An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
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Sandwich Play ISBN 9781419919169 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Sandwich Play Copyright © 2008 Brigit Zahara Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication November 2008 With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
SANDWICH PLAY
Brigit Zahara
Dedication For Tracy
Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Architectural Digest: Advance Magazine Publishers Inc. Camaro: General Motors Corporation Clinique Elixir: Clinique Laboratories, LLC LTD LIAB Co. Fiat: Fiat S.p.A. Corporation Glock: Glock Gesellschaft M.B.H. LTD LIAB Jell-O: General Foods Corporation Lego: Lego Juris A/S Corporation
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Chapter One Officer Trisha Sutton pulled her car into the parking lot of the all-night convenience store somewhere around eleven p.m. Thursday night and cut the engine. Having just dropped off her partner at his home in Queens after their routine eight-hour patrol shift, she decided to pop in and see if she could pick up a few not-all-that-necessary things before heading to her brownstone in the Bronx. Truth be told, she was in no hurry to go home. She wouldn’t be able to sleep—at least not very well or for very long. There was nothing to do—summer TV viewing was at an all-time low—and there was no one there waiting for her. Unless you counted D’Artagnan. Her cat. Each night when Trisha returned from work, the orange tabby, miffed at its owner’s late afternoon and early evening absence, would be more than a little standoffish for the first twenty minutes or so. Only when he felt he had punished Trisha adequately would he saunter over and allow her to scratch his ears. What remained of their night from there was pretty much routine. Trisha would take a shower, nuke some leftovers in the microwave and devour them while channel surfing on the tube. She might do some reading or even try to unwind with a little yoga before going to bed. After four, maybe five hours’ sleep, she’d get up and do it all over again. That was her life and had been ever since the death of her husband, Roger, almost two years ago. Both dedicated to serving the community, they had met and fallen in love on the force, together vowing to make a difference in the city they called home. In his memory, Trisha kept that commitment. Inside the brightly lit food and gas stop, Trisha grabbed a basket and headed for the produce. After selecting a couple of tomatoes and a head of lettuce, she turned down the hot beverage aisle halting halfway at the sight before her. Trisha stared at the profile
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of the masculine figure who stood a few steps away, something more than a little familiar about the guy in front of her. Familiar and fabulous. “Nazz?” The guy was clad in a supertight pair of faded jeans, strategically ripped in the ass to give any who had the good fortune of passing behind him a teasing glimpse of the goods. Clunky black boots peeped out from the fringed bottom hems of his pants and the black leather bomber jacket stretched over his wide shoulders buckled at his waist. Casually perusing the two horizontal rows of exotic teas that spread out before him, the man turned his head slowly. His glittering black eyes, the identical shade of his jacket, locked with hers. Yep. It was Nazz all right. Technically speaking, it was actually Nazzareno. But back when she had harbored a never-realized high school crush on the exotic-looking European exchange student twenty years earlier, he had threatened to kill anyone who used the full version of his first name. If his brooding dark looks and unsmiling expression were any indication, he still might. “Yeah?” Even with a single utterance, the sound of his deep voice made Trisha’s stomach do a funny little flip-flop. Just like the old days. One side of Nazz’s wide mouth pulled up in a half smile as he leisurely pivoted around to face her, the dark cowhide parting to reveal his naked chest underneath. The sight of his smooth olive skin made Trisha’s pulse react. Any Nazz sighting always had. Back when she was a very young fifteen, seeing him in the flesh, even without a peek at his pretty impressive pecs, created a very confusing reaction that reduced her knees to Jell-O and filled her tummy with a mass of ultra-hyper butterflies on speed. A few short years later she would learn what those extreme responses really meant but at the time, the sensations his face or smile could produce were downright unsettling. 6
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Not that she ran into him all that much. Throughout their time together at St. Jermaine’s High School, Trisha didn’t see the object of her affection very often. She was in tenth grade and he was a twelfth grader, so their two worlds rarely intersected. She was occasionally lucky enough to catch glances of his sublime shape in the hall between classes as well as blurry glimpses of his muscular form as he sped past her on the soccer field. That’s when her eyes were glued to Pasquale DeLuca, Nazz’s distant cousin and teammate. Only slightly shorter and possessing a warm milk-chocolate shade of hair and eyes, Pasquale was considerably stockier than Nazz. One might even refer to him as bulky but that was fine with Trisha—all his bulges were in the right places. There was also one other difference between the two—where Nazz could be called brooding and serious, Pasquale was all sexy smiles and suggestive winks. Speaking of which, rumors abounded that the two Italian Stallions were real good friends as in wink, wink, nudge, nudge but Trisha never believed it. She could feel the sheer hetero masculinity oozing out of them both, even from a distance. Sometimes during a game as she stood with the other cheerleaders at the far end of the soccer field, Trisha would sneak a superfast peek at Nazz and Pasquale sitting on the bench and engrossed in the action on the field. Secretly she wished that they would both ask her to their senior prom. Wouldn’t it be, like, so cool if they all went together? She’d wear a gown of her favorite color, lavender, and the guys would look so hot in black tuxedos. But the kids wouldn’t understand. They’d think the three of them were freaks. For sure, they’d think she was a freak for wanting to go steady with two guys. And yet that was all Trisha could think of. She even envisioned what it would be like. Her squeezed in the middle, with Nazz on one side and Pasquale on the other as they walked through the hallways at school, their arms lazily looped around one another’s waists. All the kids would be talking and gossiping about them behind their backs, all the while furtively envious of them. She had not considered the sexual dynamics but simply innocently yearned for the three of them to be together, somehow.
