by Loki Renard
“Uh uh,” he said. “You go sleep in bed.”
“But I’m not tired.”
“Liar,” he said. “You want a spanking to go to bed with? That butt of yours not sore enough?”
“Maybe not,” she grinned. Oh she loved the attention.
He reached down and gently took her chin between thumb and forefinger. “Fiona, sweetheart, if I have to spank you back to bed, it’s going to make your bottom very sore. So go on now, before you get into the kind of trouble you won’t enjoy.”
Fiona pouted, but nodded and slid away from him. He missed the soft heat of her body almost immediately, but she needed sleep. Proper sleep that came from sleeping in bed, not from perching on the couch.
“Good night, Fiona.”
Night,” she mumbled, sleepiness already overcoming her linguistic faculties as she scuffed off toward the bedroom.
* * *
Before the sun began creeping over the building tops, before the birds began to stir, Harris woke up next to Fiona’s warm sleeping form. Taking a moment to inhale her sweet scent, he placed a gentle kiss on her head and slid out of bed.
Upon leaving the bedroom, he found Tom still awake, but starting to fatigue. It was obvious in the lines around his nose and mouth, the droop of his face and frame.
“Hey,” Harris said. “Go get some rest.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, brushing past him.
He thought he might feel strange, knowing Tom was going to slide into bed where he’d been laying, but it didn’t bother him at all. He actually found a smile rising to his face, knowing Fiona was taken care of while he went to make a morning coffee.
It was a quiet day, spent relaxing in the hotel room. For the first time in two weeks, Harris could relax knowing that someone had an eye on his charge. Sure, Tom was asleep, but Harris had the feeling that wouldn’t make much of a difference when it came to keeping her under control.
He spent the morning keeping an eye out on the security cameras he had placed around the perimeter of the hotel, until he was fairly satisfied that there was no significant activity taking place. The quiet gave him time to think, time to wonder about the significance of what had happened the previous evening. He’d been intimate with his client. He’d shared her with another man. And he’d enjoyed it. What did that mean?
When he got tired of sitting, he started walking, around and around in circles. It didn’t help the answers come any easier, but it did get rid of some of the pent up physical energy.
“Wearing a hole in the carpet?”
Tom was up. All of a sudden it was midday. Somehow Harris had lost most of the morning in between watching the cameras and playing much more interesting memories of the night before over in his mind.
“I suppose so,” he said. “Sleep well?”
“Very well,” Tom said. “She’s still out to it.”
“Fiona always likes to sleep late.”
“Of course she does.” Tom said it as if it were a bad thing. He probably considered it another one of her undisciplined foibles. “Just as well though, you and I have to talk.”
“I guess we do,” Harris agreed.
They grabbed more caffeine stimulants and went out onto the balcony to talk. It was a lovely, balmy Milan afternoon. Even with the street noise below, Harris had the feeling he’d somehow stepped into a small slice of heaven. They sat on opposite sides of the covered canopy love seat and looked out over the city. There was a brief moment of silence, then Tom took charge.
“I’m not the sort of man to make love to a lady casually,” he said, charging into the subject head on. “If you get my drift.”
“You’re saying you have feelings for Fiona?” Harris responded as bluntly as Tom. There was no point beating about the bush or being coy.
“I do.” Blue eyes settled on him. “I reckon you do too.”
“You reckon right.” Harris didn’t mean to mock Tom’s accent, but sometimes it was hard not to accidentally emulate it.
“So we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle.”
Harris nodded, then shook his head. “Do we? The first time you were with Fiona was the same time I was with her. If we can share our first time with her, why can’t we share her the rest of the time too?”
Tom half-smiled. “That’s the sort of suggestion that sounds logical… but…”
“You and I have the same claim to her,” Harris reasoned. “If she wants both of us…”
“I suppose you’re right. Can’t really be any other way, can it?”
