Page 56 of Triple Play

“You don’t have to,” I say. The answer comes reflexively. That she’s saying yes because she feels like she has to.

That’s enough to make Shira sit up, propping herself on her elbows. “Did you like making me come?” she asks.

An indescribable amount. I nod. It’s possible I’m too eager, because Shira laughs, but fuck it. I am eager. We’ve dated for a month. I meant it when I said I wanted to go at her pace. But it turns out her pace is fast.

“Yes,” I say, voice hoarse, “I did.”

“Well, trust me when I say I want the same thing too. And I bet you’d be really good at fucking my mouth.” She says it sweetly, laughingly, as if sex could just be a good time we’re all having together.

Everything with her feels so easy—talking with her, stroking her hair, apparently sex. Almost spilling out all my secrets.

Felix hasn’t said anything. We were ordering each other around before, but this is different. I don’t want to pressure him any more than I did her. I turn to him. “We all get a say in this.”

“I don’t want to, uh, insert myself somewhere I don’t belong.” What he said before. Like he still thinks of himself as extraneous. And whose fault is that?

I think of the flash of his eyes across the table earlier, the stroke of his thumb on my wrist. How I want him the same way I want Shira. There are probably a hundred labels for this feeling—a million words I’m not entirely sure of.

So I try for one I am. “Stay.” And another. “Please.”

Felix’s slow grin fills his newly shaved face. He’s stopped hiding. Good. Maybe we all should.

“This really isn’t what I thought would happen on this trip,” he says.

Shira and I both laugh. “C’mere.” She motions to both of us.

From there it’s easy to go.

It does take some maneuvering: Shira kneels on the deck. Felix is taller than I am, but I carry more of my height in my legs. To do this, we have to stand close.

I focus on the dark gloss of Shira’s hair, the daring edge to her smile. “You good?” she says.

Like there could be a good better than the three of us on a warm night. “Just thinking about how lucky I am to have met you.”

“Because I’m about to do this?” she asks.

“No.” I flush. “I mean, not just that. Just everything about you.”

“Oh”—her fingers play at my waistband, her voice as sweet as it is sarcastic—“just that.” She brushes her face against the front of my swim trunks, and I groan from that little bit of contact. “Get yourself out,” she orders.

I undo the Velcro at the top of my fly, the rasp of it loud in the darkness. I take myself in hand—I’ve been hard for a while and mostly ignoring it. Now I can’t, not as I stroke myself, not as Shira inches my shorts down to expose the head of my cock, still damp with pool water and a thin stream of pre-come.

Shira gathers her hair in her hand, then pauses. “It’d be easier if you both were a little more together.”

I can’t watch as Felix inches toward me: not the entirety of him, just the details. The shuffle of his callused feet on the deck. The hair flattened on the points of his ankles. Close, he braces his hand on my shoulder, a curl of his large palm on my arm. All things I’ve worked not to want.

A want that’s magnified when Shira ducks her head, when she presses an unthinking kiss to my stomach. She grasps my shorts. “I’m gonna push these down.”

“Yeah.” My voice scratches. “Go ahead.”

She does, and they drop to loop around my ankles. I’m naked: something I’ve done around other people in a clubhouse every day of my professional life. Different as Felix rakes his eyes over my skin, as Shira taps the head of my cock, drawing a trail of moisture, before she pops her fingertip into her mouth. “Clearly,” she says, “I have some work to do.”

Lucky doesn’t begin to describe it.

She doesn’t make me wait. She dips her tongue to my cock. The first touch of it makes me shiver. She kisses me, long and slow and sweeping along the crown, and my hand finds its way onto her shoulder. “Sweetheart.” What I call her in case some other word falls out of my mouth. Like love.

I don’t try to hurry her: Not the gradual descent of her mouth. Not the soft cup of her hand around my balls. They ache—from the past hour. From the past month of waiting.

“If you keep doing that,” I say, “this is gonna be over before we even get started.” Like the three of us might be. No, I can’t think about that right now.

---