The Rose

by Tiffany Reisz

  Patroclus knelt behind her as she licked Achilles’s organ from the base to the tip. His strong arms came around her and his lips kissed her neck as he held her breasts in his hands, squeezing and lifting and holding them hard. She felt his cock seeking the entrance of her body. It pressed and pushed into her wet folds. A primal instinct she didn’t know she possessed set her arching her back and spreading her thighs. The head of his cock found her hole and she sank down onto him as he pushed up and into her.

  Speared as she was—a cock in mouth, a cock against her womb—she could hardly move. The men held her pinned in place. Achilles held her head as he pushed himself into her throat. Patroclus held her kneeling back against his chest. Nothing in her fantasies had prepared her for the sensations of being taken by two men at once. The scent of their bodies—salt and sweat—and the incredible heat of their skin, the taste of male flesh in her mouth and the sound of low hard breathing in her ears. And Patroclus’s hands all over her, groping at her breasts, pulling her nipples as his mouth licked and lapped and bit at her neck and shoulders.

  The grip on her hair tightened. Achilles thrust into her mouth faster. He grunted softly, rapidly, in time with his thrusts as he worked himself toward his climax. Patroclus wrapped one hand gently around her throat and tilted her head back against his shoulder, holding her in place for Achilles to use. Her jaw ached, and her sex clenched around the cock inside her. Patroclus whispered, “You’ll have my seed next.”

  Achilles grunted loudly, whimpered that way grown men did when undone. His seed, hot and thick, filled her mouth. Her throat moved against Patroclus’s strong palm as she swallowed every drop as it came.

  When Achilles had emptied himself into her mouth, he pulled out and dramatically dropped to his knees.

  “She sucked the life out of me,” he said with a sigh as he collapsed onto his side on the pillows.

  Patroclus laughed softly as he pulled Lia back against him again, holding her tightly to his chest. She looked at her own body and saw his impossibly thick strong arms imprisoning her, the vambraces on his wrists, the veins popping in the hands that squeezed her breasts and the cock inside her, spearing her from behind.

  “They say he’s immortal,” Patroclus rasped into her ear, loud enough for Achilles to hear. “But you and I know his mortal weakness. Suck his cock and he’s done for.”

  “Don’t let that get out,” Achilles said, propping himself up on his elbow again. “Bad enough I have every Trojan soldier aiming for my heart. I don’t need them trying to get under my pteruges, as well.”

  “I’d pay a month’s wages to see one try,” Patroclus said. “I might bribe a Trojan tomorrow, if I can find one that won’t run from me at first sight.”

  “Are you going to mock me or fuck her?” Achilles asked.

  “I can’t do both?”

  Achilles patted the pillow next to him. “Come here.”

  “Me or her?” Patroclus asked.

  “Both, old man.”

  Patroclus lightly pushed her forward onto her hands. He pulled out of her, and as soon as he was out, her body clenched on the sudden emptiness inside her.

  Lia crawled to the pillow and Achilles took her by the chin and kissed her. Patroclus laid on his side behind her, stroking her back while Achilles pinched her nipples.

  “You like Patroclus?” Achilles asked as he looked at the breast he held in his hand.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Good. I love the man,” he said. “It pleases me to please him. And you’re doing a very good job pleasing him. But I think we could do better.”

  “A worthy goal.” Patroclus kissed her shoulder and caressed it. Lia shivered. God, it was exactly like her fantasies. Exactly like them—down to every single touch, every word they said.

  Achilles pushed her gently onto her back and took her nipple into his mouth. Patroclus needed no urging to take her other nipple into his. She lay beneath them as they suckled her tender breasts, overwhelmed by their male hunger. It seemed they’d devour her if they could.

  “Patroclus, lie on your back,” Achilles said.

  “Do I have to? I’m enjoying this.” He said that as he stroked her wet folds and slipped two, three, four fingers inside her...

  “You’ll like this more,” Achilles assured. “On your back.”

  With a much put-upon sigh, Patroclus rolled onto his back. He picked up a dainty blue pillow and propped it under his head.

  “On top of him,” Achilles ordered Lia.

  She turned and straddled Patroclus. He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly as he gripped her by the hips and settled her onto his cock. She sank down onto it, taking every inch. With his strong hands on her narrow waist, he made her ride him. He lifted her and brought her down on his cock, lifted her and brought her down again. Achilles watched at first, but he wasn’t content to merely watch for long.

  He touched Lia where Patroclus entered her, touched her tender, spread-wide labia, touched her throbbing knot.

  But Achilles wasn’t content to simply touch. He lowered his head and licked her clitoris. She gasped at the shock of pleasure as he brought his mouth down onto her.

  And Achilles wasn’t content to simply lick her. He lowered his head farther and licked Patroclus, as well.

