Still Life In Chocolate

Citation preview

Still Life in Chocolate

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part without express written permission. 2

Deborah Boyer

STILL LIFE IN CHOCOLATE © 2005 Deborah Boyer

Chapter One There's perks living downwind of industry in Hershey, Pennsylvania, where a rarified sweetness sometimes wings through the valley to puddle at the foot of the mountains. A sporadic visitor most of the year, the scent usually shows up long enough to skip through the farmyard and invade the house, searching for appreciation. Until August, when the humidity hovers in the nineties and manufacturing steam begins its rise toward Halloween and Christmas. Then the faint whiffs of buttery, dark raw cocoa swell into ever more frequent eddies until, for days on end, every last inhale is thick with chocolate. And although it's hard to believe that the air we breathe can be fudgy enough to permeate everything, sheets hung to dry will cling to their chocolate perfume well into January—which is why I have a linen closet the size of a small country. Unfortunately, while my still life in chocolate is fine most of the time, that particular geographic fringe benefit occasionally has a double-edge. Like many women, under the assault of the age-old aphrodisiac, my libido sparks brighter. So when a girl's been deprived of intimate company far too long, waking from a wicked erotic dream into a cocoa bean-infused morning is a cruel reminder. Bed clothes wrapped around my throat like sodden chocolate pythons, pure confection slid over my tongue. Reluctant to leave my faceless partner's arms, I gulped and stretched with a groan. The dream had been so vivid, each kiss and stroke revealed in such glorious detail that the sensation of an erection slipping between my lips lingered. Damn Rune for taking up with Brenda. If he wasn't so busy trying to fix something that's not broken to begin with, he would be where he always is, at the top of my list for a Friday morning flesh-fest. But so long as he stayed attached, I wouldn't dream of interfering. Not this girl. Not with three step-daddies to my name and soon, a fourth. I've been called lots of things but The Other Woman will never be one of them. Still, Rune and I liked to have our cake and play with the icing, too. He would probably read my mind and tease me unmercifully. Although I hoped not too unmercifully, because hormones had my morals on the knife edge of reason. There existed the distinct possibility that I could ignore all angels camping on my right shoulder, cheerfully join the devils on my left, and do it—and him—with very little regret.

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But before I could extricate myself from tangled sheets and thoughts, movement at the window caught my attention. Neatly outlined in sunshine, a goat feasted on the red geraniums in the flower box. Nana's flowers. The stinking goat was devouring Nana's favorite flowers. Those blooms were the last living things of hers my black thumb managed to keep. I rolled out of bed and onto my feet with a roar. The startled goat took two hasty steps back, but there it halted, examining me with stubborn yellow suspicion. It's one thing to know you're horny as a billy goat. It's another thing for one to show up and mock you. Muttering low opinions of people who don't look after their livestock, I yanked on clothes and headed for the kitchen. Sporting sexy good-morning scruff, his furry bare chest already awash in a delicious, humid sheen, Rune called from the table, "Coffee's fresh." "Later," I growled, not meeting his eyes and aiming for the back door, "there's a goat eating the geraniums." Rune followed me onto the porch, where our appearance interrupted the renegade diner's buffet. A casual swing of its long neck, and the goat decided the lawn looked appetizing, too. "What the hell," Rune said, "where did it come from?" The goat chewed, we stared. "The folks who bought Johann's place?" I guessed. "Warren Grayber said they got a dozen, but I thought they were opening a karate school." "Folk," Rune said. "There's just one guy. Some old Marine giving self-defense classes." As if judging its odds of reaching the marigold-trimmed dessert tray flanking the porch steps, the goat snapped toward us and stilled. In full riot, Rune's thick, chestnut hair begged to be subdued. My fingers curled into fists of resistance but when his arm brushed my shoulder, my renegade nipples saluted the attention. Abruptly putting space between us, I said, "What's hanging around its neck?" "Dog tags?" He turned to where I had been and frowned. Locating me at the rear, he flashed a knowing smile and speculatively traced his finer-than-fine abdomen. "What's the matter with you?"

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As if he didn't know. While he may think working at the quarry for twenty years gave him nothing more than a tidy pension and encroaching arthritis, he was so wrong it made my teeth ache. In my opinion, the biggest return on his hard labor was the way it turned my gangly childhood playmate into a hardbody that continues to rival kids half his age. Rather than spar with Rune—or fixate on the waistband of his athletic shorts and how one tug would reveal his scrumptious obliques—I edged toward the goat and patted its head. Nickering, it butted my hip, but didn't object to an examination of the tin squares dangling from a beaded chain. "Dog tags," I confirmed. "Madison, S., USMC." "That's the new guy." "Jackass," I muttered. "No," he snorted, "it's a goat." "Thanks, genius." Normally I would laugh, except sharing space with Rune dripped with the threat of physical intimacy, and laughter could be dangerous. Very, very dangerous. "What are we going to do with it?" "I'll tether it for now," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "and drop it off before I go to Brenda's. Pete Lenker is bringing the Bel Aire this morning—and he wants the big package." Don't we all. Along with Rune's work-out stuff, the only horsepower gracing our barn shunned oats for pistons and carburetors. Detailing the Bel Aire could turn a nice profit and Rune's business could use the exposure before the annual car show in September. Still, itching with frustration and far beyond annoyed, I wasn't about to wait half a day for satisfaction. Tethered or not, the damned goat would raze every bit of green it could reach within hours. "I'll do it now," I said. "How?" he asked, Rune-speak for 'nobody drives my truck'. "Walk." "It's not a dog. And it's like a mile." "Only half a mile if I go through the corn." "It's awful hot," he pointed out, "and getting hotter." Rolling his unintentional innuendo on my tongue, the texture of the chocolate air agreed. Relief from the humidity wouldn't arrive until well after sundown, if at all. Her memory closer to

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the surface that usual, Nana came to mind. On oppressive summer days, she would take a healthy sniff and declare, 'Lord have mercy, heaven's melting indeed!' I watched Rune secure our four-legged guest. Deodorant commercials have it all wrong. There's nothing more tantalizing than a well-built, sweaty man. Suddenly even more determined to control the things I could and ignore the things I couldn't, within a few minutes I perched on the edge of the porch, pulling on socks and boots. Either I could spend the morning resisting temptation, or I could try to expend my excess energy. Hair twisted and clipped high, baring my sticky neck drew a sigh of relief. Casting a malevolent glare at the unconcerned escapee, I acknowledged my foul mood owed more to Rune's unavailability than it did the goat. We hadn't slept together in six months and my crawling need conjured excuse after excuse for ignoring my standard attachment ban. Not that preservation of our decades-long friendship forbade me savoring the past, like my one and only fond memory during the year after Nana died. The day Martha Zook arrived with a sympathy pie and two casseroles—and discovered Rune standing buck naked under the sprinkler while I pulled weeds. Rune, immodest instigator that he is, remained where he stood with ordinary ease—he's always been just as comfortable undressed as he is dressed. The kicker was Mrs. Z never, not even once, looked at me. For the entire ten minutes she chatted, she stared at his wet body and nothing else. Not that I blame her. He is a KandyKake of a man—peanut butter and sweet sponge cake enrobed in crisp chocolate. After Martha left, I accused him of trying to make the poor woman as wet as he was, and his horrified objections made me laugh until my stomach ached. And then we had sex—long, slow, incredibly hot sex, spread under the sprinkler, in the shade of the walnut tree. Other scintillating memories crept to the surface to complement the vision, and by the time I prepared to step into the cornfield, sex filled every corner of my mind. Deprivation remained the culprit and I impatiently shook fantasy away. Beyond masturbating, which I was pretty sick of, nothing to do but work it off. As Rune predicted, the day was already too hot for jeans, but they were as necessary as boots and the long forked stick I fetched from the spring house. Plows often avoid boulders. Boulders create shade. Shade invites snakes. And surprised snakes tend to be even crankier than me. Surprisingly, the goat didn't resist my lead and ten strides past the side of the house, we melted into the cornfield. Using the distant chocolate factory towers as a GPS, I headed for the tractor trail.

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Corn swelling toward harvest immediately whisked away some of my funk. Cooler in the crop, the ripe ears swayed under their weight, creating nature's unique air conditioning. The shortcut seemed to be an excellent choice. The corn would give me a measure of solace and ask only that I lead the goat through its rows without harming too many stems. The Johann farm lay two cornfields further into the valley and I set an appropriate pace to sanely cover the distance in the heat. The goat nipped at waving weeds as we passed, but apparently the posy repast left it sated. Nothing like a good meal, or good exercise, to cure a body's restlessness, animal or human alike. Stupid goat had no idea how fortunate it was to have a herd of partners to choose from. I could hit town come evening, peruse the vacationing throng, but that would probably be just as frustrating. Commitment might not be my thing, but neither are one-night stands with strangers passing through. Even if they were, since most of the tourists clogging the roads were families, the menu selection was usually even more inaccessible than Rune. Not that it precluded the random human goat from straying to a local fling. But, unlike the male animal at my heels, even offered a herd of options, I required a single man and had no interest in bolstering some middle-aged father's sagging esteem. Still, the older I got, the rarer a lone man became. Yet another sorry fact I must accept until such time as an unattached, unmarried option arose. Arose, swelled, popped up and waved hello. Visions of dancing erections threatening my mental control, I laughed at my single-mindedness and increased the pace a notch. Long strides loosened my legs while the sun soothed my skin. Each drop steeped in wasted desire, crystal perspiration seeped from my pores and was quickly carried away on the chocolate air. Grasshoppers held court in the weeds, birds gossiped in the trees. Green and yellow fields framed by brown-tipped mountains touched blue horizon, and a perfect Pennsylvania day in the perfect Pennsylvania place reminded me there were much worse fates than mine. Ten minutes later, I reached the Johann pasture in a much better mood. At the corner of the paddock fence, my four-footed charge whickered to its still incarcerated friends lolling in the shadow of the barn. They wasted no energy rushing over to greet the returning inmate, making it a little dicey getting the goat into the paddock without another one getting loose in the process. After a double-check of the gate latch, I headed for the house. A wrap-around porch much like mine surrounded the typical farm abode, offering a shady oasis. The interior door yawning, I rapped on the screen door. Minutes passed with no answer. I shouted cheery greeting. Another minute drooled away. Still nothing.

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Irritation mingled with sweat, creeping from my scalp to drip down the back of my neck. I turned toward the barn, noting the new whitewash. A cherry-picker ladder rested against the side of the building, empty paint cans scattered around its feet. I shaded my eyes and examined the bright, double Distelfink hex sign towering over the top of the ladder. The hex's complexity rivaled the best in Lancaster County. There were several symbols I knew, and a handful that I didn't. It appeared Madison, S. knew his Pow-Wow. The milking door gaped a rural invitation that I took. Inside the barn, silent as a monastery, the ancient timber floor had been cleared of several generations of dairy debris. Thick, rolled foam mats rested against the walls, lending a rubbery tinge to the scent of old hay and new straw that overpowered the chocolate. About to shout my presence, a burst of color highlighted by a shaft of sunlight rooted my feet. Personified and indelible, a tattooed Angel of Vengeance encompassed the back of a man who sat before an easel, and rivaled any painting's impact. Broad shoulders accommodated the celestial wings and her sword tip pierced an unreadable motto, coming to rest somewhere beneath ragged jeans. Although a disheveled mass of black hair trailed down the human canvas' neck to brush the angel's halo, it didn't diminish her realistic, haunted eyes. She was everything and nothing, retribution and mercy, despair and justice, terrible to look upon and beautiful to behold—and may rise from her host at any moment to slash her way through my soul. It took real effort to tear my attention from the embodiment of heaven and hell, and direct it toward the man who carried her. Head bowed, jaw clenched, he sat on an old Shaker chair in front of an unfinished canvas. One hand spread over the vacant white loneliness next to the portrait of an attractive young man, and at first glance his creator appeared deep in prayer. Propped against the open lid of a scarred, wooden paint box, another canvas bore a charcoal sketch of the valley. Even in simple black and white, I easily recognized the view he had captured. Obviously, an artist of some skill. Although the tense set of his shoulders and an awkward, slightly forward stance belied the notion that he summoned inspiration. Whatever difficulty he concentrated on, his effort filled the barn with a crackling anticipation I was reluctant to interrupt. The longer I stood mute, the less attention I paid the angel and the more I gave to her absorbed host. If she was breathtaking, he was magnificent. Tanned deep copper, his unpainted skin gleamed in god-like splendor and spiked my saliva with an imagined salty tang. A bare foot shifted and, straining at the papery denim, a thigh muscle rippled like summer rain. The welldefined bicep pressing his hand onto the canvas twitched. Slowly I came to realize that, for those who could understand, his grief glowed desperate, as clearly displayed as the hex sign's symbolism.

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Sorrow emanated from him brighter than his angel, and I didn't need to see his face to confirm it coursed through him infant and raw. Because I know the pain that pours from a heart like water in the beginning. I understand how hard it is to brick up the well, and how time is the only mortar that will stem the flow. I also knew if he prayed, he made no peaceful entreaty. Yet, other than bluntly asking after his loss and offering commiseration, there wasn't much use for the empathy that held me immobile. Behind me, chocolate wafted through the door and curled through the barn like a lover, thickening my throat and returning my senses—but leaving me no less rapt. On the verge of clearing my throat to announce myself, when he spoke first, I bit off a startled yelp. "Been sitting here all morning," he said without opening his eyes. "No matter what I do, I can't get her onto the canvas." No chit-chat, but straight to the point. The spell broken, I ventured, "Maybe you're trying too hard." His chuckle held no humor. "My therapist would disagree. She thinks I'm reluctant to paint truth." Scooping a t-shirt from the ground, he yanked it on before covering the portrait with the valley view. I missed both of his skins the second they disappeared. "Are you trying to paint someone you've lost?" I asked, and immediately regretted the rude question. "Something like that." He secured the paint box with a snap. "If I can immortalize her one last time here," he patted the canvases, "then maybe I can finish letting her go here." He patted his chest, then added a shrug. "But enough of that. How can I help you?" Mentally cataloguing a dozen salacious ways he might not take kindly to, I chose the prudent road instead. "I live on the other side of the corn. I take it you're Madison?" With a nod, he rose from the chair and my knees quivered like a schoolgirl. Tall. So very tall. The ratty jeans encased forged iron thighs and an ass that produced moisture not related to the humidity. Mesmerized all over again, when he turned and started toward me, I stepped back. Heaven's melting indeed, and angels are trickling down a chocolate waterfall to grace the earth. Jay-blue eyes studied me through thick lashes. Not an elderly soldier easing into retirement, but a ruggedly attractive man redefining prime age male. Grist for my body's empty mill, Madison's delicious presence grew as the gap between us shrunk. Faced with an allure no sane woman could ignore, my nipples threatened to pierce my bra and, by the time he held out his hand, I was definitely wet inside as well as out.

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"I'm Sam." My grin refused to be squelched. "Hello, Sam I am." A raised brow assessed my temporary insanity. "If you're going to ask me if I like green eggs and ham, I'll have to ask you to leave." I hastily cleared a second giggle from my throat and shook his hand. "Kes. Harper." "Kes," he repeated with a nod. When his long fingers enveloped mine, the walk-cured itch returned in a hail of gooseflesh. Skipping down my spine, it slipped between my thighs, a secret on the brink of revelation. Damned if I didn't want to groan out loud. Instead, I simply said, "I brought your goat home." "My dog tags, right? That's Billy the Kid." He ruffled his hair and a shy grin magnified my interest. "I figured if he's so determined to become roadkill, he needed something better than an ear tag. I hope he didn't cause any trouble." Gathering my emotions into an untidy pile, I took a deep breath. "The bastard ate my grandmother's flowers." "Shit, I'm sorry. Please, tell her I'll replace them." It came out before I could stop it. "She's dead, too." Deep unreadable pools, his blue eyes studied me with practiced efficiency and I blushed. Now what the hell did I say that for? A yummy man stood near enough that I could smell him even through the chocolate and hay—warm, spicy cinnamon, tart lemon, exotic, soapy Egyptian musk—and I babbled about having dead folks in common. I hastily backtracked. "I don't mean to snipe. She's been gone four years, but I miss her a lot this morning." "No wonder Billy upset you," he said. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss." "Thanks." I attempted a smile. "Hard at first, but—anyway, I thought I'd walk him home, get over it by the time I got here. And sure enough, I am." "You walked?" He went to the door and gazed across the fields. "That's a hell of a march on a day like this."

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I liked it better near him. I didn't like him way over there. The angel's colors beckoned even through the thin white t-shirt, so I joined him at the door. "It's not too bad. We hardly ever use the air conditioning. I guess we're just used to the heat." "Guess so." Surveying the horizon like a hunter, he pointed toward the mountains. "The red barn by the pond?" "Yes." He nodded again but said nothing more. "Come for a swim any time," I said to fill the space. He ruffled his hair, swiped the back of his neck, and returned to a masked consideration of my face. "That sounds wonderful, actually. Sure you don't mind?" Either my imagination shifted into overdrive, or a hint of loneliness stole through his eyes. Full of grief and alone, perhaps he simply needed a friend, not a horny neighbor slavering over him like a hound. "Of course not." Turning back to the view, Sam heaved a sigh and ruffled his hair yet again. In my current condition, that habit could easily drive me crazy. Every time he did it, I wanted to press his face between my naked breasts and use a handful of the shiny waves to steer him south. Silence stretched. I didn't rush to break it. Rune liked to choose his words sometimes, too. Content to bask in Sam's magnetic force, I let my mind wander while he decided what he wanted to say. Eyes bluer against the mountain backdrop, he finally asked, "Would it be okay if I walk back with you? I could use a little exercise, too." "Sure." Taking the opportunity to again survey thighs capable of choking quite a few things out of a woman, I indicated his bare feet. "But you'll need boots. In case there's snakes." Casual disappeared in a flash. Thumbs at his inseams, soldier at attention, he spat, "I hate snakes. Scare the fuck out of me." "Well," I said, "we certainly can't have you fuckless." "Sorry." Good humor softened his chin. "A friend's been trying to break my F-word habit, but she hasn't been very successful."

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"Obviously." "Seriously though, I detest snakes. I'd rather face a pissed-off Hun than a snake." A pair of weak spots in all that physical power made my mouth water. "Oh come on, they're just as scared of you, as you are of them. Besides, if any show up, I promise to save you." "Swear?" "Swear." I brandished the forked branch. "That's what the stick's for." He did need a friendly distraction. Maybe not the same kind of friendly distraction I needed but there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than lazing in the pond with a gorgeous neighbor. Trying not to hoot like I won the Powerball jackpot, I took a seat on the porch and waited for him to change. No sooner did I get my skipping libido under control than Sam emerged from the house more than sufficiently booted, with a towel bundled under his arm. The tight-laced military boots next to the ragged denim hugging his thighs reminded me of a boy ready to explore. But there the mirage ended. He was no boy, and the explorations he summoned to mind bore little resemblance to building forts in the woods. What they did summon, however, rewhetted my senses. Beautiful eyes, a body that would be scrumptious soaking wet and, irresistible on its own: any man pining for a woman forever lost has a story to tell, and curtailing curiosity isn't my finest skill. I quickly led the way into the crop, where the fresh, green corn loom supported wefted chocolate threads, producing a wondrous aroma. Sam two paces behind, within a few rows we journeyed alone in the world, accompanied by the sounds of silk-shrouded sentries whispering from paper leaf posts, calling warning to the stalks up ahead. About three-quarters of the way home, Sam called, "Can we stop a sec, Kes? I need to readjust." Before my overactive imagination supplied what he meant to adjust, he had a boot open and tugged the top of a thick athletic sock from its depths. "Damn things bunch up." With Sam crouched at my feet, I took the opportunity to again hunger over his sculpted biceps. He glanced up and I did my best not to gawk at the delectable picture he presented. The tshirt plastered to his chest with sweat provided more than a hint of the muscular torso underneath. The jeans, while not tight, fit to perfection. The curve of his ass as solid as the rest of him, it begged a girl to wrap her legs around his hips.

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I'm not particularly promiscuous. Neither am I a blushing novitiate. And my heart, as always, was miles from needing a relationship. Still, a new next door neighbor is only the best candidate for casual sex according to Penthouse. In reality, it was a dicey proposition until we were better acquainted. Though, good sense aside, I couldn't have found a better candidate for my restlessness if I hit the streets and trawled for one. Evidently satisfied with the state of his socks, Sam reached for his abandoned bundle. Too busy watching the miracle of flexion in his arms and legs, I didn't see the black snake nosing into the dark space beneath the towel until Sam whipped it from the ground and the snake stretched forward, searching for the vanished shade. "Fuck me!" Haunches in mid-air, Sam scrambled backward, narrowly avoiding the flickering tongue. More of the snake's five foot length slid from the corn rows, pursuing his motion. While a string of curses, memorable for their variety as well as their ingenuity, spilled from my frantic companion, I remained calm. It was, after all, only a black snake doing its part to prevent Bacchanalian rodents from teeming through the harvest. A quick push of my stick's fork into the dirt neatly trapped the snake behind its head. Unable to halt his stumbling retreat gracefully, Sam fell into the stalks and, accompanied by the zip of shredding fabric, ended up smack on his behind. I laughed. I laughed so hard, I almost lost my hold on the snake. "I'm—I'm—sorry," I hiccupped. "I know it's not funny." Abashed as a ten year old, Sam climbed to his feet and gingerly rubbed his embarrassment. "Don't apologize. I'd laugh too, if a rock wasn't imbedded in my ass." He eyed the snake like he wanted to stomp on it. "These are my favorite jeans and now they're history." "Don't," I choked. Holding back more laughter required monumental willpower, so I turned my attention to the thrashing reptile instead. Motioning Sam away, I released it. Mother Nature never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, without so much as another flick of its tongue, the snake fled swiftly into the undergrowth. "You're safe now," I chirped, quite ready to start sniggering again. Sam's grin full of evil intent transformed my laughter into a strangled gasp. A grin like that could part my legs, no questions asked. A grin like that suggested while it may be unfair to judge a lover by his cover, Sam was entirely capable of fucking a woman's brains out with consummate skill—and just as capable of making her beg for more. Turning around, gruff and low, he asked, "How bad is it?"

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Staring at the white skin visible through a long tear in the seat of his jeans, I wanted to smack my lips. The old Marine dressed commando and it was all I could do not to drop to my knees and sink my teeth into the superior clenched glut. "Guess I'll have to go back," he said over his shoulder, "unless I want to parade home in my swim trunks." A tease is as a tease does. "No," my reply was damningly breathless, "we're almost there. If you can manage another hundred yards, I'll dig up something to cover your..." "Stupidity," he finished with an abrupt about-face. "Fair enough." The grin suppressed didn't lessen its impact. His bottom lip invited a nibble, and I squelched yet another silly sigh by resuming the course toward home. Within minutes, we stepped out of the corn and Sam paused to look around the welcoming farmyard. As we skirted the brick red barn, his interest focused on the hulk of my ancient Delta 88, complete with all the dents that even Rune's assiduous polishings couldn't hide. "Great beast," he said appreciatively, "my brother had an 88 when we were kids." I chuckled. "For what I've paid over the years to keep it on road, I could buy a Lexus. But I'm not big on change and she's still a fine example of two tons of American steel." "Sure is—and there's some serious muscle under that hood." I just bet there is. To keep my gaze from wandering to Sam's prominent package, I mentally swatted my lechery and headed for the house. Mounting the three steps onto the porch, his curiosity turned toward the open door of the attached springhouse. Hissing like a rattler, a huge black and white tabby bolted from the dark interior and circled his ankles with menacing growls. "That's AJ." I opened the back door. "Pay no mind. He thinks he owns the place, and the only thing he likes more than killing crows is hating men." Sam ushered me ahead, still protecting his backside, but AJ hurried past us both, stifflegged and in full intimidating puffery. AJ went straight under the table and I went straight to the fridge. "Among other things," I continued, "his unmitigated determination to exterminate the entire crow race earned him his name. AJ stands for Adolph Jr." Sam snorted. "The black smudge under his nose doesn't hurt the resemblance either."

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"Uncanny, isn't it?" I offered him a bottle of water. "Thanks." Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the laundry room, he frowned. "Are you married?" I followed his stare. Hanging jauntily from the wooden drying rack were a pair of Rune's silk boxers. Not like Rune to be so distracted by woman problems that he forgot one of his favorite seduction tools. "No." I slipped past him and rummaged through the dryer. Tossing a pair of 501 cut-offs at my guest, I said, "Here, you can see if these fit." He threw an unspoken question back. "I always keep extra clothes on hand," I said, "for all the stray men I drag home." Sam looked back and forth between me, the boxers, the shorts and finally the glaring cat still crouched under the table. His eyes seemed a darker color now, like ocean swells in twilight. God, they spoke volumes, and at that moment, they said he thought I could be serious. No stopping a laugh. "Don't look at me like that. I'm kidding. I have a house mate. He's away for the weekend. The cat doesn't like him, either." A twitch of his lips said I successfully read his mind and if I wasn't mistaken, it pleased him. "Friends of mine have a cat named Rocky—you know, like Sylvester Stallone? Funny how they take on namesake characteristics." "Ain't it just." For the second time in as many hours, I heard Nana booming the same words. I stripped off my boots and socks, wriggled my toes. "Damn it's hot today, even for me. Do you want to hit the pond right away, or can I offer you lunch first?" "Lunch would taste great." "I'm going upstairs to change. You can use the laundry room. I hope those shorts work— you might be a little bigger than Rune. If they don't, I'll see what else I can scrape up." *****

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I sailed downstairs, more comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt over my sexiest bathing suit top—the hooks decorating the corset-like tankini fascinated Rune and would hopefully make a similar impression on Sam. But before I could make a grand entrance, I realized a cat-man standoff was in progress. AJ had transferred to the top of the refrigerator. Emitting a continuous, low rumbling growl, his tail-tip twitched as he warned off the stranger with a glare designed to cower any prey, human or otherwise. Ignoring him a little too studiously, Sam's attention seemed more focused on the Winchester shotgun hanging above the back door. Then the fact that Sam had squeezed into the cut-offs smacked my senses. At a slight angle in the full light of day, his body stopped my descent like the cement wall it resembled. Below the powerful shoulders, his upper arms were strongly defined, as were the fine muscles embracing his ribcage, attesting he labored for himself rather than at a fancy gym. The hard ass led to heavy, blessedly-bare thighs and below them, muscular calves led to well-formed feet. I involuntarily licked my lips—his legs owned just the right amount of hair. Totally masculine without being too bearish. Just the sort of legs my fantasies always envision tangling with. Forcing my feet to take another step broadcasted my arrival. He turned and glued me to the bottom landing with a stare as equally intimidating as AJ's. If I was impressed by the side view, the front view froze my lungs, and the chocolate air settled onto the back of my tongue to await resumption of automatic functions. Roped triceps hugged Sam's collarbone. Still damp from his exertion, subtle fur spread from the center of carved pecs, growing sparse beyond his nipples. Hair led downward in a thick line to splay in moist waves across a flat belly. The shorts were definitely too small, as evidenced by the button fly. The top two buttons weren't fastened, treating me to a strong preview of just how thick the fur became before it joined what covered his inner thighs. I shifted attention back to his face, only to find Sam appraising me in much the same manner. When he looked away and ruffled his hair, I knew I passed inspection, too. "Are they comfortable?" Indicating the shorts with my chin, I stepped off the landing. "A pair of short sweats might give more in the waist." "These are okay. I don't mind them like this, if you don't." Silver something flashed through his eyes; either amusement or a simple judgment of my reaction. Not that he seemed embarrassed, or overtly used the situation for seduction. More that he was unconcerned about his body—that it was what it was, and although he knew it, there was no flaunting intended. Reminded of Rune's nudist nature, I chuckled. "Fine by me. I'll just go with an old saying." I waved at the shotgun. "If I see anything I haven't seen before, I'll just shoot it."

