Talking Trouble

by Barbara Elsborg

“No.” Lysander took the peeler from her hand. “Really. We could open a restaurant with this quantity.”

  She stared at the table, as if she’d only just taken in how many she’d made. “Why didn’t you stop me before?”

  “Because you look cute when you’re peeling. You chew your lip.” Lysander laughed as Mollie pulled an ugly face, and he turned to Flint. “So what’s happened?”

  “Lon…don tomorrow,” Flint said. “Fly. Prr…prem…prem…iere of Edge.”

  “And you have to go?” Mollie asked.

  “How about this?” Jean-Paul asked from the door.

  He’d changed a lime green shirt for one with broad yellow and black stripes.

  “Zzzebra,” Flint said.

  Jean-Paul’s shoulders fell. “Fuck yes.” He disappeared again.

  “With Corin,” Flint said. “Ryker…order.”

  “Is that so bad?” Lysander asked.

  Flint banged his hand on the table and a minor avalanche toppled the mountainous pile of chips.

  “Think I’m…adap…addict…dr…drunk.” His agitation was affecting his speech but he couldn’t help it.

  Mollie came over and sat on his knee. “Sssh. Take a deep breath. Need whale music?” She did a bad imitation of a whale calling.

  Flint laughed. When he and Mollie had listened to them, they’d copied the animal and nature sounds all the way through the CD.

  “Do I want to know?” Lysander asked.

  “Listening to natural sounds is supposed to help him concentrate. When he’s upset, he can’t find the words.”

  “So how is he going to cope with a film premiere?”

  Flint zipped his lip then put his hand on his throat and croaked. He wrapped his arms around Mollie when she tried to get off his lap.

  “I have to check the chips and the fish,” she said.

  Flint let her go. “Want Moll…ee and Lys…ander come too.”

  “To the premiere?” Lysander asked.

  “Yes. Fly. Need you. Sit by side. Keep safe.”

  “Okay,” Lysander said.

  Flint’s heart lurched. “Yes?” He hadn’t been sure they’d agree. He glanced at Mollie.

  “This one?” Jean-Paul burst into the room in a flowered monstrosity.

  “Pea…cock.”

  Jean-Paul sighed. “Fuck.”

  Aden walked in and pushed Jean-Paul farther into the room. “Tell him you like the fucking shirt. He’s emptied his closet all over the floor.”

  “Beautiful,” Flint said.

  Jean-Paul frowned. “Really?”

  “Peacock beautiful.”

  “That’s true.” Jean-Paul nodded.

  “Sit down,” Aden said. “No more changing. I’m hungry.”

  Mollie had taken out the chips she’d been cooking and put in another two batches. The kitchen was full of steam and the smell of hot fat. Jean-Paul put the excess chips onto trays and set the table. Aden put vinegar and ketchup in the center.

  “Flint?” she asked. “When is Lysander’s birthday?”

  “April.” Flint didn’t miss Lysander’s groan. “What?”

  “You big fibber.” Mollie scowled at Lysander.

  “Moll…ee come?” Flint asked.

  “I don’t have a dress,” Mollie said. “Well, I do, I’m wearing one, but I mean a smart dress.”

  “What do you need a dress for?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “We’re going to a film premiere tomorrow night,” Lysander said.

  “Need shoes,” Flint said.

  “Well, I have—”

  Flint interrupted her. “Heels.”

  “What time is the plane leaving?” Lysander asked. “I can take Mollie shopping and meet you at the cinema. Leicester Square?”

  Flint nodded. He’d make sure Ryker gave them tickets. He felt a huge sense of relief at the thought of having them with him.

  Lysander saw the anxiety fade from Flint’s face. London film premieres weren’t really his thing. He found it stressful enough when he had to attend an opening in a gallery, but premieres were part of Flint’s life and, assuming he managed to fully recover from his stroke, they might be for a long time to come.

  “You are so lucky.” Jean-Paul sawed at a loaf of bread. “I wish I could go.”

  “Want to?” Flint asked.

  Jean-Paul whimpered. “Yes, but I can’t. My boss is out tomorrow. I have to man the office.”

  “I could come,” Aden said.