  “Gods,” Patroclus said. His hands gripped her breasts so hard she knew she’d have bruises on them. Achilles licked them both as they coupled, licked the cock that slid in and out of her body, licked her open flesh. She writhed in pleasure and Patroclus took her by the waist once more, to hold her still as he fucked her. Meanwhile, Achilles lapped at her, at both of them. Patroclus panted underneath her, his chest rising and falling fast as Achilles rubbed them both with lips and tongue. Lia’s inner muscles twisted up into knots and tightened around the shaft inside her. Patroclus pumped into her and Achilles worked her clitoris with his tongue. For the span of a stroke of lightning she met the dark eyes of Achilles...and they weren’t dark anymore, but the wild gray of storm clouds. Patroclus grunted as his hips came off the floor and he filled her and filled her with his semen.

  Achilles lifted her off Patroclus and pushed her onto her back again. He mounted her, entered her and pounded her into oblivion. She was too spent to even move. She lay limp as a rag doll under him as he used her for his own pleasure. She felt nothing except Patroclus stroking her thigh one more time before he rose, dressed and left her alone with Achilles again. Achilles spent himself inside her with a low cry that branded her memory. After, he remained on top of her—his cock still inside her, this a temporary respite before he would use her again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Ah, love truly was a far better game than war.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Lia came to with a gasp, as if she’d been submerged in water and had finally broken the surface.

  She looked over and found August next to her, eyes closed.

  She called his name and received no answer.

  He was sound asleep.

  “Typical,” she said, shaking her head.

  She hoped he’d stay asleep for a good long while. She had no desire to face him quite yet. As soon as he woke up he’d want to have sex with her, or worse, talk. The need to get out and get home was overwhelming. Lia dressed quickly in the dark and fled his house.

  Once in her car she checked her phone. Half-ten. She’d been with August an hour and a half, though in her mind it felt like she’d spent half the night with him. How bizarre...

  When she checked her rearview mirror before starting out into the street, she saw a mark on her neck. She rose up and touched the mark. It was red and tender, like a bite mark. A love bite. At the sight of it, memories flooded her mind...memories of kneeling in front of Achilles, his cock in her mouth as Patroclus knelt behind her, his hands holding her breasts and his mouth on her neck—kissing
and suckling the very spot where she now wore an inch-wide red bite mark.

  “Patroclus...” she breathed. She could still feel him inside her. She could still taste Achilles in her mouth.

  Lia shivered as a fresh wave of desire washed over her. She had to distract herself. She put the car into Drive and cracked the window to let in the cool air. It soothed her burning flesh. A light rain started to fall, a gentle late-spring drizzle that set the sidewalks to shimmering in the hazy lamplight.

  At a stoplight, she giggled.

  Lia was giggling so hard she forgot to drive on when the light changed. A car honked behind her and she waved an apology and sped off into the night. The kylix had worked its strange powers on her again, and she felt high as a kite. Higher. She’d smoked pot once with some friends and it had done little more than make her sleepy and paranoid. This, however, was heaven. This was bliss. This was a thousand elves dancing jigs around a thousand trees and all of them—elves and trees and jigs—all lived inside her dancing head.

  Nothing could hurt her. Nothing could touch her.

  Throw her off the top of London Bridge and watch her fly...

  The rational part of Lia’s brain warned her this was nothing but the side effect of the Rose Kylix. She wasn’t really bulletproof. She couldn’t really fly.

  But maybe...maybe she was untouchable. She certainly felt strong enough to take on the world. Her toes tingled and her heart leaped and she danced in her seat, though she hadn’t turned on her Mini’s ancient radio.

  She wanted to test her joy, to find out if it was as ironclad as it felt.

  At the next stoplight she dug her phone out of her bag and Googled an address. A short detour and worth it if it worked for her.

  She made it to the Attic Gallery without incident and parked her car in a nearby alley. She couldn’t simply drive by and take a peek. She had to get up close and personal. Usually Lia avoided walking in unfamiliar London neighborhoods at night, even posh ones. But that night she walked with her head high, her spine solid steel as she strode down the sidewalk, her boot heels banging the pavement with every confident step. Let a mugger try anything with her. She’d just been fucked by Achilles—and Patroclus, too—and lived to tell the tale. Who else could say that?

  Lia braced herself as she came to the front windows of the gallery. Just as she’d suspected, they were already advertising David’s new show called Rare Bones: Exploring the Interior—The Work of David Bell. Rare bones? Instead of bare bones? Lia rolled her eyes. A pun? David couldn’t do better than a pun for his art show?

  Disgraceful.

  The Attic was going all out for David’s show. Posters, four feet high, filled each window. Three of the four posters were just images of his art cropped in artful ways: a mural of surrealistic skeleton horses running through the streets of New York—pure wank; a reverse Hamlet with a skeleton holding a human head—must be a theme; and a massive pink rose, blooming erotically out of the pelvic bone of a woman—August had been right about the rose/vagina connection.

  In the fourth and final poster, David’s face—so solemn and serious and handsome—stared right at her through the glass.

  The gallery knew what it was doing by advertising David along with his art. He wasn’t just handsome, he was striking, a work of art himself, the poster seemed to imply. Lia met the eyes of the photographic David. She stared at him and he stared at her. Her lover. Her enemy. The man who held her fate in his paint-spattered hands.

  She flashed him the V-sign and walked away. Friday night after she paid David off, she’d do exactly that.