They stopped talking as Fiona came out onto the balcony, her hips moving in that natural sashay she had whether she was wearing heels or not. She was wearing a short skirt that fell to mid-thigh, a light, flirty blue silk number that flared out in the soft breeze. A tank top completed the outfit, white and simply cut. Harris admired her figure openly. He no longer needed to have professional reserve. That had melted away the moment he’d entered her and felt her clenching around his manhood.
“Hi,” she beamed, sliding in between them. She fit perfectly between their hard bodies, her curves and softness matching their strength. “What are you two talking about?”
“Who gets to keep you,” Harris said, winking over at Tom. “We were just drawing straws.”
“Oh yeah?” Fiona smiled. “What if I want to keep you both?”
“Then I guess we’ll have to work that out,” Tom said, reaching an arm around her. “For now, we have to work out a way to appease your Daddy before he sends reinforcements.”
“Maybe he’ll send more like you,” Fiona grinned.
“Oh yeah? You need more than two men?” Harris gave her a sideways look.
“No,” she smiled, putting her head on his shoulder. “You and Tom are enough.”
Harris lowered his head and dropped a kiss on Fiona’s curling golden locks. He’d never considered sharing a woman before, but Fiona was a lot more trouble than most and the dynamic between the three of them felt good and natural, and right. More right than a lot of his other monogamous relationships had felt.
Fiona’s body language spoke to a serene contentment, a relaxation he’d not seen in her since meeting her. She’d always been so tightly wound, whether laughing or screaming, there was an intensity to her. That intensity was fading now. It was like watching a tiger turn into a pussycat.
Tom picked up her legs and began massaging his hands up the length of her calves and thighs. Fiona practically purred as she sank against their bodies, giving herself up to them without a murmur of complaint.
Chapter Ten
After a few days in Milan, Tom and Harris decided that they’d be all better served by renting a villa in rural Tuscany rather than staying in a city full of potential spies. Fiona agreed to the idea contingent on the promise of romantic evenings spent amidst Tuscany’s ancient villages and ubiquitous vineyards.
This new arrangement was suiting her very well. She had attention whenever she wanted it, either from Tom or Harris or often the both of them. When they weren’t ordering her about, they could be very charming, Tom especially. He had a knack for diffusing her bouts of temper before they got started with little more than a raised brow. Fiona liked that, it made life much easier when there were boundaries and rules—though she would never have admitted as much out loud.
When they first got to the villa, it was night and there wasn’t much to do besides go to sleep. It wasn’t until the next morning at breakfast that Fiona realized just how far away they were from anything she would have called civilization.
“Where am I supposed to shop?”
“You’re not supposed to shop,” Tom said gruffly over ciabatta toast. “You’re supposed to relax, enjoy nature.”
“I don’t like nature,” Fiona pouted. “I like shopping.”
“You’ve done enough shopping in your life to fill a mansion,” Tom replied. “Try something else for a change.”
“He’s being mean to me,�
�� she whispered, sliding into the chair next to Harris. Harris cast a dark raised brow in her direction.
“Is that so?”
“I’m bored.”
“Really.” Tom laid his newspaper down. “Let me see if I can unbore you. Come here.”
Fiona cast a doubtful glance in his direction. “You’re going to spank me, aren’t you?”
“Are you being a spoiled little brat?”
“Maybe.”
“Then I’m going to spank you.”
In spite of knowing precisely what was going to happen when she got there, Fiona went to him and was pulled over his lap and swatted with the rolled up newspaper. It didn’t hurt at all, it was more embarrassing than anything. Tom was big on discipline, even more so than Harris. Harris had a little more tolerance for her whining, but Tom had no patience for it at all. The wrong words, even the wrong look and she’d end up over his lap.
After a few more fairly toothless whacks of the newspaper, Tom finished with her and tipped her onto her feet. “We’ll take you for a walk in a bit.”
“Take me for a walk? Like I’m your puppy.”
“You could be our puppy,” Tom grinned. “Our good little doggie.”