  Jean-Paul missed the conniving look on Aden’s face.

  “What?” Jean-Paul snapped. “No you can’t. That’s not fair.”

  “I’m actually going to London anyway,” Aden said. “I could stay overnight.”

  Jean-Paul slapped butter on the slice of bread he’d cut and ripped a hole in it.

  “Stop teasing him,” Lysander said.

  “Why don’t you call your boss and see if she can rearrange things so you can have the day off?” Mollie asked. “But don’t forget you don’t know Flint is up here.”

  Jean-Paul whipped out his phone and as he was about to press a button, he turned to Flint. “You didn’t mean it, did you? Oh damn. You had me going there.”

  “Come,” Flint said. “Fine.”

  Jean-Paul pressed the button. “Hi, Sandra, it’s me… I need to ask the most enormous favor… Yes, another enormous favor. I will owe you forever… No, maybe not that much, but remember who’s had to put up with Mrs. Whitworth’s wobbly bits on the showings? Right… You know you’ve left me in charge tomorrow, well, could I have the day off instead…? Yeah, I— No, I— Well, to a film premiere in London. I’ve just been offered a ticket and you know how… Time?” He looked at Flint. “What time does it start?”

  “One, two, three, four, five—six. Six,” Flint said.

  “Six,” Jean-Paul repeated. “Okay. Yep, I could do that. Thank you.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I have to work until twelve. Then I can leave.” He beamed at everyone and jumped to his feet. “What am I going to wear?”

  Aden pulled him down. “You can decide later.”

  “How do we get the tickets?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “Lysander phone you,” Flint said.

  “Ready?” Mollie asked. She put two large bowls of chips on the table and a platter of fish fingers arranged in a circle with peas heaped in the middle, a melting knob of butter on top. “No mushy peas, sorry. The chips are double cooked. I’m too hungry to wait any longer.”

  “Ah, school dinner,” Aden said. “My favorite.”

  Lysander spotted the way Jean-Paul was looking at Flint. Not star-struck, more curious. He and Aden had to have noticed not only that Flint had said very little, but what he had said was stilted.

  “Are you okay?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “Yes and no,” Flint said. “Mollie tell.”

  “The truth?” she asked.

  Lysander laughed. “Well, you can’t lie now can you?”

  “Truth,” Flint said.

  “He had a stroke,” Mollie said.

  “Oh my God,” Jean-Paul whispered.

  She put her hand on Flint’s arm. “He’s had to learn to speak and understand all over again.”

  “Shit,” Aden said. “So do you understand us? Not Jean-Paul. No one understands him.”

  “When many talk—no.”

  Jean-Paul looked across the table at Mollie. “That’s why it’s a secret he’s in Yorkshire? Why don’t you just tell the press?”

  “Another film,” Flint said. “Signed to do it. Want to. If can’t…d-director find…other…actor.”

  “How the hell are you going to hide this from a load of reporters?” Aden asked.

  “He’s going to pretend to have lost his voice,” Mollie said.

  “Stars ignore the questions thrown at them anyway.” Jean-Paul helped himself to more chips. “Not sure you did enough, Mollie.”

  She laughed.

  * * * *

  Lysander was astounded they ate all the chips. Occasionally
Jean-Paul brought fish and chips back from Otley, but they’d rarely cooked them from scratch. When Aden took Jean-Paul upstairs for what Aden described as an hour of hell while his lover made sure both their tuxes were pristine, the three of them put the kitchen back to rights. Lysander had just slid his hand onto Mollie’s bare backside when the doorbell rang.

  “Stay in here with Mollie,” Lysander said.

  If this was Lewin, Lysander was going to beat the crap out of him. Bad enough what he’d done to Mollie, but to hit Flint too… He looked through the window to see Ryker. Lysander pulled the door open and Ryker glared at him.

  “Weldon.” Ryker strode up the steps and pushed past Lysander into the house.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Lysander muttered under his breath.

  “Where is he?”

  Lysander gestured toward the kitchen door. Ryker didn’t go in that direction, instead he turned to face him.