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But like so many of her classmates, Trisha was cursed with extreme adolescent shyness when it came to being one to one with the opposite sex. In the end, she succumbed to “the norm” and kept her feelings for her two honeys to herself, choosing instead to just love them from afar and within ten short months, Nazz and Pasquale had come in and out of her life. But never out of her heart. Ever since then, Trisha had spent more than a few wasted days wondering whatever became of her closet crushes, her teenage flutterings eventually turning into full-blown adult fantasies, or to be precise, one fantasy in particular. When she was single, hardly a month went by when she didn’t daydream about the two men and throughout her twelve-year marriage she was often surprised at the continuation of and consistency of the dream itself. The times and places that Trisha imagined their threesome varied but one factor remained constant. In each dream, Nazz and Pasquale were just-turned and therefore totally legal twenty-one-year-olds whereas Trisha was the woman she now was—still pretty, in even better shape than before, but possessing a maturity, confidence and sexual awareness she couldn’t have dreamed of in high school. “I don’t believe it.” Another male voice coming from the opposite end of the aisle cut into her reminiscing. Trisha turned, smiling broadly at the approaching figure of none other than Pasquale DeLuca. “Oh my God! What a surprise!” “You got that right. How have you been, Trisha?” The question astonished Trisha. She’d always thought that neither guy knew she existed let alone knew her name. “And heeeey, dig the getup,” he continued, winking, a pair of sexy dimples making little dents in his cheeks, as he eyed Trisha up and down. “I always did love a woman in uniform.” 8
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That last word made one of the many recurring daydreams Trisha had about the two guys come rushing back.
In a flash she saw herself, burning with desire and need, as she pushed Nazz up against one of the walls in the boys’ shower. They were out from under the steaming sprays of the central showerheads where, seconds earlier, they had been, the water plastering their hair to their skins and their clothes to their bodies as they kissed with an urgency that spoke of their long-time-in-the-coming reunion. Now fully drenched, they stood in a light clinch, breathless and staring into each other’s eyes. Nazz gazed down at Trisha, his black eyes blazing, the rise and fall of his chest quickening. Slowly, almost tentatively, his hands drifted around her back and slid down the swell of her hips to firmly cup her ass. Then he pulled her hard against him, the operative word here being hard. As Trisha leaned into him, she immediately felt the stiff length of his cock through the thin fabric of his lightweight jersey shorts pressing against her mons and pelvis. That was good on its own but with a gasp, Trisha swooned at the feel of her skirt being lifted and a second rigid pole pressing against her, only this one from behind, the thick solid weight spreading the cheeks of her ass. It was Pasquale, his cock urgently pushing at the flimsy material of her panties while his tender touch delicately moved around to shyly caress her breasts. Arching her back, she leaned against Pasquale’s hard body, one arm moving up and over to curl around his head as he nuzzled her neck. Through eyes glazed with pleasure, Trisha looked at Nazz, her fingers digging into the warm flesh of his shoulders as her peripheral gaze absorbed his wet hair, the strands across his forehead dripping little drops of water that glanced off his cheeks to fall with a seductive splat onto his full lips. Leaning forward to playfully trace the watery tracks with her tongue, Trisha licked lightly at Nazz’s mouth. His response was immediate, his lips parting to cover hers while his tongue entangled and teased hers. The warm weight of his fingers on her wrist steered her hand down onto his saturated
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bulge. With his hand covering hers, Nazz guided Trisha’s movements up and down against his cock that, even through the veil of cloth, jerked in response to her touch. Eager to hold the throbbing rod in her hand, Trisha walked her fingers up and under the band of Nazz’s shorts. Moving down through the mass of soft curls, she gently grasped the jutting extension of his cock, the feel of the thick rigid weight making her pussy twinge in response. Unconsciously, Trisha fell into a steady stroke of Nazz’s taut tool as Pasquale undid her skirt and eased it, along with her panties, down to the ground. Stepping out of them, Trisha shuddered at the delectable decision that awaited her…what did she want to do first? Suck Nazz’s gorgeous cock until it popped or have Pasquale cram his very erect rod full and hard into her pussy that was presently pleading for attention? As if to address her silent dilemma, Trisha felt the pressure of Pasquale’s hands on her shoulders, easing her down onto her knees. Now eye level with