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For the first time, Sam's laughter was full. "I guess that's enough warning served." He caressed the shotgun's carved stock. "She's a beauty of a Model 12. Mind if I have a look?" "Sure, go ahead." Gathering sandwich supplies, I asked, "Lebanon bologna okay?" "Yes." Experienced fingers traveled over the Winchester. "And if it's not too strange to ask, do you have something chocolate?" "How about a chocolate coke?" "Excellent. I haven't had one of those since I was a kid." After sighting the shotgun toward the laundry room, he cracked it open for deeper investigation. Quickly constructing three sandwiches—a big guy like Sam would want two—I fished large beer mugs from the cupboard. "And that's not a strange question in August." I wanted to trace every last detail of that gorgeous angel with the tip of my tongue and had to concentrate on not slicing my hand along with the bologna. Some tats are nice. Some, like Sam's, even admirable. But I never lusted after one before. "The last few days have been particularly brutal," I rambled, "because the cocoa bean processing plant's on overtime. When we hit the pond, close your eyes and take a big breath when you break the surface—for a second, you'll really believe you're swimming in liquid chocolate." "Sounds decadent." "It is." I filled the mugs with ice and dumped the empty trays into the sink. "You know a lot about guns? Rune—my roommate—heard you were a Marine." "Yes and yes." Again, no more information than what I asked for. Typical female offering a shoulder, I wanted to crack him like a walnut and dig around his brain. Unfortunately, well-ingrained good manners insisted on no blunt questions about the woman he lost. Straws. I needed straws. I searched through the junk drawer. The ice melted with a clink. Help from Sam would move him around the kitchen, give me ample opportunity to gather information without leering. "Can you get the chocolate syrup and soda from the fridge?" "Sure." The fridge sprouting his butt would be very nice. Above the sink, a sterling ice-tea spoon protruded from a clay vase on the windowsill. The same spoon my grandmother used for the

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same purpose, in the same spot it had been for as long as I could remember. "When me and Rune were kids," I continued in an effort to draw him out, "Nana used to tell us the reason it smells so good in the summer is because it's so hot, heaven melts around the edges. Then she'd make us chocolate cokes and—" Sam opened the refrigerator and I no sooner grasped the spoon handle than AJ made his move. At the speed of sound, extended claws scored the interloper's back. Sam yowled and I knocked the vase into the sink, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. His dilemma immediately forgotten, the shards of broken pottery brought tears to my eyes. Sam dumped the soda and syrup on the counter and patted my arm. "It's all right," he said. "He just surprised me." Of course he was all right. He was a strapping mountain of a man with a cat scratch. "No—it's the…the…." I couldn't get it out, and gestured at the broken vase. "Oh." He peered into the sink with concern. "Maybe we can super glue it?" Shaking my head, I swiped away welling tears. "Not a chance." I sighed, collected the pieces and deposited them in the trash can under the sink. "Another piece of Nana I've lost today," I explained, "and it's held this spoon forever." "Traditions are the only things that never break," he said. "Find a replacement that's you, and the tradition will live on." "You're right," I shored my backbone, "a new vase can pick up where the old one left off. Besides, she would've said 'stop crying over spilt milk, Kestrel Lynn' and tsk-tsk me for mourning a thing." Radiating concern, Sam again laid a sympathetic hand on my shoulder and I suddenly recalled why I asked him for help. "It's okay. Seriously. I get misty every time I break something of hers. Not the first time I've done it and definitely won't be the last. She used to shake her head at my two left thumbs. But your back," I faced him, "did he get you deep? Let me see." I examined the ragged wound. A hand-span below the nape of his neck, centered between the top of the angel's head and her halo, four thin lines of blood marred the painted skin. The first-aid kit and a clean, wet cloth quickly produced, I soothed the tiny cuts. The moist, simultaneously warm and cool contact drowned my hurt in a flood of desire. I wouldn't waste any more time regretting the loss of the vase. Once I reached adulthood, my grandmother had been quick to share both the wisdom, and the lack of, in her many youthful peccadillos. Nana would be well aware of the value in the hunk of man at my side, and most certainly give Sam more attention than a piece of dime store pottery.

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Satisfied the scratches were clean, I dabbed on antiseptic. "Fuck," Sam winced, "that burns." Big baby. How men survive all life's little injuries with their lower pain tolerance, I'll never know. I stood tip-toe and blew gently to mitigate the sting. Shoulder muscles spasmed under my hands and I admired their reaction. The vase couldn't offer such a delicious sight no matter how hard it tried. Heart mollified, I smiled at my own joke and sent silent thanks to the woman who raised me to be practical. "That should do it," I said. "One spot might scar some," resistance futile, I traced the angel's cheek, "but thank God, he missed her face." Solemn blue eyes watched while I rinsed the cloth. "A scar's easily covered," he said, quickly adding, "unless I keep it as a souvenir of meeting my new neighbor." A rare moment when I found nothing to say, I flushed with pleasure. It would seem he felt the same attraction. Yet again, myriad possibilities toyed with my imagination. But the kitchen table is no place to make love on a hot, chocolate-drenched, summer day. I chased the cat outside and returned to preparing lunch. Sandwiches neatly folded into paper towels, I refilled the mugs with fresh ice, doused the cubes with a hefty helping of chocolate syrup and added the soda. Foam threatening overflow, I held one out to Sam. "One icecold chocolate Coke to go." He tasted the brew, delight stealing over his face. "This is perfect." "Don't suck it down all at once," I chided. "Tradition also requires we eat under the willow tree."

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Chapter Two

We made a beeline for the pond, where I bustled around like a nesting chicken. Spreading a blanket in the shade of the willow that graced the sloping banks, I paused to survey my handiwork. A tiny breeze floated the barest fingers across the nape of my neck at the same moment Sam's fingers pressed into the small of my back. The twin caresses raised goosebumps down to my toes. "You sure you're okay?" "I'm sure." If he touched me again, I would show him just how sure. Settling onto the blanket, I unwrapped our sandwiches while Sam found a comfortable spot between me and the water. Nibbling at my bologna, I watched him wolf down the first sandwich and stare at the pond. "We had a pond growing up," he said. "On days like this, Mom had to drag me and my brother out by our ears." An opening to learn more about him. "Invite him to come for a swim. Nostalgia can be a great spirit lifter—didn't you say 'traditions are the only things that don't break'?" Hesitation preceded his reply. "He was killed in an accident seven years ago." The revelation prompted deeper curiosity. If his grief owed to his brother, who was the woman he needed to put on canvas? "I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "I have four half-sisters—we were raised apart, but I still can't imagine losing one." Reclining on his side, after another sip of chocolate coke, he further increased his mystery with two simple sentences. "We were twins. Today would have been his anniversary." "Wedding anniversary?" Strange thing to spark a brother's grief. "Yes." As if he realized the statement's oddity, he added, "His wife—widow—and I are still good friends. I stood up for her new husband at the Justice of the Peace a couple weeks ago." That explained a good deal. I ventured an analogy. "The old vase shattered, and the new one might make her forget how much she loved the first one." While nothing I could say would fill the hole in his heart, maybe empathy could ease the doubled emptiness. "That has to be tough."

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If a shrug could be oblique, Sam's fit the requirements. "Not near as tough as our birthday last spring. We—I—turned forty-seven. All of a sudden, fifty is too close for comfort and I never imagined being old without him." I snorted. "Pushing fifty isn't old. I turned forty in May and I've never felt as in control as I have since." Still trying to determine whether he needed to forget the past or whether he needed a sympathetic ear, I teased, "And look at it this way. At least you easily pass for forty. Even wielding a pitchfork, I couldn't convince anyone I'm thirty." Hoping for a laugh, I got a frown. "You look great for any age." "Thank you," I said, warmed by his sincerity, "truly." We fell into comfortable silence. Hands tucked behind my head, I watched a pair of robins navigate the willow's bowed and supple branches. My hairclip stabbed, predicating the ponytail's demise. I released my hair from confinement with a sigh of pleasure. "Damn," Sam said, the oath brimming with admiration. "I didn't realize how long your hair is. It's beautiful." While sorting through several responses, I traced the lines of his face, from the prominent brow to the full mouth supported by a square chin. But like an addict needing a fix, I had no choice but to return to his lapis eyes. All physicality aside, they fascinated me—and conjured questions of how decadent it would be to swim in them while an orgasm peaked. Arguments earlier dismissed as imagination or the influence of the chocolate-covered day dissolved into doubtless knowledge. The way Sam studied me in return, desire spilling between lowered lashes strong enough to burn, it was obvious that if I wanted him, I could have him. His hungry consideration turned to savoring my mouth and by the time he met my eyes again, my body screamed for immediate action. I ached to kiss him but for some reason, didn't want to make the first move. So I waited and hoped. Still, for all the longing in Sam's smoldering examination, he obviously wasn't going to proceed without permission. Touching him suddenly mandatory, I stroked the scruff along his jaw. Finally, his hand slid over my shoulder and down my back, palm coming to rest on the curve of my hip. The long fingers stroked me with the lightest of touches, and my skin's awareness grew to screaming heights. I leaned forward, anticipating his lips. "Kes," he said quietly, "don't start anything you don't want to finish."

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My reply a strangled moan, I threw every shred of caution into the chocolate breeze, and kissed him. No searching, gentle caress, our kiss expanded with intensity. Eyes closed, I embraced the dichotomy of the smooth softness which accompanied our feral lips. I don't know when I moved but as our mouths grew more insistent, and penetrating tongues parried deep, I found myself pressed against Sam's length. A seamless groan parted us and I ranged abroad, nipping his corded neck. His hands traveled over me, stroking shoulder curve, waist and hip with a cyclical precision that brought my nerve endings to new highs. Not to be outdone, nor waste a second, I explored his muscular arms and back, coming to a fluttering rest on the solid rise of his behind. Hunger tightened my grip and I squeezed the solid mass hard. My lips caught his groan and returned it with my tongue. The air was full of cocoa, he tasted of the cold chocolate soda. A gasp of pleasure arched my back. Life was good. Life was beautiful. Losses come, losses go, and our only defense is defiance of change. No past, no future, there was only that moment, where nothing existed beyond the chocolate suffusing the world, and Sam's body tangled with mine. When he eventually broke away, I was intoxicated, breathless. Offering a sober smile, he ran a thumb over my swollen lips and murmured, "This isn't what I came here for." "I know." "I can't offer more than friendship." Interesting. Cards on the table kind of guy. "Good, because I'm not looking for more than a friend." "Kes," he started, and frowned. "What?" I stroked his belly. He caught my hand and held it still. "I'm also a total bastard sometimes." I had to laugh. "I think I can handle that. Me, I've been called things much worse than bitch." Once again rolling onto his side, that implacable lie detector gaze swept me for truth. "Don't get me wrong. I want to make love to you, right now, right here." His first husky statement burrowed into my ears, predicating the shiver produced by the second. "I want to fuck until neither of us can do it again."

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Mouth dry, what he omitted scraped over my lips. "But?" "My heart," he touched my hand on the blanket, "my heart isn't available." Not surprising, given his sorrow. When your heart's not open to your own introspection, it isn't available to anyone else either. While my question might have been out of place in an ordinary conversation, there it carried earnest sincerity. "And your body?" His chuckle renewed the throb in my belly. "Oh, my body's definitely available." "I sense another 'but'." "It's tomorrow I'm worried about. Tomorrow I can't predict." So much for the silent type. Once he got warmed up, Sam had more to say than most men. As for his concern, who can predict tomorrow? Who wants to predict tomorrow? "All I need is the forecast for this afternoon." A grin arrived and he pressed a brief kiss to my lips. "Maybe we should think about this a little more. Things that can't be changed make for ugly neighborhood gossip." I always hated Red Light, Green Light and my opinion of the adult version remained the same. "Yes or no, Sam. Don't play." Turning onto my stomach, I cradled my head in my arms. Hard on the outside and liquid sweetness inside. A chocolate-covered psyche screams vulnerable, and no matter how frustrating, I should leave the next gambit to him. Other interesting men would eventually be found, after all. He wasn't the only one in a tourist town during high summer, not by any stretch of the imagination. Squinting at the pond, Sam obviously continued to war with himself. And while an unimpeded, close-up view of his angel continued to stroke my curiosity, it didn't do a damn thing for my waning excitement. The motto read, 'Let God Sort It Out.' A Marine slogan if ever there was. But the angel's face is what I returned to again and again. Unless they're meant to be a portrait, most tattoo women are as perfect as fantasy should be. But Sam's angel was humanly imperfect. I would bet the farm, and the chance of him sleeping with me, that her face existed somewhere, on someone. On the woman he couldn't put to canvas. I examined him with new appreciation through my lashes. A fine male specimen, with a brain he actually seemed to use. No wonder a tragic affair damaged him. Add another death to the loss of his twin and his hesitation became clearer.

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Injured hearts tend to avoid hurting other hearts. The decision about what we would do lay squarely with him, and he had to sort out the emotions involved. While I waited, my attention had to go somewhere, so it drifted over his chest, following the hairy trail leading to the thicker fur on his belly—a stomach truly a wonder to behold. Not too flat, but in no way soft. A real man's stomach that made my female tummy somersault with glee. Once again I pondered what lay at the end of the sleek arrow that aimed into his half open fly with taunting intent. Sam flopped onto his back and stretched, revealing new territory. Despite his self-control making a good show, mine fled without looking back. Resisting the urge to let a sluttish groan escape alongside my traitorous will, I deliberately reached out and drew a fingertip along the line from pecs to navel. His only acknowledgement a quick intake of breath, I drew my fingernails lightly across his stomach, scratching him like a dozing lion. Although his lips twitched, he didn't move. Testing further, I tickled down and up through the soft, damp hair. Long minutes passed as I ran my fingers, then the flat of my palm, over the furred stretch, occasionally venturing into his belly button. When I propped my head in my free hand to get a closer look, I was amused to see a definite reaction. Sam pretended not to notice the stroking, but the burdened buttons attached to the borrowed shorts were being sorely tested. A serious bulge strained behind them, and his discomfort had to be growing by the second. Maybe I wouldn't push outright but I could certainly press my willingness to take whatever he wanted to offer. Slipping my fingers lower down the line, I explored the V created by the open waistband. Under the shorts, lycra swim trunks tightly hugged his lower obliques, although several silky curls had escaped that prison. Wrapping one around my finger, I tugged. With a grunt, he turned his head and met my wicked grin. "You seem to have a problem here," I said. "Those shorts are much too tight. Would it be more comfy if I undo another button?" The blue eyes roiled, transmitting so many emotions that I grappled to catch as many as I could before he sent them undercover: hunger, fear, desire, desperation and—power. A power that shocked me for a moment. A power I should have suspected he possessed. A power he grabbed hold of and turned into a smile that knotted my stomach with anticipation and poured heat into my abdomen.

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He licked his lips. All the consent I needed. Before he could say a word, I popped the next button. "Is that better?" My fingers walked further into the break and glided along the wider swath of stretchy green fabric. Sam's face remained unchanged, but his eyes glowed. He shook his head. "No?" I raised my brows, enjoying the game. "Another one?" I released the fourth button. Sam shifted his hips slightly, allowing an increased range for my snaking quest. It was obvious his trunks curtailed the swell of his erection, trapping it where originally dressed and in what had to be an awkward downward angle. Even with all the buttons unfastened, turning it loose would require additional proactive measures. "Hmmm." I frowned. "Looks like the last button has to go, too." I slid the final button from its noose, skipped my hand through the exposure and headed into the wilderness. Encountering the root of his discomfort, I cupped the mass of his strangled hard cock and wriggled it into a more natural position. Sam hissed when it sprang upward, and I gasped with delight at its measure, half-expecting the head to shove past the swim trunks' waistband like a battering ram. His engorged organ in my palm radiated more heat than the surrounding air. Deep in my abdomen, nature's tap overflowed. Slowly, as if I faced a wild thing snug in its den, I peeled up the elastic, and wedged my hand inside. Pressure increased exponentially to his quickened breaths, I firmly pumped his admirable length, finding an extra helping of eroticism in watching the green fabric stretch and shrink, hinting at, but never revealing, what it covered. Masculine responses are so different from a woman's. We can easily conceal our level of arousal, a man can't. And while Sam's attention remained fixed on my gliding hand, a quiet grunt accompanied a seeping lubrication that both made my mission easier and further whetted my appetite. A squeeze the segue to increasing his pleasure, I determined the appropriate rhythm through signals from his clenched abdominals. If Sam had been without half as long as I had, he either had to stop me, or do something. His breathing shallowed and I slowed my endeavor, gently grinding the ball of my thumb into the perpendicular ridge under his cock's swollen tip. The rapt administration of attention applied to the equivalent of my clit elicited a hip jerk and louder groans, yet Sam remained frustratingly immobile. "Is that too hard?" I murmured.

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"No," he huffed, "it's great." My arousal doubled under his breathy reply and had I been naked, my response would be clearly visible, regardless of my feminine camouflage. Although determined to break the last of his resistance through teasing alone, as the pearls of Sam's arousal arrived in ever-more frequent succession, the burning need between my thighs chipped away at resolve. Still, I resisted temptation and continued to stroke his deliciously bulky—and still covered—cock until pleasure susurrated through his parted lips, punctuated by soft grunts. Already orally inclined, a deep chocolate breath flooded me with undeniable hunger. Not waiting nor looking for permission, I simply leaned over, pulled his pleasure free and, with an unhesitating swipe of my tongue, removed the newest drop of desire as it escaped. Not as calm as he appeared, Sam choked, "Stop." "What?" I asked, as if I didn't understand, and again licked the juicy head protruding from my fist. "This?" Another lick. "That," he growled, grasping my chin. Forcing me to turn my head and meet his eyes, he added, "Unless you're prepared for me to pound you hard and fast within the next two minutes." Already stiff nipples turned to stone, my clit pulsed, my pussy clenched, and my mouth went desert dry. "Fuck," I muttered. "All in good time," he murmured, pulling me up for a kiss that seared his taste into memory. I was prepared, all right. So prepared I might come instantly upon penetration—cock, fingers, tongue, anything that could sate the throbbing want. Through my tankini and flimsy cotton shirt, the heat of his erection bore into my stomach and I wriggled against it. I didn't need two minutes. I wanted to tear my shorts off and spread my legs wide. But Sam continued to kiss me until I abandoned all thoughts of trading swift joy for a heavenly afternoon. Still, while his tongue may have quieted the majority of my body's fever, its darting forays only increased my desire to suckle him. With my leg thrown over his hips, when Sam rolled onto his back, we moved as one. Pushing against the solid expanse of his chest, I straddled his thighs. Gaze clear blue and serious, he again studied me. I lowered my eyes to the head of his erection, the swollen flesh appearing pinched under the tight elastic band. Biting my lip to encourage modest movement in contrast to my thumping

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heart, I peeled away as much of his trunks as I could, and promptly settled my covered crotch directly over the burgeoning temptation. My shorts were pretty baggy. I could capture his cock with my desperate sheath fully clothed. Reading my mind, Sam broke into a knowing smile. Cocking my head, I wriggled for effect and watched the desire in his eyes deepen. Getting no other immediate reaction, I pressed against him hard—soft or not, baggy or not, the old denim molded against my ready willingness, and scraped over my clit like a tongue. I gasped, rocked my hips, searched for more stimulation. Grasping my behind, he held me still. "Hey," he said calmer than his eyes did, "I'm almost bare-assed and you're still dressed." Good point. I slowly pulled the t-shirt over my head and threw it to the side before leaning over, intending to kiss him again. Sam's eyes traveled to my chest and he broke into the same mischievous grin he wore after the snake fiasco. "That looks uncomfortable," he intoned with solemn seriousness. The top hook of my tankini had come undone, although it still did what it was designed to do: keep a full figure stationery by squeezing two breasts into one. "Let's see if we can't fix that." Sam deftly unlatched a few more hooks. His eyes narrowed as my breasts, tightly pressed together as they were, threatened to bulge free. He slipped a finger into the deep cleavage and wiggled. "Nope, didn't help. Still too tight." Riveted to the combination of sapphire amusement and deep salacious navy roiling through his eyes, I held my breath while he deliberately released the remaining hooks—save one. Anticipation beat in my abdomen and I squirmed on his half-naked cock, aching to feel his hands on my flesh. His fingers explored the newly exposed skin. Eyes boring into me, he ran hard thumbs over the rigid peaks protruding through the thick material. I groaned and his responding smile radiated satisfaction. I wriggled again, and with a grunt, he released the last hook and my breasts spilled into his hands. He kneaded gently, lips exploring the sensitive damp skin underneath before bringing my stony nipples into range. I moaned as his tongue flickered over one, then the other. The sensation sent bolts of searing pleasure racing into my crotch, merging into the heavy throb pounding through my clit. He continued to caress my breasts and nipples with his hands and mouth, tongue tracing a cool path from one to the other. Imitating my discarded tankini, he pressed my breasts together,

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sucking my nipples simultaneously. I cried out and arched my back, easing his work. Without hesitation, Sam grunted and redoubled his efforts. By the time he finally released his plump prisoners, my nipples throbbed with a delightful, swollen need for individual attention. Thankfully, disappointment didn't appear to be in Sam's repertoire. One after the other, he lightly grasped my pebbled nipples between his teeth, lashing them with his tongue. I whimpered appreciation, the fudgy pleasure merging with the chocolate air, shattering my imagination into a million shards of possible acts yet to come. A little more pressure from his tormenting teeth, and conduits of erotic sensation pulsed and ebbed while I shuddered and groaned for more. Docility draining away, I wantonly humped my questioning clit into the answer still lodged between my thighs. "Oh, God, yes," I urged, "that feels so good." My hands roamed his body, touching every part I could reach without interrupting him. When Sam paused for a breath, I attacked his lips, and found them hot and swollen in retribution. A regretful groan accompanied his rolling me onto my back. Climbing to his feet, he struggled out of the shorts, arms rippling, gluts taut as he lowered them to the ground. The dark green Speedos molded to his behind like another skin, but a second's pause was all the time I had to admire them before he stripped them off. Standing there, a dreamlike vision in full aroused male glory, his eyes held mine for ransom. Light-headed, I brushed my parted thighs. "If you don't stop staring at me like that, you'll leave me no choice," my teasing fingers crept under the hem of my shorts, "and I'll have to start without you." Without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, he wrapped his hand around his rampant cock and stroked. More a command than a request, low and rasping, he said, "Go ahead." I lifted my hips and slid out of my shorts. Spreading my legs, I drew my nails through the wiry curls, slipped a finger between well-lubricated folds, and pressed on my quivering clit. Hardening further under my touch, the tiny bundle rose in miniature imitation of the hide-andseek erection in Sam's tight fist. "God, Sam I am," I rubbed furiously, "I'm soaking wet." Briefly tugging my nipples with the other hand before descending over my midriff, abdomen, then lower, I was too worked up to care if he helped me reach my peak—for the second one I might be inclined to wait for him, but not the first. Urging my clit from its hood, I firmly thrashed it back and forth.

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My moans were long—and loud. Sam stopped stroking, transfixed on my display. A finger slid easily inside my slick vagina, and I murmured, "Look what you've done to me. I thought you were trying to make me comfortable." He threw back his head and laughed. The mirth milking his Adam's apple wiped away my playful pout, replacing it with a grin of triumph. Whatever ghosts feasted on his sanity, I had, for a moment at least, made him forget. "If you're going to laugh," I said mildly, "the least you can do is keep jerking off." Desire sobered amusement and he returned to his task. Not to be outdone by my exhibitionistic efforts, his unoccupied hand slid over his balls, massaging the heavy sack in time with his pumping other. Nothing more provocative than a hard male manhandling his equipment, I thoroughly enjoyed the show. I rubbed my clit harder, offering extra incentive. "Mmm, yeah, show me how your cock likes it." Under the weight of his eyes, I bucked. Shivers of pleasure producing additional shimmering perspiration, my point of no return quickly approached. My eyes fluttered closed under the rising pressure. "Fuck," I again muttered the word he wanted to abandon, and added a gasping caveat, "I'm almost there, Sam I am." "Not yet." His snarl snapped my eyes open in time to see him dive between my legs. The gentle lion gone, he shoved my thighs apart—and paused. Intent clearly shining in the blue lava, he pushed my hands out of the way and spread my lips. Then and only then did he lower his head with excruciating deliberation, and press the tip of his tongue against my exposed clit. Pleasure leaked from my throat in a sob as I arched into the contact. But, lifting my leg over his shoulder, he denied what I expected and gently nibbled the inside of my thigh. "Come on," I complained, "you might want to wait, but I can't." A growling laugh his reply, the sound burrowed into my abdomen and spasmed through my dripping pussy. Lips and tongue moving closer to my need inch by inch, he built upon my already monumental anticipation. Over and over I moaned my frustration and by the time his insidious oral muscle lapped the edges of my labia, I was nearly screaming for satisfaction. "For God's sake," I hissed, "lick me!" "Lick," his tongue flickered over the spot craving concentrated attention, "or suck?" Urging swollen bud from hiding, he sucked at my clit, tongue barely grazing the trapped bundle. "Oh yes," I moaned, "that's wonderful."

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His mouth embedded in my hunger defeated his hands' purpose. Gripping my ass hard, he pulled my crotch tighter to his face and gave me what I asked for. Tongue whipping fast and hard over the glowing ember of my passion, he proceeded to push me to the brink of orgasm again and again. The man knew how to play. Every time I thought I would surely come, he lessened the intensity by ignoring my clit and exploring other wet recesses until the wave subsided and my hips lay at rest. The fourth or fifth time I reached for the stars, I bucked and writhed, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. My raw need for release escaped in animal grunts. His tongue fled yet again, and I was about to object when two fingers slid swiftly into my grasping tunnel. I pressed into his hand, silently begging to be stretched wider, filled fuller. He continued to pump in and out, other hand replacing his tongue on my starving clit. I pried my eyes open to find Sam watching me intently. My body screamed for ignition and I fervently prayed his teasing was done. My eyes locked on his, I reached for the looming horizon, at once so very close yet not near enough. "Give in to it, Kes." His words streamed through my soul with clipped emphasis. "I won't fuck you until you come." No better incentive existed. With a shout, my hips rose from the blanket to meet the oncoming flood. Like a tidal wave, orgasm washed over me. Each spasm seemed to last an eternity, sucking his still-moving fingers deeper into my pleasure, until the last wave passed on, leaving me languid and limp. "Heaven's melting indeed," I spluttered, blowing like a marathon winner. "For not knowing me very well, you sure found all the right keys." "I've had a lot of practice," he said matter-of-factly. Then more hesitantly, "Seriously, I like watching a woman come. It makes me feel..." "Powerful?" I guessed. "No." His brow furrowed as he searched for the words. "It makes me feel special, like I've been granted a rare glimpse of someone the rest of the world will never see." "Oh," my heart constricted, "that's the sweetest, most beautiful—" "Don't," he cut me off. "Save the reviews for after the main event." Typical. Give a woman a peek at your heart, then run for cover. Still, the man possessed an ignored granite erection which I had yet to taste. "Does that mean I can suck you now?"