  “You fucked him up big time, you know that? He’s never been quite the same guy. If I’d known you even lived in the same fucking county, I’d never have brought him up here. Not one fucking word from you? Not one? He knew you were hurting but you were supposed to—oh damn it. Just don’t fuck him up again, okay? There might not be any pieces to pick up next time.”

  Lysander nodded and led him to the kitchen. Mollie and Flint were sitting at the table feeding each other ice cream.

  “And you must be Mollie,” Ryker said.

  She stood and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Ryker shook it.

  “Moll…ee. Lys…ander come to London. With me,” Flint said. “Four tickets.”

  “Sure, I can get you all tickets.”

  “With me,” Flint repeated. “Fly with me. Sit with me. Leave with me.”

  Ryker’s gaze shifted between the three of them. “You need to sit with Corin.”

  Flint slammed his fist on the table.

  “Flint,” Ryker snapped. “You want her to keep quiet, you want her to back up your sore throat story, you sit with her. Come back with me. You need a good night’s sleep. It will be a long day tomorrow.”

  “Stay here,” Flint said.

  Ryker gave a heavy sigh. “Fine. We leave at ten. Be ready.”

  When Lysander returned from locking the door, Flint had Mollie pressed up against the wall and he was kissing her, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other had lifted her dress to her waist. A low growl rumbled from Lysander’s throat.

  “Bed,” he said.

  “Shower,” Mollie and Flint said at the same time.

  As long as all three of them were naked and fucking within the next few minutes, that was fine.

  * * * *

  Mollie had less to take off and was fastest into Lysander’s huge walk-in shower. She turned the dial and closed her eyes, tipping her face to the warm water. His bathroom was ultra-modern compared to the one attached to her room. The walls and floor were covered with rectangular travertine tiles pitted with tiny crystal caves.

  She kept her eyes closed as the guys stepped in with her. She could tell by the way they breathed who was who. Lysander took slightly deeper breaths when he was aroused. Worries about what they were doing had faded, although not disappeared, but she felt safe with them and it had been a long time since she’d felt this secure. Today could have been a disaster in so many ways. If Lewin had— If Flint had been— Her eyes sprang open.

  “Don’t get your hair wet,” she said to Flint, but it was too late, there was a halo of steam around his head. “Your cut. Careful.” She touched the back of her head and he nodded.

  Lysander massaged shampoo into her scalp as Flint washed her back.

  “Have you dyed your hair?” Lysander asked.

  “Yes. It was ash blonde.”

  “And it was long?” Lysander asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Did you cut it because you wanted it short or because Lewin liked it long?”

  “A mixture of both. Do you like long hair?”

  “I like whatever you like,” Lysander said. “You look cute with it short and dark, but you’d look just as sweet with it long and blonde.”

  The pressure of their fingertips made her pulse race and quickly moved her into a state of acute arousal. She closed her eyes again as water poured over her head, washing the suds from her hair. Lysander nudged her back into Flint, and as his erect cock nestled in the crease of her butt Lysander pressed his equally hard cock against her belly, sliding a hand between her legs. He rubbed her clit with his thumbs, rolling it between the pads, and she gasped and they groaned.

  “Think we’ll call you One Touch,” Lysander said with a laugh. “Actually, I’m not sure a touch is needed. One look at you and the blood rushes from my head.”

  “Moll…ee.” Flint mouthed her neck, licked behind her ear, and she moaned.

  Their hands were all over her, slippery with shower gel, and the three of them slowly writhed together, arms and legs twisting, fingers linking and falling apart before joining again. Mollie’s brain turned to mush. The tiny part of her that retained the ability to think sensibly told her to be careful but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t listen. The not-sensible part of her told her to stop worrying about what they had coming to an end, and to enjoy it while it lasted.

  They washed her from the feet up, from the head down, twenty slick fingers and two hot mouths skating and dancing over her skin. Lysander kissed her then Flint, his tongue surging into her mouth before he pressed his lips against Lysander’s. Mollie was so turned on watching them kiss. The raw energy of it sent goosebumps racing up and down her spine. She leaned against the glass wall as their kiss shifted from hard to soft and back, water pouring over them, shining droplets splashing on their skin, their dark hair glistening.

