Page 54 of Triple Play

Blake’s laughter vibrates against my skin. “You gonna joke while I do all the work?”

“If she’s still talking in complete sentences”—Felix inches over, heat rolling off him as he settles next to me—“you got more work to do.”

“Yes, sir.” Blake says it with a certain Southern sarcasm, the way bless your heart can be weaponized as an insult. Then the humor drops from his face. His shoulders stiffen as if bracing for a rebuke—like someone in his past has done that.

Who told you that you couldn’t have this? A question I’m beginning to see the answer to in the pinch of Blake’s eyebrows every time he frowns over a text.

Over Blake’s shoulder, Felix is giving me the same heated look he used to throw at me in the club, now amplified. “You ready to give him some honest feedback?” he asks.

“I’m ready to get his mouth on my pussy,” I fire back, then almost immediately bite my tongue. That’s too much, too demanding.

Blake hasn’t minded before, but I shouldn’t test those limits. Now he’s looking at me, uncertain. Fuck. I fucked this up.

Until he turns to Felix. “I know when I’m good at something,” Blake says. “And I know when I’m not.” He drags his hand up the back of his neck. His cheeks go a faintly embarrassed pink. “I really haven’t dated that much. And people expect me to be good at things naturally and don’t always tell me when I’m only…okay. At least off the field.”

A few things slot into place: Blake’s exes I couldn’t find online. His hesitance at the physical part of our relationship. And his discomfort at us teasing him about being good at everything. It’s hard to know if you’re pleasing a partner if they lie to you about it. What I was just doing—to spare his feelings. Being the girl I assumed he wanted and not the one he needed me to be.

Demure only gets you so far in life. “You want to add another item to the list?” I ask.

Blake goes red. But he’s nodding. “I might also need a second opinion.”

What Felix said about the shaving job Blake did on his face, now tossed back at him playfully. Felix’s eyebrows rise. “Are you asking me to help you eat out your girlfriend’s pussy?”

“You seem like you’d be honest if I was bad at it.” Blake shrugs sheepishly.

“In my experience, it’s pretty easy to know if you’re doing a good job,” Felix says. “If Shira’s calling your name, for one thing.”

Blake’s eyebrows go up like he’s rising to a challenge. But he doesn’t move quite yet. Possibly because he and Felix haven’t broken eye contact.

“You all gonna get to it or not?” I ask.

“People from Boston are so impatient,” Blake teases. But he sinks, knees on the underwater bench, until he’s eye level with my waist. He drags a thumb under my swimsuit bottoms. “Can I take these off?”

I nod and lift myself up enough that he can pull them down, leaving me exposed. I should feel vulnerable—I’m half naked, in public, with only the bare modesty of a rucked-up bikini top. I should, and maybe I do, but it’s a different kind of vulnerability when Blake kisses my belly. When he runs his fingers up and down the insides of my thighs and spreads my knees.

My breath quickens. My nipples go impossibly tighter. Heat traces through my core, and I sigh an exhale.

“Oh, yeah, you’re clearly terrible at this,” Felix says to Blake.

“Maybe I just needed the right encouragement.”

“I’m encouraging you to get to it,” I laugh.

Blake sinks lower, mouth a hot line as he kisses his way down my belly, as he makes the first sighing contact with my pussy, tongue against my clit. He kisses me like he would my mouth, slow but without much rhythm or pressure. Not bad, just not as practiced as the rest of him, and something about that makes me like him even more.

After a second, he draws back.

I nudge his shoulder playfully. “I hope you don’t think you’re done.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I thought about what you’d taste like.” A confession that makes the tips of his ears go red. How he managed to get through twenty-something years as a man on this Earth—as a ballplayer around other ballplayers—and still retain that wholesomeness, I don’t understand.

“Am I what you imagined?” I try to ask it casually, even as my heart beats against my ribs. And what if it turns out I’m not?

“Better than I could’ve dreamed. But I might need some specific direction.” His ears go even redder. “Put your hand in my hair.” He says it quickly, like he’s embarrassed to be asking. Why would he…? Right. Because he wasn’t talking to me.

Felix settles his hand on the back of Blake’s neck in a hard grip, then traces his way up into his hair. Tension raises the muscles of his forearm. “Fuck, you look good like this.” And it’s not clear who he’s talking to. Or it’s possible—likely—he’s talking to us both.

He pushes Blake back down between my thighs, to the aching juncture of my pussy. I’m wet and I get wetter when Blake licks me, when Felix starts moving his face in a steady, demanding rhythm, urging him on.

---