  Still flying with the hardest case of afterglow she’d ever been hit with, Lia drove home to Wingthorn and arrived by midnight. She parked and went in through the kitchen entrance. The light was on, and she found her mother in her dressing gown and her father wearing half of a suit—trousers and shirt but no jacket, tie or shoes—fighting over a bottle of wine.

  “You broke the cork,” her mother said. “How have you managed to father three children when you can’t even work a corkscrew?”

  “I don’t follow your logic, spouse, unless you rate all forms of penetration on the same scale. Just push the broken cork into the bottle.”

  “Then we’ll have cork bits in our wine,” Lia’s mother said. “Unacceptable.”

  Lia shook her head, sighed and stepped out of the shadows and into the kitchen.

  “Lia,” her father said. “Where have you been all evening?”

  “I was kidnapped and forced to have a threesome with Greek soldiers.”

  “Hope you had a nice time,” her mother said.

  Lia picked up the wine bottle and slapped the base of it twice and hard. The cork popped out.

  “How did you do that?” Her father’s eyes went wide.

  Lia walked out of the kitchen. “That was my spanking hand.”

  The last thing she heard as she stepped into the hall was her mother saying, “Has she been acting strange lately? Or is it just me?”

  Lia did not wait around to hear her father’s answer.

  She skipped up the stairs, desperately in need of a long bath. Tomorrow when her mind was back to normal and not doing cartwheels off the ceiling, Lia would call August and ask him about what had happened tonight. For the moment, however, she was going to do nothing but enjoy the high-flying feeling as long as she could. She wasn’t going to work or weave or talk to anyone. Instead she would simply lie in bed and remember the seawater scent of Achilles’s skin and the feel of Patroclus inside her, and the intensity of the orgasms that had probably done permanent damage to some vitally important area of her cerebellum.

  Lia opened the door to her suite—and found August sitting by the fireplace, playing tug-of-war with Gogo.

  “August?” Lia said, shocked silly.

  He looked up at her and smiled.

  “Did you miss me?”

  PART FOUR

  Eros & Psyche

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Lia demanded. “How did you get in?”

  “I knocked on the front door. Mrs. Banks let me in.”

  “She let you in? She just opened the door and let you in? I’m having a word with her tomorrow.”

  “Women love me. And deerhounds, too, apparently.”

  He said that at precisely the moment Gogo began licking his cheek.

  “This is disgusting.” August winced. “But weirdly pleasant.”

  “Don’t get an erection,” Lia said. “Gogo, bed.”

  Gogo whined but he behaved and slipped through the door to her bedroom.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” she asked August. “I didn’t invite you.”

  “I’m not a vampire,” he said. “I can go anywhere I like, no invitation required. Plus, I told your housekeeper you were expecting me.”

  “Just because they let you loose in the house doesn’t mean you can come into my room whenever you like.”

  “You’re right. I’m wrong. I’ll send roses tomorrow. Wait. You live in a house with a rose garden. Never mind. Your rooms are very Victorian, by the way. I feel like I’m sitting in at teapot. ” He eyed her pink-and-white chintz furniture with suspicion and possible vertigo.

  “My grandmother and great-grandmother both lived in this suite. And you’ve been in here before,” Lia reminded him. She refused to admit August had a point. Her suite was a bit fussy. On purpose. No one expected a madam to live in a suite this twee.

  “In the dark,” he said. Then, quieter, “I think I liked it better in the dark.”

  Lia kicked off her shoes and walked to her rose chintz love seat, keeping it between her and August like a security barrier. He remained sitting on the floor where he’d been playing with Gogo.

  “Let’s forget about my suite for a moment, and you breaking into it. What I want to
know is...how did you get into my head like that?”

  “Get into your head?” August asked. “Oh, you mean the threesome, you saucy trollop, you tricky minx, you delicious tart?”

  Lia glared at him. “Yes,” she said. “That.”

  “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. Do you really think you’re the first person ever to fantasize about a threesome?”

  “I didn’t tell you any of that,” she said as she walked over and dropped down onto the love seat. “So, what I want to know is how it happened.”

  “Do I need to draw you a chart?” Lia’s glare became more glaring. “It was your fantasy.”

  “Yes, but you guide the fantasies.”

  “You think I do,” he corrected. “You want to believe it’s all guided hypnosis or whatever other rational nonsense you’ve come up with. But I already told you, the cup belongs to Eros, and when you drink out of it, it lets you experience your fantasies. You wanted a threesome with Achilles and Patroclus, the Rose Kylix gave you a threesome with Achilles and Patroclus.”

  “You still believe in Father Christmas, too?” she asked him.

  “Are you trying to tell me it’s the tooth fairy who puts all those gifts under my tree? Balderdash.” August sat back against the armchair, facing her.

  “You could sit in the chair.” She pointed. “As opposed to sitting against the chair.”

  “I don’t like chairs,” he said. “I only sit in them when I have to. We need to bring back Greek couches. Better for digestion. And making love. Missed opportunity for IKEA.”

  “I’ll trade my love seat for your chair,” she said.

  “Done.”

  They swapped positions. She sat in the armchair and he took the love seat across from it. And, of course, he didn’t sit in it. He lounged on his side, and reposed himself like Caravaggio’s Sleeping Cupid.