Telling Tales (18 page)

I know him so well that I wait for him to say the words I’m sure are coming, hot on the heels of that great big bucket full of mortification.

And they do. They do.

“Oh Jesus, I think I’m going to come,” he blurts out, at which point my body sings. Oh God it just
sings
. Just hearing him say something like that, about something like this—it’s enough to get me searingly close to orgasm.

Though I’ll admit I’m pulled back, somewhat, by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Like the ghost of Professor Warren, come back to tell us all off for participating in dirty, rimming-based threesomes.

We all freeze in position. Of course, I suspect that Kitty and Cameron aren’t thinking of the dead haunting our ménage—Wade is the much more plausible assumption, my brain tells me, in between lust spasms—but even so. They don’t just carry on with their almost-orgasms and their copious frantic moans of ultimate pleasure.

They turn and look at me, instead, as though I’m the arbiter of this door-knockery. And then just to make it clearer, Kitty hisses: “What do we do now?”

I want to laugh. Of course I do. But then the door-knocker would hear me. And it’s definitely going to be Wade, because, well…everyone else who currently lives in this house is right in this room, having sex.

But with this understanding comes the only possible end to the equation
Cameron
+ Kitty + Allie
. Any way you look at it, it’s going to equal: one seriously pissed off Wade.

“What the fuck are you guys doing in there?”

Oh yeah. He’s pretty pissed off, all right. So pissed off that I think we all actually look worried for a moment. As though Wade’s going to come in here and start hurling things, or something—which he totally isn’t. And even if he was, Cameron—of all people—is the one to defuse the tension:

“Just tell him we’re all in here…eating ice cream.”

Kitty giggles and I can’t help following suit. He just says it so deadpan, so calmly, and with his bare ass sticking up in the air too. It makes me wonder what he’d do if the equation was Kitty + Allie + Wade, and I’ve got to say—I don’t think he’d be a hammering-on-the-door, throwing-a-tantrum-in-the-hallway asshole about it.

I think it’s much more likely that he’d just take it with the same brooding, almost-bruised calm he takes everything, until I fall head over heels in love with him and try to eat his face off. Or eat his ass out.

Whichever.

“Seriously, man, this is
not
cool,” Wade says, and it makes me wonder why he doesn’t just open the door. The Wade I know is all about sauntering into a room, as breezy as anything.

This Wade is…I don’t know. Unraveling at the seams? Mad with jealousy?

He certainly sounds like it.

“So come in then,” Kitty says, and I have to say I have no compunction to refuse her. I don’t even think Cameron does. He just stays exactly where he is, naked from the waist down and with his ass still practically in my face—which seems singularly unlike him, on the face of things.

But underneath, oh underneath. Underneath, I understand perfectly well. What better way to stick it to someone, than having them find you being serviced by two women? And he
is
being serviced. A fool could tell it. He’s got my bite marks all over his pale skin, and Kitty has one hand between her legs and one hand on his great curved back.

“Hey, Wade, how you doing?” he says and, oh God, I love him I love I just love him. In the middle of all of his shame-based issues, there’s this incredible streak of humor—as liquid metal as his glorious voice.

And I want to
eat
it.

“Fuck,” Wade says, and boy oh boy it comes out as hard as a bullet. His face is the color of Cameron’s—red as a fresh new apple—but for different reasons. Anger, I think—but there’s something else there too. A little hint of embarrassment, maybe, in amongst all the rest of it.

“How long have you guys been having this party without me, seriously?”

Trust him to call it a
party
. And also: is it wrong if I get the sudden and mysterious urge to tell him
since
college
? It doesn’t seem that farfetched, after all. In truth, I’m not even sure
why
we haven’t been doing this since college.

“I’ve been trying to get this going for
weeks
,” he adds, after a second. Hands on his hips. Blue eyes
almost
showing an amused awareness of exactly what he’s saying. God, he’s such a manipulative prick!

“Get what going?” Kitty asks, but she should know. And she does, after a moment of musing. “A foursome?”

Wade puts a hand out, palm down—the universally accepted gesture for
Let’s calm things down a little here.
Not that I think he actually wants to calm anything down. And Kitty’s mischievous grin tells me that nothing’s going in that direction anyway.

