She wanted to kneel on the cool kitchen floor and take Geoff's cock in her mouth. He'd push deep into her throat as Chris stood next to her, stroking his own erection while watching her service Geoff. She'd slide off Geoff and put her mouth on Chris, bringing him so close, yet Geoff's hand would wind into her hair, tugging her away and putting her back to work on him again. Back and forth, until eventually each one would come in her mouth. In the last moment, Chris might pull free and let his seed spill over her breasts. Both men would watch as she rubbed that cream into them . . .
This had to be some weird reaction to suppressing her fantasies for so long, because she should be easing back now, slowing down. Instead, she wanted to push herself so far beyond the burn she wouldn't know the difference between pleasure and pain. It would be all about being with them. They wouldn't be able to resist her, not like this.
Geoff tilted her head up to look at him. She knew he was weighing her offer, making a decision. So she kept quiet, but when his lips pursed and she knew he was going to let things play out, a frenzied sense of victory surged through her. His attention sharpened, as if he was seeing something else in her expression, something that injected uneasiness into her crazy swirl of need. She had to do this for them, with them. He might think something was off, but she was fine. It was all good. He had to let her do this. She would lose her mind if he didn't. She'd just had a bone-dissolving climax, but she was so revved up she had to do something. Now.
"If I weren't home," Geoff said casually, "you'd invite the yard man in for a drink of water, wouldn't you? He looks all sweaty and tired, so you're just being kind, offering to let him come in and sit down, take a little rest. Course, he's not expecting to come into the kitchen and see you all naked, is he? That'd be quite a shock, wouldn't it?"
"Y-yes." With unsteady hands, she bent to pick the dress up and spread it over her breasts as if she were still wearing it, never mind that it was a two-dimensional facade, her naked ass still pressed against Geoff.
"Would you like to come in and get a drink? It's a warm day, and I just made up some lemonade." She swept her gaze downward, which would draw Chris's eyes to her breasts, the nipples barely covered by the dress. "Freshly squeezed."
Geoff's snort gave her a tiny smile, but she continued. "You've been working so hard. And you look really hot."
She let her gaze travel deliberately over Chris's shoulders, down his chest. She loved the layer of brown hair over his pectorals and abdomen and wanted to thread her fingers through it and tug. Caress the hollow of his throat, kiss and taste the salt of his perspiration there. She'd drawn out the comment to exaggerate the double entendre, but her playfulness disappeared into a coil of relentless need. She wanted Chris within touching distance.
Chris picked up on the shift, the humor dancing in his gaze fading away. His expression suggested he was more hungry than thirsty, and she was the main course . . . and dessert. "Yes ma'am. That's very kind of you. I'll be right in. Just need to put away my tools and wash up."
"Oh . . . don't." She moistened her lips. "I mean, about the washing up. I prefer you dirty."
His heavy-lidded gaze would have done Cary Elwes proud. "As you wish."
"God, he knows that line makes my knees weak," she muttered as he left the window.
Geoff dropped a kiss on her shoulder. "Yet now he understands why."
As Geoff drew away from her, she stayed at the sink, watching Chris pick up the rake and hoe, returning them to the toolshed. Whatever was going to happen in the kitchen, he understood he wasn't likely to be outside for a while, and Chris took meticulous care of his tools.
Geoff placed a glass of lemonade on the counter in front of her, bringing her attention back to him. He gave her a serious wink, turned and put the pitcher back in the refrigerator.
Instead of coming back to her side, he moved to the kitchen doorway and stepped out into the hallway to lean a shoulder against the frame, a key player exiting stage left to make way for the next act. Only in this case, he also became the director, providing her fragmented mind much-needed focus.
"You're feeling the anticipation," he said in a low voice. "He doesn't know he's going to walk into the kitchen and find you naked. Drop the dress, Sam."
At the direct order, the cloth slipped from her hand to the ground.
"Got butterflies in your stomach, as if he's the yard guy in truth?"
She nodded, a nervous smile on her face. In Geoff's countenance she saw a combination of ruthless Dom, understanding friend and new lover, all of which initiated another surge of butterflies.
"Strike a pose for him. Something to make his jaw drop on the floor."
Picking up the glass, she held it in one hand, bracing her other on the sink so she could shift to one hip. Tossing her hair back over one shoulder, she adopted a casually provocative stance. Geoff's heated approval, his lazy head-to-toe appraisal, bolstered her confidence. And made her more nervous, in a good way. "Christ," he murmured. "You're every man's fantasy."
Her stomach leaped when Chris knocked. He actually knocked. But he would, wouldn't he, if the woman of the house invited him in? She wondered if any of his customers had ever tried this on him before. He'd never reveal such a thing to her or Geoff, not in casual conversation. Chris was a gentleman. But had any of those women succeeded at what she was about to do? She banished the unpleasant thought. It didn't matter anymore. He was hers now. Truly hers.
"Come in," she said. Was it crazy that her voice was thick, her pulse thudding as if he really was a relative stranger, coming in to sip her lemonade with the potential of seduction dancing between them? Or ravishment. Whether or not it was twisted of her, she got a definite charge from that idea. A forced seduction took choices away and let her get lost in the pure dark joy of it.
When the yard boy came to do the weekly mowing, weeding and cutting, she saw how he watched her. She was a sexually mature woman. The look in his serious, intent eyes, the russet color of an animal's, the set of his firm mouth, told her what he was thinking and wanting.
Since the best fantasies were an overlap of fantasy and reality, Sam could recall a hundred instances where she'd seen that look in Chris's eye. Because she now knew what it had meant, her heart tightened as much as her pulse leaped. This was what Chris had always wanted and what she could now have in reality. Not just in play or fantasy.
He opened the door, coming to a halt at the sight of her standing in front of him without wearing a stitch.
"It was such a hot day . . ." she said. Her voice trailed away, abandoning the silly line. He stood in her kitchen in just his work shoes and jeans, his cock a thick bar sculpted by the straining fabric. The rise and fall of his breath, the fix of his glittering eyes, the strands of hair scattered over his brow, the light curl of his hands at his sides, took the playfulness right out of her. But she tried to stick with her role and her intent--to wrap her lips around that engorged organ fighting to get free of his pants.
"Why don't you sit there?" She pointed to the kitchen chair.
"No," he said, and moved toward her. Her grip tightened on the glass. She felt inexplicably jumpy as he stopped in front of her. He was so much bigger. Hot, sweaty, vibrating with life and male energy. He ran his fingers along the glass, collecting the condensation off the side, and brought it to her lips, painting the wetness there. Tilting his head to study her breasts, he touched the tip of one, a kiss of cool, wet sensation.