local bands vying each other for decibel level and the spectators singing and dancing as well. It was loud, wonderful and everything an Italian festival should be.

  Tad looked at Ian and then at Marielle in an unspoken moment of communication between the three of them. Marielle took the initiative, reaching out to clasp each of their hands and draw the men close to her.

  Tad felt the pressure of her fingers increase in a gentle squeeze and sensed she was doing the same to Ian. In spite of the noise he had no problem making out her words.

  "I think we should leave now."

  And just like that, everything changed.

  *~*~*~*

  Marielle had enjoyed the afternoon more than she'd enjoyed anything for quite some time. The atmosphere of vibrant joyous celebration, the scent of cooking, the feeling of being part of one big family—it had been unique and wonderful. And all the time she'd been so very aware of the men bracketing her, standing close to her, touching her hair, her skin, holding her hands...they'd surrounded and guarded her with their presence and she'd loved that as well.

  Now, in the cab heading back through busy streets to the antique store, there was a comfortable silence, threaded through with more than a little sensual awareness.

  She listened to their breaths, heard the fabric of their shirts move as their chests rose and fell. Fancifully she imagined she could hear their hearts beating in rhythm.

  She relished the way Tad's arm had encircled her shoulders as they'd settled in the cab, and how Ian's hand drifted to rest warmly on her leg, just above her knee, as they all squeezed in to the tight confines of the back seat.

  It seemed quite natural to feel Tad's heat as he leaned close and brushed a soft kiss on her cheek and find Ian smiling at her, then following suit—moving his face to hers and lightly touching her lips.

  They were speaking to her without words, making her feel valuable and treasured. It wasn't hard to drift into their warmth and for a second or two she knew that if it were possible to glow...she'd be casting shadows.

  Once again she was surrounded by her guardian knights, but this time they were focused on her alone, enveloping her in their masculinity, inviting her to...to what?

  As the cab drew to a standstill, she guessed she'd soon find out.

  "Welcome to Time Travelers." Tad threw open the door he'd just unlocked, and waved her inside as Ian hit the lights.

  Marielle gasped with delight as a shelf full of clocks met her greedy gaze. "Oh boy. There's a sight to gladden the heart."

  She turned, noticing the displays of colorful bric-a-brac, the small pieces of furniture and toward the walls the larger pieces...desks, secretaries and tall cabinets. "Guys, this is wonderful."

  Ian leaned against the old-fashioned counter, his long, jean-clad legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest. "Like it?"

  "Like isn't anywhere near. I adore it. I could get lost in here for weeks." She wandered to a case featuring glittering things. "You have everything here. All time periods. I see Victorian, something that could be Deco...sheesh. This is my Aladdin's Cave."

  Tad grinned and took her arm. "Plenty of time to browse, my sweet. You can come here and get lost whenever you want. Right now, let's go up to Ian's and relax. It's been a long hot day."

  He slipped his hand around her waist, guiding her to the back of the store and a well-hidden door, which Ian was unlocking. It led to a tiny little hall and a staircase leading upward. "There's a street entrance there, but most often I come this way since I'm working in the shop. It's easier." Ian preceded them up the stairs and led them into his apartment. "I cleaned up, so no lip from you, Tad."

  "Not a word." Tad grinned. "Although I might not recognize the place without the pizza boxes."

  Marielle laughed, then sighed over the view of Newbury Street with its old fashioned lamps. "This must be lovely in the winter. Very Dickensian."

  "Right until the snow plows start up." Ian curled his lips into a grimace. "That's when I'm really glad I don't have a car."

  He came and stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Tad stood at one side and he lifted her hand in his. "Have you enjoyed yourself, Marielle?"

  She nodded quickly. "Oh yes. It's been a truly awesome day. I can't understand why I never went to the Feast before. I missed so much..." Her voice faded as she felt Ian move her hair to one side and drop a light kiss on the nape of her neck. "Oh—"

  Tad raised her hand to his mouth and delicately licked her thumb, then proceeded to suck each finger in turn.

  Neither man spoke, but no words were needed. The first touches to her body had rendered Marielle mute, turning her insides into a flock of frantic butterflies and her panties into a soggy wedge of cotton and lace.

  Ian lazily explored her shoulders and her back, eventually unfastening the ribbon that ran around the top of her dress. Loosened, it fell down her arms and she lifted a hand to keep it from dropping to her waist.

  "Let it go, sweetheart." Tad reached for her hand and gently tugged it away from the folds of the dress.

  Hesitantly she did as she was told, feeling the cool air-conditioned breeze dusting her bare skin. Her nipples pebbled beneath the skimpy bra and she didn't know if it was the temperature or Ian's caresses that were making her shiver a little.

  Tad turned her toward him, away from the window. "God, so lovely. I guessed you'd be like this. All cream and silk..." His fingertips ran around the lace and over her curves, making her catch her breath at the gentle tickle. "So incredibly soft and smooth..."

  At that moment, Ian nipped her neck and unfastened her bra.

  And, God help her, she moaned with pleasure.

  Her breasts fell into Tad's waiting hands, her bra vanishing somewhere before she'd realized it was gone.

  And they set to work, these two talented masters of the art of foreplay. Standing between them, her back was kissed and licked and tended to by Ian, whose arms were around her, cradling her belly and caressing her naked skin above her hips.

  Her breasts—well, Tad claimed them. Teasing them at first with his hands, lifting them, cupping and weighing them, each move an artfully calculated step along a road to exquisite pleasure.

  When he bent to suckle them, Marielle couldn't help a whimper. It was electric, a bolt of lightning to her nervous system and a detonation in her pussy. Heat seared her spine and she became aware that Ian had removed his shirt. They were skin to skin and her pleasures were multiplying by the second.

  She arched into Ian, thrusting her breasts shamelessly toward Tad. Both men responded, Ian clutching her hips and pulling her buttocks into his groin. He
was hard and ready, his cock a swollen length beneath his jeans. Tad licked and sucked, then carefully bit down on a nipple, the shock of the exotic pain making Marielle cry out.

  He did it again to the other breast just as Ian pushed her dress to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her panties and her sandals. His hands plunged inside the fragile garment and found her slippery folds.

  She choked back a scream as he thrust a finger deep inside, moving, spreading her wetness all over her and arousing her in a whole new way.

  "God I want to fuck this. Taste this. Taste you, Marielle. And then we're going to watch Tad fuck you. You and me together. Is that all right with you?"

  Ian grasped a handful of her hair and turned her head, making sure she could clearly see him lift his hand to his mouth and lick the taste of her off his fingers.

  Her knees trembled as a wave of lust swamped over her. Tad had moved his hands to her waist, his gaze on her face. It was a good thing, since without that support, she might well have collapsed onto the floor right there in Ian's living room.

  She gulped down a lump of desire that threatened to choke her. "Take me to bed. Both of you. Fuck me. Please."

  Ian bent and picked her up, surprising her with his strength. Tad shrugged his shirt away and unsnapped his jeans, kicking his shoes off and tugging her sandals from her feet as he walked behind.

  They took her into Ian's bedroom. And within moments she was on cool sheets between them, illuminated by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. She should have taken the time to admire the huge antique four-poster bed towering around them. But since she was about to be seduced on it, first things first.

  She lay there, nervous yet eager. Had Cleopatra felt like this on orgy night? She watched her almost-lovers strip the rest of their clothing, heard jeans land on the floor and saw underwear follow.

  Then it was her turn and each man took a side of her panties and eased them down over her thighs and eventually off her ankles.