“Well, maybe not a foursome exactly,” he says, only then he grins back at her, all wolfishness again. “But you know. Not that far away from one either.”

And then Kitty crooks a finger at him and I can’t help it. A great flood of weariness goes through me, while my mind throws up the words
Oh. Just like that, huh?
Because you know—Wade
always
gets things just like that. I was actually enjoying seeing him squirm and stamp his foot, because I’m so filled with the memories of him getting the opposite of that, it’s painful. It feels like I’m bursting with those images—of girls rolling over for him and guys slapping him on the back and professors saying, hey, don’t worry about it.

You’re Wade Robinson. You don’t have to worry about anything.

And now here’s Kitty, crooking her finger and beckoning him over as though yeah, he should just get this too. Me and Cameron have blundered and fumbled our way toward one tiny little bit of fun, but no big deal. Throw it at Wade, the moment he walks into the room.

Only then…then…oh Lord, my lovely little Kitty. I think I almost punch the air, when she presses a hand to his chest. He’s almost on her, the assumption so obviously all over him I can see it from here:

He thinks he’s going to fuck her now. But I’ve got to say—I don’t think he is.

“Ah ah ah,” she says, and there’s such steely control in her voice. How does she
do
that? She’s so tiny—the hand she’s still got on Cameron’s back looks ridiculously small. And yet she holds him in place as though all the world is at her command, as though
she
is the Queen of Hamin-Ra.

Lord, I don’t think I could ever be. I certainly couldn’t say what she next does to Wade.

“If you want to join in, you’ve got to start where we left off.”

At first, I don’t get what she’s saying. But Cameron
definitely
does. Oh yeah, Cameron gets it all right—he goes tight all over, suddenly, and when I stroke a soothing hand down over his ass he flinches.

As though maybe someone else entirely did the honors, while I wasn’t looking.

“No,” he says, as flat and cool as the surface of a lake.

But I can’t help noticing that he doesn’t use the word
Tehanu
. And he gets no closer to blurting it out when Kitty clarifies, for a narrow-eyed Wade.

“I mean, that’s only fair, right?” she asks—only you know. She’s not really asking. “We were seeing to Cameron, when you walked in. So if you want to interrupt, you should at least offer him some payment, for the privilege.”

I think I worry right through my lower lip. My heart pounds in time with every single
no
Cameron utters, and by God there are a lot of them. They get louder and louder in volume too, but still,
still
he doesn’t use
the
word. He doesn’t try to get up or walk out and I’ve got to say—even
I’m
willing him to do any or all of the above, by now.

I don’t want him to be hurt. I don’t want anything to hurt him—not ever.

“You can’t be serious,” Wade says, in that buttery voice of his—the one he uses to oil his way out of any tricky situation.

“I mean, I know what you guys were doing.”

I had wondered. What exactly does rimming sound like, through a door?

“And there’s just
no
way
I’m going to do that.”

Thank
God
, I think, though I’m pretty sure my brain speaks too soon. Because a minute after the words drift behind my eyes, Kitty sinks back onto the bed. All neat pointed toes and
Playboy
pin-up posing.

“Well,” she says. “I guess Rudolph won’t be playing any reindeer games tonight.”

Lord in heaven, I think she’s made out of pure bonkbuster. It’s like Jackie Collins wrote her. It’s like Jackie Collins wrote her as the person I want to marry most, in all the world. I’m sniggering without even meaning to, for God’s sake. Wade is looking at me like he wants to kill me, and I’m
still
sniggering.

“Hey, Cameron,” she says, while her devil’s eyes stay on Wade. “You want to fuck me, now? Oooh, no—I bet I know what you want. I bet you want to line me and Allie up on the bed, and then take turns. First you can slide that big, delicious cock of yours in her tight little cunt—and oh, you know she’ll be so tight and sweet—and then you can try mine.”

I don’t mind admitting it: pleasure gushes through me. And I think it goes through Wade too, because his mouth comes open and his gaze flicks down to Cameron, just as Kitty adds: “It’ll be like pin the tail on the donkey. Only with orgasms.”

She is very, very bad. And getting badder by the second.

