“You’re fine,” I said to Mark. “But let’s get serious, guys. Brooke wants a real fucking, not three jokers.”
I suited actions to words and began moving my hips. Brooke groaned around Mark’s dick, and Trip started thrusting again.
She didn’t come again immediately, but I could feel her working up to it.
Mark stiffened a couple of minutes later, and Brooke moaned in surprise. He held her head and emptied his balls down her throat. I watched in fascination as his dick pulsed with every spurt. Then he sat back abruptly, and I had to dodge a little friendly fire.
“Sorry about that,” he panted. “Did I get you?”
“No, but the bedspread might be pregnant.”
He laughed.
“Less talking,” Trip said between thrusts. “More fucking.”
“You heard the man,” Mark said wryly.
“Yep.”
The competitive part of me wanted to make Brooke come again, but she and Trip had other ideas. He wanted to shoot in her ass, so he started fucking her in earnest. I decided to focus on her pleasure instead of macho one-upmanship.
“Pull her hair,” I told him.
“What?”
“Pull her hair,” I repeated, a little louder. “She likes it.”
“What?” he said again, this time in disbelief.
I rolled my eyes, and Mark replied with a “what’re ya gonna do?” shrug.
“Pull. Her. Hair.” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice, although Trip was too preoccupied to hear it for what it was.
“Whatever. You’d know. Sorry, Brooke…” He grabbed her ponytail and yanked.
She gasped and arched away from me, and my skin felt suddenly cool. Hers was pink with the heat of arousal, from her forehead to her chest. Her collarbones stood out, and her freckles almost disappeared as her flush deepened.
Trip slammed into her and stopped moving. He let out a low groan, and Brooke stiffened with her own climax. Her pussy clamped down on my cock, so I didn’t feel him unload inside her, although they both collapsed a moment later.
Trip’s weight pushed Brooke into my chest, and I resisted the urge to say something cute, mostly because her orgasm was still going. Instead, I thrust gently and buried my dick inside her. The temperature in her pussy spiked, and a rush of moisture coated the base of my shaft. She clung to me and held very still.
After a moment I realized that my balls were touching something soft and warm. I chuckled to myself when I realized what it was, but Trip was too out of it to complain. He eventually pushed himself upright.
Brooke moaned as his dick slid out of her ass, and my balls had to find another source of warmth. At least I didn’t have time to laugh about how my mind worked, since Brooke raised her head to look at me.
“Did you come?”
“Not yet. You and Trip beat me to it.”
Her eyelids drooped. They were very dark, a pink like old rose.
I gave her a moment to recover. “I can finish on my own if—”
“Uh-uh. Do it inside me.”
I held still instead of doubting her aloud.
“Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I’m still…”
“Take your time,” I chuckled.
She inhaled sharply and blinked to clear her head. “Sorry,” she repeated. “Come inside me. Please.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…”
She kissed me, lingering and full of heat. Then she began rocking her hips.
“Oh, God, that’s nice,” I gasped.
She pushed herself upright and braced her palms on my chest. “Give it to me.”
“She wants it,” Trip chuckled from the end of the bed. “Better give it to her, dude.”
“Planning on it,” I grunted. The pressure built in my balls, but I wasn’t there yet. I ran my hands up Brooke’s sides and cupped her breasts. She sighed and closed her eyes, and I rolled her nipples between fingers and thumbs.
She continued rocking her hips, and we finished in silence. I held her waist, arched my back, and buried my cock. Then I released a geyser of semen deep inside her. Neither of us moved or even breathed until I finished shooting. Then I slowly lowered my hips to the bed. She lay atop me, and our breathing synced.
“Happy?” I said when I could think again.
“God, yes.”
“Good… ’cause I don’t think I can move.”
She hesitated. “Do you want me to get off you?”
“I want you to stay right where you are.”
“What about us?” Trip said. “Never mind, I’m just kidding. You wanna see what the girls’re up to?”
“Sure,” Mark said.
I’d almost forgotten they were there, so I didn’t try to talk them out of it.
“She’s all yours,” Trip said on the way out.
I waved, but they’d already gone. The front door closed behind them a moment later.
“Well, I guess it’s just you and me,” I said to Brooke. “I hope you’re okay with that.”
She rested her head on my shoulder and answered with a deep sigh.
* * *
Brooke took a hot shower and fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Christy and I waited for the hot water to recycle before we took our own shower. I expected her to fade pretty quickly after we finished, but her metabolism had other priorities.
“Can you fix me a snack, please?”
“Of course. The usual?”
“I don’t care. I’m starving. I’ll eat anything, even bacon.” She shuddered involuntarily. “Okay, maybe not bacon, but you know what I mean.” She glanced toward the bedroom and hesitated.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think I’ll come with you,” she said. “I can eat there.”
“Ah. So you wanna talk.”
She replied with a tired smile. “You know me so well.”
“I do. C’mon, I think we have more of those little rolls Wren used for the hors d’oeuvres.”
“The chicken ones? Those were yummy.”
I opened the door and followed her out. The sound of crickets filled the night, and the pool pump hummed in the background. Silvery moonlight bathed the clearing, but the sodium lamp banished it from the patio with harsh and thoroughly modern efficiency. Blue shadows lurked under the tables and chairs, softened by the moonlight where it touched them.
The breeze had died, and a mist had risen in its place. It floated over the cool grass in the clearing, but the patio was clear. The summery scent of gardenia lingered in the air, mixed with fresh pine and a hint of fall.
Christy stopped at the edge of the patio, and I nearly ran into her. I stepped back and watched in curiosity as she lifted her face, closed her eyes, and slowly turned full circle.
“Do you ever wish you could paint this?” she asked. “Not the way it looks, but everything else.”
I chuckled. “I was thinking the same thing. Not about painting, but the sounds and smells.”
“Gardenia.” She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. “Clematis. Honeysuckle. And… um…” Her brows knitted in concentration. “Moonflowers, I think.”
“Your nose is better than mine. I just smell the pine.”
She shrugged. “Your ears are better. I get mixed up sometimes. Everything’s sort of brown right now. The sound, I mean.”
“I don’t think you get ‘mixed up’ at all,” I said. “Not about sounds.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, “but everything’s still brown. Dull and dark and boring. I don’t remember it as well.” All of a sudden she smiled, a soft glow of affection. “I like talking about senses with you. Most people don’t pay attention. Siobhan says you should use more than just your eyes.”
I nodded.
Christy slipped her hand into mine, and we walked through the wide aisle between the tables and chairs. We’d shoved them aside for the games and never put them back. Little Miss Chaos didn’t give them a second glance, and I chuckled to myself at our differences. The jumble offended my sense of order, although not enough to make me stop and fix it.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked when the clubhouse door closed behind us. It cut off the sounds of the night, and the air lost its southern charm. Christy glanced through the window and had the same thought.