Nazz’s impressive erection, its head bulbous and deliciously discolored, the answer was crystal clear. Taking his cock in one hand Trisha lay a series of long, leisurely licks upon his shuddering shaft. She flickered her tongue back and forth across and around his swollen head, marveling at its supersoft skin that so contrasted with the granitelike pole below it. Then anxious to surround his rod with heat and pressure, she took the entire length of his cock into her mouth and began sucking it at a slow sensual pace as she bobbed up and down its length, one hand cupping and caressing his full balls beneath. Groaning, Nazz entangled his fingers in Trisha’s hair as his leaned against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut. While enthusiastically kissing her neck and shoulders, Pasquale caressed his way down over the warm globes of her ass and with a tender but firm touch, inserted a couple of fingers into Trisha’s, by now, dripping pussy. She murmured against the warm weight of Nazz’s cock in her mouth as Pasquale moved his fingers in and out rhythmically, his fingers flickering back and forth in a way that made her quiver with the need that could not be fulfilled by hand.
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Pasquale must have felt it too for seconds later, Trisha felt him easing her hips back so she was on all fours, Nazz adjusting his stance so she could continue sucking his close-to-coming cock. Just as Nazz’s cock stiffened within her mouth, forecasting his just-around-the-corner orgasm, Trisha stiffened at the hard pressure of Pasquale’s cock as he dove eagerly into her hot tight core. Breaking into an ambitious pace, he pumped his ready and rigid length into her repeatedly, his eager thrusts filling her full, tugging her engorged clit and sending her clean over the edge. While Nazz’s hot cum sprayed into the warm recesses of Trisha’s mouth, Pasquale’s quick climax flooded Trisha’s clutching, coming pussy with love cream as the three of them exploded together. This had actually happened. Well, apart from the kissing and fucking part. In fact the only physical albeit innocent contact she’d ever had with Nazz and Pasquale in all their time together was in that shower. Moreover, it was the last time she saw them. What had really happened was one dusky spring evening after St. Jermaine’s won the year-end City Championships, the entire soccer team, in a heightened state of celebration, dragged each and every one of the cheerleaders off the field and into the boys’ locker room, treating the squealing pack of girls to an impromptu shower. While the water from the showerheads completely drenched the frenzied females right through their thick yellow sweaters and paneled black miniskirts, the guys proceeded to douse all those present in shaving cream. High-arching streams of white froth hissed and shot through the air to land with a splat, soon slathering and slithering down over the mass of writhing faces and bodies as they all laughed and slipped around on the wet, tiled floor. Along with the entire team and squad, Trisha was thrilled to see Nazz and Pasquale return for this all-important tournament. The distant cousins had been ill for the past few weeks, even missing several critical games back-to-back, but like the true champions they were, they had come back to play when the chips were down, even if
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that meant wearing shades to keep their still-sensitive eyes protected from the dying rays of daylight. When Trisha stumbled backward, she tried to break her fall with her hands but ended up skinning her knuckles and landing flat on her butt. Nazz swiftly helped her to her feet, planting a fleeting, gallant kiss on her hand before turning and disappearing into the excited waterlogged throng. Whirling around she ran straight into the arms of none other than Pasquale, who followed suit. Puckering up, he brushed her fingers with his lips then with a wink, turned and jumped onto the dogpile of bodies. And there Trisha stood, a brush with not one but both of her secret crushes leaving her stunned and trembling with excitement, and soaked to the skin in water and white foam. And then the coach had arrived and ended the celebrations. No wonder her recurring fantasy picked up where reality had left off and took it in a more delicious direction—one that saw Trisha on her knees hungrily sucking Nazz’s cock while Pasquale did her doggy style. At the thought of the vision, Trisha started and was unceremoniously jerked back to the present moment. Without thinking, her view dropped down to swiftly take in the white band of Pasquale’s shorts that peeped out above the band of his jeans, the buttondown fly and surrounding fabric straining with the bulk beneath. Flushing, Trisha quickly lifted her gaze up to his face that was beaming with a sexy luster that looked as if he had just finished a good jog—minus the color. Casting a glance in Nazz’s direction she saw that he was watching her in that dark, intense, Michael Corleone manner that used to make her legs quiver and her insides spin. And clearly, he hadn’t lost his touch. With one searing look, he had her only a heartbeat away from coming right there in front of the hot chocolate mix. In return, Trisha could only return Nazz’s stare, her gaze slowly moving to take in the details of his face. Incredibly, he looked exactly the same as he had two decades earlier. There 12