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Sam buried his face in my hair and placed my hand on his cock. Barely audible, raw desire catching the words in his throat, he whispered, "A chance to slide into your sweet mouth is the only thing that kept me from coming when you did." My pussy pulsed with the arrival of fresh desire and there was nothing I could say. Pushing him onto his back, I pressed my lips to his. Briefly sucking his tongue, I gave it a playful nip before turning my attention to his throat. Scattering soft kisses over his Adam's apple, my tongue caressed the soft depression below it, enjoying the ambrosial, salty-sweet taste of his skin. Moving upward, I explored to the side. At the sensitive juncture of shoulder and neck, I sunk my teeth firmly into the ridge of his trapezius, sucking on the solid, muscular flesh. Sam gave a low moan and grasped my ass hard. "Hey!" I pushed his hands away. "Lay there and enjoy it. No distracting me." Sam sighed, smoldering eyes voluptuous. I placed a feathery kiss on each lid, his dense lashes tickling my lips. "Well?" I demanded, trying not to laugh. With a final squeeze, he removed his hands from my behind. Tongue traveling over his collarbone, I drew his scent deep. Nuzzling between his pecs, I drew circles from side to side. The firm pectorals twitched beneath my teasing lips, prompting me to capture a tiny, but very erect, nipple and taunt it with the tip of my tongue. Sam's hands slid into my hair. Encouraged, I transferred to the other nipple, savoring his quickened breaths as I repeated the caress. Preparing to abandon the slickened pebble and continue traveling downward, I gave it a quick nip. Sam's breathing hitched and he pressed my face into his chest. Since he obviously enjoyed the ritual, I began to alternate back and forth as he had, sucking and nipping one nub while my fingers teased the other. Sam's appreciative grunts vibrated against my lips, increasing the flood of wetness emerging to tickle my thighs. He had driven me into a mindless froth, so I wouldn't do any less. Depositing a kiss on his solar plexus, I rubbed my face across the furry incline to his navel. The sweat-dampened thicket against my cheek was a backfire taunt, and I moaned. Covering his abdomen with lips, tongue and fingers, I left his belly button slick with moisture. Delineating every ridge and depression of muscle, I dipped into his navel again, taking great pleasure in the way his insanely hard cock bobbed time to reactionary abdominal contractions. Although almost overwhelmed by the need to take him in my mouth and demonstrate my own oral prowess, I somehow continued to take my time. Tongue seeking deep into the crevasses of hip and leg, I breathed the stronger musk of his arousal and savored the soft abrasion of his pubic hair against my cheeks.

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My hand inched up the inside of his thigh until I could fondle the taut sack below his swaying cock. Reaching to tweak a nipple in concert, I was momentarily confused by the tangle of Sam's body hair and mine trailing over his chest and stomach. Inspiration struck and I clambered between his knees, prepared to engage in an act previously bestowed only on Rune. Sam watched me through his lashes with checked lust. Grinning, I slid the weight of my hair slowly across his stomach, over his groin and thighs. With an animal groan, his hips twitched and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. "Like a handful of feathers, isn't it?" I wrapped his cock in my hair, and stoked. "Jesus," Sam swore softly. "Feels good, I know." I continued to manipulate his hair encased organ, dropping my mouth near enough to tease the shiny knob with my tongue. "Much more of that," he rasped, "and your hair's going to get messy." In answer, I captured his cockhead between my lips, sucking hard as I continued to stroke the tress-trapped shaft. "Better stop, Kes." I ignored him and suctioned harder. "I mean it," he growled, abdomen and thighs clenched. Another second and I released him with a pop. Settling onto my haunches to view the return on my venture, I watched him struggle for control. A root gouged my knee and I shifted, parting thighs audibly announcing just how much I enjoyed sucking his scrumptious stick. Concentrating on Sam's responses, I hadn't realized how wet I had stayed. My orgasm lessened my need, but I had been deprived too long to be sated so easily—and by the look on my new lover's face, whether he penetrated my mouth or pussy, he wouldn't last long. Nothing to do but give him the same consideration he gave me. I would make him come with my mouth, then spend as much time as he needed to get ready again. Plan set, I unwrapped my hair from his rod and caught his initial length before he could protest. A surprised hitch of his hips drove him deeper into my mouth and I murmured pleasure around the throbbing meat. Tongue swirling the circumference, I allowed his gentle gyrations to push his cock into my mouth inch-by-inch, until my extended tongue could brush the nested base.

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As my pace increased, a twitch signaled my busy tongue that semen threatened overflow. My teeth raked lightly over the sensitive spot on the underside, bringing Sam's groan to please my ears as well as my cunt. Too soon to let him shoot, I abandoned his shaft and dipped my head between his thighs. Tonguing his balls, I tested their firmness before drawing them between my lips, urging them fuller and tighter. Reversing my method, I returned to the base and, tongue circling slowly upward, lavished the entire length. At the tip, I paused to sip the tears of frustration spilling from the delicate slit. Stomach muscles in spasm, Sam arched his neck with a moan. Filling my lungs with chocolate through my nose, I lurched forward and neatly imbedded his cockhead in my throat. Guttural and loud, Sam's opinion of my trick echoed across the pond. "Fuck fuck fuck." He grappled with my head, yanking himself free of the constriction. "Don't like that?" I grinned, knowing better. Intense as brushfire, his eyes seared me with desire. He wet his lips as if to answer sincerely, but when my tongue flashed out to remove the fresh arousal seeping from his cock, the words became a growling manta. "I like it, I like it!" "What did you say about shooting in my mouth?" I enjoyed the friendly power struggle and couldn't resist adding another taunt from my tongue's perspective. With a snarl, Sam pushed my mouth over his shaft. Pleased with the results of my torment, I remained where he placed me, and waited. "Fuck it," voice thick, he muttered his favorite oath, and began to pump his swollen flesh in and out. For a man, fucking a mouth is a dominant visual yet a submissive act and, by its nature, a primal struggle between those polar positions. While some women may not appreciate it, in my sexual closet there are few finer skeletons, and laced with a wanton perverseness, it drives my pussy crazy with jealous lust. Although I heard his breathing grow ragged, it was obvious Sam held back. I grabbed his hips and squeezed the clenched gluts, urged him to penetrate further. With a sharp intake of breath, he thrust, and the head of his cock slipped past the ring of my throat.

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"God, Kes, that's deep," he rumbled, "are you okay?" My muffled reply unintelligible, I opted for nodding my head. "Are you sure?" How the hell was I supposed to carry on a conversation with his dick stuffed in my throat? Growling with frustration, I pulled away. "I'm fine. I'll let you know if you go too far, you can be sure of that. Meanwhile, I suggest you go with the flow." His chuckle puckered my nipples and raised the hair at the nape of my neck. "I should stop treating you like a rare flower, is that it?" "You got it." Prepared to finish what I started, my mouth aimed to reclaim its toy. But to my great surprise, with a sibilant huff, Sam rolled out of reach. "What the hell?" Simmering under the heat of the sun and slow sex, I scowled. Eyes glittering, Sam's face was a mask of seduction. He grasped my shoulders and quickly deposited me on my back. "No more sparklers," he rumbled, "on to the fireworks." "Mmm, somebody thinks he's in charge." His only response was to place a knee between my legs and abruptly push them apart. While his lips bestowed a ravenous kiss, his pulsating cock nudged my highly sensitized clit. Rolling my hips, I tried to position my needy gate within easy range, coating his siege with copious moisture in the process. Evidently understanding my intention, he slid his cock up and down, grinding more pleasure into my most sensitive spot. Desperate to feel him fill me, I groaned into his mouth, nipped his lips—all to no avail. His weight a delicious inhibitor, he wedged the bare head of his pillar into my starved opening and, when he spoke, his breath tickled my lips. "Tell me what you're thinking," he murmured. "I want to hear what you want." "I want you to fuck me." "Of course you do," slight pressure eased the tip of his cock inside, "but how?" "God." I groaned at the unsatisfactory penetration and arched my hips. Defeating me by lifting his weight, he repeated, "Hard, fast, slow, smooth—there's lots of words for how."

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"Hard, yes—and deep." I was about to blubber with frustration. "Fast, slow, I don't care, just give me that fat prick now." "Delicious." An additional taunt, his soft laugh reduced me to nothing more than a feminine puddle, quivering to be absorbed by a man. "Damn it, Sam," I snarled, "just—" He filled me with one thrust. I cried with rapture as the second stroke, out slow and in fast, allowed me ample opportunity to savor every iota of penetration. Prepared for an insidious climb toward the summit, my vagina pulsed. Instead of answering nature's invitation, Sam resumed his hungry assault on my mouth while my hips rolled, pressed upward, searched for friction. If I could have found words among the sensations radiating from his cock's stretching, I would have begged him for more. "Mmm," he breathed against my ear, "one fat prick, as ordered." He slid out and immediately speared me again, pressing me into the ground, holding me in place. Tunnel spasming fruitlessly around his cock, I found my voice and demanded, "More—I need more! Dear God, Sam, you feel so good—fuck me, please—fuck me hard, fuck me fast, fuck me—" As if he waited for the order, Sam began to piston into me. Speech impossible, I whimpered, moaned, writhed under his driving force. Jockey in the saddle, he pulled my hips higher, riding hard and deep as requested. Tendrils of pleasure spread from my pussy, wrapped me in the haze of approaching orgasm. Reaching, bucking, I dug my heels into his ass and whimpered for release until the sound became a continuous sob of desire. Jaw set in concentration, Sam's answering groans steadily rose in volume until a snarl burst from his chest, announcing his release. The savory sensation of his hot juices mingling with mine served as the final push and my climax arrived seconds after his. Shouting my pleasure, I shuddered toward heaven, each pulse milking his spurting shaft. Tumbling toward pillowy earth, I buried my face in his neck, hiding undeniable thankful tears. Still joined in the aftermath, his weight was a comfort. Content to remain locked in his arms despite the humidity's stickiness, I closed my eyes and willed away my tears as he nuzzled my hair. Crying not the best way to thank him for giving me more than even my dreams had hoped for, I managed to secure my emotions by the time he propped on his elbow and gazed steadily into my eyes.

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"What's the matter?" His thumb swept away a stray tear before he hastily answered his own question. "Too rough. I'm sorry." "You think—and worry—way too much," I observed. "Haven't you ever come so hard, you cried?" The haunts our lovemaking banished returned in a flash, staining his eyes with sorrow. "Yes, I have. And more than once." Still swaddled in the glistening sweat produced by our false intimacy, I was on the verge of asking about the woman whose face decorated his back, when a shout from the direction of the house shattered our spun-glass cocoon. "God damned Nazi cat, get the hell out of my way!" Tipping his chin toward the voice, Sam muttered, "Who the f—" "Shit, shit, shit." I pushed at his chest. "Move, move—it's Rune." Sam swelled to his feet with feral grace. I, on the other hand, yanked on my shorts and scrabbled around like a mole, looking for my shirt. Not that I worried about Rune seeing me naked, rather I didn't want him to discover me quite so freshly fucked. Locating my t-shirt, I shot a hurried look at Sam—whose struggle to squeeze into the tight 501's would have been comical under less stressful circumstances. Flaccid penis thicker and heavier after sex, he hopped around, trying to safely stow it away. No sooner did he bully the second button through its hole, than Rune rounded the corner of the barn. He stopped short, suspiciously looking me—and then Sam—up and down. I knew Rune too well. While he usually didn't challenge my partners, this might not be one of those times. Before he could say something I would regret, I demanded, "What the hell are you doing here?" "I live here." I suddenly realized my humiliation might not be complete. "Where's Brenda?" For a moment, Rune found the grass more important than me and Sam. "It's over. For good." "Oh Rune," my sympathy was genuine, "I'm sorry."

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"It's okay." Tossing a glance toward Sam, he said, "Shit happens, you know?" A shrug dismissed my concern. Brusquely turning to Sam, he extended a hand. "Hey, man. I'm Rune." Sam grasped Rune's proffer. "Sam Madison. Nice to meet you." "Our new neighbor." The censuring glare I sent Rune failed and he broke into a broad I-know-what-you'vebeen-doing grin. "Well," he continued, "since I already put my foot in things, would you mind getting that stupid cat out of the way so I can get my stuff in the house? He keeps biting my sneakers." Tossing his head toward Sam, he laughed. "But now I know what his problem is." Turning on his heel, he headed for the house with a swagger that dripped confidence. "Seems like a nice guy," Sam said. "Yeah," I allowed, "he is. But I can't believe we didn't hear that rattle-trap truck coming down the lane." Sam flashed a grin as sincere as Rune's was not. Dropping his voice, he murmured, "The only thing I heard was you, begging to be fucked." I flushed, residual desire blooming chocolate-sweet in my throat. "Come on, Sam I am, the day's not over yet. Maybe we can get rid of him."

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Chapter Three

With the chocolate so thick it tasted like tears, Rune scooped the scattered pieces of his latest failed romance from the floor of his truck, and stuffed them into a green garbage bag. Time enough to sort crap out later, when he got over being pissed. Not at Brenda, at himself. When a guy claims his best friend is a woman, no matter how hard he tries to demonstrate otherwise, sooner or later another woman views her as competition. An easy enough obstacle when the best friend is just a friend. Much harder when she isn't. "Look me in the eye," Brenda had said, "and tell me you're not in love with her." So he did. "I'm not in love with Kes. More importantly, she's not in love with me." She had studied him and for a few minutes, he thought he had convinced her. But when her shoulders slumped, he knew the truth will out, and out and out. "I might be able to believe the Kes part," she shook her head sadly, "but not you—you're just treading water with me, Rune. The only future you want is with her, and I'll always be second choice." At least he didn't debase himself by throwing another lie against her truth. There did exist only one woman for him, past, present and future, no matter how many times it got put through life's blender. And there had been no other woman from the day they met, children hiding in the woods: him from an abusive father; her from parents too busy starring in their own warped life to care about an accidental child. It wasn't something he could turn off nor, it would seem, ever outgrow—or even outrun. Same story, different year. Exactly the same story he would repeat when yet another bug about looking toward the future decided to crawl up his ass to die. Maybe Kes was right. Maybe for people like them, living for the minute works best. Either way, here endeth another chapter in the History of Rune and Love—a thick book devoted to attempt after attempt to shake up the only woman in creation he couldn't sway. And if that sorry-ass story didn't entitle a guy to drink enough beer to drown a T-Rex, nothing did. "You want a hand?" Sam called from the porch.

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What he wanted was for Sam to go away. But with no reason to take his frustration out on Kes' new hump, it would be better to play well with others. "Sure. Can you grab that box from the back?" Following the brilliant angel on Sam's back into the house, he compared the complexity of the tattoo to the modest flag displayed on his own arm. Damn. Sam either liked the needle and pain, or he could take a truckload of abuse when he wanted to. The men who came sniffing after Kes rarely threatened him, but not this one—nope, this guy should never be taken lightly. Sam also seemed to be genuinely friendly and helpful, with none of the usual draw-aline-for-the-roommate stuff either, and that was as annoying as pissing in a hurricane. Stop it. Smile. Say thank-you. Not Sam's fault. No secret that Kes had gone without for months and since he purposefully left her high, if not dry, it pretty much guaranteed she would eventually fuck someone else. No big deal. Been there. Done that. And now that he had finished being spiteful—and humiliating himself in the process—she would be back in the right saddle before another week passed. Belongings piled in the laundry room with Sam's help, Rune braced to make the best of the situation. Looking for the silver lining he somehow always managed to find, he decided that at least he wouldn't have to spend the day alone and, with any luck, the pair would join him while he blew off his steamy frustration. "Where's Kes?" he asked the big man. "Bathroom." "So we've got about an hour." "You know women," Sam said. The guy did have a smile difficult not to return. "One woman, at least." Without Kes there to scold him for it, he basked in the cold rush from the open refrigerator. "Beer?" "Yeah, thanks." "Think you guys might want to hit Brown's Tavern for dinner?" Two bottles twisted open, he handed one to Sam, settling opposite him at the table. "It's my uncle's place. The roadhouse down on Laudermilch?" "Sounds good. I'll leave it up to Kes."

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"All right." He hated the get-to-know you part involved with Kes' strays. The best defense being offense, he said, "So what's this I hear about self-defense lessons? My Aunt— Brownie's wife—said you're opening a school?" "Not really a full-fledged school, just one course every quarter," Sam clarified. "I used to teach women hand-to-hand combat techniques at the Y in Harrisburg, but it got too crowded." "How'd you get into that?" Sam's brows slanted into seriousness. "I was a Marine for eighteen years, a big chunk of it Force Recon. I saw some things that made me wish more women could protect themselves." Interesting. Kes usually scavenged the brawny but silent type—and silence equaled malleability, not considerate intelligence. Rune cocked his head. "Like what?" "If I told you—" "You'd have to kill me." "That's about the size of it." Dead end. U-turn. "Lucrative?" "Yes and no. Pays for itself. The real profit is personal satisfaction." "I bet." A Don Juan. Less than a week until he was history. "A room full of females to wrestle with is a definite plus." "That doesn't hurt—at least most of the time it doesn't." Sam chuckled and swigged his beer. "Sometimes they're so gung-ho, I'm sore for a month. But if they leave me feeling like that, God help any man they really want to hurt." In view of Sam's size and obvious superior shape, Rune had to agree. "Amen. Any girl who knocks you on your ass, I don't want to meet in a dark alley." "I don't know about that." Another friendly grin. "By the time they're finished, their confidence has quadrupled—and there's nothing sexier than a woman who's sure of herself." Comparing the description to Kes, Rune nodded. Sipping his beer, he searched for something else to say. Sam wasn't outwardly antagonistic but he presented an unassailable front difficult to interpret. A crappy day quickly becoming even crappier, he wanted to be an asshole and chase him off, like AJ did any crow stupid enough to visit the bird feeder. But no beta, this

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guy. No man who would do whatever Kes told him to do. Even after a few minutes, he could tell Sam Madison was an entirely new species. Hopefully Kes didn't finally bite off more than she could ever hope to swallow. "You and Kes," Sam broached sensitive information first, "have been friends since you were kids, right?" The very subject he hoped to avoid. He shrugged. "Since we were seven. Seems like forever." "I've been friends with a woman since I was eighteen," Sam said. "An old friend is good to have." "Sometimes," he snapped—and immediately regretted the poker-face slippage. "I know exactly what you mean." A spark of pain crossed Sam's face before his eyes went blank and his mouth folded into a tight line. Another surprise. Curious as hell despite the awkward situation, he opted to give it to Sam straight. "Look, man, after the morning I've had, I'm thinking I should be honest here. When it comes to me and Kes, there's a few—" Before he could finish, Kes bounced off the landing and cut straight through the glimmer of male bonding. "A few what? Are you trying to ruin my feminine mystique, Rune Wheeler?" Breaking into a grin meant to be endearing, he said, "Just talking, baby, just talking." "Not about me you don't." "Yeah, well…" Screeching to a halt at another dead end, he shifted into reverse. "So I was saying to Sam about going to Brownie's later—a little central AC, a little dinner." "A little dancing, too." Kes turned to Sam. "You game?" "Sounds good to me." Rune didn't like the sound of her question, as if she sought Sam's approval. He also didn't like the way Sam gazed at her before he answered, like she might be his last meal. All too familiar with desperate measures, he interrupted their mooning. "Blue Lily's on tonight," he said to Kes, "last early show of the summer."

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Realizing the locals crowding his bar eight months of the year avoided it during the tourist crush, shrewd old Uncle Brownie scheduled two performers on the weekends. The first show started before the amusement park closed, so townies could squeeze in plenty of fun before chocolate-flattened parents started to drift in. "Great!" Kes grinned at Sam. "No fast dancing to Lily. She does an eclectic mix of hip grinding stuff. Janis Joplin, Nina Simone, Annie Lennox, Billie Holliday—even Grace Slick last time." "She must have a hell of a voice," Sam said. First shot having missed the mark, Rune scrambled to find a double-tap. "Speaking of music." Fiddling with the radio on the counter and ignoring Kes' frown, he hunted down their favorite oldies station. Static parted and the announcer's chipper introduction of Love Man did nothing to dim a disturbing vision of Sam pumping into Kes, up against a wall in some dark corner of Brown's Tavern. "Hey," she chortled, "it's Otis!" In a way, it was their song and despite his brain's flagellations, Rune cranked up the volume. "Me and Rune won a talent show dancing to this." Before opportunity escaped, he swooped across the room. Grabbing Kes around the waist, he pulled her into a hip winding motion. "We showed them how dirty dancing's supposed to be done." Giggling, Kes demanded over the music, "And who taught you?" To Sam, she said, "Excuse us a second—it's another old tradition." Her laughter swelling his heart and thick in his groin, he swung her upper body back in an arc. They had been dance partners for so long, it was second nature to fall into step and start moving. Halfway through the song, he dipped her back again, her long hair trailing to the floor. Shooting a glance at Sam, who stared openly—and hungrily—at the silken cascade, Rune resisted a territorial growl. Elbows to knees, the big man leaned forward, shielded his crotch. Then licked his lips.

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Unbidden knowledge penetrated his chest like a stake. Obviously, Kes gave Sam at least a sample of a game that once belonged only to him. Or at least she said it belonged only to him. Quickly swinging her upright, his soul further shrank from the iron pike when she murmured, "Please, Rune, that's enough." Self-conscious as dog shit on the sidewalk, he released her and lowered the volume, while Sam continued to stare at Kes like the dog who left it. "If we want a table," he hoped he sounded cheerful, "we need to get there by 6 o'clock. Tourists'll overrun the place by 9." As if he didn't exist, Kes and Sam smiled at each other. Totally exasperated, he added, "And Brownie's isn't the fanciest place around, but no shirt, no service." "Got'cha loud and clear, Rune." A slight narrowing of Sam's eyes hid whether he meant it as challenge. "I'll go and change, then meet you there." Kes volunteered, "I can run you home so you don't have to walk." If she was stuck on Sam, so be it, he wouldn't horn in any more than Kes would meddle with his lovers. Stifling a sigh, he said, "How about I do it? Then you can take your time primping." "Excellent idea," Sam answered for her, "thanks." ***** Prepared for an excruciating ride, Sam's bald question once they were alone blind-sided him. "Does she know you're in love with her?" A question often asked, but hardly ever so soon and never straight out. Depending on the asker, sometimes he told them the truth, sometimes he didn't. Although, backing out of the pitted lane onto the gravel road, Rune decided a succinct answer was appropriate for a succinct question. "Yes." "Then why am I here?" He shrugged. "Because she doesn't believe in commitment and I suck at relationships." Sam chuckled without a trace of humor. "You and me both."

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That made him frown. "Straight shooting here, Sam. If you hurt her on purpose or through sheer stupidity, you answer to me for it." Sam gaped and for a brief second, Rune's pride preened its feathers. But when Sam started to laugh, an angry retort couldn't be restrained. "I'm glad you think that's funny," he spat, "but I've shared Kes before, I'll share her again, and your arrogant ass can't ever change that. So if you fuck up, I don't care how big you are or how well trained, I won't go down without giving you something to remember me by." Laughter trailing off, Sam shook his head. "No, sorry, don't get pissed. I didn't mean— my old friend I told you about? What you just said is pretty much what I told her husband the day they met." Curiosity again leveled anger. "You were in love with her?" Addressing the corn field flashing past the window, all trace of a smile conspicuously absent, Sam replied, "Were, am, always will be. I don't know how to exist without loving her." Relief, pity and understanding melded into empathy. "And she married someone else?" Rune swore softly. "Shit, I feel your pain. No girly shit, man, I really do." Sympathy drowned the last of his hostility. Women being women, it probably wouldn't take Kes long to come to the same conclusions about Sam as Brenda had about him. No threat after all, only a guy worse off than him. Still addressing the corn, Sam went on. "In the interest of good neighbor relations, I'm not looking for permanent and I told Kes that before we did anything." "Glad to hear it. So far then, we're good." "Look, Rune," Sam said, "I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice. Things are the way they are with my friend because I wasn't brave enough to push. Among other things, the experience taught me chivalry and cowardice can be easily confused." Veiled in mystery as the advice was, Rune understood. "I pushed once and ended up almost ruining our friendship for nothing. I'm not in any hurry to do it again." "She loves you, too?" Sam sounded surprised. Rune winced. "She won't admit it any more, but yeah, I think she still does." "Don't be me," Sam muttered, "as long as you think there's an ice cube's chance in hell, don't give up."

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"Easier said than done now," he replied. "I know her. The way she was looking at you, she's about to fall—and hard." As if to himself, Sam grumbled, "I'm always the fucking pot and kettle." Abandoning the side view as Rune braked in front of his house, he added, "I can't predict the future. Two people saying they don't want a relationship doesn't mean squat when one falls in their lap. I know a very good marriage that began that way. That said, if you've had your chance and blown it, then I can't, and won't, walk away just because you want me to." Sam's full calculating attention proved he had been a superior warrior and remained not to be messed with. "Yet," Rune said, "you tell me not to give up?" "Not until you know beyond all doubt you're doomed." Enemy and ally wrapped in the same enormous package. Not to mention the stance Sam took didn't differ a lot from the stance he had taken with Kes' men for twenty years. When Sam climbed out of the cab, Rune did, too. Rounding the front of the truck, he held out his hand. "Let's do this again. Hi, man, I'm Rune—incurable optimist and idiot dreamer. Word is, we're birds of a sorry feather." Appearing serious as well as amused, Sam shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Rune. I'm Sam—old grunt, all-around bastard and hopefully we can flock together without killing each other." Nothing like the birth of friendship on an honest, solid field to buoy dispirit and let the chocolate breeze cure your disease. It wouldn't be the first time he had to weather Kes with another man. Sooner or later, it would be over and, like always, he would be there to pick up the pieces when it ended. Although this time, when it did, he sincerely hoped he and Sam could still be friends. Headed home, Rune turned off the air conditioning, rolled down the windows and already planning his next move, breathed deep, daring to dream of a milk chocolate dream come true.

