Page 23 of Savannah Royals
Paul shrugs. “He’s a big boy.”
True enough.
I look at Abe, but he also shrugs.Whatever you want,his lazy drawl whispers in my mind, though his lips don’t move. He smiles languidly because he knows.
Emboldened, I reach for both fellas’ hands and plunge into the pit. We weave between swinging hips and stomping heels, carving out our own space in the crowd. Paul slips behind me, and Abe takes my front. The three of us move to the beat, dancing, sweating the alcohol from our systems.
Abe and I attract more than a few judgmental stares, but I resolutely ignore them. Even here in the bayou, where the lines of propriety are fluid, the stigma of the Jim Crow South is a red-hot brand. As inherent to thecommunity as our beloved Spanish moss, an epiphyte canopy of prejudice hangs over Savannah, casting shadows so deep, all sunlight is blocked. Growth made impossible.
Paul’s hands move over me unchecked as my heart pounds in rhythm with the trumpet. Abe is far more conservative with his touch, but his eyes pool into mine. My entire body thrums, a live wire sparking.
I feel daring tonight, so I step forward and grind my hips into Abe’s. I wait breathlessly for his reaction, wondering if he’ll pull away. I stay close, swinging with him. He swallows and looks over my shoulder at Paul. I hold my breath, but he must get what he needs, because his hands hook onto me seconds later. He lowers his forehead to mine, closer than close. When I exhale, he inhales.
Paul’s deep chuckle rumbles in my ear several minutes later. “Let’s go back outside.”
His words raise shivers of promise on my neck. I give a cursory glance for Tony, but I don’t see him. We emerge from the trapdoor to find the outdoor crowd has died down. I understand why when the first breath of humid air hits.
Abe slinks to the bar, and I follow him with my eyes. Paul slides his arms around my waist from behind and nuzzles my neck.
“You want Abe tonight, doll?” he asks. “It’s okay—you know I don’t mind sharing with him.”
I don’t reply right away. My eyes narrow as the barmaid flutters over to Abe like he conjured her out of thin air. He orders a drink, and she stays near, chatting him up, laughing as she pops his bottle cap. My hackles rise.
“Go get him.” Paul gently slaps my ass, urging me forward.
I hold Paul’s attention as I sashay to the bar. I love it. My veins sing with adrenaline. I sidle up to Abe, wiggling myself between him and the counter. He takes a sip of beer and looks at me with interest, waiting.
“What’re you gonna do, hellraiser?” His voice is deep and teasing. He knows perfectly well what I’m going to do, but I plow forward anyway.
Barreling ahead like a runaway train, I slide my arms around Abe’s neck. His eyes flicker with anticipation as I rise on tiptoes to kiss him. He puts his beer down and presses both hands to the bar, pinning me in. I slip my tongue in his mouth and suck gently. When I pull away, we both look at Paul, who jerks his head.
“Let’s go home.” I take Abe’s hand.
We follow Paul as he cuts a path through the square. I lift his billfold from his pocket and toss some scratch into the musicians’ cases. Paul chuckles when he realizes what I’ve done.
“Dirty little thief,” he teases, swiping for the wallet.
I spin away in jest, furtively passing the contraband from my right hand to my left. I very much enjoy the look on Paul’s face when he snatches my right arm and comes up with an empty palm, fooled by my sleight of hand.
“Looking for something?” I lift my left hand, his billfold dangling between two fingers.
His lighthearted snort becomes a deep, throaty laugh. “Smooth move, Kitty-Kat. Who taught you to turn tricks like that?” His eyes glimmer knowingly for a fleeting second before he turns on a dime and takes off running. “Bet I can beat you home,” he says over his shoulder. “Bothof you.”
The three of us tear through moonlit streets, yipping and laughing like the wolves we are. I can’t tell if I’m breathless with exertion or anticipation. As Paul unlocks the door to our loft, Abe leans me against the wall. He closes his lips over mine. The door swings open, and he drags me inside, backing me right into Paul’s waiting arms.
Someone kicks the door shut, but I barely notice. There’s one set of lips on mine, another moves over my neck. Paul’s fingers work the buttons at my back while Abe pulls off my wig. He drops it to the floor as I pushback his suspenders and rip off his white shirt. The fingers of my left hand slide up his ribs, darting across his pawprint tattoos. I reach my right hand behind me and wrap it around Paul’s neck, leaning back to kiss him.
The three of us slowly make our way to the master bedroom. Once inside, I step out of my dress. Abe sits on the bed to unstrap my heels and pull down my stockings. He presses fluttering kisses to my knees and thighs while he works. Paul finds the bottle of gin and falls back on the bed, waiting.
Power rushes through my veins, the power of holding both men like liquid mercury in my palm. Hot and fluid and languid andmine. When my shoes and stockings are gone, Abe’s kisses move from my thighs to my center. My head tips back, my jaw slack.
“Kat,” he murmurs, breath hot between my legs.
Paul pulls a swig of gin, then crawls to us. I push Abe onto his back, and he pulls me with him, straight onto his lap, breath hitching. Paul tosses him a condom. With little hesitation, Abe positions me, then slides in with a satisfied groan. Paul moves behind me and grabs my hips, changing the angle for himself. I cry out once they’re both inside, filling me, front and back.
“Kat?” Paul asks, waiting for my go-ahead.
I give it.
