Fever Fantasy

When I told you my fantasy, I never thought you’d actually go and make it come true. At best, I thought you’d tease me with it—husky whispers in my ear to push me over the edge; a hoarse suggestion with your fingers digging into my hips.

I never thought to see callused fingers gliding down over your abs, toward the part of you that I had claimed as mine. I hadn’t imagined sitting in this chair, silks binding me to the wood and forced to watch him touch you. I hadn’t conceived how it would feel to see his lips slip over yours, the heat that would flood my body to watch his tongue slide against yours.

His eyes flick to me, taunting me with the provocative image of you in his arms—his hands caressing your skin and bringing that rosy flush to every inch of you. The way I have done countless times. He smiles at the sound of my hushed gasp, the way my hips gyrate against the chair, desperate for the friction that would end my torment. His eyes glow in the shadows of the room, golden pools of satisfaction and restrained lust.

I never thought he would be the one you would bring to us. If I had, I might not have told you. I’m glad I didn’t know.

My lips part as I watch him undo the bright red bow he had tied around you, revealing the hard and straining flesh.

His fingers wrap around you, and a small whimper escapes your lips. My gaze goes to your face, taking in the way your eyes flutter and how you bite your lip to keep the sounds inside. You do the same when I go down on you. As if the pleasure is so intense, to cry out would shatter you completely.

Strangely, I’m not jealous while I watch him touch you.

My fingers curl against the wood of the chair, and my mind can’t help but project the image of my hands guiding his along your body. I want to show him all the places that make you whimper and all but beg for more—there would be begging, but you’re still too stubborn to give into it.

I feel the heat of his eyes on me—I love that you took the time to make sure I could feel the atmosphere of the room warm up as the body temperatures rose. You look at me from under your lashes—I can feel the question lingering in your gaze.

Did I do good? Your eyes ask me. You arch into his touch helplessly, a small sound tearing free of your throat as his finger caresses the tip of you.

My skin is too tight, too hot, to allow a smile. My mouth waters as he takes the drop of you on his finger into his mouth, licking the sticky residue away. I want to slip my tongue into the warm cavern of his mouth and share the taste of you.

His laugh rumbles through the room—the low, husky sound that had drawn us both to him—a sound that has never failed to send an arc of heat rushing through me, down the softest part of me. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and his grin is everything that is smug. He repositions you—on your stomach, under him. My thighs clench, seeing you there—your pale flesh wet and shivery under his darker body.

I love you for this.

I watch him part you, revealing the single part of you that I have not touched. You lift those gorgeous lashes of yours, and our eyes meet. This is something I will never do, but you share it with me anyway. It something for all of us—and I know he will be joining us again, and again. A shivery part of me wonders if he will stay.

He touches you and your eyes fall closed again. You grit your teeth, pain spasming briefly across your face as his fingers go where nothing has before. Briefly, he leaves you to grab the bottle beside the bed. I appreciate his consideration—he wants to make it easy on you, and when his newly-wet fingers touch you again, the gasp that bursts from your lips makes him smile.

I love that giving you pleasure makes him happy.

Slowly, he works his way inside you, and slowly you relax against the satin sheets of the bed. I squirm in the seat, achingly aware that I’ve soaked the cushion and that my thighs tremble a little more with each touch.

My nails dig into the arms of the chair when he pulls your hips up. Your fingers curl in the sheets. Your eyes snap open to meet mine again. Together, we hold our breath as he presses himself against your entrance. For both of us, this is a loss of virginity. He is treating us gently, keeping our pleasure first in his mind.

I drag my eyes away from yours and watch him disappear inside you. You groan, the sound sliding across my senses roughly. I moan with you, my arousal reaching its peak. A little push, and I would shatter.

He pulls away, and although you know he will return, you push back to keep him within you. The sight of it brings a smile to my lips. How many times have I done the same to you? How many times have you laughingly told me you were coming back?

His fingers dig into your hips and he slams into you. You cry out and attempt to muffle the sound in the sheet. I whimper and arch my hips off the chair, my body instinctively searching for the hardness it needs to ease this desperate heat.

I know you won’t leave me this way, but my body can only take so much. His body drives into you, forcing you deeper into the bed. The sheets cling to your sweat-slickened body. At this moment, I want nothing more than to be under you—to feel him pushing into you while you push into me. The mental image pushes me over.