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was not a hint of gray mixed among the black strands of hair, no creases lining the outer edges of his black eyes and no softening of his oh-so-hard body. The guy hadn’t aged a day and yet, there was something different about him. If it was possible, his eyes seemed to have darkened even more and now, as they beheld her, glittered with a strange light that made Trisha tremble. As well, his skin, while still smooth and inviting, appeared a noticeably lighter shade than she recalled and it too had a strange sheen to it. And there was something else, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Nazz was still looking at her expectantly, seemingly waiting for an introduction. “I guess you probably don’t remember me but I’m Tri—” “Trisha MacAvie. Of course I remember you. How could I forget the hottest cheerleader on the squad?” Even though Trisha herself was stunned silent by Nazz‘s unexpected declaration, the suddenly moist region between her legs was atypically screaming for attention. Since Roger’s death, Trisha had come to refer to that particular area of her body as the dead zone. Not even masturbation had managed to arouse any real pleasure. Nazz laughed then, a low throaty sound that sent shivers up and down Trisha’s spine. Her nipples hardened into taut points that pressed painfully against the starched fabric of her uniform and without rhyme or reason, Trisha got the unsettling inkling that Nazz knew what she was thinking. Swallowing, she struggled to keep her voice even and get hold of her suddenly elusive sense of self-control. “Well it’s now Trisha Sutton, but…me?” “Yeah, you,” he replied with the sexiest grin imaginable. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that I had a real thing for you.” No way. “No way.” Nazz took a couple of lazy steps toward her. “Way. A real big thing for you.”
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Pasquale leaned over and whispered in her ear, his breath hot and moist against her skin. “He did. Real big.” Through her peripheral vision, Trisha thought she caught the brief movement of Nazz’s right hand as it drifted down to rub the bulge in the front of his jeans. Whether or not he actually did that, she couldn’t be sure and when she momentarily dropped her gaze to his groin, the hand in question was in his jeans pocket. Even without a visual aid, his words immediately brought on the mental image of him stroking his cock as he eyed Trisha hard in an I’m-gonna-fuck-you-real-good way. A second glance revealed that Nazz‘s hand wasn‘t in his pants pocket at all. Only his thumb was hooked in the top edge of the diagonal opening. Masking a bunch of conflicting emotions, Trisha looked up to meet Nazz’s eyes once again. “I never knew. That’s funny.” “Really?” Nazz asked. “How come?” Though innocently intended, the word “come” on his lips swiftly translated into something dark and delicious. A shiver of pleasure fluttered in Trisha’s stomach, snaking down as far south as it could go. Shifting, Trisha squeezed her legs together, afraid that the bubbling brook between them would turn into a grade five river and burst through the makeshift damn created by her flexed thighs at any moment. What the hell was going on? It was so unlike her to have such a strong physical reaction to anyone, never mind a couple of strangers, which, Nazz and Pasquale, basically were. Mystified, Trisha was further dumbfounded when she found herself voicing a longoverdue admission. “Well, I kinda had a thing for you.” She looked at Pasquale and smiled.
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“Both of you.” A couple more steps and Nazz was standing within inches of her, his chiseled face heart-stopping in its strong masculine beauty. He made an acknowledging movement with his head. “You know, I heard that once or twice but we finally gave up hoping it was true.” “We?” “Yeah. We both had the hots for you too,” Pasquale said, his warm eyes sparkling with sincerity. “You’re kidding? Then why’d you give up?” Nazz look surprised. “You wouldn’t even look at us. At least not me. Every time I tried to make eye contact, you’d practically run in the opposite direction.” Pasquale nodded. “Same.” “I was shy.” “I was too,” Nazz said. “Ditto,” Pasquale chimed in before Trisha continued. “No, I mean, really shy. At least with guys. I wanted to talk to you both but I was just too scared.” By now, the three of them were standing in a close circle, a strong vibe coursing crazily from one to the other in a titillating triangle of chemistry. Slowly Pasquale reached out a hand and lightly fingered the badge on Trisha’s chest. “The question now is…are you still?” Trisha lifted her eyes from her insignia to move meaningfully from Pasquale to Nazz. “Not so much.”