  She crouched and slid a hand up each of their legs, spreading her fingers over the rounded cheeks of their butts, Flint’s slightly skinnier than Lysander’s, letting a finger slide into their cracks and down. But when she pressed her face at the point their hips joined, they tugged her to her feet.

  “Lovely as your mouth is, we have other plans,” Lysander said.

  He pulled her back against him and nibbled her ear while he caressed her breasts, rubbing the palms of his hands over her nipples, winding her tighter. Flint dropped down and rested his face against her belly, and when his fingers drifted between her legs, she let out a long moan. She tipped her head back to kiss Lysander and as he speared her mouth with his tongue, Flint pressed his tongue between the folds of her sex. Waves of heat pulsed through her body.

  “Jesus,” Lysander gasped when they broke to snatch a breath. He looked down at Flint and smiled against Mollie’s neck. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

  He pulled her back against him, his arms slipping under hers and shifting down to rest on her hips where he drew lazy circles. Flint fluttered his tongue over her clit and when she looked down and he looked up at her, she lost it and unraveled in an instant. The muscles between her legs clenched and released, sparks flashing in her head until the spasms gradually slowed to leave her gulping like a fish out of water. If Lysander hadn’t been holding her, she’d have crumpled to the floor of the shower.

  Lysander turned her so her chest lay against his, his cock thick and hot against her belly, and he put his lips to hers in a kiss so sweet and soft that Mollie wanted to cry. Flint still knelt behind her and when he pressed his face into her butt, she accidentally caught Lysander’s tongue with her teeth.

  “Sorry.”

  He laughed. “Remind me not to have my cock in your mouth if you’re going to be surprised.”

  “Bum. Backside. Arse. Bottom,” Flint mumbled. “Beautiful. Cute. Tasty.”

  Lysander kissed her again, a deep tongued kiss, and slid his hands up and down her back. Flint spread the cheeks of her butt and she jerked away from Lysander’s mouth.

  He cupped her cheeks and stared into her eyes. “I’m supposed to be distracting you. I’m failing. I m
ight never recover from the shame.” He pulled her forward, held her firmly, kissed her again, and it was like snuggling under warm blankets on a cold winter’s day. Something flowered inside her at the dominant treatment and it surprised her. How could she not want Lewin to be pushy and yet want it from Lysander? Because I trust him.

  Flint pressed his face to the seam of her butt and licked her. This time, instead of retreating, she kissed Lysander harder. Oh God, oh God. She could feel Flint’s tongue surging against her arsehole, pushing—oh fuck. Then it was his finger as well, circling, pressing. Instead of warm water, something cold touched her then the warm pad of his finger slid a little way inside her.

  Her fingers tightened on Lysander’s hips, the kiss became wilder. She knew she was playing with fire yet she didn’t want Flint to stop. But when she struggled for air, sounds breaking in her throat, Lysander moved back. “Steady, baby. He’s good at this. Just relax, let him play with you.” He landed a flurry of kisses over her face, nipping her nose, kissing her eyes, holding her head so she had to look at him. “Relax,” he whispered.

  Mollie sensed the moment her body gave up, a fraction of a second after her mind convinced her she really was liking this. His finger slid all the way in and she gasped, jerking against Lysander’s cock.

  “Kiss me,” he said and their mouths fused.

  Flint was slow and gentle and persistent and gradually Mollie stopped thinking about what he was doing and only about how it felt. The burn faded and the ache inside her morphed to one of desire. One finger became two and she clutched Lysander more tightly but Flint didn’t stop, he did more. He had his fingers in both entrances to her body and Mollie felt the rumblings of thunder in her core before lightning suddenly crackled in her brain and neurons jumped. She couldn’t even breathe, all she could do was come and come and come.

  When Flint stood, Lysander turned her into Flint’s arms and she saw the pleasure on his face in the flush of his skin and the cheeky grin on his lips, felt his excitement in the frantic beat of his heart.

  “Our turn,” Flint said.

  Mollie wasn’t sure how the three of them made it to Lysander’s bed. They half carried her between them, still wet and slippery. Lysander sprawled on one side of her, Flint the other. Their cocks looked so big Mollie found herself compulsively swallowing.