by JD Glass
That was all my brain could come up with, the wall I’d hit and couldn’t get past right then—this was more about them than me.
I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I did.
“This is not a choice,” I warned Samantha as I faced to her. She stared at me a moment, her eyes almost translucent in the flickering light of the television. I took her hand from her lap, held it in mine, and softly pressed my lips to hers. The raw sensuality of her response made my breath catch into a knot in my throat where it flooded back down into my chest, making my heartbeat ragged, painful.
When I let her go, I kept her hand on my leg and went to Fran, who’d been studiously focused on the television. I cupped her face gently and turned her eyes to mine. “This is not a choice,” I repeated, and her eyes widened when I leaned in to kiss her—those beautiful lips, that gorgeous mouth again on mine, and my heartbeat, still ragged from Samantha, sang at the reliving of memory.
When I finally let her go, I had Fran’s hand in one of mine, Samantha’s in the other.
“I don’t think this is about me,” I told Samantha and kissed her cheek. “I think this is about you and her,” I said to Fran and kissed her briefly as well.
I let go of both their hands and stood up, then faced them both. They stared at me.
“You guys have to work this out.” They glanced at each other, puzzled, before focusing back on me.
“Nina,” Samantha asked quietly, “what do you mean?”
I smiled at her fondly. “I mean that…there’s something between you, between the two of you,” and I shared that smile with Fran, “that you have to figure out.”
Fran shook her head lightly, like she didn’t understand. That was okay.
“Well,” I announced, because I’d probably done all the damage I could for one lifetime, “I’m going to bed. You guys…do what you need to do, I guess.”
I leaned down and gave each of them another hug and kiss good night. “Let me know what you decide, okay?” I said as I went to my room and left them there staring at each other.
I flipped on the low light on my nightstand, got undressed, and slipped into my bed. I was tired, buzzed, and strangely happy—because I trusted Samantha and Francesca to work this out, and I loved them both so much, the thought of them together in any way had a beautiful feel.
I roused slightly as the bed shifted behind me and Fran wrapped herself around my back, her skin velvety against mine. I stretched a bit, enjoying the remembered warm fit of her against me, and twisted my head to enjoy the press of her lips against my throat as her hands molded the contours of my ribs, my waist, gripped and pulled gently on my hip.
“Missed you…so much,” she murmured hotly against my jaw and touched my face in the way that was hers and hers alone.< /span>
I turned in her arms and cupped her face, then tangled my fingers in her hair as I brought my lips to hers. I lost myself in the welcome of her mouth, in the elegant play of her tongue against mine, and the strength of her hands as they retraced my body again and again.
I wasn’t shocked, or even surprised, when the heat that I always knew as my Sam warmed my back again and her hands joined Fran’s, cupping my breast, rolling the nipple between her slender fingers until it was hard, and I groaned with the sensation. I arched my back into Samantha, which ABC forced my hips forward, my pussy against my beautiful lion, hers pushing back against me.
I let go of her hair and reached back and over my head for Samantha, bringing her face to mine, kissing her with the desperate hunger she raised in me, and Fran licked my throat, biting gently, then pulling on the tendon with her teeth. Her hand slipped down, scraping lightly between Samantha’s fingers before it traveled farther, back to my hip, wrapping around me, grabbing my ass in such a way that she moved the aching lips of my cunt, and as I sucked on Samantha’s tongue I tasted Fran.
Fire. I was molten fire, flowing between the diamond that was my Sammy Blade and the contained strength that was Fran. I loved her, I was in love with Samantha. I wanted them, needed them, both, here, now, and I slipped my hand away from my Blade’s head and between us, behind me, gripping along the tightened muscles of her stomach until I found the treasure I’d been seeking, the fine, light hairs of her amazing cunt, the hard prominence that spoke of her desire, and I gratefully slipped my fingers between her wet lips, never more at home than when I was there, stroking the length of her, waiting to enter.