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Nazz returned her grin, this time the movement revealing the even edge of his stark white teeth, a straight pure line interrupted only by the tips of his canine teeth as they lightly poked the billow of his bottom lip. “How ’bout the three of us have a drink then?”
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Chapter Two The next evening, the three of them took Nazz’s car, a flawlessly restored 1980s black and gold Camaro, to a lounge that turned out to be only a couple of blocks from their old school. In the little two-story strip mall nestled along the quiet avenue of the north side residential area, there once used to be an arcade, a convenience store and a music school. Today in their place now stood a real estate office, a tanning salon and Cherry’s—a quiet, low-lit watering hole that was void of the usual hockey-jersey, ball cap-wearing, fight-picking riffraff known to frequent some neighborhood pubs. For that reason alone, Trisha had become a regular. That, as well as the lounge’s choice of Nina Simone-type music. A sparse collection of well-dressed, well-behaved twosomes and threesomes were seated at a series of small candle-centered tables randomly placed about the artfully decorated joint, people talking quietly and sipping their drinks while a stream of soft meandering blues music drifted out from the one-man act on the small stage. Settling into a semicircular high-backed booth that was in total darkness save for the single light fixture on the wall it backed against, Nazz and Pasquale and Trisha ordered a bottle of Shiraz. The next several hours were spent catching up including a bittersweet round of “Do you remember?” and “Whatever happened to?” With Trisha comfortably situated between Nazz and Pasquale, the three of them continued to chat easily as the night wore on. Nazz ordered another bottle of wine just as the piano man announced his last set for the evening. By this time, the gap had closed between the three former acquaintances—both time- and space-wise. They were now sitting so close together, their thighs touched, lightly but with enough voltage to poof a collie into a poodle.
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“It’s so good to see you,” Pasquale said, brushing a strand of hair from Trisha’s forehead. Regressing into her former state of shyness, she glanced down. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” As if Trisha’s declaration made it okay to look, Pasquale let his gaze drop down to Trisha’s half-parted lips. Leisurely he reached over and gently crooking his finger under her chin, drew her attention up once more. Seeing Pasquale’s eyes locked on her lips, Trisha’s view similarly fell to his. For a quarter of a century she had dreamed of kissing that full mouth and exploring its recesses with her tongue. Now with him only inches away, the temptation was unbelievable. In fact, it was painfully strong, almost as if she was hypnotized and physically unable to resist the incredible magnetic pull toward him. Bit by bit, she felt them moving closer together toward a lazy, infinite fusion. When at long last Pasquale’s lips met hers, it was a soft kiss, his mouth moist, warm and tender but nevertheless remarkably skilled at producing a flash fire within Trisha’s body. Immediately responding, Trisha kissed him back with an urgency that surprised her. Countering his mouth‘s moves, she imitated the tentative flickering of his tongue against her lips as it implored them to open further. At the feel of Pasquale slowly pulling back, Trisha was overcome with a strong sense of disappointment. And confusion. What was she doing? And who was this woman she had suddenly become? “I’m sorry,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I shouldn‘t have done that.” “Why not?” he said, giving her a knee-knocking grin as he took her hand. “You wanted to. I wanted you to. It‘s all good.” “H-e-l-l-o?” Both Pasquale and Trisha turned to look at Nazz. “It’s getting a little lonely over here.”
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Trisha laughed, warming at the heat from Nazz’s body as he curled one arm around her shoulders and scooted closer. “Oh yeah? And just what am I supposed to do about that?” The deliberate smile Nazz gave her quickly faded as his black eyes found hers, a slight frown crossing his brow as he whispered his response. “Come here.” From the very first moment Trisha had laid eyes on Nazz in the convenience store, the scorching chemistry between them had been nearly tangible. Now at a fever pitch, Trisha felt both titillated and overwhelmed by the uncontrollable sensation that was drawing her to him once again. As with Pasquale only moments earlier, she felt a strangely powerful pull that was just this side of beyond her control. Without hesitation, Trisha tilted her head to one side, their noses lightly brushing as Nazz leaned down to kiss her. This time though there was no playful teasing, no tentative tasting, no beating around the bush. This was the mother of all kisses. Dynamic and torrid, it was an adrenaline-charged exchange filled with hot, wet fire. Nazz’s creative use of his lips and teeth pulled and pushed and nipped Trisha’s mouth in ways that kicked her pulse into overdrive. And talk about tongue! Never a fan of excessive tonsil swabbing, Trisha felt her whole body melt at the sensation of Nazz’s strong tongue circling and caressing every inch within her mouth. When at last he pulled back, Trisha’s head was spinning. Breathless, she gradually became aware of their surroundings. Drawing herself up, she cleared her throat and turned her attention outward to the piano player but he too seemed in on the conspiracy to raise her blood pressure. His long fingers stroked the keys, caressing them as he urged a series of sweet sultry sounds from them. Reaching shakily for her glass and draining it in a single gulp, Trisha sputtered slightly at the light feel of Nazz and Pasquale’s fingers skimming under the hem of her skirt, their hands coming to rest one on each of her nylon-covered knees. Not a fan of pantyhose, Trish routinely opted out for the lacy elastic-topped nylons instead, preferring the freedom and freshness that went along with two separate leggings sans crotch.
