“I’m—” He panted. “I’m about to come. Unless you want my come down your throat you better do what you did to Warren yesterday. There’s enough spit to make it easy.”
She focused the slightest bit. He’d never seen her eyes so blue before. She shook her head and sucked him back into her mouth.
For the next moments Archer no longer knew up or down, left or right. Her touch, her tongue, the vibrations of her moans as Warren pleasured her all drove him to the brink. His balls pulled up. Shivers spread across his body.
He broke when Sarah pulled her hand off his thigh and cupped his balls with a gentle hand. With a deep roar his climax rolled through him.
Only seconds later Sarah screamed around his pulsing cock. She lost control over her limbs and streams of semen splattered over her face and chest.
Archer awkwardly grabbed the arm of the sofa to keep himself on his feet when she slumped against him. Her whole body shivered and sweat made her skin shimmer.
Warren untangled himself from her. A deep smile curved his lips, his chin and cheeks wet with her juices. He climbed to his feet and stood beside Archer. With his free hand he grabbed his dick and with a few strokes brought himself off, his come added to Archer’s over Sarah’s body.
For minutes the three of them just stood there propped against each other like survivors of a catastrophe.
Archer breathed heavily. “Did anyone get the description of this steam train that just flattened us? I’d very much like to meet it again.”
After a moment of silence both Warren and Sarah burst into laughter.
Archer smiled, holding this moment close. He wanted more like this. Many, many more. He watched Sarah. It all depended on her. He had to have read her right.
No other outcome was acceptable.
Sarah could not keep herself upright and lay back on the blanket. Warren settled beside her, pulling her close. Archer joined them on her other side. She nuzzled Warren’s neck. He tasted salty. She took Archer’s hand. “I am uncertain if I have the strength to get dressed and make my way home.”
The men chuckled. Archer put their clasped hands against her stomach. “Don’t worry. As soon as I have found my legs I will pour you a cup of tea.”
“That would be lovely.” She really wanted that tea. “But how are we going to avoid your staff seeing us in dishabille?” The thought should have shocked and worried her, but she was too languid. Small shivers, interspersed with sparks, traveled through her body, making clear thought impossible.
“Easy, darling.” Archer kissed her neck. “We use the automated waiter.”
“Sure.” Her lids were too heavy to keep them open. Despite being sticky and sweaty she enjoyed her current situation. When he climbed to his feet she forced her eyes open and followed Archer’s—nude Archer’s—movements.
He walked to the wall and picked up one of those speaking tubes she’d seen in other rooms. “Jennings, please send up a tea tray.”
“Certainly, sir.” Jennings’ voice echoed through the tube.
Archer set down the tube and flipped an ornamental lever Sarah had thought was just there for decorative purposes. A hole opened up in the wall. Moments later hissing started, followed by a low hum. An automated dumbwaiter came into view.
Then an odd machine hummed to life. It had a flat and round metal body with a silver tray that carried the tea service above. It then extended thin metal legs long enough for it to step out of the wall cavity and scuttled over until it stood beside Archer. He leaned over and poured the tea, his muscles moving under the smooth skin of his back.
Deep inside her a throb of desire flashed through Sarah. She struggled to an upright position and piled cushions behind her back when he handed her the tea. “Thank you very much.”
He poured two more cups and sat beside Warren, his knee touching his friend’s.
The tea revived her aching muscles and cleared her mind. Archer and Warren sat across from her. She swallowed. They were an impressive duo. She studied her cup. But was it that usual for two naked men to sit side by side and not be the least bit…concerned for their masculinity?
Her exposure to men of their ilk had been limited, but they had this energy between them she couldn’t place. A level of comfort that seemed to go beyond friendship. Sarah told herself not to be silly, but the thought settled in. Something constricted at her center. She rubbed her chest.
She finished her tea and set down her cup. “Where can I freshen up?”
Warren pointed to the small washroom she’d seen them use. “We would be more than happy to assist you with anything you need.”
She smiled, but didn’t meet his gaze. “I need to get back home and I have the feeling that if you were to join me we would be here for a considerable amount of time.” She rose and picked up her clothes, a slight blush stealing over her cheeks. As much as she enjoyed their attention, walking around stark naked when not posing was difficult.
When she threw them a quick glance desire burned in their eyes. The tension in her shoulder blades eased and she tried to shove her nagging doubts away. It only worked partially.
Sarah gave them a small smile and stepped into the washroom. Fifteen minutes later she stepped back out fully dressed except for her shoes.
Archer and Warren had put on their trousers. Warren had left off his shirt. He pulled her close for a deep kiss. “I like what I have so far. The sketches are coming along nicely. I very much look forward to our next session.” He kissed her again, making her heart race.
Archer took her hand and whirled her out of his friend’s arms into his own. “Is everything all right?” He lifted one hand and kissed her racing pulse. “We did not hold back.”
Her heart warmed at his concern and gentle touch. “It was perfect.” Or as close to perfect as it could be without them taking that final step.