Samantha gasped and tore her mouth from mine. “I love you, Nina,” she breathed into my ear.
Her head arced over me to meet Fran’s, and she kissed her. It was heart-piercingly beautiful, the way their lips met and moved together—I was filled with an awestruck joy at their joined perfection. I had never felt so completely safe in my life.
My lion pressed harder against me, her hand gripping insistently as Samantha scratched lightly down between us until she cupped my pussy in her hand, squeezing, teasing, promising—everything. Her hips urged behind me.
Ah, but my beloved Samantha was gorgeously wet, and when Fran gently pushed me so that I was almost half on top of Samantha, my fingers found their mark and I slid into her cunt, tucking my thumb under my palm so I could play with her clit.
She bit my neck as Fran crawled down my body, nipping with her lips, light little licks with the tip of her tongue, memory and experience merging as she mapped me. She stopped and kissed Samantha’s hand as it lay on me, then parted my lips with her tongue.
“Oh God, Kitt…” I gasped as she sucked me into her, and she caught my free hand, twining her fingers with mine as I curled the hand behind me deeper into Samantha, who shuddered behind me. She slipped an arm beneath my shoulders and around my chest, anchoring me to her. She laved my neck with openmouth kisses, scraping her lips and tongue along the column of my neck.
“I adore you, I fucking adore you,” she ground out between sensual attacks, and her cunt sucked my fingers, fitting on me as if I’d been made for her.
I cried out when her tongue entered me, and Samantha crushed me to her, trapping me, holding me still when I tried to ABC arch my back.
“I got you…” she assured me, and her fingers slipped around my clit while Fran’s mouth worked me relentlessly, driving me on and up. Her free hand wrapped loosely around the hand that drove into Samantha, moving with me, around me, a light tickle that urged me on, harder, faster.
Samantha shifted, her leg smoothing across mine, entangling it between hers, opening herself further to me, spreading me wider, and pushing my thigh against my hand, my thrust in her that much harder as I moved under Fran.
“Damn, I love you, Samantha,” I whispered, craning desperately to kiss her as the two most beautiful women I would ever know or be this close to in this lifetime loved me and each other, pushing me to the edge, the power behind this, this thing between us, building, towering over me.
Her lips were instant relief to my thirsty soul. “I want you inside me,” I told her. “I want you both inside me.”
Fran heard me and raised her head. I caught my breath, gulping at the loss, and Samantha responded instantly, sliding into me so I wouldn’t feel it for too long.
“Te adoro,” she whispered, speaking the language of my childhood as she moved gently within me, and my cunt welcomed her home to me, “te amo, te adoro.”
Fran climbed up my body, straddling my leg, and her cunt was deliciously hot and wet, gliding along the hard muscle of my thigh.
Her irresistible mouth kissed me, and once again, for the last time, I enjoyed the taste of my cunt on her tongue.
“I love you, Francesca Kitt DiTomassa,” I told her, melting into her golden eyes, “I will always love you.”
I grasped her hip with my hand as she rode my thigh, her leg pressing between us, driving Samantha farther into me. Fran slipped her hand between us, cupping Samantha’s hand under hers, and I could feel her fingertips waiting to enter me.
“Baby,” she murmured, kissing me gently, “this is going to hu
rt. I want to do what you want, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
She was right, I knew she was right, because even Samantha inside me hurt a bit.
“You are really tight, love,” she whispered, then caught her breath when I shifted my hip slightly, causing my fingers to reach deeper. Her hips jerked against me, and, honestly, I couldn’t have cared less if my arm broke; I wanted this, wanted to be in her, wanted ABC her to come.
Fran leaned across me and kissed Samantha deeply as she shuddered against me, and my hand traveled from the curve of Fran’s hip to her ass, and I pressed my fingers along the length of her cunt. She groaned into Sam’s mouth, her head under my neck, and I felt Samantha shiver as she tasted me for the first time on Fran’s lips.
“Kitt, baby,” I rasped out, losing my voice, my breath, my mind between them, “I don’t care if it hurts, I want you.”