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Without turning her head, she smiled in acknowledgment, even as she fought to ignore her pussy that was pounding so hard it seemed to be providing its own percussion accompaniment to the piano music. Nazz, who was seated on her right, shifted and slid his right hand up to where her thighs pressed together, preventing any further progress. Lifting his left arm from around Trisha’s shoulders, he stretched up and loosened the light bulb from the fixture on the wall behind them, soon putting them in total darkness. He then gently pushed his third and fourth fingers against the soft skin of her legs, delicately urging them to part as his thumb caressed the top of her thigh. While he touched her, Pasquale’s left hand glided up over her rib cage to lightly cup her left breast. “Wait,” she whispered groggily. And yet, even as the word slipped from between her lips and her head fell back into the arm Nazz had returned to lightly drape around her shoulder, deep down she didn’t want to wait at all. Hadn’t they all waited long enough? As Nazz and Pasquale touched her both high and low under the deep delicious veil of darkness, wispy, smokelike thoughts drifted through her mind. What is happening to me? Why is the desire to—pardon my French—fuck and suck these two guys senseless, suddenly so strong? Whose fabulous aftershave is that? And has it become very hot in here or is it just me? All at once, Trish found it stifling, her perception of the room quickly shifting from that of a pleasant lounge to a sultry den of sins. “You look hot,” Nazz said in a deep voice. “Thanks.” That low sexy chuckle registered in more than a few places on Trisha’s body including the back of her neck, the precise area that Pasquale was now nuzzling. “No, well yes,” he said between nuzzles, “you do look hot but I think Nazz meant you look flushed.”
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“Oh?” Trisha turned to look at him but couldn’t see his expression in the darkness which made her distantly wonder, how could he see if she was flushed? “Here,” Pasquale said. “Let’s make you more comfortable.” Trisha felt the first few buttons of her blouse being undone, cool skin brushing her feverish flesh. His hand drifting down into her top, Pasquale cupped her right breast this time, the pressure of his fingers stronger and more encompassing as his thumb made agonizingly slow circles around the rigid point of her nipple. Gasping, Trisha glanced around the room. What if someone saw them? “Relax,” Nazz said, his low voice stroking her in the darkness, his breath on her throat sending shivers all over her body. “They can’t see us.” He started to lick in a straight line from her collarbone up to earlobe. “But— Oh wow. But…how do you know?” “Trust us,” Pasquale answered in a quiet definitive tone. “Now just lie back and enjoy the ride.” As the soaring melody of the piano increased in volume, mimicking Trisha’s own swelling need that was still pleading for Nazz’s close-but-no-cigar touch between her thighs, Trisha complied. Adjusting her position, she slithered forward enough to open her knees. Nazz and Pasquale were now working one on each side of Trisha’s neck, bathing the area in licks, kisses and edgy bites, their cool breaths and sharp teeth sending a shooting ache to ricochet between her throbbing nipples and now riverlike slit. “You smell good,” Pasquale whispered, his voice barely audible above the erratic pounding of her heart and raspy, uneven breath. “It’s Elixir,” she offered weakly. “By Clinique.” Nazz and Pasquale’s light chuckles sent another ripple right to her core. “I wasn’t talking about your perfume.”