She didn’t like the gleam in his eye, or rather, she really did like the gleam in his eye, but she was slightly nervous of what it might mean.
As it turned out, Tom’s idea of a walk wasn’t Fiona’s idea of a walk. Fiona’s idea of a walk was wandering from rack to rack, perusing clothes. Tom’s idea of a walk was hours of wandering around the countryside for no apparent reason. Fiona didn’t have the shoes for that sort of activity. She had some pretty flip flops that were soon covered in Tuscan dust.
“Once you’ve seen one vineyard, you’ve seen them all,” she commented. “Let’s go home and mix some drinks and relax.”
“Later,” Tom said. “We spent hours in the car yesterday. We need to stretch our legs.”
“My legs are stretched enough.”
“I’ll stretch your bottom over my lap and smack it if you don’t quit whining.” He gave her one of those crystal clear blue looks that shot right through her.
Fiona dropped back next to Harris. “Why don’t we let Tom march around here like a little toy soldier and go back to the house and…” she bit her lip and looked at Harris suggestively.
“And what, brat?” Harris smiled at her, shaking his head. “You’re cute, but you’re not that cute, Fiona. And trying to divide and conquer with sex? That’s not going to fly.”
“Sheesh,” Fiona rolled her eyes. “If you don’t want a blow job, just say so.”
“Blow jobs aren’t currency for you getting your own way, brat,” Harris swatted her. “This is a walk, not a pack march, no need to complain.” He laced his fingers through hers and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Try to behave yourself,” he murmured against her ear. “I don’t want to have to discipline you the first day here. It’s too nice a day.”
Scowling, Fiona accepted that she wasn’t going to get any better of a result from Harris than she had Tom. She did not accept that she was going to be forced to traipse around the Italian countryside all afternoon. Afternoons were for tanning and drinking. They were not for pretending she was at boot camp with two burly, insistent instructors.
She sank down by the side of the road and sat cross legged in the grass next to a grape vine. It wasn’t a bad place to stop. From that position she could pick the grapes and eat them, which was better than nothing.
Tom and Harris also stopped and looked down at her. Were they going to move her along? She was relieved when they sank down, one on either side.
“We have got to get you into better shape,” Tom winked.
“You calling me fat?”
“I’m calling you no such thing. I’m calling you unfit,” he said. “There’s a difference.”
“I’m not fat.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You think I’m fat, don’t you,” Fiona insisted. In her experience, even the bravest men retreated from a woman who was calling herself fat.
“I think you’re about to get a spanking if you don’t cut it out.”
Fiona shoved a grape into her mouth and chewed. “Am I allowed this grape? Or is it too much sugar?”
“Right,” Tom said, laying a heavy hand on the back of her neck. “Looks like you’re getting a spanking.”
“Tom! No!”
It was too late. He had her by the back of the neck and was pulling her over his lap. Fiona ended up with a mouthful of Tuscany when she opened her mouth to complain.
His hand was already whacking her bottom, barely covered in a skirt. It was one of those hard, fast slapping spankings that she hated because by the time she felt the full force of the impact, a dozen more swats had already landed, creating rolling crescendos of ever increasing sting.
Fiona was glad for every bit of fat she had in her bottom as she endured the results of bickering with Tom. The man really didn’t like to be argued with.
“You want to keep telling me I think you’re fat?” Tom asked the question with his hand firmly wrapped around one cheek, his fingertips dipping into the crack between her cheeks. His middle finger was pressed against her anal bud, a sensitive spot that made her squirm more than all the slaps combined.
“Get your fingers out of my ass!”
Of course he pressed his finger more firmly against the spot she was complaining about. “Out of here?” He swirled his finger a little. “You want me not to touch you here?”
“Mnngh,” Fiona said, gritting her teeth. “Yes.” The truth was it was starting to feel a little good. It was starting to send little shivers all the way from her butt to her pussy and back again, but she didn’t want him knowing that.