She buried her head into my neck, between me and Samantha.
“Okay…okay…” she groaned as I pushed her over the edge, slipping my fingers inside her, letting her crush down upon me.
I felt Samantha ease out of me a bit and then…God. The world was going to fall apart and take me with it because it hurt, it fucking hurt, but it didn’t matter because it was so fucking intense, so fucking good it spiked through me, and caught as I was between them, my body heaved anyway, light and pain and pleasure, and God, if it only happened once in this life, then it was enough to remember it always, the sweat-slick intensity as Fran’s head pushed into my shoulder and her free hand pulled, Samantha’s arm wrapped around me, fingers digging across my collarbone as I buried my face against her chest, her heart pounding into my ear, the straining, painful push of bone and muscle of my arm trapped to my side now so I could bury my fingers into Samantha’s cunt, the bruising push of Fran’s hip between my legs, driving, always driving their combined thrust while I loved her, deep and hard.
“God yesss…” Fran hissed against my throat as she shifted on me, her pussy pulling and gliding and loving me. When she bit at the bone in my shoulder, the sensation sent a chill through me, and I heard Samantha’s breath catch as she surged against me.
My body relaxed, totally relaxed, and I felt their combined push become something deep and discrete—Fran steady and deep, my Sammy more of an urgent thrust in my cunt as she got ready to come. I could feel it—in her body, in mine.
I twisted my head and kissed the skin above her heart. “Come, love,” I begged her, “come deep.”
Her leg flexed over mine, pulled against me, and I could feel the tendons in my wrist strain between our bodies, the tension of her cunt an exquisite weight across my arm, the beloved absolute embrace of it almost blinding me as she took as much of me as she could within her and her painfully engorged clit pulsed under my thumb.
“Coming,” she gritted out, a desperate sound that slipped between her teeth, and her body waved as she again crushed me to her, kissing me desperately as she rode the tension out of her and into me, forcing me to move against the twin pressures of them, creating a frantic need, a hunger that made my throat ache and made my hands move, almost frenzied as I plunged as far as I could in Fran.
“Stop…baby, stop,” Samantha said, “too much,” and she shifted slightly so I could ease my fingers from their home.
I won’t lie, my hand hurt from that position, and I slowly flexed it, then wrapped my fingers lightly around Samantha’s forearm, sliding down over her wrist, stopping only when my fingertips found Fran’s hand crushed over hers.
Electric strings were racing out and under my skin, the arc starting from wherever I felt the raw intensity of my Samantha, the barely restrained fierceness of Fran, and the rush was coming up and over me as she let go of my shoulder. Her hand reached for my face, brushing over my cheeks with her fingertips, tracing my lips until her thumb rested below my lip. She raised her head and kissed me the way only she could.
“Yours,” she whispered against my lips, and once again my beautiful Fran broke and took me with her, my body soaring, my heart torn between love and grief because I knew what she meant, what this was—this was good-bye—as her cunt held me as if she’d never let me go.
I moved the hand that had felt both of them within me to her back to feel the flex of the muscles there with the blade as sharp as an angel’s wing, to trace the span of her shoulders one last time.
“My lion,” I whispered back to her, “the pride of my heart.” I kissed her with hopeless intensity and came, a sharp burst of pleasure and pain that pounded through me, tearing me, drenching me in love and sorrow.
Fran eased slowly out of me and the loss was painful, both physically and emotionally. She pressed her fingers against my neck as she rested the full weight of her body upon me and cried into my throat while Samantha murmured soothing little sounds into my ear and gentled my bruised and aching cunt.
I didn’t need to see Fran’s or Samantha’s hands to know that I’d bled again. I’d felt the tear when they’d entered me, could smell the blood on Fran’s hand.
When I moved my fingers to come out of her, she stopped me. “Please…stay,” she cried softly, “just a little longer.”
“Love you,” I murmured and stayed, content to feel her for as long as possible before even this, too, had to end, and I rubbed her back as she lay on top of me.