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Chapter Four

Sam arrived at Brown's Tavern half an hour early. By the time he had climbed into Rune's battered Ford, he already missed Kes. The sensation was at once exhilarating and frightening. Anticipation is a heady mistress, and too many years under the bridge since she showed up unannounced. One could only hope that this time, he wouldn't degenerate into a coveter, manipulator or liar. Entering the proudly labeled historical landmark, a frigid blast of air conditioning quickly overpowered the chocolate-tinged heat that propelled him inside. One step below trendy, one above seedy and separated from the main dining room by a half-wall screen, the cozy taproom offered immediate comfort. His kind of place, thank God. Moseying up to the bar, he chose a stool facing the door and signaled for a drink. A name tag identified the attractive matron tending as Rhea Wheeler. "Hello, handsome," she said with professional flair, "what's your poison?" "Bourbon," he said, "straight." Glass and bottle produced in a single movement, she poured the whiskey. "The kids ran your ass off at the park today, huh?" He smiled. "No such luck." "Ah-ha, my mistake. The boots should have tipped me off—you're here for bike week." "Sorry?" "Your boots. Tall drink of water like you, a woman can't help but notice." Momentarily befuddled, the clouds parted. After years of military boots, sneakers felt oddly wrong, and the closest he could come to an acceptable civilian substitute were the steeltipped engineer boots favored by many a biker. May as well fess up, otherwise Rhea would keep guessing until she struck gold or he left the bar. "I'm a local." He turned on a blazing smile. "I bought the Johann farm. Moved in this week." Rhea's interest turned so keen, she glowed. "You're Sam Madison. The self-defense fella."

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"That's me." Rhea probably knew how much he paid for the place, too. He stifled another smile, gulped the liquid fire, and held up his glass. "This one's on the house," she said, pouring another shot. "Welcome to the neighborhood." "Thanks." After spraying herself a tall seltzer, she leaned on the bar and settled in. "My nephew lives one farm over from you—Kes Harper's place? Rune's a good boy. You need any help out there, he'd be sure to lend a hand." "That's right, you're Rune's aunt." He pointed to her tag. "Sorry, ma'am, didn't make the connection. I'm meeting him and Kes for dinner. I hear you've got a great singer on tap tonight." "Lily's wonderful," she agreed. "Hope you're ready for the long haul. Those two could be here till last call." "I think I can miss a few hours beauty sleep." He saluted Rhea with his glass and drained it. She moved to refill it and he covered it with his hand. "I'm good." Without a trace of coyness, she said, "I just bet you are." He laughed. "Sure, get a guy stoned, then flatter him." "So you been up to their place yet?" She shook her head. "All the trappings of a marriage and them too stupid to notice." Gossip the last thing he should indulge, he snatched at the shiny bauble anyway. "Yeah?" "Yeah, let me tell you—" A group shout for service interrupted from the far end of the bar. "Hang onto your hats," she shouted. "Give me a minute, Sam." As she stalked toward the rowdy regulars, Sam wavered between disappointment and relief. Collecting clandestine information on Rune and Kes would only lead to an irresistible urge to draw up a battle plan. Manipulation might be a soldier's strength, but it was a lover's weakness. He already kicked liar out of the theater by being straight with Rune, and giving in to petty jealousy would only defeat that victory. When Rhea returned, he would change the subject, and he had the perfect way to do it. Tugging up his pant leg, he fished a paperback out of his boot top—women had their purses, he

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had his boots—and carefully folded the cover back. The title may be shielded from casual observers, but there was no way that close-up, Rhea would miss the romance novel's steamy art. A voracious reader, he consumed everything from nonfiction historical accounts to every last single-title romance with an interesting setting, and within two paragraphs, he was absorbed. Unfortunately, when recognition of his unusual taste in tomes arrived, it wasn't from the source he expected. "What the hell are you reading?" Rune's astonishment rang clear. Behind the bar, he filled a pitcher with lager. "I love a good book, too, but I wouldn't touch one of those with your dick." "'Never judge a book by its cover'." Sam grinned without embarrassment and quickly scanned the room. "Where's Kes?" "Getting us a table. But no shit, you like reading those?" "Definitely. They're female instruction manuals in the guise of good stories." It never ceased to amaze him that fellow readers hadn't figured that out yet. "I can lend you a couple, if you want." "Just pick one to start with," Rune said, "and then we'll see. But c'mon, let's eat." Kes waving from a corner table tweaked his heartbeat—and his cock. What started out as simple sex was beginning to feel like more. Not the aching pain of love, but admiration, desire and genuine fondness were more than enough when a man hasn't felt anything other than empty for a year. Choosing the chair against the wall for herself, Kes squeezed his arm as he sat opposite. Rune deposited the pitcher and glasses on the table and opted to put the other wall at his back. "We stopped at the outlets," Kes said even before he was settled, "look what I got!" Hauling a sturdy box from her tote bag, she carefully unwrapped a polished malachite vase. "Sucker's heavy," she explained. "I knock this off the windowsill, it's liable to break the sink." "It's beautiful," he agreed. Tracing the intricate design banding the belly, he realized the carving consisted of tiny birds in flight strung together. "I choose to think they're Kestrels," she said. "They are," he said solemnly. "Any chance you would paint something on it, make it truly 'me'?

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"I'd be happy to—in fact, I have several ideas already." Rune said, "Sam has lots of good ideas." What would sound like praise to eavesdroppers became something else entirely when Rune's body language screamed challenge. "Yeah," Sam drawled, narrowed eyes accepting his meaning, "I'm just one of those Renaissance kind of guys." Kes grinned. "A lover and a fighter." "And how does one mix those proclivities?" Rune pressed. Good for Rune. He staked his claim on Kes and, true to his word, wasn't going down without a fight. But despite his regard and respect for the man going up a notch, Sam still had no intention of making it easy. "Psychologically speaking, they're very similar. Messing with an enemy's mind is a strategic strength, and when it comes to women, stroking their brains as much as their bodies invites a return invasion." Rune pounced on the statement like prey. "Mind fucks all around, huh?" "That's where they differ. For the enemy, that's great. For a woman, it's a matter of brain sex heightening responses." "He's got a point, Rune," Kes said. Their waitress appeared just as he was about to give Rune a demonstration of the other side of the process, and the conversation moved to the menu. Anxious to get the food part over with, Sam agreed to shared buckets of steamed clams, followed by roast pork and sauerkraut. Kes fired down a draught, giving him the urge to nuzzle her soft throat. He wanted her body pressed against his again, and the dancing part couldn't come soon enough. Smacking her lips in satisfaction, her eyes met his. The wave of longing that painted their dark brown with amber and caramel pinned him deeper into his seat. At the rate his imagination was traveling, dancing would be moot—because they would be in the parking lot, screwing fully clothed in the back of his truck long before the music started. Cock semi-hard, he fidgeted through ordering. Asking Rune about his detailing business and striving to pay attention to what the man said alleviated the hasty edge. Until the clams arrived. Their salt-and-butter divinity combined with the nutty bitterness of the lager mimicked the taste of Kes in the sun. Plucking another clam from its shell, he caught her attention before

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drawing it across his lips, tongue snaking out to caress the rubbery morsel before he popped it into his mouth. Kes laughed and, not surprisingly, they wandered into discussing the aphrodisiacal properties of shellfish. Rune opined the best oysters came from South America. Sam asserted they came from Australia. Kes responded rumor had it Australia produced the finest fat prawns there ever were, too. Imagination again wandering backwards, he clearly heard her begging for a different fat prawn, and accepted control over his attention span wouldn't return until he was sliding in and out of her wet pussy. To make matters worse, while he chatted with Rune about the goats, Kes surreptitiously inched her foot over his jean-encased thigh. Startled, whatever Rune had to say about fencing wire faded as his attention centered on the toes insidiously approaching his groin. "Sorry, what did you say?" He tore himself away from Kes' teasing grin and tried to concentrate on Rune. Not that it deterred Kes, who continued to grope at his fly. He tried to ignore both her playful smile and the way his cock grew firmer and thicker by the second. But when she rubbed the ball of her foot over his burgeoning bulge, he shifted uneasily. The snug jeans were ill suited to her sweet torture because they efficiently bound his cock to his thigh, maliciously—or perhaps thankfully—hindering a full blown hard-on. Responding to a question from Rune, he shot Kes a simmering glare and maneuvered into a less confining position. He achieved a measure of relief but only for the instant it took his growing organ to fill the newly created space. Kes obviously enjoyed his distress and showed no inclination toward mercy. Her foot rocked back and forth, encouraging further expansion. Capturing her eyes, he reached down to adjust himself as unobtrusively as possible, directing his tormented flesh into a proper upward stance. Not that it helped a damn thing. Even through the cotton barrier, her foot was hot against the sensitive underside of his dick. Tracing upwards, her toes dug at his waistband, as if she were checking to see if the naked tip protruded. Kes either didn't mind the whole bar knowing what she was up to, or she didn't care. Waggling her brows, she slid forward and gained additional reach. The hitch pulled her thin shirt tight across visibly hard nipples and he almost laughed when, with a tiny gasp, she folded her arms protectively over her chest. His cock distinctly twitched, negating a verbal taunt prohibited in polite company. Yet when her foot halted its motion, he hid his disappointed groan in a swallow of foamy lager. She sipped her beer, too, pretending to ignore him and scan the crowd. He wished he could give her as good a view of his erection as he had of the two miniature ones that tented her t-shirt. He shifted his hips and took the initiative, pressing his ridiculously attentive cock into her soft

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sole. Her false composure evaporating, she held his eyes and—shuddered. Then he did laugh, even though it was completely at odds with Rune's serious chatter. And while he was lucky enough to feel Kes' excitement vibrate through her foot firsthand, the pitcher's golden contents jealously shimmied, sharing it with everyone observant enough to notice. Rune thumped the table, glaring suspiciously at both of them. Sam returned his scrutiny with as much nonchalance as he could summon. Kes giggled. "For God's sake," Rune said with disgust. "I know you're playing footsie under there, Kes, and neither of you hear a word I'm saying." Snatching his mug from the table, he headed for the bar, where a chorus of 'Hey Ru-ney!' celebrated his approach. Kes immediately said, "Want to go outside until the band starts?" She rubbed her foot insistently against his crotch. Sam shook his head and wrapped a hand around her ankle. As his thumb stroked the sensitive arch, her leg quivered approval. He had just begun to explore her calf when the lights dimmed and Lily appeared to welcome the audience. Rune reappeared and dropped into his chair with the first strains of music. "I'm back," he announced. Kes jumped, covering her dishabille by reaching for her mug. Rune rolled his eyes and turned to Sam. "Unless you want to claim squatter's rights and join us, I get first dance. Although," he jerked his head toward the bar, "Aunt Rhea loves her gossip and the three of us doing it together could be all over town by morning." Kes choked through a mouthful of beer and Sam tightened his grip on her leg, which prompted only her outright giggling. "What?" Rune frowned in confusion. She looked at him pointedly until understanding crept in. "Kestrel Lynn," he huffed, "you've got the dirtiest mind in Pennsylvania." Kes giggled again. "You said it, I didn't." "Don't let her drink too much. Beer makes her sillier than shit." "Yes it does," she sing-songed, "and I seem to remember beer is the reason I told you all about my little fantasy in the first place." "That," he grinned at Sam, "I do remember well."

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Dick nowhere near diminishing, Sam steered abroad. "Two guys, huh? I have one with two women myself." "Twins," Rune nodded sagely, "me, too. Tell her, man, two guys is a different story." "Oh come on, Runey-Toons," she chortled, "it is not." "Is too. Two guys is..." Shooting a glance at Sam, he cleared his throat. "Homophobe," Kes muttered. "Just because your perverted brain can't imagine two women without having them—interact—doesn't mean when there's two men, they have to do any of that shit." Rune's discomfort shone so brightly, Sam expected him to launch into a recitation of the Packers' odds of winning the Superbowl. Unfortunately, bemusement blocked sense, and stupidity just had to say, "She's right. Guys don't have to be bi to share a woman." The authoritative meteor hit the table and exploded into a crater of undivided attention. Kes cocked her head, curiosity so obvious, he winced. Rune gaped at him like he couldn't decide if he sat next to a traitor to his own gender or the sickest motherfucker to come down Lancaster Pike. Damn it all to hell! The older he got, the more he hated surprises—and none of them more than the ones that popped out of his own fucking mouth. He should have looked before he leaped. Yet Rune's unintentional innuendo and Kes' suggestive teasing lit a fire under the mother of all his problems, sparking myriad memories that, only yesterday, would have left him limper than week old sheets. But not today. No, today, smack in the middle of a very public place, they shot into his equipment like a cattle prod of excitement. Visions of another dark-haired beauty, in another time, another place, another—God help him, life—swept in. Visions of the woman he couldn't, shouldn't, love, even while his cock rutted emotion into silence between her thighs, forever trapped and defeated by the mirror image who filled her mouth. "Are you," Kes hesitated only briefly, "speaking from experience?" Jesus. Rock. Sam. Hard place. He had been too sincere. Too late to lie now. But the truth still required a predicate breath. "Yes." Suspicion coated in curiosity, Rune asked, "The other guy never tried to...you know..." Sam's turn to blanch. "Hell no. It was my brother." "Your brother?" Kes and Rune parroted in unison.

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He nodded. Kes had a card Rune lacked. "Oh! Your twin!" She wriggled suggestively. "Double Mint yummy." Evidently giving the possibility further thought, Rune nodded wisely. "Okay, sure. I stand corrected." As if startled by the ramifications, he demanded of Kes, "Would you really do something like that?" "Sure," she replied airily. "Want me to show you?" "No, stop right there," Rune held up his hand. "C'mon, let's dance." "Not on your life!" She rubbed her hands together. "I'm on the trail of real smut. Details, Sam, gimme some juicy details." "Later, please," Rune said, "when I'm too drunk to understand." Self-examination a fairly recent habit, Sam let Kes and Rune banter like only old friends can while he rolled dichotomy, yearning and no little amount of self-disgust on his tongue. Idly stroking the delicate foot in his lap, the iron control he lorded over his intellect melted into a wonderment so clear and inviting, it seemed like sanity had finally deserted him for good. But, with a thump to his shoulder, Rune snapped good sense back where it belonged. "Okay with you if I dance with her before you spill?" Sam shook his head, both to clear his brain and in way of reply. "You don't have to ask me. She's your friend, too." He tickled the sole of Kes' foot and gently pushed it out of his lap. By the look on her face, surprise was making the rounds. "But…." Before Kes could object further, Rune pulled her out of the chair. She displayed a minute of giddy panic searching for her abandoned sandal and for a second Sam thought she would actually crawl under the table to retrieve it. Watching her fine behind sashay toward the dance floor, he licked his lips. They like to say surprises never cease. And along with some of their never-ending steam came revelations that a man had no choice but to accept. Maybe he had spent too much time trying to figure things out by denying his nature instead of embracing it, by pretending his sins resulted from physical actions rather than intellectual choices.

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Not that it mattered. A road had been cleared of its rubble, allowing a new layer to creep to the surface of his id. 'Remember, Sammy,' Laney said before she left, 'you go with the flow, babe, and it'll all work out.' In a few hours, he would work it out, all right. Not only by giving Kes as many details as she asked for, but by punctuating every last one of them with a thrust of his prick.

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Chapter Five

Cuddling Kes while they swayed to Lily's crooning melancholy, Rune searched for just the right way not to give up. Before he could decide where to start, Kes said, "What do you think of Sam?" Not a productive start. He frowned. "I think you better take your time with this one." "I'm sorry," she murmured. "The Brenda fiasco. I shouldn't prattle about my better luck." "No," he said, "it's just—I came home wishing for what I can't have. Him being there was a dash of salt in the wound, that's all." She sighed, settled her head onto his shoulder. Reluctance to press her warred with the need to blurt out everything he should, but couldn't, say. He loved her. He didn't want to stress her, pressure her, make her unhappy in any way. But they played house long enough and the time was ripe to shit, or get off the pot. He knew it. She knew it. The entire county knew it. He would marry her in a heartbeat. She knew that, too. The only obstacle was her fear that he couldn't, or wouldn't, keep their vows sacred. But she had used the same lame excuse for almost two decades now and she needed to take a good, long look under that shield—because if she did, she would know the truth even better than he did. Clarity in the form of Sam's advice crashed into his frustration. To speak his mind, he needed to not just stir her distress but find enough bravery to march in and wade unerringly through it—until he came out with her still in his arms, or with final, unassailable rejection. The blooming mushroom pushed truth past his thudding heart. "Stop ignoring me, Kes. And stop blaming a man for a kid's stupidity." Without lifting her head, she snapped, "Fine advice from someone who's never had a relationship last six months." A dart meant to scare him off. He dipped his head, placed his lips against her ear and snarled a reply. "Of course I can't. That, and the way you keep crawling into my bed, says everything that needs to be said." No response indicating she knew damn well he was right, he added, "I can't show you our future in unimpeachable detail. I can only swear to love you and prove it every day." She finally met his eyes with an angry frown. "Jesus, Mary, Mother of God. Do we have to talk about this now?"

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Okay. So his timing wasn't perfect. "Tomorrow then," he said. "Promise me and I'll let it go. For now." "All right. But it won't change my mind." "Maybe not," he said, "but if you try to avoid me tomorrow, I'll track you down and make you listen." Her frown faded. "You're jealous," she said with a trace of surprise. Two could play the waiting game. "Tomorrow." Undeterred, she demanded, "Exactly what horrible stories did you tell Sam?" "Me? Not a one. Nada. Zip. Zilch." "Yeah. Right." "Honestly," he defended himself, slightly annoyed that she managed to turn his determination on end, "I didn't tell him even one colorful anecdote. I almost said something just to be a jerk, but, well—you usually don't drag decent guys home." He pecked her forehead to take out the sting. "Hate to break it to you, baby, but Sam's not the push-around type like me." "Oh, I don't know," she cooed, and pure she-devil added, "Maybe if I try it, he'll spank me for being bad." Smile faltering, he muttered, "Jesus. You would, too. Just be careful, Kes—seriously." She searched his face but said nothing. Rune opened his mouth, reconsidered offering a swat or two, and settled for helplessly shaking his head. Sometimes he really believed that Kes thrived on dissention and the threat of turmoil, even though she labeled it differently. Not difficult to understand when he knew where she came from—knew that upheaval defined her childhood. But sooner or later, the world would win and everything would tumble to dust at her feet. Suddenly he wished he didn't know her so well. If he didn't, seducing her would be easier. A rush of bravado sent his lips back to her ear. "The next time you knock on my door in the middle of the night—and there will be a next time, you know it and I know it—I'll be happy to slap some sense into your behind." "Right," she snorted, "try it and see how fast I make you regret it."

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Sam materialized at Kes' side and for once, he could read the self-acclaimed bastard like a billboard: Don't give up, Rune, but I won't step aside. With no choice and a single nod, Rune turned over the only woman he would ever love to the first man that could remove her from his reach forever.

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Chapter Six

The intensity of Kes and Rune's conversation was apparent from across the room even in the dim light. Sam resisted as long as he could but eventually followed instinct and strode into the crowd to interrupt their little chat. And when Rune passed her hand like a prize, he pulled Kes against his body, neatly and rudely dismissing her roommate. Bastard that he was, while he wouldn't stop Rune from pursuing her—Kes wasn't, after all, his to command—he meant what he said: he wouldn't stand around and watch the guy get the upper hand, either. Yet years of mistakes mustered and despite the mini-epiphany only a dozen minutes past, the crowd of errors began to whisper. Sam tried not to listen, not to believe them. But from the bottom of the hive, the queen fault buzzed loudest: 'Once again, part of her heart will never be yours.' True. Except at his age, an unparsed heart was rare. Undeterred, the bee added, 'History loves to repeat itself.' Hoping it didn't show, he winced. The Bitch of Doubt knew her stuff. History wasn't the only one. He was fucked, sure as the desire that glowed from Kes' eyes. And if he didn't grab hold of what good she had already done him and be satisfied with that, then in the end she was bound to be fucked, too—and not in a way she would enjoy. The weekend. He would give her as much of it as she wanted and then, since he made his position clear at the outset, back gracefully away. Not a cheerful plan. One that would take the kind of guts he hated to admit he lacked. But scrambling to hold on to what he could in the meantime, he centered on having Kes in his arms and insisted insecurity wait for the next battle. A wise move because within a few heartbeats, he was lost in Kes alone. Intoxicated more by her than the bourbon or beer, he gazed into the melted chocolate of her eyes and embraced their shared and undeniable sexual need. Floating on all the delicious things he could still do to her before Monday arrived, his lips hovered over hers. Taunting, oh-so-purposefully teasing, he denied first contact—until, with a groan that vibrated through his chest, too, Kes tried to initiate the kiss. Avoiding her, he tucked her face gently into his neck. The creation of anticipation would always be the best and easiest foreplay on earth.

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As frustrated as he intended, Kes nuzzled his ear, nipped his earlobe. "Behave yourself," he murmured. "Why?" "Because I'm not an exhibitionist and my cock's on the way to being...obvious." Her throaty laugh gave him another wave of ascension. "We can sneak back the hallway past the bathrooms—although we might not be alone there, either." Not wanting to know how she knew that, he shook his head. "Nope. If you want it, you'll have to wait. I want to dance." Hands sliding over her behind, he pressed her into his rigor— quickly approaching the same condition as before Rune interrupted them at the table. "Stop that," she said, though not very convincingly. "Why?" he growled—and did it again. Accompanied by a lustful purr, Kes stumbled. Quickly finding her step, she hissed, "That's why. It jellies my knees and makes my mouth water." "Really?" He did it again, adding a hip roll. "Here I hoped it made something else water." This time she giggled and returned the clandestine thrust. "Believe me, it does." The song ended and he presented a soft kiss—a feathery brush that hopefully made her ache for more. Proof in his cooking, Kes captured his mouth in a deep, sweet kiss that left them both breathless. "God," she murmured against his lips, "you can't imagine how bad I wanted that." A growl the only response he was capable of, he responded with another kiss. Hungrily devouring her, his tongue sought to meld to hers while he ground a rock hard erection into her stomach. They continued to dance and tease, sometimes tight together, sometimes parting the few inches necessary for a kiss. Eventually, as song after song ended, he wondered how he would manage to return to his seat without announcing his religion. "Penny for your thoughts," Kes said.

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He chuckled. "These cost a quarter." "Deal." How to drag his hard-on back to the table not on his list of aural strokes, he explored her ear with the tip of his tongue and instead, whispered detailed descriptions of exactly what he intended to do to her later. Gruff with suppressed desire, his suggestions made her tremble like a trapped rabbit, which in turn sent electric chills spearing into his balls. Along with stroking her imagination to feverish heights, his leg slid between hers, rubbing into the cleft between her thighs. Kes' lack of objection a catalyst, his craving became an erotic, painful conflagration and the hallway suddenly seemed like the greatest idea he ever heard. Gripping her ass, he lifted her slightly and pressed into her mound, hard. Throbbing tumescence so close to her entry, yet so far, he held her immobile as the music wound down. "Maybe you're right," he started—but the house lights suddenly burst over them, bringing with it the awareness of so many bodies nearby. A quiet sob welled from Kes as he placed her gently on her feet. "Damn." She shook her head as if to clear it. Grinning with pride, once he was certain her legs would hold, he pulled her in front of him and whispered, "I need your help to get back to the table." Her laugh drew curious stares. For a second, he thought she might refuse but with a flip of her hair, she placed his hands on her hips and headed for the table. Making their way through the crowd, he could see Rune, anger creasing his forehead, talking to someone sitting across the table. "Shit and a shingle full of it," Kes spat and stopped so short, he bumped into her. "I'm really sorry," she shot over her shoulder, "there's going to be a small problem." "What kind of problem?" Another step and out of habit, he catalogued the woman leering at Rune: Middle-aged, showing the wear. Lots of bleach. Plastered with make-up. Enough cleavage to cover any and all ugly personality traits. "Who is she?" "I'll explain later. But please, no matter what she says, stay out of it." Kes squared her shoulders two paces out. Hands firmly on her waist, he felt her arming breath. Confrontation at hand, a familiar rush of adrenaline sharpened his senses and he gave the

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woman a curt nod. On red alert no matter what Kes wanted, he snapped his chair back and slid into it, prepared to rise again without notice. As Rune continued to glare at the blond, Kes pushed past her. "No tourists willing to risk disease tonight, Monica?" she asked, plopping into her chair. "Ha ha." Monica's body language screamed hornet, stinger at the ready. Ignoring Kes, she smiled at him—and actually licked her lips. "Hi there. Rhea says you're Sam Madison." Ignoring the appraisal creeping over him like mold, Sam tossed an action signal to Rune, who replied with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Always sniffing around like a bitch in heat," Kes said. "Beat it. Your shit stirring isn't welcome here." "It's a free country," Monica pouted. "I can ask Sam to dance if I want." She turned back to him. "What about it? Next set?" Politeness might equal encouragement. "No." Kes snorted. "He doesn't want to catch anything either." "You're a joke a minute, Kes." "I'm sorry," Kes flapped her lashes, "didn't mean to confuse you." She leaned in like she addressed a child. "That wasn't a joke, sweetie. See," she pointed to her face, "I smile when I make a joke and I'm not smiling, am I?" Looking Monica up and down with patent disgust, Rune spat, "Let's just leave." "The lapdog speaks," Monica quipped. The barb hit its mark. "Shut your fucking—" "Save it," Kes growled, "you know she wants to piss you off." Rune's grumbled reply unintelligible, she continued, "Is there anything else you wanted, Monica, or can we go back to our beer in peace?" "I told you. I wanted to meet your friend," she tried to stroke his hand again, but Sam picked up his mug. "Poor thing," she coddled, "don't be nervous. Kes doesn't know how to treat a real man but I sure do."

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Jaw furiously working, Sam regarded the woman with stony distaste. If she were a man, he could handle the situation easily. Women, however, were experts at the type of warfare that left old grunts gasping in the dust. Either way, since Kes asked him to stay out of it, he would. "So, did you tag her yet, or is her mongrel here keeping you at bay?" The broad certainly had brass ones. And she probably polished them just for fun. On the brink of breaking orders, he flinched as Kes surged forward, grabbed a handful of Monica's upper arm and dug in. Venom thicker than the humidity outside, her snarl raised the hair on his arms. "Before you fuck with me, think about where your alimony comes from." Sam held his breath, hoping he wouldn't end up smack in the middle of a catfight. Not that he couldn't deal with them both single-handed, only that he would rather not have to intervene—with them or the bouncer. Eyes narrowed, Monica breathed fire. "You wouldn't dare." "And I'll be sure to tell Bobby just why I'm pulling his field leases, too." In the end, Sam found out exactly why Rune appeared content to stay out of the fray. Monica hauled back and took a swing aimed at Kes' head. Faster than he ever would have guessed, Kes squealed her chair in reverse, clamped her fingers around Monica's wrist, gave it a gorgeous little twist that lodged the arm between the shoulder blades, and popped Monica's nose onto the table with a subtle thump. Open-mouthed with admiration, Sam sat back in his chair, the useless battle-ready energy seeping into his thighs, on its way out of existence. Rune nudged him and grinned. "Uncle Brownie taught her that." Kes huffed and tugged her prisoner's arm. "You want to be embarrassed, is that it?" She pushed a little harder and Monica grimaced. Radiating pride, Rune said, "Expert opinion, Sam—does she have the sweetest cooler move you ever saw?" Kes spared them a glance and, reasonable and calm, asked Monica, "Are we done now?" Evidently, they were. The second Kes released her, Monica tucked her pride and fled. Rune continued to grin like the Cheshire Cat. Monitoring the woman's retreat to the far side of the bar, Sam regulated his breathing until the heartbeat pounding in his ears slowed.