That final step that for some reason they didn’t appear to be looking forward to. Every time she tried to raise it they quickly redirected the conversation.
He studied her as if he knew her dark thoughts.
Sarah distracted him with a kiss. After they pulled apart he offered her his arm. With a final wave to Warren she left the room.
Outside Archer helped her into the coat Jennings had handed him. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said very correctly.
She nodded and smiled. “Tomorrow.” Sarah turned to follow Jennings to the side entrance. “Oh no, I forgot my purse.”
He chuckled. “Let me just get it.”
Archer smiled as he strode back to the sunroom. This had been a highly fulfilling afternoon, on a physical as well as an emotional level. Introducing Sarah to sex was arousing and satisfying and a lot of fun.
He picked up her little bag from the sofa and swung it by the handle. In his happiness he swung it too hard and the worn clasp opened. Something got stuck in the opening. Archer shook the bag, but the piece of paper didn’t move.
He lifted the clasp and pulled it out. It was a £5 note. Why on earth would she carry this much money around with her when she had to ask him for help?
He studied the note. Something was off.
It was a fake.
He froze.
Why on earth would Sarah have a fake banknote in her purse?
He remembered the ink on her hands the day she came to him. “No! Don’t be ridiculous.” His voice echoed through the empty room.
There had to be another reason. Her father built a machine to combat fake banknotes. Maybe he gave it to her. But why would she carry it around with her?
Archer shoved the note deeper into the bag. His scalp prickled. He forced his doubts and suspicions out of his mind.
Sarah was an innocent. A young woman looking after her father.
Exploring her sensuality with Warren and him.
There was no way she could be involved with the troubles that plagued the city.
Footsteps echoed outside. He turned and stepped through the door at the same time Sarah did. They bumped toge
ther. She laughed. Her genuine delight and the way she nestled into him lit up the gloom that had descended on him.
“What took you so long?”
“Nothing. I just got sidetracked by a memory.”
She raised a brow, her smile wide. “A memory?”
“Of you sucking my cock.”
She turned bright red, but didn’t look away. “It is a fond memory of mine.”
He chuckled as he pulled her closer. “Here is the purse.” For a second he thought of asking her about the fake note, but then the moment passed.
She settled it over her wrist. “I need to go.”
“I know.”
Neither of them made a move, just continued to look at each other.
He kissed her. Her soft lips opened beneath his, her tongue welcomed him. Archer sank into her and everything around him disappeared.
Finally, seconds, minutes or hours later he pulled back, breaths labored and rock hard.
She sighed. “I really have to leave.”
“I know.” With regret he released her and offered her his arm. She took it and he accompanied her to the side entrance. With one last kiss she stepped out and climbed aboard his coach.
Archer stood in the doorway for some time after she had disappeared, troubled. His heart didn’t want to think she was involved, but his suspicious mind found everything a little too coincidental.
Had she played them? It was well-known in certain circles that he had close contacts to Scotland Yard and was often involved in important investigations. His information network covered the city in great detail. Was she involved with the fraudulent money and now sought to build an intimate relationship with them to protect herself?
It sounded insane, but he couldn’t completely brush it aside.
* * * * *
The next eight days went by in a similar manner.
Sarah went to Archer and Warren every day, keeping her schedule as irregular as possible. Warren continued his sketching and moved to canvas a few days later. Each time, after a number of draining and exhausting sessions, he and Archer took her in their arms and pleasured her.
They teased and tortured her, taking her further and further down the path of desire and passion. She came to crave their touch, their unhidden delight in her curves. The only cloud darkening her happiness was the fact that the men had not taken their relationship, dalliance, affair—whatever the proper name—to the next level.
Despite everything they had done and explored together she was still a virgin.
Sarah missed Beatrice desperately. She needed someone to talk to, someone to help her figure out what she was doing wrong.
To help her shake the horrific thought that her two men didn’t really want her. That for some bizarre reason they were playing with her.
She rode a roller coaster of emotions, unable to gain her footing.
They’d be together and she’d catch a look between Archer and Warren, a look carrying years of friendship and a soul-deep connection, that excluded her, put her on the outside, not really part of this triad. Her heart clenched in response and all her doubts would shoot to the surface.
And then she’d remember how her two men shared themselves with her.
Warren spoke about his love of art, no matter the origin or format. He was a regular visitor to the National Gallery. The new Tate Gallery, only open for a few months, was a favorite destination. Whenever he’d accompanied Archer on his travels his first stop was to identify and meet the local artists. He’d shared some of his favorite finds with her.
Archer entertained her with tales from his travels, shared mementos and photographs of his most memorable excursions. He talked about how much he enjoyed new discoveries, being surrounded by people who thought outside the box and had imagination. He loved findings that could improve day-to-day life, make things easier. It had surprised her to see him so passionate.
In that moment she had realized how close to his chest Archer held things. He didn’t share his important parts with everyone.
He did with her.