“And if I do that,” Wade says, after what is possibly the longest pause in history. “If I do…
something
to him—” Oh God he knows. He definitely knows she means
rimming
. “—you’ll let me have that?”

He glances at me then. Something like despair on his face, I think.

“Will you let me fuck you, Allie?”

I picture what Kitty described: me and her, lined up on the bed. Waiting to be filled, waiting to be fucked, both of us moaning and begging, most probably. And the thing of it is—all I can see is Cameron. So I suppose it’s doubly cruel of me to say, finally: “Lick him there, and I just might.”

***

I expect him to ask for something more, in return. I mean, me and Kitty are going to get a show. It seems only fair that he gets one too.

Only he doesn’t so much as demand we snog each other, while he actually puts his face in a place I’ve only been once before. I’ve never even licked someone’s arsehole, prior to this moment, so it seems like an almost impossible ask of a man like Wade.

But after he’s palmed his face a few times, and maybe taken a few deep breaths, and also ripped off his shirt like the Incredible Hulk, so that me and Kitty are fully aware of how manly he is before he does this…he manages to stroke one hand down Cameron’s extremely solid flank.

Of course, Cameron bucks like a rough-ridden stallion and tries to get away. But I’ve got to say—he doesn’t try that hard. He gets about as far as a hand on my thigh, gripping tight, too tight to bear, and then he burns a stare right at me until I can’t look away.

I want to watch what Wade does. I do. It’s just that it’s impossible with Cameron in front of me, his expression so muddled by tension and anger and heated, unquestionable greed that I think it melts me on the spot. He wants this, I think, he wants it in some feral, retaliatory sort of way, and I won’t deny that I take some pleasure in it too.

This low, mean sort of smile spreads across his face—slow, like burning syrup—and it’s so delicious I want to taste it. I want to taste it while Wade licks long and wet over the rudest place on his entire body, and I do.

I just lean right down and kiss his mouth, expecting something soft, I think. Something tentative. But in truth I think he passed soft and tentative about three hours ago, because what I get is a lot like having my mouth eaten off.

He bites me—he actually bites me—and I can hear every moan and sigh passing through his body and into me. Though it only occurs to me that he’s doing to me what Wade’s doing to him when he licks into my mouth—dirtily, wetly—and finally drags me down until I’m almost beneath him.

And then he fucks me with his tongue, the way Wade is fucking him. I know he does, because I can hear Kitty moaning that Wade is such a dirty bastard.

“Go on, go on—lick him right there,” she says, as Cameron all but grunts into my mouth. I think about how aroused he was before, how close to coming, but then suddenly I don’t have to imagine anymore.

He pushes forward when Wade does something particularly dirty, and I feel his thick, slick cock slide against my thigh. Of course he backs off almost immediately, but that just means I get to see his face again. So flushed, and lust-slack, and
mine
. All mine.

“Does that feel good, baby?” I ask, and this time he doesn’t need anything else. He doesn’t need me to demand. He just answers, breathlessly, that it feels incredible.

While his hands pull and tug at my pajamas.

“I want you,” he tells me. “I want you.”

And I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything finer. I help him get me out of my clothes, all in a frantic rush, the strength of whatever Wade’s doing making him sloppy. Hell—it’s making me sloppy. I can hear the slick sounds of Wade’s mouth as he gets greedier and greedier about it, Kitty egging him all the while, and it’s making me so wet that Cameron shudders when he finally gets a hand between my legs.

He strokes through my silky slit, easy as a knife going through hot butter, and when he gets to my grasping hole he just slides all the way in. Two thick fingers, as simple as anything.

I don’t even recognize the sound that comes out of me. I certainly don’t recognize the words:
fuck, yeah, fuck me now, fill my cunt, fuck, Jesus, I want it, I want it.
And then I feel him pushing blindly against the side of my face with his, like an animal seeking comfort, and I can’t stand it. I can’t.

“Oh yeaaahhh put your finger in his ass,” Kitty says, and I can’t stand that. I don’t want to look—it’s too much. All I can hear are dirty words and the slippery sounds of Kitty rubbing her clit or maybe Wade finger-fucking Cameron the way he’s finger-fucking me, and then something else. Something else that I can’t quite pinpoint—a rustling sound, and the bed creaking.