“Am I putting you to sleep, sugar?” Thomas asked.
“Mm hmm.” For several long, luscious minutes she indulged a delicious fantasy of the two men taking her right there on the blanket. Then Thomas gently patted her backside.
“All done.”
“Aww.”
Tyler laughed. “Isn’t he amazing? Plenty of nights he’s put me to sleep like that.” She felt the blanket move, his voice closer. She looked to find Tyler’s blue eyes inches away, boring into hers. “I don’t mind sharing him with you, darling, but only with you.”
She gulped.
Eventually they packed their picnic supplies and returned to the house. She hated finishing the day and had to pull over on her way home to dry her tears. The necklace was beautiful. And Jesus, that back rub! Not to mention Tyler’s comment, innocent but full of double meaning and so close to the fantasy she’d been working on.
At least she had an extra day with them. Sunday couldn’t come too soon.
They watched her leave. Tyler closed the front door and Thomas kissed him, hungry and eager.
“My, you certainly are anxious,” Tyler gasped.
Thomas grabbed Tyler’s hand and dragged him to their bedroom. “You have no idea, Ty. Jesus, that was agony.” He fell to the bed, pulling Tyler with him.
“What was agony?” He smiled, knowing damn well.
“You are a fucking evil genius.” He ran his hands under Ty’s shirt and pulled it off him. “A back rub? It was all I could do not to grind my cock against that sweet ass of hers. Then—” Thomas pulled him down, kissing him again. “You said you’d share me with her? Jesus, I nearly came in my pants.”
“From the look in her eyes, I believe she wouldn’t have been far behind you.”
Thomas rolled Tyler onto his back and kissed him again. “Why did we take the Ford?”
“What are the seating configurations in the Ridgeline and the Lexus, Thomas?” Tyler worked Tom’s shirt off him.
Thomas closed his eyes and shook his head. “Fucking evil genius. Only two can sit up front, and in the Ford all three—”
“We had a wonderful, sweet Nevvie sandwich.” He ran his hands up Thomas’ chest, pulling him down to suck his nipples. Tom’s cock ground against his hips, as hard as he was. “Just think, Thomas. One day, hopefully, if the heavens smile upon us, we will have that sweet angel between us, moaning our names.”
Thomas moaned and kissed him again. “Jesus, I loved having my hands on her.”
“Tell me how she felt,” Tyler whispered in his ear, nibbling his neck.
“She felt great, she was wearing a sports bra—”
“Damn, we could have tried coaxing her out of her shirt had I known that.”
“Oh, no. I would have come in my pants for sure.” He worked his way down Tyler’s chest, kissing and licking him. Then he pulled Tyler’s shorts off and ran his tongue around his cock. “Damn, I love you, Tyler,” he whispered. He wrapped his mouth around Tyler’s cock and slowly worked his way down his lover’s shaft, exploring every inch of its smooth flesh with his lips and tongue.
Tyler closed his eyes and smiled, tangling his fingers in Tom’s hair, gently thrusting his hips in time with Tom’s mouth and hands. “I love you too. You have no idea.”
Chapter 3
Thomas didn’t have any trouble playing the role of a hung-over party host on Sunday morning. He was a hung-over party host. He staggered into the kitchen at eight-thirty and glared at Tyler.
“I’m going to kill you. You and your freaking evil plans.”
Tyler leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee and reading the paper. He was already showered, shaved, and dressed—slacks, button-up chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and loafers.
“Not my fault you decided to play quarters with Eddie and got pissed. You of all people should know better. He drinks like an Irish fish.”
Thomas groaned and held his head. “How am I going to enjoy Nevvie today, feeling like this?”
“You should have thought about that earlier.” Tyler surveyed the patio and house. Not quite comparable to the bombing of Dresden, but a good start in the right direction. “I guess I’ll have her all to myself.” He smiled.
“Asshole.” Thomas rummaged through a cabinet. “What do I take for my head and stomach?”
Tyler reached around him and grabbed a box. “Take that, follow the instructions. Then two pieces of wheat toast, dry—that means no butter, dear—and a large glass of water. To start. Let that settle your stomach and we’ll go from there.”
Thomas squinted at the box. Tyler sighed and took it from him. He fixed the remedy, dropping the tablets in a glass of water then handed it to Thomas. “Wait until it dissolves, then bottoms up.”
“I’ll up your bottom when I’m feeling better,” Thomas grumped.
“Yes, that’s a great comfort, love. You could have upped my bottom last night had you not been drunk as a skunk.” He handed Thomas the bread. “I assume you can toast it yourself?”
Thomas nodded. Tyler rooted through another cabinet, found a box of ginger tea. “Make yourself a cup of this. It’ll help settle your tummy. No coffee this morning.” He started down the hall. “Oh, when you’re done, go take a shower. You stink like a rancid brewery. I’ll have to change the sheets. It smells like someone spilled beer in the bed, you drank so much.”
Thomas burped. “Oh, sorry. I did spill beer in the bed last night. You’d already gone to sleep.”
Tyler shook his head in disgust and set off to change the sheets, muttering under his breath.
Thomas felt nearly human by the time Tyler was ready to leave. He’d settled the worst of his upset stomach and made it into the shower.
Tyler stepped into the bathroom. “I’m taking the truck.”
“The Ford?”
“No, the Ridgeline.”
Thomas stuck his head out of the shower. “Why? You never drive the Ridgeline.”
Tyler dangled the keys. “Because there is something psychologically impressive about showing up in a large, brand new vehicle. It speaks money and power. We have no idea what this moron is like, but the difference between that piece of shit he makes our poor Nevvie drive and your truck is the difference between Queen Elizabeth and King Kong. My Lexus, while nice, doesn’t give the same psychological advantage. Neither does the Ford. In other words, dear Thomas, size matters.”
Thomas muttered “evil genius” under his breath and continued his shower.
Tyler had made a few assumptions based on Nevvie and the car. She was always tidy, plain and understated, usually wearing men’s golf shirts a size too large. When he went shopping one day at Wal-Mart, they were on sale for only five dollars each, identical to the ones she wore, versus similar women’s shirts costing ten dollars or more. The next week after the sale she wore a new one, obviously recently purchased.
She was broke.
The boyfriend was a pig, the car proof of that from the way he left his things in it. She carried a small, practical purse, functional but not fashionable. Her shoes were also discount-store standard. Some of the shorts he imagined she either got on sale or bought them at thrift stores. Never short-short or incredibly tight—damn—usually mid-thigh or longer. She wore jeans on cooler mornings, but those were few and far between.
She rarely wore make-up. She probably couldn’t afford it, but the truth was she didn’t need any. He found her creamy skin with a hint of freckles across her cheeks absolutely magnificent. The way she blushed when they paid her a compliment took his breath away. She had no idea they found her attractive.
Attractive? Hell, she was his beautiful angel.