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As if to make Pasquale’s point, Nazz moved his hand all the way up and pressed his middle fingers against the drenched fabric of Trisha’s panties. He palmed her for a bit, the wide base of his hand moving against her mons as his long digits strained against her veiled pussy. Trisha stifled a sharp breath as she saw the waiter approach. But he merely passed without so much as a glance in their direction. Nazz chose that moment to take his under-the-table handiwork to the next level. With a flip of his wrist, he withdrew his hand to the top of her dainty underwear and delved beneath the skinny satin band. Using his two interior fingers, he began stroking Trisha’s trembling folds all the way from the pulsing bud at the top to the aching entrance further down and back again. “Ah…” Covering her lips with his own, Nazz flickered his tongue within her mouth in time with his fingers that moved in and out of her pussy. Trisha was beyond dizzy. She felt close to blacking out as little sparks of light danced in front of her eyes. Nazz was still stroking her, his thick, hard fingers rubbing up and down, in and out, gently increasing speed and pressure. Another pressure, that of his foot against first one and then the other of her calves, spread her legs under the table. “What?” she murmured between his kisses. “What are you doing?” With a jump, Trisha became aware of Pasquale under the table between her legs. In a flash he had removed her underwear and had positioned his face between her knees. Reflexively, Trisha started to snap them shut but Pasquale caught each one. Holding her open, he began to lick and suck the inside of her thighs while Nazz continued to caress her pussy from top to bottom. Trisha arched her back and bit her lip as Pasquale moved closer and closer, finally reaching her pleading clit. Teasing her mercilessly, he made wide lazy circles around the swollen ridge in a dance of denial that left Trisha twisting with need. When she grabbed his hair with one hand, her fingers digging hard into the silky brown strands, 22
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he got the message and quickly covered her clit with his mouth, soon settling into a slow steady sucking action that matched the rhythmical thrusting of Nazz’s fingers inside her. When they changed positions and Pasquale’s tongue drove deep into her vagina while Nazz thumbed her clit, Trisha grabbed Nazz’s moving forearm with her free hand, working hard to prevent the scream that was welling up. With his mouth on hers, Nazz’s tongue delved deep, just as Pasquale’s was and Trisha came hard, shuddering and moaning into Nazz’s kiss as her fingernails dug into the softness of his skin. When the spasms finally ended and she floated, disoriented and shaky, back down to earth, Trisha worked to get her bearings. Underneath the table, Pasquale was planting little aftermath kisses on the tops of her thighs and knees as he eased her panties back on and up, the warm moist pressure of his lips causing her to clutch around Nazz’s fingers still inside her. “Mmm,” Pasquale said as he emerged from below. “You taste as good as you smell.” “I can’t wait to find out for myself,” Nazz replied, as he brought his hand up from between her legs. “Come on.” Dropping his arm from around her shoulders to take her hand, he lightly pulled her out of the booth. “Let’s get some air.”
***** Outside it had begun to drizzle a bit and the night air was cooler than indoors, a fact Trisha was exceptionally grateful for because her entire body was still on fire from her very recent covert climax. She was also very glad that Nazz and Pasquale kept gentle but firm hands around her waist as they steered her out and around the building to the back. Her knees were knocking so badly she just knew that without their support she would be more than a little wobbly. Now in the shadowy alley behind the mall and far away from the overhead glare of the streetlights, they came to the black spindly looking outline of the fire escape. There, Nazz abruptly stopped and lightly yanking Trisha around to face him, pushed her up against the brick wall, his cool, full mouth covering hers again. 23
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Trisha returned his kiss with vigor, their tongues churning wildly within the warm wet recesses of each other’s mouths as their lips pulled and sucked and massaged in chorus. Switching quickly from a spit to a downpour, the midnight rain pelted their entwined bodies, drenching them in a sexy translation of their one-time platonic shower together all those years ago. Only there was nothing platonic about what was going down now. Wrapping her arms about his strong shoulders, Trisha was thrilled to experience Nazz’s extraordinary oral skills once more. Not only was his mouth very powerful, the strong suction and skilled movement of his lips upon hers easily pushing her buttons, but his tongue moved with an incredible dexterity and finesse within Trisha‘s mouth, gliding over her gums and teeth with just the right amount of pressure. At the thought of his lips and tongue doing to her quivering slit what they were doing to her mouth right now, Trisha’s hips unconsciously pushed forward. Nazz’s rock-hard rod met her frontward thrust, its thick, long rigidity pressing against her mons and up the front of her pelvis. Another mumbled moan of need-tinged desire came from Trisha and Nazz read it perfectly. Reaching up under her dress, he grabbed her panties and with one easy jerk, ripped them from her body. Quickly unbuttoning his pants, he then grabbed Trisha’s ass with one hand and in a show of remarkable strength, hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his thighs. He pulled his lips back long enough to murmur “I want you” then, positioning himself in line with her, Nazz drove his hips forward and with one sharp hard plunge, dove into her slick snugness. Biting her lip, Trish stifled a gasp as Nazz’s stiff shaft sunk deep, stretching her to capacity. The entire weight of her body rested sturdily in his palms as he spun them around so his own back was now facing the wall. Powerfully pulling her against him, Nazz fell into a steady stroking pace that quickly made Trisha pant.