Samantha shifted, sliding her arm out from under me, and lifted herself up on an elbow. She kissed me tenderly, kissed the tears that ran hot and free from my eyes, and when she finally left my cunt she placed her hand over mine where it rested in Fran.
I realized Samantha cried too, as she kissed her cheek. “I love you,” she said softly to Fran, then Samantha kissed me again. “I adore ABC you,” she whispered into my ear, then settled herself over me.
It was some time later, but not too long, when we shifted and resettled into each other, and I let Francesca hold me as I’d never let her—my head on her shoulder, my leg over her hip and Samantha draped over my back, her arm reaching over me to hold my hand and Fran’s, joined together, body and blood.
You’d think there would be, but there really wasn’t any “morning-after awkwardness,” and because it was a free day, we spent most of it quietly, together. We went out for breakfast, well, brunch really, and we went back to the park for a while. We walked over to El Prado and let ourselves get art stoned, lucky enough to be there during a huge Picasso retrospective—his sketches, his books, all on display.
Fran loved it, really and truly loved it, but I didn’t get it at first, although I really enjoyed his sketches (I’m more of a Matisse fan, myself) until I saw Guernica. It floored, absolutely slammed me into shock (I can’t even begin to describe it), and I was touched in ways I don’t think I can explain when I saw that it brought Samantha to tears.
As we wandered through the galleries and I saw the work of Goya, I knew I would never, ever paint again. I could never hope to approach that level of brilliance; I mean, okay, the Saturn-eating-his-children thing was gross, but the way he painted light? I’d just have to try to do the same thing with my guitar and voice—I would never be able to do that with a brush.
Sometimes I held Samantha’s hand, other times Fran’s, they held each other, we walked arm in arm. It was just so very easy and very quiet, even when we discussed the paintings. We’d stand in front of them and whisper and point at different things. Honestly, we’d said everything we’d had to the night before.
During the siesta hours we went—where else?—back to the apartment and the pool.
There was only one awkward moment—when it was finally time to turn in for the night—and in the end, we all slept in my bed. It wasn’t sexual, though. I suppose it could have gone that way if any one us had even slightly pushed for that, but this strangely sweet sort of shyness flowed between us.
There were whisper-kisses and ever-so-slightly suggestive caresses. We traded these gentle touches until we were all sleepily satisfied and wrapped sensually around each other like a pack of little
fuzzy animals, curled together, warm and soft and safe.
The studio sessions? They were another story altogether.
Fran would work in Carlos and Enrique’s office, reviewing the contracts that Enzo would send her while Samantha and I did our work: sculpting feeling into sound.
The music was really going great; it was just that these moments would occur between us, Samantha and me, I mean. We were a little shy with each other, a little extra-polite and oddly formal in a way I didn’t understand, all things considered.
I’d catch myself staring at her, her lips, the exquisite line of her neck as she sang, the way her fingers ran up and down the fret board—long, lean, musician’s hands, the veins standing out in sharp relief through her skin—like mine.
I’d catch her staring, too, her eyes sometimes glinting at me in the dim light that surrounded the workstation. When she leaned over me to check a pan level on the board for a new tune we were starting to lay tracks out for, her nearness made me catch my breath, and we stood there, frozen, afraid to move in any direction.
I shook my head and looked down at the board. “Set a midrange here, I think—you?”
Samantha hesitated a moment before answering. “Yeah,” she croaked out, “mid, uh, midrange.”
I reached across the board to set the dial just as Samantha did, and when our hands touched, I knew, whether or not she did, that the time for bullshit had come to an end. My nerves were frayed; I was jumpy and edgy and filled with this nervous energy that skittered through me that I couldn’t control no matter how hard I tried.
I took her hand in mine and faced her. “I can’t do this anymore,” I told her. “I can’t work with you.”
Her hand was warm, electric in mine, and her eyes took on an edge in the work light that surrounded us.