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Anxiety written in every muscle, Kes patted his arm. If she thought he didn't care for her masterful display, she was wrong. "That was very interesting," he drawled in velveteen appreciation, "and perfectly executed." To further ease her, he added, "Want to demonstrate that combination to my next batch of students?" "I'm sure it pales next to what the teacher knows," she snorted, but he was relieved to see the tension drain from her shoulders. "Sorry about that. I have a habit of taking care of myself. Unseemly behavior, as Nana would say. Still..." "Looked pretty seemly to me," he said. "A lot more seemly than her fist connecting with your nose." "You know she won't leave," Rune interrupted, "want to go somewhere else?" "No, I just want to go home." Kes raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Whatever you want." Cheerful as falling down a mine shaft, Rune said, "Then I guess I'll head over to Eagle Inn. I should be home about midnight. Try to keep it down, okay?" Keeping anything down the furtherest thing from his mind, Sam grinned. "In that case," he threw another suggestion in the ante for Kes, "do you want to go to my house? I've got central air." "Yes," she said, "your house." Nothing like a little confrontation to get the blood flowing. And Kes' immediate and breathy response hinted that, accompanied by the music of their lovemaking, his dick would be on high volume for the rest of the night. Pretending not to notice Rune's wince, he jangled his keys and tried not to leap out of his seat like an eager pupil. "Have fun, man—we're out of here."

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Still Life in Chocolate

Chapter Seven

Darkness balanced on the horizon as we climbed into Sam's truck. The chocolate, although still thick, flowed on a thin, hot breeze, reaching with more elusive fingers and for a few seconds my mouth was full of it, then it was gone. The symphonic crickets and katydids faded into the truck's hum, and I couldn't find a way to put off explaining old or new stupidities. "So," I said, trying to put a casual wash on it, "you're probably wondering about the dramatic interruption of an otherwise perfectly good day, right?" Sam shrugged. "I assume she's an old nemesis." "Yes and no. First off, for the record, I'd never pull Bobby Fallon's leases just to be spiteful, no matter how much I hate Monica." With a heavy sigh, I opened my Pandora's box. "She's the reason I can't trust Rune to be more than my friend." Sam's frown raked me with astonished claws. Grateful for the fading light, I hoped he missed my welling tears. I didn't want him to see how deep my vulnerability went—particularly not while the story of its inception unfolded. Still, after a scene that would have tongues flapping for at least a week, sooner or later somebody was bound to relate the Kestrel Harper tales, and I would rather be the one who did the telling. "Once upon a time," I said, "a little girl dreamed of marrying a white knight. And she would be smarter than the women before her. She wouldn't choose a good but emotionally closed man like her grandmother did. She wouldn't choose a philanderer or control freak like her mother repeatedly did." "We all have childhood expectations that don't work out," Sam said, outward attention firmly on the road. Pausing to gather my guts, I exchanged third person for the pain of reality. "There's expectations," I said, "and then there's should-know-betters. My mother was married twice before my father, three times after, and is on the verge of number four. Every single time, if her husband doesn't cheat on her, she cheats on her husband. And every single time she says the next one will be different. But it never is. I've had front row seats to every kind of infidelity that can, and will, come along." "Infidelity's an epidemic," he said softly. "I can't count how many times I've struck up a conversation with a woman who gives all the right signals, only to find there's a boyfriend or husband at home. Sometimes it seems like the whole world is cheating on each other."

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"Doesn't it?" His understanding helped, so I launched into the rest of my pitiful background with a little less embarrassment. "Anyway, in high school Monica was a year ahead of me and Rune. Head cheerleader, the girl every boy wanted to bang and most of the football team did. Rune was a nice kid but geeky as they come and she wouldn't have touched him if she fell on him." Sam snorted. "I see time did a number on her conceit." The friendship brewing between us solidified and my smile, while muted, contained sincere thanks. "Yeah, I guess it did—but two years out of school, it hadn't found its stomping rhythm yet. And to make a long story longer, even though Rune and I messed around, we were never really boyfriend and girlfriend, but it had started to look like we might become official. I was a little nervous about it, but I thought we had the kind of friendship that made marriage a nobrainer." As if the possibility just dawned on him, tight and low, Sam said, "Then Rune slept with Monica." "I don't think it ever got that far," I answered hastily. "At least I choose to believe it didn't." From his tone, I suspected if I said Rune had, Sam would make him pay in ways more horrible than I could imagine. "But you'll always wonder." Sam's hand sought mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. I couldn't touch him and continue. Gently disengaging my fingers, my laugh was hollow. "I got to Brownie's early one night. They were in a booth, heads together, and she was kneading his thigh like she was tenderizing hamburger." No easy way to reveal the depths of degradation I'm capable of, the fait accompli presented itself in harsh confession. "I literally saw red. I threw a tantrum that's still legendary around here. Called them every name I could think of and a few I made up on the spot." Sam whistled softly. "I knew there's a reason I liked you right off." His praise for my darkest and most humiliating actions eased my discomfort more than I thought possible. "Yeah, well...slapping the bouncer when he tried to calm me down was pretty but when the police showed up and charged me with assault, things got even prettier." "Stop it." Sam flashed a grin. "Women who get arrested because they were pissed off make me hot." "You really don't think I'm a horse's ass?"

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"Of course not. But what does Rune say about all this?" "He insists nothing happened, that he was just flattered by her offer and didn't know how to get rid of her gracefully. But when I got there, his eyes told me loud and clear he was in the middle of considering it—and there's only one short step between considering, and doing." "I don't know about that. You can't crucify someone for thoughts that never became actions." The stubborn, hopeless core of my life's dilemma, I shrugged. "My brain agrees with you but my heart's not so clear about it." The road evidently forgotten, Sam considered me with a calculating sweep. "Even a blind man would know Rune's still in love with you. Doesn't that say enough to convince your heart, too?" A shake of my head consolidated a recital of complications and I answered him with simple honesty. "Yes, I know he is, and no, it would seem not." "Are you in love with him?" "Depends on the day," I said miserably. Demonstrating the epitome of wan smiles, I allowed, "Probably, maybe, most of the time, I guess. But that doesn't matter if I can't trust him." "Something tells me he understands that." Easing the truck into the turnaround beside his barn, Sam turned off the engine and sat staring at me, his sympathy clear even through dusk's filter. "But I do know what you mean, Kes. Love isn't always enough." Over-exposed to the point I longed for a shower to wash away the past so I could reclaim the present, I nodded and reached for the door handle. "Stay put," he said gruffly. Hopping out, he rounded the cab and opened my door. Helping me alight, he wrapped me in a bear hug and whispered into my hair, "Thank you for trusting me with your story." Overcome with the kind of thanks a girl can't express without bawling, I hugged him back. A thin chocolate current arrived to clear the stench of regrets and lighten the humidity. As we ambled toward the house, I took a deep breath, swaddling youthful error in the sweetness of maturity's advances. Sam slipped his arm around my waist and I tucked my hand into his back pocket. There is always something magical about the chocolate air when it's summer rich. I'm not superstitious,

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but hoped it was true. Regardless of the sex, I liked Sam. How long we would remain lovers might be unknown, but we could certainly be friends even without a physical relationship. While he unlocked the front door, I let the last of Monica and the past blow away on the chocolate breeze. I had visited the Johann house hundreds of times over the years, but since Aunt Rhea had been regaling everyone with a list of workmen going to and fro for over a month, when the door opened, my curiosity preloaded. Stepping inside would be a renovated window into Sam as a man. And even though the foyer and hall remained unchanged, when he ushered me into the main quarters, the threat of disappointment quickly became expectation met. The barrier between company and family parlors removed, a spacious living room invited overstuffed lounging. Neat as granny's knitting, built-in bookcases along the outside walls housed a veritable library. From the rear wall, a drafting table surveyed the room. The only clutter to be found were stacks of art pads, boxes of pastels, broken charcoal sticks and the contents of a photo album strewn across its surface. Sam may paint in the barn but his initial muse preferred the house. Yet it was the inside wall—seen only once I was fully in the room and turned around— that halted my inspection. Awe squeezed my throat and an expanding heart inflated my surprised, "Oh!" Dozens of photographs, many paired with a charcoal and pastel reproduction, crowded the space. Like the hair on Sam's chest, they clustered thick in the center, growing more sporadic as they spread around the doors leading to the hallway and kitchen. Old, new, some somber, some bright, from modern hand-crafted, to authentic Art Deco, the frames trickled pieces of Sam into every last nook of my brain. His history, his art, his loves and losses, each element that shaped him was there to see. As the onslaught of kaleidoscope information slowed, I focused on Sam, still standing in the doorway. "I'm...gob-smacked, to quote my grandmother. The drawings are yours, aren't they?" "Yes." "Why do you copy pictures?" On display for show-and-tell, he reverted to an anxious seven-year-old. Ducking his head, he said, "To find an abstract my soul can absorb." Every time I thought I had his complexities pegged, he surprised me with another layer— and the newest one related directly back to our conversation in the truck. "You trust your heart more than your eyes, too."

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"Yeah, I guess I do." The centermost photo begged closer examination. Arms slung with teenaged ease around the shoulders of a lovely young girl, two boys who looked alike, yet not at all, grinned at me with Sam's smile. "Your twin," I murmured, aching to stroke the glass shielding the Kodak moment. "What was his name?" "Jared." The girl suddenly caught my full attention. Despite the air conditioning, a sheen of sweat sprang from my scalp and slithered toward my toes. "Who's the girl?" I whispered, hypnotized by the very real green eyes peering shyly at the camera. As I suspected, Sam's Angel of Vengeance had roots in reality. "That's my sister, Joan, on the left," he pointed to a different photo, "and Mom up above. There's my Dad, on the right." I followed where he lead, nodding. From high school, to summer fiestas, to sledding down a mountain in hip deep snow, he took me through the timeline. But the eyes that burned into me from Sam's back appeared again and again, passed without comment, and raised more questions than answers. For his sake, I hoped her face on his body signified a flattering tribute rather than a statement about the woman who grew from the buxom girl sandwiched between twins, and who seemed to beat at the heart of his discontent. Furtherest from the drafting table, a photograph without a copy seemed isolated. The twins and the girl again, horsing around on a beach. Much older, grown into men and woman, although their faces were semi-hidden, Sam's tattoo clearly identified who held the mystery woman aloft like Atlas himself. "Who is she?" I repeated. "She's very pretty." "An old family friend." He started toward the kitchen. "Do you want a beer?" Men never get it. Side-stepping doesn't negate a woman's curiosity but enhances it exponentially. I wandered further through the pictorial insights. An old friend, for sure. Other than his twin, she appeared to be his favorite subject. Unsure how to draw him out yet determined to try, I raised my voice loud enough to carry into the kitchen. "From these I'd guess you really—and after your brother, too—I mean, when did she die?" He reappeared in the doorway, beers in hand, gaping at me with unadulterated surprise. "What? Who?"

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"The painting in the barn," my good intentions blundered onward, "to let her rest in peace. And your back, it's her face. You must have loved her very much." Bleak, dark laughter was the last response I expected. "She's not dead," he said. "She's alive and well in Ocean City, New Jersey." Like a steady leak, understanding eroded through my skull, the knowledge debris tumbling into my brain. "The woman you can never have," I blurted. "Not in thirty years of wishing." Resignation an aura, he placed the open bottles on the coffee table and eased onto the sofa. "Does she know how you feel?" Bitterness crept into his eyes and vanished. "Aye, there's the rub. I made a seriously lousy attempt to tell her when we were about twenty, then held my peace for too many years. By the time I dug up the courage to try again, the consequences were...insurmountable." "Like what?" His jaw twitched. "Like those ménage a trois details you wanted." For the first time since he hit the sofa, he met my eyes. "You still want to hear all about it?" Talk about hell in a handbasket. I wasn't the only one with a humiliating past—nor, I suddenly realized, was Rune the only man pining for something he was denied. Shifting gears, I tried another road, one that could shed light on more than just Sam's inner workings. "Do you regret loving her?" "Not a second of it," he said. "What I regret is every mistake I made pursuing what can never be, and every lie, deception and manipulation, no matter how small, that I'm responsible for—those things I'll regret till I die." Empathy and sympathy colliding in my throat, I joined him on the couch. Sam stared at his drawings while I desperately tried not to see a reflection of Rune ten years in the future, alone and still jousting love's indefatigable windmill. Every trace of the desire that propelled me through the day evaporated, leaving behind an oily skin of sorrow-tinged guilt. "Could she do something," I asked, "to make you not love her any more?" Although I expected it, his answer pounded the final nail into the evening's coffin. My mind would be filled with images all night, but none would bear any resemblance to sex.

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"No," he said. "God Almighty might be able to keep us apart but the bastard can't take that away from me, too."

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Chapter Eight

Sunday arrived without a single cloud to mitigate the sun and since the humidity broke during the night, the chocolate was making room for the sharper aroma of growing corn. The perfect day in the perfect place, Rune hoped it also heralded the perfect moment for airing out a man's heart. But from the second Kes came downstairs, she fidgeted and looked everywhere and anywhere except at him. Probably trying to avoid their promised talk, or pretending she had forgotten. He hadn't. After putting up with her yellow streak for a few hours, he took a deep, fudgy corn breath and dove into the scariest contest of wills he ever faced. "Let's go for a swim." "A swim?" she squeaked. "A swim," he repeated, and shooed her toward the door. "Let me put on a suit." "No suits," he said, "let's go." She narrowed her eyes, examining him like a mythical breed of Rune—then surprised the crap out of him by complying without another word. On their way down the slope, she muttered, "It's going to be cold." "The first dip maybe, but swim to the float and we'll be warm in no time." Baiting her, he added, "Don't worry. I'll go slow so you can keep up." It worked. "Keep up? What do you mean, 'keep up'?" "I've always been a better swimmer." "My ass!" Pulling her t-shirt over her head, she sprinted toward the water, hollering, "Last one in's a rotten egg!" Taking him by surprise, she was halfway to the pond before he reacted. Giggling like a kid instead of a man intending to capture a woman, he reached the bank just as a naked Kes splashed into the shallows. Beautiful—she was so beautiful. The glistening crystals she churned rained over his hot skin, each drop a cool caress that bathed his thoughts with calm.

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Oblivious to the muddy rim, he stripped off his T-shirt and dropped his shorts. As if created in the wake of an angel's wings, chocolate tickled his nose and he paused to savor déjà vu. How many times had they played this game? How many times did it lead to soul searching conversations? How many times had they clung to the float for hours, with nothing existing outside of each other? How long could he stand Kes' unreasonable fear? That answer, at least, was there as it always was, squeezing his chest, making it hard to breathe: Masochist that he had become, probably forever. On her back, Kes scissored lazily toward the lumber and pontoon raft anchored in the center of the pond. "Come on in," she shouted, "the water's fine!" The code they created long before adult complications showed up freed his lungs. 'Fine' promised the water would be ice-cold. Wading purposefully into the spring-fed pond, he steeled under fresh, sharp claws razoring his nerve endings. The reflective surface made it difficult to locate Kes at first but he finally spotted her almost to the float. No need to hurry, she already won. What she didn't know was it would be her last easy triumph for the day. Swimming toward the unknown, he knew that interloper or not, Sam was right. If he didn't do everything in his power to convince Kes to take the life he offered, he would never be more than a coward, clinging to the notion that loving her was enough. It wasn't. Not any more. Sam's presence served final notice. Eventually hope would die an agonizing death and leave him disgusted and disillusioned. When he arrived at the float, Kes was already leaning on the raft. "Excellent idea, RuneyTunes," she said, tilting her face into the sun, "feels great." Gliding alongside the pontoon, he propped his elbows on the platform next to her. "This is my favorite place in the world." Actually, it was a close second to the real favorite. But since he still hadn't decided how to stuff everything he felt, everything he wanted, everything he prayed for, into the short space Kes was bound to limit him to, the skewed observation let his courage square its shoulders. Prepared for the worst, too afraid to think about the best, and the beginning the only logical place to start, he launched straight into his purpose before he changed his mind. "Everybody knows I love you. But nobody, and most of all me, understands why you won't

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accept that. What we have," his wave took in the entire farm, "is more commitment than most people ever get." "I do accept it." She sounded weary. "But why do we have to label it?" "Because it's what people do," he snapped and tossed out the challenge that might break him for the rest of his life. "Us without any strings or thinking about the future—I can't live like that any more. If you don't want to get married, fine, we'll just apply 'for better or worse' to living together. Either way, I'm throwing down the gauntlet, Kes. No more half-measures. We commit to until death do us part, or I'm moving out." Anger her favorite defense, he expected her to yell. But so calm he wondered if it was a trick, she said, "You're right. It's selfish to ask you to play house without any permanence." Heaving onto the raft, water streaming in his wake as he stood, he dared to check for signs of deception. Wet tendrils of her long hair snaked over her shoulders, decorating her buoyant breasts to the water line, and she studied him with an earnest honesty that stirred deep in his belly, filling his balls with fear—fear that she wouldn't stop him after all, wouldn't beg him to stay. "Mermaid," he whispered, "what have you done with Kes?" "What's the fairytale say?" she asked. "If you catch one, you get the fuck of all fucks, then she gets bored?" Heart and both heads hanging in the chocolate wind, he ventured, "No, the prince carries her off to a big castle and cherishes her the way she deserves to be cherished." "Ah yes, they live happily ever after—until the day they wake up and realize they hate each other." "We are not our parents," he said tightly. "Just because they couldn't be counted on, doesn't mean we can't be, either." "The odds would seem to say otherwise." She tilted her head to meet his eyes, brows furrowed and serious. "Take a look around. The whole world is cheating on each other, chewing up souls and spitting them out. Then they crawl into a hole, mourning their mistakes and licking their wounds until they've healed enough to start the same shit all over again." "That won't be us." A ration of anger made her reply harsh. "How can you know that? No matter how committed, how much in love, sooner or later temptation raises its irresistible head, and next

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thing you know, we're lying to each other. That's what I can't live with, Rune, knowing the inevitable is out there, just waiting to happen." "What I know," he tried to remain reasonable, "is when temptation comes along, I'll say, 'hey Kes, guess who made a pass at me?' and that will be the end of it. If you trust me to be your friend forever, there's no reason not to trust me to be your partner, too. Besides, if you think I've waited this long just to fuck us up the first chance I get, you're so wrong it makes my teeth hurt." "But," she pulled out her historical conundrum, the one that always left him searching for an answer while she walked away, "can you guarantee that? Swear all you want, you can't be sure any more than I am." "Yes," he said, "I can be sure. I'd rather kill myself than hurt you. I'd die protecting you. And those absolutes cancel out all the maybes in the world." Long moments passed while he held her stare. "Rune," she said finally, "what will you do if I actually tell you to move out?" Honesty the last weapon in his arsenal, his reply bled stark truth. "I'll walk away." "But would you let it go, what you feel for me?" There it was. The insurmountable obstacle. The very foundation of his self-disgust. Again, there existed no choice but the truth. "No." "And what if I want to sleep with you one last time," she said, "would you still do it?" He had to close his eyes to answer. "Yes." She went on like she wasn't squeezing his balls and heart with every word. "I don't think I told you," she hesitated, peering at the opposite shore, "but Sam's a portrait artist, too. And last night, he—" Naked as nature and suddenly reduced to a jealous five-year-old, he ignored the asinine Portrait of Rune he created by stomping hard enough to rock the float. "Do not try to change the subject," he bellowed. "This is about us. This is not about Sam. It doesn't have anything to do with Sam." Lips a hard line, Kes continued, "What I have to say does. If you'd stop trying to control—" "Control?" Composure evaporated. His challenge had failed and by sundown, he would be packing his stuff. Leaning dangerously too far over the edge, he towered over her. "Don't even

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go there, Kestrel. The only time you let me control anything is in bed—and if you could live without my dick, I wouldn't even get that." Kes winced. Shame coated him in sweat. Fuck fuck fuckety fuck! What could he say to take it back? "Tell you what," she said, reined so tightly the water rippled around her, "you take it. Take control of your entire fucking life, and have fun." Shooting him a final, flesh-peeling glare, she abruptly submerged and headed for shore.

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Chapter Nine

Damn him! There was every possibility that I was in love with a total idiot. On the verge of accepting it all, of taking that terrifying step I avoided so long, Rune had to go and invoke the very memories my fear feasted on by screaming about control. Storming away into the horizon always works in the movies, but when you don't have anywhere to go, it's kind of pointless. My list of close confidantes other than Rune consisted of two girlfriends—one on vacation and the other not in any emotional place for giving advice on men. In a pique of wholly childish spite, I paused long enough to pitch Rune's shorts and shirt into the pond before I followed the bread crumb trail of my clothes to the house, where I snatched my keys and headed for the car. Not a clean getaway. No sooner did I turn over the ignition than Rune tapped on the door. Dripping wet and still naked, for a second I thought he might actually haul my butt out, whether I liked it or not. "Come on," he said, "it was a low blow. I'm sorry." Great. An apology. But sorry didn't erase the question of how low he would stoop the first time we fought under an umbrella of commitment. And, since both our short tempers were awe-inspiring, that didn't bode well at all. "Move your ass!" "Kes, if you leave, I'll just f—" I gunned the engine and whatever he said drowned in its purr. Yet even my anger couldn't stand against the hurt and regret in his eyes. He was right. I should take a chance and pray for the best, whether with him or someone else. Maybe there really is a way to turn control into mutual reliance. Besides, if I didn't, being old and wearing purple wouldn't be much fun alone. Rune's determination to continue our discussion was written in every line of his face. Weighing my options next to far too many doubts, I didn't know what to do. I was too confused to talk about us rationally and doing it while my anger still simmered was useless. Although Rune rarely backed away from anything he didn't want to, he usually let me have my way. "Give me a few hours to think," I compromised, "and we can talk again tonight." Before he could respond, I backed out of the barnyard and headed for my newest friend's house. Sam might not be the best choice for spilling my guts, but at least he might be in a position to understand.

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***** I found Sam the same place as the previous morning, only instead of agonizing over an unfinished canvas, he was putting the final touches on a completed portrait. "Hey, Kes," he called, his good mood shining brighter than the overhead flood lights. "What time is it? I meant to stop over this morning but I started at dawn and kinda lost track." It seemed that within the space of twenty-four short hours, the angst that introduced me to Sam had vacated his psyche in favor of mine. "Am I interrupting?" "No, no." Chattering away, he bustled around, stowing his gear. "I couldn't sleep, so I did your vase—I hope you like it—and then I came out here. Been finished about an hour, but I have to nit-pick a painting for at least a week after it's done." He folded the easel and propped the canvas against the wall. "What do you think?" Examining his work, I had to admit if I were the woman it portrayed, the painting would be displayed with prominent pride. Jealousy licked its lips and nibbled at the edges of my heart. A damn lucky woman, his friend. Not only was her happiness clear in all the photographs and drawings, she married one twin, screwed around with both and then, unless Sam had been particularly generous, wed a man half her age and twice as handsome as the Madison boys. Whatever her secret of success, I wanted to learn it. I was even half-tempted to suggest a weekend at the shore to facilitate a lesson. "It's wonderful," I said simply. "Thanks." As if my confusion and fear created cloud cover over his sun, Sam frowned. "Are you okay?" "Are we good enough friends yet that I can ask for personal advice?" "Of course. What's the matter?" Rather than carefully circle my wagons, I sighed. "It's Rune. He says he wants a commitment or he's moving out." "Good for Rune." "Not good for Rune. He also says he'll still love me anyway," I waved at his painting, "like you love her." "And?"

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"And that scares me shitless." More precisely, being responsible for turning Rune into Sam scared me shitless. "I bet it does." "What should I do?" He ruffled his hair. "I don't know, Kes. What do you want to do?" "I'm not sure," dissemblance exploded in a rush, "I need to figure out the best way to handle it." "Handle Rune moving out?" "Yes—no—I mean figure out if I should let him change everything between us." If that wasn't splitting hairs, nothing was. What I really wanted to know was whether or not I could stuff everything I felt for Rune back into a locked closet after it got trampled. Smile collapsing under the weight of a frown, Sam said, "I don't think I can help you with that." "After what you told me last night? I think you're perfect to offer an opinion." For once his eyes clearly projected discomfort. "Maybe not. You won't like it." "So long as it's an honest opinion, I can take it." Harsh laughter echoed through the empty barn. "Oh, it's definitely honest." "Then tell me." "Just remember, you asked for it." "Okay," I nodded, "shoot." "First, I'm glad Rune decided to use his spine for more than standing upright. From what I've seen, he doesn't let anyone walk all over him except you. Second, if you don't love the man enough to commit, let him go and stop torturing the poor bastard." Sam certainly called that one. I didn't like his opinion. "I'm not torturing him. I never asked him to love me."

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"You certainly are torturing him. Every time you get back in his bed, you give him hope. You know how he feels, yet you play tug-of-war with his love—and that's worse than any torture the Inquisition invented." "Sex and love aren't necessarily synonymous with commitment." "Not always, but most of time they're so intertwined, there's no point in unraveling them." "I just don't see the sense in exchanging a solid eighteen-year friendship for a commitment that probably won't last six months." "If you're not determined to make things work when life gets a little rocky, of course it won't." Sam made sense, but my excuses were a security blanket I remained reluctant to wash. "Even if I convince myself I can do that," I said, "how can I be sure that Rune will do it, too?" "Jesus, woman. If him sticking by you through two decades of lovers isn't enough to prove it, I don't know what else could." "That's the problem," I pleaded with myself as much as Sam, "every time I try to imagine the future without him, I want to cry—and every time I think of a future with him, I wonder how much I'll cry when it ends." "Why does it have to end?" "Because it's inevitable. He has the attention span of an ant when it comes to romance, and I'm a woman that gets bored at the drop of a hat." I couldn't blame Sam when, disgust clear, he blew out his frustration. I could, however, blame him for the vent bayonet he stabbed into my chest. "No, you're a stubborn, stupid brat, that's what you are. You can't see the solid oak growing in your own backyard because you're too damn busy digging through childhood baggage, searching for problems that may never exist. Grow up, Kes, get a grip already. The world isn't perfect, people are damn sure not perfect, and neither is love—but it's all we mortals get to work with." "Wonderful," I drawled, already spiraling back into self-pity. "I really appreciate the bucking up. Good thing your dick doesn't disapprove of me as much as your brain does." "Don't try to mind fuck me," he snapped. "You wanted it straight, you got it straight." "I might be childish," I fired back, "but at least I'm not stupid enough to love someone who marries everybody but me."