“Is that so?” He’d lowered his head and growled the words into her ear, making tremors shoot up and down her spine. Tom might be an overbearing control freak, but he could also melt her in a million different ways.
“Mhmm.” She couldn’t form entire words. She could only tense against his finger and hope he didn’t do what he seemed to be about to do, which was play with her bottom until she came to a shameful public climax.
What she feared did not eventuate. What did eventuate was another flurry of hot, stinging slaps that made her squeal and squall and frightened all the nearby birds away. Tom liked to spank hard, especially when provoked. She should have known that, she should have left well enough alone. Now she was giving the entire countryside a view of her bright red bottom.
He paused. “Are you going to behave yourself for the rest of this walk?”
“Yes!”
She would have agreed to pretty much anything in that moment. Anything to make his hard palm stop bounding against her bottom.
“We are going to go for a nice walk up to the top of that hill.” Tom pointed to a hill that might as well have been in Timbuktu for how far away it looked. “And you are going to walk with us and not complain, understand?”
“Yes,” Fiona sniffed.
He helped her up off his lap and he and Harris watched as she righted her panties. She wanted to throw a tantrum, really she did, but it just wasn’t worth it. Harris didn’t exactly look sympathetic to her plight either.
“I’ll just walk until my feet fall off,” she sniffed. “Then you’ll be sorry.”
“That sounds like complaining,” Tom growled warningly.
Fiona got to her feet and scuttled away from the man with the iron hand, rubbing her bottom the whole time. “It’s not complaining,” she said. “It’s a warning. A warning that you’re going to have to carry me when I have no feet.”
Harris snorted and got up next to her. “Leave it be,” he said, sliding his hand around to cup and rub her bottom soothingly. “Tom doesn’t have my sense of humor.” He licked his thumb and wiped a smudge of dirt off her face, giving her one of his amused, caring, somewhat stern why can’t you just behave, looks.
“And I don’t have Harris’s tolerance for your lip, young lady,” Tom growled, joining them on his feet. “Let’s get walking.”
It was hardly a romantic stroll after that. It was more a contained sulk across Tuscan fields. Fiona didn’t open her mouth again until they had gone all the way to the top of the hill and then traipsed all the way back to the villa.
There, she shut herself in the bathroom and showered until she no longer felt like a sweaty, grime stained mess. To her horror, she realized she’d been wandering around the place looking like some sort of peasant. Being tossed over Tom’s knee by the side of the road had resulted in grass stains on her knees and a decent dose of mud and dust on her clothing. She was not pleased. Not pleased at all. He needed to learn some respect.
She got out of the shower, repainted her face and chose some new clothing. This time she chose a longer, looser, baby-blue skirt and eschewed panties. She didn’t need anything rubbing against her bottom, which had been made more than tender. A loose gray lambswool sweater completed the outfit, demure and yet, not. The sweater wrapped around from one diagonal to the other, emphasizing the curve of her breasts. There was a significant amount of cleavage showing, not enough to tip the outfit into the revealing category, but more than enough to make the most of her assets.
She joined Harris on the balcony, where he was sipping something alcoholic and looking out over the countryside. He looked handsome in a crisp button down shirt opened to mid chest to let the breeze play over the dark curls of his chest.
“Haven’t you seen enough grass and grapes for one day?” She leaned against the balcony, loathe to sit down. “I want to watch something on television, or at least on my tablet. I don’t see why we can’t use them.”
“Because then you’d go on your social media accounts and you’d post pictures of yourself and people would track us down within hours.”
“I can go online without posting selfies.”
“You’re not going online.” It was Tom’s voice that interrupted. He appeared on the balcony, also having showered. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so Fiona was treated to the sight of his bare, broad chest. It was a sight that distracted her from his overbearing bossiness for all of a minute. Tom was built like a gladiator, strong and sinewy with the sort of muscle definition a model would die for. Matched with the All-American set of his jaw, the blue eyes, the blond hair, he was gorgeous in the liquid sunlight of a Tuscan evening.