The cry that spills from my lips pierces through the sound of flesh on flesh as pleasure crashes into me. I arch completely off of the chair, held upright only by the tight scarves keeping me in place. My toes curl and my thighs twitch as liquid pools and flesh pulses between them.

My breath is harsh and shallow when I fall back into the chair. I feel energized but exhausted. I want more. I need more than this. I am nearly feral in my need for you, for him.

I open my mouth to beg, to plead with you for mercy.

I have touched you innumerable times, trying to force this exact submission from your lips. I have failed each time.

You have not touched me and I am broken.

He dives into you once more, seemingly ignoring my entreaty. You stiffen under him, shuddering. Your face tightens, becomes the stony image of pleasure and you scream as he makes you come. Your hips press into the bed, rotating as the essence of you escapes.

He pulls out of you and leaves the bed. You roll onto your back, still twitching and gasping. I cannot look at you—he commands my attention as he prowls across the room to me. He had not shared in your orgasm, it is tantalizingly obvious. He bends over me, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his lips against my cheek. I want him to caress me the way he had caressed you. I want to feel the sensations you had.

He leans in close. His breath feathers over my ear. His tongue flicks out to slip under my ear and I am lost.

I moan as the heat my orgasm had dispelled returns full-force. He pulls away, with a small towel now in his hands. He cleans himself, wiping you away from him. When he is done, he tosses the cloth away, but doesn’t leave. He unties my wrists. Excitement rises, guides the way I grab his hands the moment my own are free.

I know you are watching, so I decide to make it good. I slide off of the chair to my knees. For a half-blink, I hesitate to touch him, but it quickly disappears at the sight of his straining flesh. I slip my hands up the strong columns of his thighs and turn him so that you have a good angle.

But for once, you are not my first concern. This is my way of thanking him. It’s all about him for this.

I wrap my hand around him, and bring him down. He watches me, waiting to see what I’ll do. I’ve given you that look often enough to recognize it.

I focus my attention back to the part of him in my hand, and I stoke him. Slowly. He thickens in my palm, already sensitive from his play with you. The fine blue veins bulge against his skin, pressing into my hand. I scoot up a little to bring myself closer to the tip of him. My eyes roll up to watch his face as my tongue slip out to swirl over the weeping head of him.

I see the telltale twitch of his jaw, the flutter of his eyes, and the way his hands clench. I almost wish he would wrap those strong fingers in my hair and guide me the way he would like it best. But I know he won’t.

I open my mouth wider and I swallow as much of him as I can take. He is larger than you—not in length, but width—but that isn’t what takes me by surprise.

It’s the taste of him.

You taste salty—like the ocean. Clean.

He is all that is spicy. Cajun rice on a hot day.

It is a sharp contrast, and it brings a moan from deep in my belly. My tongue curls around him, exploring the texture and temperature of his skin.

Engrossed in the newness of him, I didn’t notice that you’ve moved from the bed.

Not until you touch me. Deftly, your fingers find the part of me that’s been begging for attention. I moan around him, and he thrusts against me in reaction.

You press against me, the heat of your chest brilliantly hot against my back. I whimper, and push my mouth a little further upon him. I hear your devilish chuckle as you watch my lips stretched around him. I feel your pleasure against my ass, where you are hard once more.

Your free hand wraps into my hair and you press me against him. I wriggle against you—the myriad of sensations is almost too much. I know I won’t come—not without one of you inside me. At this point, I no longer care which one.

You play with me, sliding inside me just a little. A teasing caress. Your fingers slip and rub, harder and faster, drawing more sounds from my throat. He has surrendered himself to my ministrations. His head is thrown back and his lips utter the most erotic of sounds—grunts and gasps of need each time the tip of him slides into my throat.

He’s close. The spice of him is tangier, sharper.

I’m close. My body has become a giant heartbeat, pumping liquid and heat.

You pull me away from him by my hair. Your hands slide down to cup my breasts and taunt my nipples with soft brushes of your fingertips. Cruel man that you are, you leave my breasts to grip my hips and you pull me to my feet, standing with me. You press me between the two of you. Your heat at my back and his at my front. I look up into his eyes and I know that the fantasy portion of the night is over.

Now, it’s just us. All of us.

Together.