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"Do not twist this into a litany of my mistakes," he said with so much patience I wanted to slap it away. "I know exactly how fucking stupid it is to spend your life barefoot, waiting for the second shoe to drop. So before you start taking cheap shots, maybe you should consider just how well I know what I'm talking about." Sam's honesty singed my soul, boiled stockpiled fears into baseless steam, and produced a cascade of distilled truth. "God," tears welled that I swiped impatiently away, "I do love him, you know?" I turned to the portrait, still so wet it gleamed. "Does she love you too, Sam?" "Yes," he said quietly, "more than she ever realized until it was too late." "But you painted her happy." "She is. And even if I never find peace without her, I'm glad she found it without me. That's the nature of true love," he added, "when the other person's happiness matters more than your own." Staring into the green eyes of the living specter that haunted him, I didn't want to learn her lessons after all. I couldn't let Rune walk out of my life, couldn't let him spend too many years trying to fill the hole I put in his heart because I didn't believe in myself enough to give the trust he not only deserved, but already earned. Sam's arm slipped around my waist. "I think Rune loves you as much as I've ever loved her." With nothing left to hide behind, I tucked my trembling hands under my arms and spit out my biggest fear, the fear I tried to conceal even from myself for as long as I could remember. "I'll hurt him, Sam, hurt him really bad. Nana always told me I'm my mother's daughter in too many ways. I'll get restless and next thing you know, I'll be sleeping with someone else, lying to Rune and—and..." "And cuckold is the saddest word ever created." "Yes." Filled with our shared despair, longing and need, the barn was stifling and I wanted to go outside, breath the chocolate air, forget the day ever dawned. "Well, you know," Sam said haltingly, "some marriages are open and you're already halfway there." The cheer that radiated from him earlier had vanished. Shaking his head, he went on, "It's a minefield, no doubt about it, but it can—and does—work. I know a couple in their

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sixties who've been doing it since they were twenty. Just a matter of communicating needs and coming to an agreement, I guess." I searched his face and he looked away but not before I saw my heartache for him, for Rune, for my own self-imposed stagnation, reflected in his eyes. I didn't want to think about the future or the past. As always, I wanted to focus on the day, on my chocolate-scented life and the joy of simply breathing. Still, Sam's arm around me was warm, safe, and held no danger of disappointment. That our emotions collided in a kiss wasn't surprising. Ravenous as leopards, we wrestled for a dominance that refused to lay claim to either side. No time for the dainty niceties we shared the day before, Sam suckled my nipples through my t-shirt while his hands slid into my shorts and kneaded my ass like clay. In a blur of blind want, my fingers fumbled with his fly until the zipper cooperated and I could shove his jeans over his hips. Kicking away the tangle around his ankles, he yanked my shirt over my head with a growl. Filling my hand with his already hard cock, its tumescence deepened both my desire and groans, and shrouded every problem beyond the barn in a mist too thick for mere thought to pierce. "God, Sam," I begged, "no teasing, please. Give it to me good. Give it to me right now." "One second," he said gruffly. Before I could complain, he grabbed one of the rolled mats and flipped it out, covering the rough-hewn wood floor with two inches of cushioning foam. Placing the Shaker chair in the center, he motioned me to have a seat in the ring. Despite my haste, I paused long enough to enjoy Mother Nature's portrait of man. Sam's delectably hard penis bobbed against his furry stomach, the sight flooding my tunnel with additional lubrication. He should be the one sitting. Then all I had to do was climb onto his lap and that lusty weapon would batter into me, erasing any and all thoughts other than orgasm. Before I could advance, he turned his head, frowned at the door, and his cock began to shrink. Evidently, the moron who woke up in my skin that morning hesitated too long and gave him time to penetrate the fog around the unresolved. "Looks like somebody needs a blow-job," I said, desperate to pull him back to a world that contained only us and the moment. "No. Somebody needs to taste your pussy." Blue as cobalt glass, his eyes followed me to the chair, while the quick resurgence of his erection indicated sex once again had his undivided attention. Dropping to his knees between

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mine, he dipped his tongue into my belly button. Although I don't mind a quickie without foreplay, for me oral requires a build-up. I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. Before he kissed my lower lips, he was going to kiss my primary ones some more. He snarled but complied without a word. My confidence bolstered, I thrilled to his mouth ravaging mine, his body pressing me into the unyielding wood at my back, and wrapped my legs around his waist. Arching into the stone column of his cock, my hips undulated of their own accord while our tongues wrestled for position. But the damn chair creasing into the back of my thighs quickly became unbearable. "This is really uncomfortable," I murmured against his lips. Above the faintest of smiles, his eyes smoldered, echoing the lust buzzing in my ears. "No problem." He pulled me to my feet and nuzzled my neck, pressing his erection firmly into my abdomen. "Is this better?" The hard organ lodged just above my soft cleft made me aware of how wet I had become. "Yes. Stupid chair was killing my butt." His warm breath poured into my ear as he nibbled the lobe and explored the soft depression below it. "Then let's try something else," he rumbled like distant thunder. "Bend over and hold onto the seat, I'll lick you from behind." "You don't need to get me ready, I'm already there." "Maybe not. But I'm so hard, it's starting to hurt. If we do it now, it's going to last all of three seconds." I sympathized. "Mmm, only three? Then let me suck you off so we can start over." "I don't want to start over. Just lean over the chair and give me a minute." Even cognizant of his over-stimulated state, I couldn't help wrangling for control. Set the pace, draw the line, take charge and never, ever let 'em see you sweat—unless, of course, they're already in the middle of doing a really good job. With a sigh, he ruffled his hair. "Do you ever give totally into pleasure," he kissed my ear, "ever stop being completely in charge of yourself?" Seemed the prime focus of my day was being frustrated by obstinate men. "No," I replied a bit more harshly than intended, "I don't."

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He cupped my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples. "Don't get pissed," he said, rolling my turgid peaks while his lips trailed down my neck. "Yesterday showed me what you like. Give me a chance to prove that I pay attention. Besides, sometimes giving's better than getting." He paused to suck the sensitive flesh at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. "And right now," he continued, "I'm in a giving mood." Under all the doubts and worries I dragged through life, a nudge of panic made me wonder if Rune had somehow managed to share the details of my fantasy. Little control over my world as a child, as an adult, it was a right I fiercely protected. Except in my fantasies. Because fantasies are different. In fantasies submission to another's will—particularly submission in the heat of passion—intrigued me simply because I yearned for it as much as I feared it. Uncertainty spreading, my body tensed from toes to brain and I suddenly knew what it felt like to be a brood mare being calmed by a man intent on breaking me to saddle. Sam didn't miss my reaction. "What is it? Do you think I'd try to hurt you? Just try it. If you let go, you might be surprised how good it feels." His long fingers stroked my abdomen, moving lower. Sliding easily between my lower lips, his fingertip hovered over my clitoris, barely touching the throbbing center. "Now," he went on, "lean over that chair and let me do what I want." "Please, Sam," I groaned, rising uneasiness mingling with my responses to his petting. I didn't want a drawn out conversation, I just wanted to devour him while he devoured me. Again I tried to resist, but he pressed on my shoulders, determined to win. I could break his hold—it wouldn't be a particularly gentle maneuver, but I could do it. "I don't—it's only—look, not having control scares me. I don't know why but it does." The lie came even easier than escaping his hold would be. I knew God-damned well why. Giving Sam control dripped with an inherent intimacy I remained reluctant to bestow on anyone, even Rune. Although, generally speaking, other men, including Rune, didn't seem to mind that I didn't. As a matter of fact, Rune in particular enjoyed enthusiastic, distinctly-female-dominated sex. Still, I teetered on the edge. If I couldn't loose control during sex, there was no way I could share control in love. "Give it a shot," the murmuring cocoa of Sam's aural urgings broke through my reverie, as did his feathery stroking between my legs. "There is nothing to worry about. If there's something you want, simply say it."

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What could be the harm? He wasn't asking me to do something unreasonable. Sam understood my emotional reserve and indeed, let me call the shots before. Might not be so bad having my body catered to. After all, he wasn't asking for my unconditional surrender. And maybe, just maybe, the answer to everything hinged on finding the middle ground between giving too much and giving too little. Stick to the old song and know when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, when to walk away, when to run, adding the personal caveat of 'know when to give in'. With strangled resignation, I forced my body to relax. Eyes closed, I concentrated on the sensations radiating from Sam's ministrations. My capitulation obvious, he murmured delighted satisfaction, turning me to face the chair. There are few things I've done more difficult than leaning over and grasping the seat of that chair, but once I had, Sam didn't waste a moment. Crotch snugging firmly into my behind, he scattered kisses down my spine. Initially, I was all right. But when the radiating heat of his cock wedged deeper into my rear cleavage, uncertainly swept in. A bend of my knees separated us and I blindly groped for his erection. "Take it easy." He gently pushed my hand away. "You don't have to do anything except close your eyes and take what I give." Mustering my willpower, I demanded my muscles loosen, pressed my ass into the bulk of his rod. Sam continued to stroke my flanks, back and shoulders, the occasional undulation of his hips the only clear indication of his still high arousal. One-by-one, my limbs responded and with no little surprise, I realized that the more my muscles relaxed, the more intense Sam's attention felt. By the time he reached around and parted my slick lips, my skin was flushed with heat. He took his time coaxing my full submission through prolonged attention to my pulsing clit. Like his tongue the first time we joined, his hand knew when to back off, when it was better to glide his palm up and down over my slickened vulva than continue a direct assault. Chest pressed into my back, his tongue slipped into my ear, exploring its curves and bends as thoroughly as my body's other secrets. Warm breath flowing into the now-damp shell sent gooseflesh rippling over me and I moved for the first time, arching into his hand with a groan. While Sam's breathing grew more labored with every moan he extracted from me, my inner struggle to remain passive continued. I clutched at pleasant mental distractions, like the way his abdomen contracted when I sucked him, how it sent pulses of excitement rolling between my legs. With those idle thoughts came revelation and I stepped over the highest hurdle by admitting Sam was right—there is a unique erotic reward in giving your partner pleasure

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separate from your own. And to do that, someone had to give up a measure of sexual control. No, that wasn't quite right. Freedom is what I had to give him. Freedom to please me while trusting he would. Body responding to my startling discovery, I became a simple puddle of flesh and blood. Swaying against the chair, my legs refused to hold. Sam's arm around my waist kept me standing. "There we go," he praised. "Almost ready to see how you like my tongue from behind." A quiet, if not slightly hysterical, giggle escaped my tight throat. He sounded like a content little boy playing in a beloved sandbox. Although when he returned to my clit and not only increased the pressure, but sought my nipples with the other hand, the image immediately shifted back to the thoroughly grown-up masculine beast playing with me. "So," he drawled, "clit and a nipple, or one erogenous zone at a time," he abandoned my clit to tug the twin ambrosial points on my breasts, "like this?" I groaned, the concerted attention to my nipples zapping pleasure into my clit, turning it into a simmering throb that convulsed my vagina in time to his gentle pinches. The more I relaxed, the closer to the chair seat my head sagged. Eventually I stopped worrying about how I might look and rested my cheek on the smooth wood. Round and round, back and forth, up and down, Sam rubbed my nipples, tweaked my clit and stroked my skin, as if the small submission I had given him was the most precious gift he ever received. The sensual sensations merged into blissful smoldering glory in my stomach. And while his hard flesh butting repeatedly into my backside made my mouth dry with an entirely different kind of want, I resolutely stayed in position, trusting he would give me a vaginal taste of his swollen desire when he was ready. Heart fluttering in rapture, when Sam stepped back, the lost contact turned my head, my eyes seeking his. Caressing my flank, he drew the flat of his palm over the wider crevasse, until the narrower passage lay cupped in his hand. Meeting my eyes, he grinned—and pushed his fingers deep into my soaked pussy. Words useless, I mewled in ecstasy as he pumped my tunnel, full, hard, and with a mindnumbing steady rhythm that again weakened my knees. The other strong arm pulled me upright, pinned me against his chest. Encountering a throbbing taut peak, one hand tugged my nipple in time to the other's thrusts. Milking my pleasure at both ends, his whispers washed over me, husky descriptions of how hard I made his cock serving as additional input. My skin moist with perspiration, when a chocolate-laden breeze found its way into the barn and tried to whisk it away, its scent wove into my consciousness, blurring the meaning of

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mere words until soon, his voice penetrated deeper than any penis. Deep, husky, gruff, demanding, it stroked me in ways his hands never could, conjuring sensuous sensations unrelated to sex: bittersweet blackstrap molasses; coffee and cigarettes; campfire-singed marshmallows; the scratch of a five o'clock shadow; the rasp of a cat's tongue; the roughness of sweetwood sawdust in homemade lavender soap. In the midst of it all, Sam released my burning body and moved away. I gasped, swayed, yearned for his return with every nerve. He spread my legs wider with his knee and I craned my neck to find out what the next menu item might be. "What are you going to—" Eyes glittering like blue gems in the sun, the grin twitching the corners of his mouth held such lascivious intent, it stopped the question in my throat and replaced it with quivering exhilaration. He sighed with mock-impatience, although his eyes continued to sparkle at my acceptance of his mastery. "Patience, woman." He tried on a stern frown that wouldn't stick. His tongue flashed over his lips and he broke into a full smile. I had come to learn that when Sam smiled, people smiled back. With an exaggerated sigh to match his, I rested my cheek on the chair and waited. Thankfully, it wasn't a long wait. Rubbing his rigid tool between my slippery thighs, he spread the thick moisture over and around the cleft of my need. His cock tracing moist lines over my burning skin elicited a wriggle and I pushed my hips up and out, craving the penetration so near and yet so far away. I expected to be speared. Instead, he crouched and bit gently into the rounded flesh of my buttock, sucking it into his mouth. "You've got a great ass." His tongue teased between my cheeks, lapping at the dewdrops left by his organ's travels. "Finer than milk and honey, I'd say." While he kneaded the globes, his tongue tip worked its way toward my dripping center. When he pressed his face into my vulva, I groaned in relief. His nose slipped into my tunnel as his tongue contacted my clit. The slight breach of my hungry chasm's threshold was enough to make me forget I agreed to be passive. "Sam, please, my legs are getting tired and—" The remainder of my request drowned in animal moan as his tongue entered me, circling and stretching the delicate membranes where they are most sensitive. "Lips or clit, Kes?" His tongue probed me again, drawing another groan. "Tell me," he growled, "what you want." A quick nip on my thigh and he added, "And I don't want to hear 'that feels good' or 'fuck me'. I want you to tell me exactly what you want."

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"You mean every detail?" I flushed at thoughts I wasn't sure I could voice. Backsliding towards repression, I opted for an easy out. "My mouth. I want you in my mouth." His laugh dripped disappointment. "Sucking me has nothing to do with my tongue in your cunt." He scattered kisses across the backs of my thighs. "Okay. One step at a time then. I'll let you suck me, but only enough so I can show you what I mean." "I'm just not sure what to say," I hedged. "Here." He eased me erect and patted the chair. "Sit down, give your legs a break and let me explain." I plopped down with a sigh of relief. I wanted to apologize but I wasn't sure what exactly to apologize for. Crouched in front of me, eyes dark blue and serious, he said, "I like hearing my partner talk during sex—it turns me on like you can't believe. I also aim to satisfy but I'm no mind reader. With enough time to experiment, I might figure out you like this harder and that softer, but I'd still be guessing." "You want me to give you a blueprint for my hot spots." "Something like that, yes." I returned his honesty. "It makes me a little nervous," I said. "I mean, I liked it when you whispered in my ear dancing last night—it did as much for me as all the groping. Still..." I hesitated, choosing my words. "Giving you control over our sexual gait is one thing, but a blowby-blow description is a little too embarrassing." "Can you at least try?" "Yes." The affirmative sounded tentative, even to me. We regarded each other for a few seconds before a twinkle returned to Sam's eyes. His hand strayed to the lovely length drooping between his legs, pumping it slowly back to life. He rose, wordlessly offering his erection. If he wanted to babble while I sucked, great, I could handle that. Accepting the prize with a huge measure of relief, I tasted my musky, saltedhoney frosting on his granite shaft and gained an indistinct sense of power from it. Sucking gently, I swirled my tongue around his sweetmeat while my hands explored the thick pubic tangle and then his stomach.

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Hands wrapped in my hair, Sam cleared the mass from my face. Watching my performance with concentrated interest, he launched into the demonstrative litany. "Jesus, Kes," he growled, "my balls get tighter every time I slide into your mouth. Deeper, if you can. Yeah, that's the way, let it hit your throat. God yes, a little more—not too much, or I'll spurt." Legs braced wide, he buried his shaft as deep as I would allow. Testing the weight of his testicles in my palm, I found them heavy, swollen, taut with readiness. Continuing to work his abundant rod with my mouth, I tickled the area behind his scrotum and was rewarded with more words. "Really sensitive there," his pleasure rumbled from his throat. "Press a little harder." I firmly stroked the perianal expanse. Slowly and methodically, his cock slid in and out over my tongue while I continued to explore the tender area, stimulating the nugget of gold hidden beneath thin skin. I paused to wet my fingers in the pool of arousal between my legs, and he grumbled almost immediately. "Mmm, don't stop. When you do that, it—" Before he could finish the thought, I slid my lubricated fingers over the delicate area and continued up, seeking the tight opening between his cheeks. Sam pulled a sharp breath as my fingertip tested the new terrain like a heartbeat. "Do it," he hissed, the demand little more than a husky growl. My wet finger slipped easily into the tiny orifice. Ass and thighs clenched, he bellowed approval. "Fuck, that's good!" His hips bucking and rolling on grunting waves, I gently pumped into his ass, and although I wouldn't have thought it possible, I swear his strapping phallus expanded under the penetration. Panting, he still managed to let me know what he thought. "Sonofabitch, that sends a throb through my balls and into the head of my prick. Makes me really hard, like I'm going to burst." I eased my finger forward, seeking his prostate. A rhythmic palpitation of the tiny, muscle-encased gland turned guttural descriptions into snarling rapture. Even if he had fallen silent, I would have been well aware of his ecstasy when a shuddering throb from his substantial length trickled over my tongue.

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"Stop. Please." Voice raw, his hips tried to escape my sweet torture. Unfortunately for him, the motion only served to imbed his cock deeper in my sucking mouth. He finally grasped my wrist and pried my hand away. His erection slid from my mouth with a wet plop and I licked my lips with languid eroticism. "Fuck," he strangled, struggling to catch his breath. Sparks snapped through his eyes and his smile filled me with prideful arrogance. "I think that's enough demonstration. Let's start with how you want that hot little clit licked. Hard, soft, slow, fast?" My mouth opened and promptly closed again, at a loss how to begin. It was one thing to think what he wanted to hear, completely another to actually say it. Sam waited, his unwavering eyes hungry and hopeful—until I couldn't bear the heat pouring out of them and hastily looked away. I felt rather than heard his frustrated sigh. Ready to apologize, make more excuses if I had to, I spared a quick glance up—and was mildly surprised to find him not looking at me but focused on the barn door. "I'm sorry." I stroked his thigh. "Can you accept that I'm just not comfortable talking to you like that?" Head cocked, he ignored me, still concentrating on the door. "Sam?" Jaw tight, throat working, he hesitated before meeting my eyes. A foreign spark flitted through the roiling blue. But before I could repeat my question, he wet his lips and gave me a stiff nod. Old habits die hard and, forgetting my resolve to act as passenger instead of conductor, I hopped up and grabbed the chair again, wriggling my hips provocatively. "Come on then, Sam I am, stop worrying about the little things I do and don't want, and just give me some of that beautiful cock." Unnerved by the inscrutable inspection he turned on me, I suddenly saw my simple baiting from Sam's perspective. I promised to at least attempt to cater to his aural predilection, yet hadn't bothered to do any more than complain my way out of even trying.

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He seemed to come to some sort of internal decision. For a brief moment, his lashes descended, shielding his disappointment. When they rose, however, his eyes gleamed with a feral determination—and, if I could trust what I read in them, a new type of lust. Grabbing my hips, he yanked my ass into range and slapped his solid length against my behind. "Is this what you want?" he asked harshly, teasing my entrance with the engorged weapon. I moaned and pushed back, still wanting him sheathed. "God damn it, Kes," the graveled roar reverberated through the rafters, "we're fucking adults here. You're no blushing virgin and I've committed most sins known to mankind. The least you can do is tell me what you want!" Frustrated, I whined, "I don't know what to say." Hating the sound of my own voice, my defensive nature reared its head, filling me with a mixture of anger and resentment. "I'll say when things feel good. I'll even scream for you to fuck me. But I will not supply verbal diarrhea for you to jack-off to later." "Oh very nice. I try to show you a pleasurable way to forge better communication and you can't even take me seriously." Last straw. My temper erupted. "How am I supposed to tell you what I don't know? All I can say is I want you in me. When you're in my mouth, I ache to have you in my pussy. When you're in my pussy, I ache to have you in my mouth. For fuck sake, Sam, running commentary won't make the experience any better." Seething, he snarled liquid flame. "Now there's something I know you want—two hard cocks. One for your mouth and one for your cunt, is that the fantasy? Would it make you hot enough to lose that iron control you're so determined to hang onto?" Despite the rush of excitement and curiosity raised by the image—not to mention the additional surge of juices between my thighs, I barked, "Fuck you." Lava and ice, he said, "No, that's fuck you times two and all you have to do is ask. Rune's been watching us for a while, and something tells me he'd be frickin' ecstatic if I suggest we share." I was surprised Rune followed me, not that he indulged his voyeuristic streak. That I could easily forgive. What I couldn't forgive was Sam hadn't seen fit to mention it the second he noticed. That pissed me off in whole new ways—definitely a shame, since fulfilling my threesome fantasy held a strong fascination.

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"Oh, I see," I hissed, "I'm supposed to swoon and beg, 'oh, yes, yes, please'. Dream on. No threeway. Not now. Not later. Never going to happen." Before I could react, Sam pulled me to his chest, wedged a hand between my legs and pushed his fingers into my unprotesting sheath. "That's too bad. I'd love to hear your bitching muffled by his prick while I fuck this wet pussy." I couldn't lie. I couldn't even object. Not when my tunnel responded by milking his digits so hard, he smiled. "Like that thought, do you?" The question dripped venom but laced with desire, also served as its own antidote. Biting back a groan, I searched for sense enough to deny it. Finding the cupboard bare, I hastily took the offense. Tilting my chin defiantly, ignoring the fact that Sam continued to work my body into a froth, I spat, "Thinking and doing are entirely different things—as you so recently pointed out." Releasing me, he returned my glare, hungry and hot. Low, harsh and for my ears only, he said, "Maybe if you trust him enough to share your body, you'll find out trusting him with the rest isn't much of a stretch." Fuming only because he was probably right, I studied him through slitted eyes. A trace of chocolate wound its way into the cool interior, enhancing the charged, crackling atmosphere of our impasse. Through all the lust and anger in Sam's eyes, a glint of doubt surfaced. He wanted me to say yes pretty bad, but it would also seem he wasn't sure if he could actually go through with it. So I called his bluff with an evil smile. "Rune!" We glowered, waited for a response. For all our snarling, a sex-filled current coursed through the barn, bouncing off the walls and drilling lascivious images deep into my brain. And I wasn't the only one. Sam's stiff condition and heaving chest said he felt it, too. The seconds ticked by and no sight of Rune. Sam ruffled his hair, took a deep breath and exhaled surrender. "Never mind. Maybe he's gone. I was just pissed and—" "Bullshit." Once again raising my voice to reach our reluctant third, I hollered, "Rune Wheeler, I know you're there. Either get your ass in here, or go home."

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Chapter Ten

Sam knew the second Rune arrived and the second he started watching them. Just as he had sensed Jared's watchful stare from the dark in that otherwhere time, in a barn progress since swallowed, when a boy named Sammy took a fatal step into the future he would never recover from. Why he didn't just turn and walk away the second Kes acknowledged Rune's presence, he didn't know. Any more than he understood why, when Rune stepped through the door with an unhesitating stride, he knew history, as his conscience had predicted, was about to repeat itself. And he wanted it to. God help him, he needed it to. The threesomes with his brother and the woman they loved were the only ghosts he couldn't seem to exorcise. He clung to the hope that repetition sans emotional baggage would prove he had engaged in the kink because he wanted to, not because he had been coerced. Even so, he might be making another foolish mistake. He might be embracing nothing more than a new hell. Either way, to find out he had to plunge in, do it, and worry about his scattered sanity later. Barefoot and shirtless, Rune came to a halt at the edge of the mat, wearing tension like a noose around his neck. Heart in her eyes, Kes asked softly, "How long were you out there?" "Long enough to know why you want me in here." Low, breathless, ready, Kes said, "And?" No matter what the outcome, Sam could see the same wheels grinding in Rune that once wore down his own equivocations. When his twin invited him in, it was like being drawn and quartered. One part bulked at the taboo while another was excited by it. A different part wanted to possess her completely, without another man's participation. And yet a fourth part was aroused beyond comprehension at the ways two of them could please her together—so much so that, like now, he could barely breathe. Finally tearing his attention from Kes, Rune said, "You've done this before, right?" "With my twin, yes." Rune stepped onto the mat. "Are there—rules?"

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Between brothers, the question of boundaries never arose. Although with a veritable stranger, Rune's reservations weren't ungrounded nor unwelcome. "Only rule I have is, you don't touch mine because I sure as hell don't want to touch yours." Relief palpable, Rune said, "Agreed. Definitely." "But we're bound to bump into each other along the way," Sam added, "so better be prepared." "I can handle that." Kes patted his arm. "If you don't want to do this, Rune, it's okay." "It's not a matter of don't want, it's..." Adam's apple bobbing, Rune settled his gaze firmly on her. "Jesus," he said hoarsely, "I'm hard already." "I know," she indicated his crotch with her chin, "I can tell. I think we both can." They turned to him as one. Unlike Rune, Sam didn't have the pleasure of jeans to cover his arousal. "What?" he demanded, pretending his exposed and jutting erection wasn't on display. "Do I really have to say it?" He never gave his brother's dick a second thought—after all, genetics engineered their cocks to be identical. Looking at it, actually seeing it perform, didn't phase him. Unfortunately, it seemed that comfort level wouldn't extend to an acquaintance. Fortunately, his discomfort was also on display. And just as fortunately, it took only one little ego stroke to rectify it. Likely because clear-cut boundaries gave Rune sufficient space, he didn't own the same compunctions. In the wake of a hit-and-run assessment of his second's bold equipment, he drawled, "Holy shit, I don't know why you're nervous." He examined his own groin with a furrowed frown. "I'm going to seriously suffer by comparison here." Kes interrupted their bonding with a choked string of nonsense. "No—not—no way— don't—wrong, uh-uh." A command to halt. Not a good sign. In unison with Rune—both of them registering much too high—he chirped, "What?" "Oh—sorry!" She tapped her chest, drawing attention to very ripe, very erect, nipples in the process. "What I was trying to say," she cleared her throat, "is you're full of it, RuneyToons."

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Obviously pleased, Rune grinned at her. "Glad to hear it. All right," he went on brusquely, "how do we get this party started?" Her face a mire of excitement, embarrassment, desire, and trepidation, raw lust still reigned supreme. "Come here," she waved him over. "Just like always—kiss me." Rune caught his eyes. Still aroused and breathing heavily, Sam answered with a quick nod. Two steps and Rune had Kes by the shoulders, searching her face. Apparently satisfied with what he found, he slid his hand through her hair and pulled her into a deep kiss. While their tongues wrangled, she unbuttoned his jeans, pushing the faded denim over his hips. Rune's half-expanded member freed, she grasped it firmly and stroked. "Nothing wrong with this," she teased, "at least nothing my mouth can't fix." Laugh full-throated, Rune said, "Like you think that's hard work." "Come on," she said, "sit down." Shoving Rune onto the chair, she dropped to her knees between his thighs and while she stripped off his jeans, looked at Sam questioningly. "Go ahead," he rasped, "I'm just going to watch for a minute—if it's okay with Rune." "Sure," Rune agreed, "I had my peek. Fair is fair." "Hey," Kes said, "if you guys don't stop all this polite—pardon the pun—dicking around and let me have one, I'm going home to my vibrator." A side of Rune Sam hadn't seen before grasped her chin, turned her to meet its burning eyes and growled, "You know I love you, Kes, so don't take this the wrong way—but shut the hell up and suck my prick. Me and Sam are just going to trade a little information while you're occupied." The grin she flashed anything but offended, Kes opened her mouth and dropped it over the head of his cock. "Yeah, baby, that's it." Kes had been correct. The man had nothing to be ashamed of. Lengthwise, he may not match Sam's magnitude, but a discrepancy in diameter more than made up the difference. With familiar efficiency, he inched his rod between her lips, each thrust predicated by a pause that allowed her to prelubricate the next.