Spending time with them filled the empty and lonely spot Sarah had carried deep inside her since her mother’s death. She hoped for more than just these three weeks, hoped that they would be open to continuing their dalliance even after Warren had enough to finish the painting.
And in that moment when her fragile hope bloomed they would turn away from her. Not in an obvious manner, but she had learned to read them. They would pleasure her with their mouths and hands, but leave her need to be fully claimed unanswered.
The ride started all over again.
And there was something else. More than once she’d felt as if someone followed her, felt eyes on her at the most inappropriate times. She never mentioned it to her men because she had no evidence these feelings were actually real and not just a figment of her imagination.
Clouds converged on the horizon. She could only hope that when the storm broke it would not destroy her.
* * * * *
Archer closed the side door behind Sarah and strode to his office. He dropped into his chair and rubbed his aching head. With every day his feelings for Sarah grew. It was the same for Warren, but the deeper their bliss, the harsher and more soul-destroying the worry of her rejection if they told her the truth.
He stared at the stack of papers. For the first time in his life he had little desire to explore new opportunities. But he pushed himself to continue. The faster he worked through all of this, the more time he would have to spend with her.
Later that evening a brief knock sounded before the office door opened and Detective Inspector Everett Johnson walked in.
“Latimer, how are you?”
Archer rose and shook his friend’s hand. “I am well. What has brought you to this part of town?”
Johnson walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of Bowman.
Archer’s brows rose. As a detective with Scotland Yard, Johnson saw a lot of darkness. Over the years they had established a routine that when Johnson needed a break or another set of eyes, he’d come by for a glass of scotch. Sometimes they would talk. Sometimes Johnson would just sit in silence while Archer worked.
He waited to see what today would be.
Johnson set the glass before Archer, sank into the chair in front of the desk and sipped. He dropped his head back, eyes closed. “The forgery problem is getting out of control.”
Archer sipped his own drink, the smooth scotch burning as it slid down his throat, and waited. Over the last six months the number of forged £5 bills had tripled. Despite the Bank of England taking over the issuing of notes more than forty years ago paper money still wasn’t as common as coins. This meant the general public had no way of recognizing a good forgery.
“Does the Yard have a plan?” he asked.
Johnson snorted. “Please, they’re still chasing their own tails trying to find ways to add security features. Initially the watermark helped, but this bastard is good. He has found a way to mimic the new ink the bank uses.” He opened his lids and looked at Archer, intelligence and fury burning in his dark-green eyes.
“It’s not really my case, but we’re all scratching our arses while this son of a bitch is collecting money left, right and center.” He rubbed his forehead with his glass. “So far the Yard has managed to keep it quiet, but both The Times and The Daily Telegraph have people sniffing around.”
Archer pursed his lips. “If word gets out the public will run for gold and notes won’t be worth the paper they are printed on. It could destroy our economy.”
Johnson glared at him. “Why do you think everyone is working their arses off to figure something out?” He slammed the empty glass onto the desk. “Mayor Davies has spoken to the Prime Minister and Her Majesty. They have a resolution in mind, but they need someone to invent an automaton that can identify false notes.”
Archer paused in the process of raising his glass. “Do you have anyone close?”
Johnson shrugg
ed. “I’m no engineer. The guys are saying a couple of tinkerers are close, but no one has anything ready to go.”
“I may.”
Johnson straightened. “What?”
Archer set down his glass and rose to take Sarah’s father’s contraption off his shelf. “Mr. Rigdon gave me his prototype for review. He doesn’t have the capabilities to market and manu—”
His friend jumped up. “Have you tried it? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Archer frowned. “Because you told me to keep very quiet. What use would this machine be unless every store in the city had one? And that wouldn’t exactly keep the issue under wraps.”
Johnson calmed down. “True, but they’re working on how to sell it once they have the machine. Can you try it now?”
Archer studied the machine before him. It was a medium-sized metal box that flipped open. The bottom half had a narrow conveyor belt, while the top half was filled with chemical scanners connected to colored lights on top of the lid. “Do you have one of the forgeries?”
Johnson pulled a small pouch out of his jacket and handed it to Archer.
He carefully flipped down the lid and turned on the machine. The narrow metal belt began to move. Archer took out the note from the pouch and flattened it. With care he fed the note into the slot on the side and onto the belt.
Johnson and he stared at the lights on the top as if they carried the meaning of life. Five minutes later the belt pushed out the same note.
The scanners had not recognized the false note, had not responded at all.
Archer met Johnson’s tired gaze. His friend’s shoulders slumped. With a sigh he dropped back into the chair. “I should be used to it by now.”
Archer switched off the Rigdon’s Banknote Verification Device. “Don’t give up. Let me have a look at it and see if I can figure out what went wrong.” He lifted the lid and studied the cogs and gears making up the scanners. “I can’t see anything wrong at first glance, but I may find something on closer inspection. Can you leave the fake note with me?”
Johnson grimaced and thrust both hands into his hair. “By all means. Let me know the minute you have something.”
DangerbyDalliance Page 14