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"So," Rune began, like they were about to discuss the weather rather than the head bobbing in his lap, "you want to know if she can lose control." Sam's growl surprised even him and his hand responded by seeking the solid marble column between his own legs. "Yeah," he stroked in time to Rune's luck, "I do." "She is shy about expressing herself. But I think between the two of us, we can show her the error of her ways." Sam hesitated, not sure what Rune intended, but realization quickly arrived. Of course! A mind game! The sly fucker took his remarks about brain sex to heart. And since he knew the details of Kes' fantasy, he was bound to target very intimate buttons. Kes stopped sucking and started talking. "Error? Ways?" "Did I tell you to stop?" Rune bounced his cock expectantly. Proof Rune wouldn't lead him astray came with Kes' giggle. "No," she said, getting in the last word before returning to work with relish. "Damn," Rune moaned appreciatively, "she always makes it hard to think straight, I'll give her that." The objectification made Sam slightly uneasy. However, it would appear Kes had no qualms. Instinct leading the way, he said, "When I fuck her while she sucks, your head will literally spin." Pure mischief, Rune's chuckle approved. "You got 911 on speed dial?" "Matter of fact, I do. Why?" "I'm not as young as I used to be. By the time we satisfy our beautiful instigator here, I might need an ambulance." Smoothing her hair away from her engaged face, he asked softly, "Should I tell him what's at the heart of your secret wish, Kes, or will you?" For a second, Sam thought she might not reply. But with a deep groan, Kes nuzzled Rune's thigh and said, "Tease." Rune mocked offense. "Not me!" A blush creeping over her cheeks, she mumbled, "You better do it." "But you do want him to know?"

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"Yes." Whatever she wanted, it was a desire so deeply seated that Kes obviously refused to meet Rune's eyes. Too many scenarios tumbled through Sam's mind, spilling over to clog his throat with anticipation. "Well somebody needs to tell me." "Let's see if I can get this right," Rune said, definitely enjoying the situation, "because when she told me about it, she was so wet, I thought she might slide right out of—ouch!" Kes' teeth made her point better than her growl. "Enough already. Get on with it before I lose my nerve." Unfazed, Rune patted her head. "I want to be sure I capture your...eloquent phrasing." Kes grumbled around his cock, and he laughed. "Okay, okay. Went something like 'two alphas competing for supremacy, with me in the middle'." Then they were right on track. He wondered why Kes would be embarrassed about such a common curiosity, but Rune's next revelation not only revealed the underlying reason, but appealed to the animal biding in every man's heart. "Basically," he said, "she wants to be treated like a starving little slut." Leaning closer to his fellator, he murmured, "Don't you, baby?" The truth of the averment rang loud in Kes' prolonged groan. As if to prove what she couldn't voice, her fingers slipped between her legs and stroked furiously. "Fuck and suck, suck and fuck, while we take our pleasure and hers is secondary— although," Rune added hastily, "it is just a game, of course, since we're also supposed to make her come so many times, she stays dizzy for a week." Play the savage beast until Kes screamed uncle. Precisely what he aimed for only an hour before. His grin unstoppable, Sam said, "Got'cha. Used, not abused." "How's that," Rune asked sweetly, "did I get it right?" Back arching, she released his organ with a pop and whimpered, "God, yes." Always a fan of the aural, a question occurred to Sam. "Is 'slut' a buzz word for you, Kes? I don't want to insult you if it's not." She hesitated. Shooting Rune a sidelong glance, she said, "Yes, I guess it is."

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"Lovely," he murmured, rubbing mental hands together. "Ear sex, brain sex, sex sex. We've got our work cut out for us, Rune." The blush suffusing her face no longer faint, she nuzzled Rune's thigh. "This is so embarrassing." "Not as embarrassed as I'll be if we get it wrong," Sam said. "Even the Wizard of Oz had to know which buttons to push." Rune agreed. "Good point." "So what's behind the curtain, Kes? What's at the mental heart of the fantasy?" "All right, already," she grumbled, "the whole point is...to be teased, to pray for release, like a mouse between lions. And I'm still not sure if I can actually go through with this." "Too late now," Rune said, "so get back to sucking cock and leave the rest up to us." "Please," she wailed—but gobbled up Rune's hard staff like it could be her last. Parameters laid out, Sam commenced their mission. Taking up crouched position at the rear, he stroked her flanks. "Please what," his hand slid between her damp thighs, "please see how wet you are?" "I was worried about watching you really pound her," Rune announced, "but with my dick in her mouth, I think I'm going to love it." Kes shuddered a perfect invitation and Sam slid two fingers into her sopping pussy. "Mmm, yeah," he shared his findings with Rune, "wet slut, my favorite flavor." Her mumbled reply unintelligible, Sam grinned, hand straying back to his own pillar of pleasure as she slathered Rune's phallus. Wrapping her hair in a knot, Rune lifted it from her face. "Can you see her beautiful mouth well enough?" Orally inclined as Kes was, Rune's meaty shaft stuffing her mouth to capacity elicited a strong pulse of envy in his balls. Jesus. He experienced more than his share of enthusiastic fellatio over the years, yet none equaled Kes' zeal. And when she paused, moaned, then swallowed a good portion of the fat monster whole, he closed his eyes, resisting the urge to impale her on the spot.

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After all, it wasn't his relationship in question. The least he could do is let Rune take the first dip. Smoothing his hands over her hips and thighs, he reached for her breasts, his bulky stiffness cradled in the cleft of her ass. Scattering kisses over her shoulders, he tugged her nipples, pleased at her muffled cries. "This spot, right here," Rune caressed the back of her neck just below the hairline, "it makes her crazy." And it did. Exploring the creamy expanse with his tongue set her hips in motion. Undulating in pleasure, she mewled satisfaction around Rune's thick cock. Stroking himself long and firm, Sam growled appreciation, and nipped her nape in hunger. Kes' response guttural and low, he did it again. "God, Sam! That goes right to my clit!" Rune groaned, pushed abruptly forward, the thrust a solid reentrance into her mouth. Lips stretched to accommodate his girth, she sawed her tongue along the underside. "Yeah, that's it—suck it, baby." Rune grabbed the edge of the chair, her hair falling in a forgotten wave, puddling onto the floor. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Sam moved to the side and helped himself to the masturbatory aid. Rune huffed, "Great, isn't it?" "It's heaven," he agreed, pumping her silky tresses over his pole. And not to ignore her convenient contribution, he added, "Jesus, Kes, I can't believe how much of that thing you get in your mouth." "Mmm," she murmured around Rune's mouthful before letting him slide free. "He's too thick to throat—get over here." The chair an awkward obstacle, Rune shoved it away and stood next to him. Hip-to-hip, they presented her uncomplicated access. She stroked Rune as she turned her tongue's attention to the new goodie. Back and forth she went, spending only a few seconds at each station, as if she were hard pressed to decide where to settle. Eventually, Rune's hand covered hers, guiding her speed while she settled in to give Sam an oral fair turn. "Fuck me." Rune stilled her hand, riveted to Sam's generous length filling her mouth.

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But when she tilted her head forward and spent no little energy stuffing every last inch down her throat, it was Sam who muttered the oath. The tight muscular confine rapidly compressing and releasing his hardened flesh, he threw back his head, bellowing satisfaction. Release an aching regret, his penis slipped free and her panting breaths washed over the excited flesh, an additional tease that begged another plunge. Rune urged her hand back into motion. "I want to see that again," he said, as breathless as she was. "God yeah." Summoning his best USMC grunt, he waved his cock at her and accompanied his order with a pull of her trigger. "Swallow my cock, slut, and do a good job." He felt rather than saw her smile, and had to grin himself when she complied without a word. As inch after inch disappeared between her lips, he again marveled at her expertise and concentrated on not coming too soon. But when her chin contacted his balls and Rune ran a curious hand over her neck and throat, Sam almost lost control. Whether or not Rune could actually feel him distending her passage didn't matter—the thought alone produced a wave of precum to flavor her saliva. As much as he enjoyed her deepthroated taunt, his balls wouldn't take much more without a revolt. Choking it, he hastily yanked his cock out of danger. "Holy shit, that was seriously hot." With a wet-dog shudder, Rune pried his dick from her hand just as hastily. "Do it again." Smacking her lips, Kes grinned. "Okay, but can I get off my knees for a while? This mat isn't as cushy as it looks." Rune stepped forward, but Sam interjected by helping her to her feet. "Let's go in the house. It's a lot cooler and the bed will be more comfortable, too." He had dwelled in the past for a very long time. But, as they gathered their clothes and headed for the house, Sam didn't think about last year, last month or even yesterday; didn't think about the green-eyed girl he would never possess, nor even his lost twin. For once, the images brimming in his mind's eye belonged to the future, to the looming afternoon delight, and a life which could—and would, if he let it—supply plenty of happiness for one old Marine.

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Chapter Eleven

Dry-mouthed with anticipation and a fair amount of apprehension, I sent Sam and Rune to the bedroom while, under the guise of using the bathroom, I got a hold on my idiot logic. What the hell had I done? Staring in the mirror, I was surprised that I looked the same. There wasn't any sign of the slavering woman who possessed my soul in the barn. Just me, a perfectly normal girl who got carried away. And who was about to play slut for the day. My nipples hailed the idea and signaled my pussy with a pulse of jaded eroticism. I could barely believe I wanted to go through with the ménage or that I had revealed the details of my sexual psyche in order to facilitate it. Not that it mattered. I stood four short steps away from the sexual opportunity of a lifetime and amazed at myself or not, I would answer its knock. At first, when Rune described my fantasy with vivid intent, embarrassment and shame burst through me, threatening to explode in denial. Yet the longer he talked, the more I found those very emotions enhancing my arousal and, by the time Sam joined in the teasing, I was on the verge of exploding all right—in just the deliciously wicked, uninhibited way I had always imagined. Heaven's melting indeed, and I suddenly knew, without any trace of doubt, that I was the dumbest, silliest woman on planet earth. Two divinely decadent men wanted to devour me upon request and rather than jump in hooting woooo-hooo, I hid in the bathroom, wondering how to maintain some control. Wanting to do it couldn't be that unusual, could it? Somewhere, another woman was surely about to do the same thing. The couple Sam knew, for instance. Communication is what he said. Definitely. Along with a healthy helping of trust. Trust that I wouldn't be pushed past my limits, even those I discovered in the fray. Trust that although fantasy doesn't contain barriers, reality would. Trust that no matter what, I could safely indulge the forbidden and not have to fear repercussions. Gazing into my eyes and looking deeper than I ever dared before, at the end of a dark and crooked hallway, I discovered a well of love for Rune—and it ran much deeper than I ever expected. True, its stone walls were crumbled, its sweet water nearly dried up without a steady infusion of trust to keep it fresh. Mouth slack with astonishment, beyond any shade of doubt on my palette, I knew the only reason I could even fathom transforming fantasy to fact was Rune being part of the package.

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My lingering discomfort had nothing to do with finding the courage to finish what I started after all. It had, instead, absolutely everything to do with trusting Rune to keep my heart safe from harm. And he would. Even if he had to share my body to prove it. My laughter reverberated off the tiles and I slapped my hands over my mouth to silence it. I could commit to Rune. I would commit to Rune. I may have been pretty stupid for a very long time, but in the end, I wouldn't throw away what too many people lack, but embrace it for all I was worth and simply—believe. That's all I ever really needed, I suppose, to believe in love like the deity it is. Love doesn't have to be seen to trust it. Like every God mankind holds dear, it required nothing more complicated than enough faith to believe it lives and breaths at levels beyond those seen with human eyes. Weight lifted from my soul and in awe of how heavy it had been, I cast a suspicious glance at the ceiling, certain I floated nearer it than the floor. Heaven's melting indeed, angels were falling to earth and Kestrel Lynn Harper wanted to take a chance on trust. A momentous day with several more momentous occasions to come. Two of them actually. A built, unruly one called Sam and a deliciously scruffy one called Rune. Suppressing a giddy smile way too near a leer and tamping down myriad giggles not conducive to rock hard erections required concentration. Finally wrestling my glee into a mere broad grin, I nodded at my reflection. I kept them waiting long enough. Time to jump into the chocolate pond and swim for the float Rune anchored in the center years ago. ***** When I hit the doorway, they were absorbed in a hushed discussion, sprawled together on what was likely the largest sleigh bed in the free world. Their conversation, however, ceased the second I stepped over the threshold. Displayed as they were, against the backdrop of a richly embroidered, velvet and satin crazy quilt that rivaled the lush colors of Sam's angel, I paused to admire my good fortune. I might miss the whiffs of chocolate available outdoors, but even in the artificial cool glade of Sam's bedroom, I could sense its presence, wrapping around the house like a shield against reality. Hands behind his head, ankles crossed, Rune's eyes sparkled through lush lowered lashes, while his foot bounced with barely contained energy. Even swaddled in chestnut hair, his taut stomach, flexed pecs and heavy biceps were a sculptor's wet dream. Although his pelt wasn't thick enough to be bearish, it served perfection by softening the sharply defined, well-worked

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musculature. My fingers twitched, yearning to leap on him, tug the curls in the center of his chest and present the answer to his ultimatum: yes, forever, you and me, weathering whatever fate concocts. But not there. Not in Sam's bed, in his—soon our, since it was bigger—own. "Hey baby," he said, "welcome back." He and Sam exchanged a clandestine, silent communication. "Looks like you guys have plans." "Big plans," Sam said smugly. "Rune's been sharing more secrets." As supreme as a man should be when he facilitates women's epiphanies, he reclined on his side. The contrast between his finely wrought lean power and Rune's heavier build inspired a new gush of moisture. "Yeah? Want to tell me what they are?" Balancing on his hip, an angelic wingtip peeked over his shoulder while rock solid gluts flexed and loosened. "Nope." Rune's brown eyes shone with mischief. "Come on in," he patted the bed between them, "the water's fine." Now or never. Giggling like a straight-jacketed lunatic, I pounced, searing his grin with a kiss. Not wasting any time, Sam's lips traveled up my side, dancing over delicate underarm skin and setting me to laughing all over again. With a groan, Rune turned me toward Sam, who bestowed yet more hungry kisses. Upper and lower lips quickly swelling with lust, I pressed my behind into the hot, magnified presence of Rune's rising shaft. This wasn't luck. This was the brass ring I leaned dangerously off my wooden horse to grab. Before I could even start to wonder how they would proceed, Sam settled his angel against the polished headboard, and ordered, "Suck me." Although the gruff demand clenched my pussy with illicit pleasure, I hesitated, craning my neck to look at Rune. But slapping my ass with his resurgent erection, he focused me forward. "You heard him, Kes—do it."

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Self-discovery not withstanding, burning with a decadent, lustful embarrassment that stroked my clit from within, I complied with a moan. Licking my way over Sam's abdomen, I briefly rubbed my face against his cock's heat before slipping the tip into my mouth. Gently suctioning his semi-hard member, I savored the power of its expansion. Like wildfire, the rapid swelling ignited a blur of erotic sensation that spread from my mouth to my crotch in an instant. The bed rocked as Rune tugged me sideways. Stroking the inside of my thigh, he sucked at the tender side of my breast. Venus mound a sparrow cupped in his palm, he eased a finger into my soaked passage and firmly greeted my clit with his thumb. As Rune circled and stretched the gateway of my wet haven, my resultant pleasure vibrated from my lips and seeped into Sam's unfurled mast. Twining his hands into my hair, he arched, pushing into my mouth. "Spread your legs," Rune's voice was low, husky. I tried, but suckling while I did proved awkward. With a grunt, Sam pulled my mouth from his cock and quickly flipped me over, settling my shoulders in his lap. I held his fathomless eyes, gratified to see the burning hunger lacing them hadn't abated. His tongue flashed between parted lips and that irresistible grin threatened an appearance. Prone, my legs spread of their own accord as Rune's tongue sketched glowing lines up my legs. The majority of his body frustratingly out of reach, when he grasped my hips, I stroked his hands, willing him higher. Caressing my face with gentle, expressive fingers, Sam brushed stray strands of hair from my forehead. Realizing his need hovered much closer than Rune's, I turned my head, sought his aroused glory with my tongue. "No," he said, eyes sparkling with sapphire amusement, "just leave it alone." "But—" My protest disintegrated into a primal wail as Rune's fingers found my clit and his teeth sank into my fleshy inner thigh. The mild jolt combined with the stimulation of my pulsing pebble sent an incandescent wave ripping through me, my hips arching toward heaven, instinctually begging. Sam teased my nipples, rolling them into twin points of white hot want. Pushing my breasts together, his height became a plus when he flicked at my rocky peaks with his tongue. I wriggled under his delightful attention, cheek brushing his erection in the process. It reminded me of nature's enduring penchant for dichotomy. Like the velvet down covering a yearling buck's antlers, his cock was simultaneously so hard and so soft. Legs twitching under Rune's endeavors, I lost the game for a moment, and struggled to get my mouth around at least

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the tip of Sam's swollen length—to no avail since his ab-crunched position pinned my head between his thighs. Pausing, Sam fixed me with a stern lapis stare. "Unless you want to change the rules," he said, "leave it the fuck alone. You'll suck it when I tell you to suck it or not at all." "Told you this wouldn't be easy," Rune muttered just before his mouth invaded my drenched folds. "God!" My surprised squeak immediately degenerated into a feral whine as his tongue teased all the right places, slithering around and over my clit, lips palpitating it like a gumdrop. "Damn, look at this," Rune shoved my legs further apart, "I've never seen her so slick." Stretching my labial lips wide, he exposed the deepest recesses of my sex to rapt investigation. Sam's breath flurried over my stomach as he leaned in to observe his partner's declaration. Urging my tiny erection from its sheltering hood, Rune tweaked it gently, eliciting a sharp moan. Their fingers prodded me, examined me, my clit a burning beacon in the center of their focus. I wriggled under an entirely new kind of excited embarrassment, sure they could see it twitching along with my legs. They exchanged a few murmured words but with my head trapped between Sam's stomach and thighs, only fragments of the conversation reached my ears. "….so wet....easy to….up….you sure….us….it?" Sam said. "Yes….makes….she really….see," Rune said. "….know if I….long…." Sam again. "Please," I whimpered, the entreaty muffled against my jailer's furry abdomen. Sam sat up, turning me loose. "Please what?" His burning eyes belied the mild resonance. "'Please put a dick in me', I'll bet," Rune said, firmly rubbing my unprotected bundle of nerves. No longer gently swaying, my hips bucked and rolled under pleasure so keen and sharp it bordered on discomfort. I wanted him to stop. I wanted more. I pleaded with my eyes—for what I wasn't sure. "Say it. I know what you want but let Sam hear it. In detail."

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My eyes narrowed. Even through the sensational haze, I recognized their collaboration. Rune laughed softly. "Uh-oh, I think she's on to us." Sam's answering chuckle sent a delicious tingle of dread-laced desire coursing through me. They were determined to stick to the fantasy and insist I give up all control. And with Rune's experience in the mix, they were bound to succeed. I hadn't felt so deliciously terrified yet exhilarated since I lost my virginity. In one of those annoying flashes where words come back to haunt you, I recalled being astride an old lover when he questioned my sexually aggressive behavior. Since he spent weeks pursuing me, I didn't know what the hell he had to complain about. Finally, I told him, 'never tease the bears when you're living in the zoo, baby.' And since the same statement must be applied to my new view of Rune, the thought struck me silly and I started to giggle. I tried to stop laughing, I really did, but that only made it worse. "What?" Sam smiled, like he would love to be in on the joke. Everything around me suddenly went sharp and clear, making me acutely aware of where I was and what I was doing. My elbows were hooked around Sam's hard thighs, Rune peered from between my legs, we were all naked as the day we were born and I fully intended to screw both of them senseless. Or myself senseless. Or they would screw me senseless. Damn it, somebody was going to get screwed senseless! Laughter still uncontrollable, I shook with the effort to stem my sillies. Rune finally complained. "Come on, Kes, it's really not that difficult. I bet once you get started, we won't be able to shut you up." "Relax," Sam soothed, gruff and reasonable. "Take a deep breath." "Okay, okay, serious now." I ruched around, got more comfortable. Sam kissed my forehead. "Close your eyes." I complied, focusing on their warm, languid petting, and opened my mouth to speak—but trying to transform salacious thoughts into uncomplicated speech made me blush again. Sam rolled my nipples harder. The caress shot between my legs, sparking actual words. "God, that's good," I groaned. "That....it feels....it—I mean, I want..."

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His frustration evident in a flurry of attention to my increasingly aching clit, Rune taunted my words into fleeing the scene, leaving only a trail of grunts in their wake. "Maybe we need to strap your ass to the bed," he huffed, "and leave you here until you decide to cooperate." I snorted, on the verge of laughing again. "Fuck you very much, Rune," I growled. "Damn it, I am trying! I'm just afraid I'll sound stupid." "You won't sound stupid," he said, "you'll sound like a woman who's really hot and bothered." "Besides," Sam baited, "the more you talk, the harder my cock will be when I fuck you." Frustrated, hot as asphalt in summer and more than a little bit irritated with myself, I snarled thickly, "Men!" "She thinks we don't know what we're talking about," Rune said to Sam. I didn't doubt Rune knew just what I wanted. But he had learned from trial and error, not because I gave him turn-by-turn directions. "Okay, Sam," he continued with an exaggerated sigh, "plan B it is. Hold those sweet cherry nips up for me, please?" Realizing exactly where he headed, I flushed with uneasiness even as Rune's intention made my pussy convulse. He knew very well that nothing made me beg for release like a little roughness when I was overly aroused. Faintly worried that Sam was on the verge of discovering what I considered to be the kinkiest of my desires, the excitement clogging my throat prevented denying that I wanted what would come next. "Go ahead," Rune instructed, still teasing my clit, "pinch them nice and hard." Watching me closely, his burning desire revealing yet another layer of lust, Sam grasped my nipples tightly, and promptly offered them as Rune requested. "Oh God—God!" I arched to follow his stretching fingers. A sensual shudder jerked through every molecule of my body, my vaginal passage pulsing with tides of pleasure. Rune continued to stroke my swollen clit as his tongue reached for the flesh trapped in Sam's fingers—but fell short. Eyes glowing with satisfaction, Sam gripped my aching nubs even tighter, tugging my breasts forward until Rune's tongue connected with the tips. Through the dreamy ache of my compressed nipples, the moist contact sent a zap of erotic electricity into every nerve ending I possessed. Head thrashing, my hips pumped into

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Rune's hand, the throbbing in my nipples and the burning in my clit pushing me over the edge into pure inhibition. At that second, there was nothing I wanted more than to feel Sam's mouth on my breasts and Rune's tongue between my legs. And, taking the recommended deep breath, I said so. "My clit, Rune," I croaked, "it's burning up. Lick it, baby, please—God, please!" Sam kneaded my swollen globes, grinning happily as Rune obliged me. When his tongue halted, I knew without a doubt he wouldn't continue unless I did, too. Once I realized a dark pit of humiliation hadn't consumed me after all, my words began to flow like syrup. "God, I'm so hot, I can hardly breathe. Put your fingers in me, Rune, my pussy's dying to be filled—yes, deeper, harder." Rune pumped me hard and fast. "There you go, baby—God, your pussy's so wet I can hear it sucking at my hand." "My clit," I gasped, "roll it with your tongue." I gulped as he carried out the instruction. "God, that's good. Keep squeezing my nipples, Sam—oh yes, yes, that's it, that's it....God, I love that!" The double input swaddled me in a surreal haze, and as Rune predicted, once I got started, it was difficult to stop. I hissed, pushing my crotch into the probing tongue. "Lick me," I demanded, "lap my whole slit." "My apologies, Rune," Sam said, burning through my pleasure's misty fog, "you were absolutely correct—a little rough equals a lot ready and she's gagging for it." "Yes indeed," Rune said conversationally, making up for the loss of his tongue by adding a third finger to my sucking corridor, "When you've got a dick as thick as mine, you have to know how to get her sloppy wet." "Hey!" I bellowed, both further aroused and slightly ruffled at their offhand discussion of my taste for heavy-handed treatment. "You wanted me to talk, I'm talking!" "Nobody's stopping you," Sam growled. Capturing a nipple in his teeth, his tongue whipped the tormented bud with unmerciful speed. My nipple swelled, grew firmer with every lash, and capitulated me back into the requested commentary. "God, yes, my nipples love to be sucked....the harder you suck, the more I want. Oh. My. God. Fucking. Bastards. What you're doing to me! Keep it up, I swear I'll come

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like this...let me feel those teeth again—God, Rune, can you feel my pussy squeezing your hand? Yes, Sam, yes—feel how hard you make my nipples?" I screamed. I begged. All shyness disappeared into a blizzard of heightened sensations and I readily supplied every graphic detail that entered my head. "Yeah, Rune, fuck me with your fingers—God damn that's great. My pussy lips are so sensitive, they're buzzing. Do that thing, baby, please—oh, I can't explain it, you know what I mean, just do it!" Rune laughed but acquiesced to my demand, nibbling the edges of my labia while his fingers slid insistently in and out. Interrupting Sam's attention to my breasts, I groped for Rune and twining tightly into his hair, held his face prisoner. Sam grunted, hand brushing past my face as he firmly stroked his extravagant organ. I captured his eyes, heat matching heat. That he told me the God's honest truth was perfectly clear in the simmering sexual fire that burned in those blue gems. Sam wasn't laughing. Sam was more aroused than ever by my purulent illustrations. I smiled so wantonly, the Queen of Sheba would have blanched. "Enough details, Sam? I hope you're liking it, because I'm loving the hell out of it." A turn of my head and I addressed his fist flashing in front of my face. "Yeah, manhandle that monster. The more you stroke, the more my mouth waters. Come on, feed it to me—let me suck the spit out of your mouth through that big dick." Sam scrambled to kneel over my face. Riveting me to the mattress with depthless dark blue desire, he ran the head of his throbbing shaft over my lips. "Stick out your tongue," he said hoarsely, voice fudge-coated with passion. I extended my greedy digit and he bounced his heavy tool on it. Pulling the impressive length against his stomach, he offered his swollen pouch. Licking and teasing the tight globes, I ran my hands over every bit of Sam I could reach, tracing the hard ridges of muscle in his legs, stomach and ass with lascivious pleasure. But he withheld my desire, rubbing himself over my cheeks and across my lips in a circuit of provocative motion. I dug into his thighs, desperately trying to hold him still long enough to taste while Rune's tongue spiked my desire higher. "What do you think, Rune, should I let her suck my dick some more?" "I don't know, man." Rune peeled my hands from his hair. "She's pretty worked up. Can we stuff her full of cock at the same time?" "Only if she holds still."

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"Maybe," Rune growled, "we should make her choose. Look at me, Kes. Which hole should we fuck first, mouth or cunt?" "Oh God," I cried in helpless erotic indecision, "don't make me pick. I've never wanted to come so bad in my life. One or the other or both—whatever you want—anything you want." "Perfect," my old lover murmured, "I'd say 'anything' is just what a good slut should say." Dark desire invigorated, I groaned. I had almost forgotten the game. Leave it to Rune to not only remember but insure it played itself out. Unable to resist, literally purring, I asked, "Is there such a thing as a bad slut?" He laughed. "The bad ones are the best." "And after today," Sam slid his cock over my lips, finally allowing me to nibble a tasty inch of head, "maybe you'll qualify as both." How could I not giggle? "I damn well hope so." "Well then," Rune pulled my legs over his, spreading my thighs wide, "I'd say it's about time to put you through our paces." "Paces?" Thighs spasming with anticipation, my tunnel oozed relief. Finally, after hours of empty yearning, it would soon be delectably brimming with the ultimate friction only a hard cock creates. "Paces," he repeated, smearing my streaming juices between my nether cheeks, one hand teasing the tiny back entrance while the other invaded my front passage. "Something Sam said to you in the barn really twitched my dick," he explained, "something my favorite slut is going to do for me, right now." Confused, I grappled with memory. "What did you say?" I asked Sam. The pleasure from Rune's hands made it difficult to concentrate. Deliberately placing his ruddy erection against my lips, he pushed. "Just suck my dick and don't worry about it." Heaven and Hell on a stick. They would give me everything I asked for, and more. My lips parted without hesitation and Sam thrust between them. Unfortunately, accompanied by Rune's ecstatic feasting, a shallow thrust or three was all I could accommodate. "Come on, slut," he turned my head, seeking better positioning, "I know you can suck better than that."

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What is it about that word? Calling it a simple trigger undermines the enormity of its impact. An appreciative keen I couldn't curtail filled the air as pure, one-hundred percent provocative narcotic, Sam's harsh insistence drilled into my skull—and had Rune already been inside me, orgasm surely would have followed in a heartbeat. But Rune could never be hurried. He would see my fantasy through, no matter what. "First, I'm going to fuck you. Hard. And I want to hear you loving it, Kes, loud and clear, even with Sam's cock in your mouth." That wouldn't be difficult since I was already sucking his cock with a ferity I never knew possible. "Let's hear an example," Sam said. Evil men. They had made plans. Without hesitation, Rune slid a finger deep into my anus, pushing raw gratification into my throat. A surprise tactic but in no way unwelcome, my behind defied gravity as he pumped into my dual sheaths. Light-headed with pleasure, my muffled appreciation seeped from around Sam's cock. His grip tightened on my nipples. "Mmm, yeah, she does like that, doesn't she?" The rapturous sensations flowing from Rune's pumping, Sam's squeezing and his cock overflowing my mouth collided in a burst of sunlight in my abdomen. I bucked and twisted, straining for a climax that hovered tantalizingly near. "Kes," Rune slowed his rhythm, "does 'anything' mean you're finally going to let me have a taste of this?" He added a second finger to my ass. Climactic treasure yet hidden, the pleasure mapping my body still promised gold. Huffing, I abandoned Sam and spat, "No. I am not." Although, I would facilitate his current access and hooked my legs over his shoulders. "Your fingers are—oh, God, that feels wonderful!" I gulped air, struggling to get words past the groans and growls produced by their concerted efforts. "Sorry, baby, not that fat thing. No way." Sam swooped, nipped my bottom lip. His breathing as ragged as mine, he blurted, "What about me?" His voice a summer fudgesickle, the melting chocolate words ran out of his mouth and over me too fast to catch. I shook my head, not understanding. "I said, what about me?" he repeated in a strained, gravel filled demand.

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Legs spasming under Rune's sublime onslaught, I tried to focus on Sam's face. I saw the flash of his tongue, the hypnotic, swirling black flecks shading his blue eyes. But before I could form a coherent query, Rune leaned into my thighs, placed his cock against my tunnel and filled my famished vagina with a hitching, double thrust. I cried out, my existence shrinking to nothing beyond the impalement for the instant it took Sam to shove his granite shaft into my mouth. "Fuck her, Rune," an animal snarl, "give it to her good." His initial rhythm insanely slow, Rune savored our union. "God, Kes, I lied about the pond. This, baby, this is my favorite place in the world." I suckled greedily at Sam's hot flesh as the initial tremors rippled through me. Each thrust of Rune's bulky thickness built upon the heat generated by the last, until my impending orgasm became a dyke holding back heaven. I frantically swallowed, searching for fresh saliva as Sam soundly fucked my mouth. Heels digging into Rune's buttocks, I strained towards them in alternating succession, reaching for the top of the levee, stimulation ebbing and flowing, each crest a little higher. Expected yet always unexpected, under the onslaught of my building orgasm, the dam broke, tumbling me into a gasping, freefalling little death. In the midst of the mind-numbing, quaking explosion, Rune started to hammer me in short thrusts and loosed a yowl of culmination that sent spurts of his joy to mingle with my own. Before the aftermath waves even had time to level out, they were turning me like a rag doll, rolling me onto my stomach. I found my face between Rune's thighs, his drooping cock fragrant with our combined juices. Sam straddled my legs, pulled my ass high and entered me quickly and thoroughly. Spreading my cheeks, he forced his raging tool deeper into my still pulsating cunt, balls slapping cadence on my raw clit, and the rising tides began anew, building pressure behind orgasm's coffer dam. My head cushioned on Rune's thighs, I rocked under each delicious blow. "Jesus, Kes," he kneaded my heavy breasts, riveted on Sam pounding into me, "suck me, get me up again." Doubtful I could so soon after he came, I was happy to try. Miraculously, his body proved me wrong. Slowly, yet encouraging greater bulk by the second, my lips and tongue produced surges of renewal. Sam leaned over my back, cock buried as far as nature would allow, and remained motionless while I brought Rune back into play. When his hefty erection was well on its way, I released him with a gasp of delight, stroking him with admiration. "Damn, Rune, I'm impressed!"

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No sooner did I wrap my lips around it again, than Sam begin to move. Rune's meaty length bobbed through my lips as I groaned, Sam's glorious phallus filling me so deeply it felt lodged in my chest. Grunting toward his goal, Sam fucked me with long strokes, pulling free of my tunnel before plunging back in. Each pierce pushed more of Rune's length into my groaning, moaning, mouth. "Come on, Kes, fuck me back. Better give us another one because I'm about there." Him? I see-sawed on the edge of reason, my second climax luring me toward the edge only to keep skipping merrily away from completion. "You wanted to be treated like a slut, so act like one," Rune urged, "show us how much you like being stuffed with two big dicks." Up until that point, the most charged barbs had come from Sam—perhaps because love didn't color nor curtail incisive delivery. Yet the unexpected crudeness from Rune stroked a still untouched corner of my mind and at that minute, for him, I would do anything, say anything, be anything he wanted me to be. Moaning louder in an attempt to demonstrate precisely how much I enjoyed the simultaneous pummeling, when Sam began to punctuate jabs of his beefy shaft with words, I stood firmly on the rim of heaven's gate, and let the ground crumble beneath my feet. "Yeah, she loves it all right," the chocolate growl coated me in quivering gooseflesh and he yanked my hips higher. "Ass up, slut, so I can get it all in." Arms straddling my shoulders, he leaned into my buttocks, rammed into my offered pussy so hard my ears tickled with phantom breaths. My balance on the precipice shifted toward the fall. Too late! God, please not too late! Spasmed into stillness, Sam roared his release, groaning with every pulse of hot semen he poured into my soft depths, my tunnel still milking him for more. My climax retreating, when his grip eased I frantically pumped against him. "Don't stop, don't stop! I'm close, so close!" His release evidently drained the strength from his legs, because Sam dropped against my back with a huff. "Sorry. There was no turning back." "Another second and I..." Adrenaline leveling out, my heart began to slow. "Ah well." "Don't worry," Rune said softly, "we're not finished with you yet." And they turned me again.

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From that moment on, I was nothing more than a mass of wanting, needing, taking, my body a blinding, burning star headed for nebula—and still Rune and Sam labored to give me more. Two orgasms later, I again found myself on hands and knees, pushing back to meet each of Sam's thrusts, lunging forward to suck Rune's thick rod. Sam slid his long fingers into my anal opening, tightening my vaginal passage around his submerged cock. Under the decadent fullness of triple penetration, pleasure emerged in a groan of turpitude welling hoarsely from my chest. In the middle of seeing how much of Rune I could actually swallow, when he stretched away from me and my lips lost contact, I clutched his legs. "Where are you going?" Sam's movements slowed, then stopped, although he remained well imbedded. "Now?" "Now." Further evidence that they planned ahead, Rune rooted through Sam's night table, producing a bottle of lube which he tossed onto the bed. "What do you think—" My words were lost in a moan as Sam pushed his rigidness deeper, reaching around to stroke my throbbing clit. Rune pulled my chin up, searched my eyes. "Kes," he said gravely, "we've been doing it with your toys for years. It's time you give it a shot with the real thing." "You're too thick," I objected. "Not me. Sam." Sam's labored breathing choked off and I knew he awaited my agreement. I shook my head, not sure if I meant no or whether I simply denied Rune's statement. Sam's broad chest pressed tightly against my back and full of his cock, I was engulfed in wondrous heat inside and out. It made it very difficult to think Rune's proposal properly through. But when Sam began to tease my clit again, I suddenly found the idea very appealing, if not a little daunting. "Maybe. I'm sure I—" My words again melted into a groan as Sam pinched my aching bud. "Please, baby," Rune murmured tenderly, "when we do it with your dildo, you come like a rocket every time. A real cock will set you off like the Fourth of July, I just know it. And if you think I'm too much to handle, at least I can be in your mouth when Sam fucks your ass."

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"Oh Rune," I whispered, my heart contracting at the love and longing in his voice. He was right, of course, and his request sent desire flooding through me—more than I wanted to admit. The taboo of it alone was tremendously arousing even if the reality of it made me hesitate. Although Rune's cock might always be too stout to contemplate, Sam's narrower flesh would likely be more forgiving than the rubber substitute I employed—and enjoyed. But still, a good deal thicker than my toy...and it would also be warm instead of cold. After my positive manic responses to the pairs' earlier rear excursions, there was little point in arguing distaste. Still vacillating, I tried to imagine Sam slowly sliding his wondrous length into the tightest of my entries and licked my lips. Despite a host of reservations, the thought of him coming in me like that overshadowed them all and my body made the decision for my brain. "Okay," consent drooled from my lips, accompanied by a nod, "I'll give it a whirl." Sam's swollen shaft twitched inside me. "Are you sure?" "Yes. But if I say stop, you damn well better stop, okay?" "Of course. Game or no game, stop means stop." "You can tell me if I'm off base here," Rune said. "I don't want to ruin your high by being selfish." Their hesitancy more clear than my own, I repeated my agreement. "You're not off base." Groaning as Sam's heavy pole slid from my vagina, I added, "Fucked in the ass while I suck— Jesus, Rune, I never even hinted at that part of my fantasy." "Mmm," Rune breathed, "consider it a bonus—I do." Amusement clear, Sam demanded his obligatory aural stimulus. "In that case, beg for it." Almost, but not completely successful in keeping the grin from my face, I did. "Give it to me, Sam. I want to feel every inch of you sliding into my ass." Rune kissed me sweetly and reverently, molding humor into a perfect, glowing nugget of desire. "I told you we weren't finished with you, didn't I?" Given the choice of position, I stood and leaned on the bed, stiff legs proudly, if not nervously, offering my second virginity to the proverbial male animal behind me. While I listened to Sam lubricate himself, Rune stroked my hair. But when Sam began to anoint his target between my cheeks, I stifled a groan in Rune's palm.

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I knew I had to relax but if Sam took too long preparing the way, I just might call a halt. Some things are better left to fantasy, and anal sex just might be one of them. Fortunately, with no more fanfare, Sam's slick fingers slipped into my narrow opening, priming the way with the viscous jelly before pressing the head of his shaft against my loosened ring. "Ready?" "Ready." My legs trembled with a dizzy combination of need and anxiety. "Here, hold on to me." Rune slid between my braced arms, dangling his feet from the edge of the bed. Digging into Rune's muscular thighs, I gasped under a sharp stab of pleasure and pain as Sam's penis initially stretched my sphincter. He felt bigger than my toy for sure, much bigger than I expected. He paused, allowing me sufficient time to adjust to the intrusion and discomfort faded into a delicious sensation of extreme fullness. The feeling was uncannily familiar, yet not at all like my private experiments. Searching memory, I arrived at the first moment Rune ever entered me, shattering our shared virginity with one awkward thrust. And there were other elements that were the eerily similar. The flushed excitement, the apprehension and yearning for the undefined put me back in Rune's candy-applered station wagon, Meatloaf belting out a caution against dashboard lights while we ignored his advice and unlocked the mystery of sex. I sought Rune's eyes and found him breathlessly watching me—and humming the tune that said he remembered, too. As one we moved in for a kiss. All discomfort replaced by a sultry chocolate purr that spread from my ass to my crotch to my breasts and even my toes, my tight ring palpitated against the fleshy invader as I sucked Rune's tongue. But when Sam presented his first short, definitive stroke, the flash of releasing pressure followed by greater penetration made me cry out. "You okay?" I heard Sam's concern. "You say stop, I'll stop." "No, no, don't stop." I concentrated on relaxing my legs for the second stroke. There was the same flash of release before he drove himself deeper, and the purr expanded into a glowing pulse.

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"How is it?" Rune murmured, trying to look in my eyes and kiss me at the same time. "Is it good?" "Yes… so good…" The words stretched out in a sibilant wail as Sam pumped again. Nix the bigger. The differential between my vibrator and Sam's stone mast was more serious than that. Yet the aching hot throb suffusing my dark tunnel was infinitely better than any the modest measurements of my toy created. "God, babe," I sobbed my pleasure against Rune's lips, "it's— it's—Jesus, Sam—you feel huge." Slowly and deliberately, with each stroke Sam fed me a few more inches until, with a grunt, he pulled me upright into a bear hug, sharp teeth nipping my ear. The question a growling, resonant caress, he asked, "Are you ready to take all of it?" "Oh God." "Does that mean yes?" "Yes." "Good. What are you going to do about him?" He turned my face toward Rune's frantic stroking. With a groan, my mouth claimed Rune's rod and, like a sacrifice, my hips undulated toward the other intrusion, begging for the stroke that would fully sheath Sam's cock in my spasming portal. My cry stemmed by Rune's overflowing, hardened flesh, Sam surged into my ass, his entire length plowing into me, freezing my muscles as pleasure beyond imagination exploded in my belly, wrapping me in the ache of total anal penetration. As the buzzing in my brain leveled out, Sam choked a low moan. Collapsing over my back, his arms quaked as a whimpering cry sought refuge in my ear. Surprised at the incongruous sound, I abandoned Rune's pleasure and sought Sam's face. Lips tight, brow ferruled, eyes closed, it was a mask of concentrated pleasure—and surprisingly, pain. Swallowing rapidly, his balls lay heavy and hot on my jealous vaginal opening while his legs trembled against my thighs. The specter of his angel drew ghostly fingers down my spine and realization dawned. Rune and I only had to grapple with what we felt in the there and then. For Sam, there were more than three shades in the room. Overwhelmed by more than his cock, empathy and instinct drove a tender diminutive from my lips. "Are you all right? Open your eyes, Sammy, look at me." He opened his eyes. The blue pools were glazed, bottomless, burning, the thick lashes fluttering as if he had trouble concentrating on the answer. Finally, as if in slow motion, he blinked, focused on me, wet his lips—and smiled. "Hi beautiful," he murmured, stirring me with his cock, "still feel good?"

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"It's wonderful," I gulped. With another jab of erotic lightning, he unseated and reseated in a flash. "So are you, Kes, the sweetest little slut there ever was." I groaned appreciation, dancing on his delightful wand, salivating to reach the good ship Lollypop harbored in Rune's lap, yet unable to find enough oxygen to return to double duty. Impatient—rightfully so, not being part of the loop—Rune molded my breasts around his hard organ, kneading them against his length. "Sorry, baby," I huffed as he teased a throbbing nipple with his thumb, "don't want to ignore you, but..." Recomposed and evidently again phantomless, Sam said, "Especially since this is his idea." Slowly and methodically he slid his cock out, then immediately charged back in, testing the fit of his oiled piston. Breathing was difficult enough for the moment without curtailing the ability by sucking Rune's ready appendage. "I know. Can you give me a minute, Rune?" "Sure," Rune allowed. "It's damn hot just watching your face when his dick goes in." "Yeah?" Sam asked. "Like this?" As I originally requested, he made sure I felt every inch leave and every inch return. There was an amazing gluttony that wasn't present when he—or Rune for that matter—took me vaginally. Like the erotic satisfaction I got from taking a hard cock down my throat, but better. Much better. So much so, the delicious vines foreshadowing orgasm arrived in my abdomen, snaking steadily outward to encompass my being. Every nerve ending pulsating, blood rushing through my veins faster than light, my body sang with a carnality only the joys of sex could provoke. Sam began to fuck my ass in long rhythmic strokes and I grabbed Rune for balance—only to cry out with a frustrating, yearning need for friction when Sam again seated himself firmly and paused. At its deepest, it was as if his penis owned my senses and my mouth and crotch were soaked with jealous juices of empathy. Rune's thickness brushed my lips and, breathing finally well moderated, I suctioned him greedily, stuffing my mouth with the swollen flesh, compressing him until my cheeks bulged. Thoroughly female, brazen slut epitomized, I had never felt so consummately full of male meat. And by the time their dual penetrations found a complimentary pace, the more they gave me, the more I wanted. And the more I wanted, the more they gave me. In a bright blinding moment of clarity, I discovered the faulty sham at the foundation of my fantasy—giving myself so totally

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had little to do with giving away any control, because by the virtue of our gender alone, women will always rule the world. Unimaginably empowered, I redoubled my oral efforts on Rune's thick dick, prompting Sam to pick up speed until he pounded into my backdoor as enthusiastically as he ever did the front. Heartbeat singing in my ears, neglected parts throbbing with an envious aura that stained sight scarlet and gold, a fanciful image of the two hard lengths meeting in my chest danced through my head and I floated on a delicious cloud above earth and below orgasm. But when Rune tweaked my clit, lodging his hard shaft solid and deep to reach it, without so much as a predicate pulse, I went off—a shuddering, shaking, seizure-like event that, between my surprise at its arrival and the intensity of it, rocked me to the core. Enervated, my body fell slack, knees buckling under wave after wave of exquisite ravishment. Sam's powerful arms caught me around the waist, heaving my weight onto his pistoning prick. "Fuck, yeah," he roared, "your ass is so fucking tight, it's strangling my dick." Too much for Rune, whose hand-fed explosion was accompanied by entreaties to any and all powers that be. Still immersed in his posterior deflowerization, Sam's arms rippled under mine, his mighty effort the only thing keeping us upright. His voice flowed into my ear like ginseng and honey, sweet, rough and electrifying. "That's too bad. I wanted him to fuck that slutty pussy while I'm in your ass." I moaned a reply, endeavoring to pull one of his verbal triggers, too. But before I could find coherence, with a final thrust, he roared into a snarling climax, firing bursts of liquid satisfaction that seemed to erupt from the center of his soul. Strong as they were, his arms were no longer able to compensate for my limp weight, and we tumbled smack onto Rune. Unable to move, I lay in the satiated pile of damp, bare skin, content to savor Sam's muscular body pressing me into Rune's broad chest—until a grumble from my soon-to-find-out life's mate brought me back to focus. "Would somebody please move so I can breathe?"

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Chapter Twelve

Not to be dramatic, but I glowed. The sun slanting toward the dinner hour, Sam had procured a bowl of fruit and we consumed it like locusts before the enormous energy we expended begged its price and, wedged between my lovers in a silken cocoon of comfort, I listened to their stereo sleepy respirations. Nature may send men in search of sleep after sex but not me. Good sex winds me up tighter than a tornado, and I've been known to scrub the house top to bottom afterwards. Yet I remained reluctant to get out of bed. The events of the last few hours indelibly etched upon my mind, I envisioned the far future, when I would be in some Home, advanced senility settling in. There I would be, in my rocking chair, still telling the nurses about the day I had these two scrumptious men—each of them responsible for the loss of one of my virginities. 'Yes', I would tell them, 'it was a completely insane thing to do. But do you know what my grandmother used to say, dearie? She always said 'two heads are definitely better than one'. Giggling softly at my own sated silliness, I welcomed Rune snuggling closer. "What are you snickering about?" "Nana saying 'two heads are better than one'. It was one of her favorites," I whispered, not wanting to wake Sam, who had been breathing even and deep for some time. Lips caressing my temple, he said, "I remember. Question is, will one ever be enough again?" I didn't have to see his face to know why he asked. "More than enough, don't worry." My throat thick, I inhaled his familiar scent. Fresh butter, dry leaves and a dash of apple, it was a scent that had always made me feel safe—and loved. So many things to tell him now that my stupidity was cured. What I felt for him had always been complicated, but had also changed in so many ways, I didn't know where to begin. "I'm going to go," he said. "All right." "Kes," he started, but fell silent. "I know. We still have to talk." "Throw me a bone one way or the other here," he murmured, "please?"

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Guilt tweaked my stomach. I hadn't meant to torment him further. "Everything's good. You don't have to move out," I told him. "I realized a lot of things today—good stuff, all of it— but I want to save it for home, for just us—if that's okay?" "You got it, baby." He kissed me gently to seal the bargain. "Will you be long?" "No, I'm going to get up in a minute or two, and write Sam a note." "Good idea. Holler when you get in—way my bones ache, I'll probably still be in the shower." No sooner did Rune close the bedroom door, than Sam's voice made me jump. "I'm glad you stayed," he said, "I wanted to be sure you're okay." "I'm great. You?" "I'm sorry about that last suggestion," he said earnestly. "I didn't mean it. Played with my trigger, not yours." I laughed. "Compelling button. I actually considered it for two whole seconds." He rolled over and hugged me. "Thank you." Sam's persistent primal maleness made his vulnerable sweet underbelly all the more precious. I hoped his lost angel was simply a fool, because any other reason for shunning his love I found too heartbreaking or too horrifying to contemplate. "For what?" If thanks were due, I should be giving them. Caressing my cheek, his eyes were serious and—happy. "For humping me over the last mine field." "What mine field?" Even if I had years, I might never figure the man out. "The one in my head while I fucked your ass," he said simply. Tracing my lips with his thumb, the sincerity in his smile made me tingle—and there was an excellent chance I would tingle for days remembering where his hard cock had been when I experienced the strongest orgasm I might ever know. "I thought I detected a little extra baggage," I said. "But I unpacked it with your help," he replied, "and for that, I'm eternally grateful."

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I couldn't resist. "For the unpacking or the humping?" His laughter floated free and easy. "You got me there. Equal parts of both, I guess." "Good. Now," I patted his thigh, "I have to get home to Rune. I'd invite you for dinner, but we have a lot of talking to do." "So you've decided to take a chance." It wasn't a question. "Nothing so nebulous as that," I said airily. "Matter of fact, between you and me, if he asks me nice, I just might marry him, too." "That's excellent. Do I get to come to the wedding?" "If I get my way," I grinned, "you'll be maid of honor." ***** Rune had just finished showering when I arrived home. My own muscles wilting with exhaustion, I promised to whip up dinner as soon as I rinsed off, too. "No cooking," he said, "we'll call Team Takeout—how about lasagna from Fontanella's with tortoni for dessert? There's a nice bottle of wine in the fridge to go with it." An even grander idea than his last one, I accepted and climbed in the shower. But Rune seemed reluctant to leave the bathroom. "Did you write Sam a note?" "Didn't have to, he woke up," I shouted, lathering my hair. "I'm glad he did. Wait till you see my vase—he painted a runic poem on it." "That's cool." He paused so long, I slid the shower door open to see if he had left. Damp towel slung around his hips, he slapped the toilet lid closed and took a seat. "You know," he said, "I like him a lot. I hope things aren't awkward now." "I don't think they will be." I opened the door a little wider. I wanted to see his reaction when I relayed Sam's message. "He said to tell you, if we ever get bored as a couple, he'll always be only a cornfield away."

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First Rune grinned, then he laughed—and I swore I saw a flash of fresh desire, even though we were both so sore we could hardly bend. "Sounds good to me," he waggled his brows, "an occasional rematch would probably do us good. What do you think?" I stuck out my tongue and closed the shower door. "I think you should call Team Takeout, you big pervert," I hollered, "and let me finish washing my hair." "If I were a better man," he lobbed back, "I'd come in there and give you a reason to wash it again." Dinner arrived as twilight painted the cornfield blue and gold. Dubbing it the new master bedroom, we sequestered on Rune's king-sized bed, the window fan supplying random wisps of chocolate. So hungry our stomachs grumbled even as we fed them, we ate in ravenous silence, only stopping here and there to grin at each other like we were ten again. Then we talked about love. We talked about us. We talked about little things and big until we were hoarse. And well after dark, after examining the words of love and commitment Sam had inscribed on my vase, we decided we needed a new tradition to carry along into the future. Many fancy ideas emerged, yet something simple seemed best. Settled on our ritual of choice, we hooked pinkies, swore to repeat it every night no matter what, and sealed the bargain with our last kiss as friends. "Ladies first," Rune said when we parted. "I love you," I whispered, ad-libbing, "very, very much, you stubborn old bugger." "I love you, too," he replied, "even if you have trouble sticking to the rules." Then he tickled me, the rotten fiend, making me thrash my exhausted body all over the bed. But that we are made for each other remained clear in the impossible way a response sparked deep in my tummy and summoned a nudge from his growing cock. Heaven had melted indeed, and poured a man shouldering an angel into the chocolate pond of our still life. The ripples Sam created would never stagnate but flow outward, onward, into forever and beyond. Our eyes and bodies locked together in comfort, reliance, trust and need, Rune and I shared slow, smooth, sweet vanilla sex between the crisp, white linen sheets of our new inner sanctum, and I knew without question, as Rune never doubted, that wherever our love dwelled would always be the sweetest place on earth.

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After a fifteen-year hiatus, Deborah returned to writing fiction when her muse presented a swift mid-life kick and insisted it be heard before it's too late. With the support of her husband of twenty-five years, she left her legal assistant stress behind to concentrate on flexing rusty creative muscles. Four years later, with one novel completed and a second one underway, she writes full time, soothing writer's block for the bigger projects with short stories and poetry. The fifth generation to own her family home in Rutherford Heights, Pennsylvania, she also indulges her physical creativity with ongoing do-it-yourself renovations while the voices in her head argue their points of view. For more information, or to read some of Deborah's poetry, visit www.DeborahBoyer.com.

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