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From behind, she could feel another pair of hands, Pasquale’s hands, as they massaged her neck and shoulders before floating around to fondle her breasts. After a time, Pasquale anchored his hands on Trisha’s hips, pushing her down again and again onto Nazz’s cock as his own hard-on bumped and rubbed between the cheeks of her ass. All the while, the rain continued to soak them through, a summer monsoon that rendered their bodies slick and warm. With Nazz thrusting inside her and Pasquale thrusting against her, Trisha moaned as each lunge registered throughout her entire body, not only in her aching core but all the way from the hair on her head down to her rain-soaked toes. She shuddered as Nazz continued to seductively pulse his hips forward, driving his very ready cock into her as he pressed hot kisses into the curve of her throat. Then suddenly he pulled back. “Hang on,“ he said breathlessly, taking his lips from her neck. He was looking over Trisha’s shoulder at Pasquale when he next spoke. “Maybe we shouldn‘t do this.” Excuse me? “Don’t stop,” Trisha said, effectively pulling him closer and pushing her pussy even harder against his cock. Dropping both hands down to clutch the smooth globes of his butt, she dug her nails into his flesh as she kissed his neck and sucked his earlobe. Her strategy worked. Whatever thoughts Nazz had seconds earlier were clearly ditched as he groaned loudly. Squeezing her tight within his hands, he drove himself into her with renewed passion. Faster and faster they sped toward their long-anticipated release. Heartbeats away, Pasquale bent down slightly to ease the bulbous head of his cock into Trisha’s rain-slick puckered hole. Pumping his exposed shaft with a tight fist he regularly rocked his hips forward, nudging his cock head back and forth within her. Moaning, he fell forward against Trisha’s back, chocolate hair brushing blonde, as he sunk his teeth into the pliant skin of her shoulder. With a rapturous scream Trisha burst into a gazillion pieces, her bottom jiggling and bucking with the spasms of an explosive climax. Arching her 25
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back against Pasquale she clung to Nazz, whose orgasm was triggered by Trisha’s. With a growl, he too bit her neck, sucking her flesh in a way that she could feel throughout every single nerve in her body. Pleasantly pumped from both sides, Trisha quivered endlessly at the feel of Nazz and Pasquale simultaneously jolting within her. When the fireworks stopped exploding behind her eyes and her spirit returned to her body, Trisha became aware of Nazz’s hands as he guided her legs down and her body up into a standing position. He’d already pulled his cock out but was still standing bellybutton to bellybutton with her, the warm, wet heavy shape of his flaccid shaft rubbing enticingly against her pubic hair. Likewise Pasquale withdrew himself, his cock pressing against the right cheek of her ass. Holding Trisha’s still trembling form, Nazz looked deeply into her eyes, the intensity within just about pushing her to orgasm number three. “How do you feel?” Actually that was a very good question. Despite feeling emotionally euphoric, Trisha was really dizzy and lightheaded, even weak. A strong wave of wooziness hit her full force and the last thing she heard before she fainted was Nazz’s deep smooth voice, filling and exciting her as surely as his cock had done just seconds earlier. “Let‘s get you into bed.”
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Chapter Three The next morning Trisha woke up with what felt like the mother of all hangovers. Desperately dehydrated, she hoisted herself up, immediately grumbling at the pounding pressure in her head and screaming ache that throbbed all through her body, inside and out. Squinting from behind stinging eyes that seemed to have become remarkably light sensitive overnight, she noted that she was, in fact, at home in her own bed. All she could remember from the night before was the meeting, chatting and longtime-in-the-coming hookup with Nazz and Pasquale. How and where and when she got home? No idea. Out of the corner of her eye Trisha caught a flash of yellow. Turning her head, a movement that elicited another pained groan, she saw a single sheet of notepaper—her own notepaper-lying on the pillow, the decorative stationery having been a Christmas gift from her mother. Picking up the page, she directly recognized the back-slanted script of a southpaw. Struggling to see through her blurred vision, she began reading the left-handed writing. We had to leave but left you something in the fridge that is guaranteed to make you feel better this morning. Nuke it for two minutes. Ignore the taste. Hair of the dog. Love, Nazz and Pasquale Trisha stared at the words for a long moment. No “last night was great”? What about a “We want to see you again”? From what Trisha could recall they all had a really good time, in truth so good it was well worth repeating. You’d think two single guys like Nazz and Pasquale would absolutely jump at the chance to replay the previous night’s festivities. Unless…
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Dragging herself over to the edge of the bed and hauling her feet onto the floor, Trisha disjointedly pieced together bits of their conversation, suddenly remembering how strangely evasive Nazz and Pasquale had been when they were in the “What have you been up to?” and “What are you doing now?” phase of their reunion. Where she had easily disclosed the details of her past, both of the guys had remained remarkably reserved about what they had done with the last twenty years of their respective lives, generally answering questions with such vague answers as “I’ve been around, here and there” or “Dabbled in a few things, nothing major”. At the time, Trisha had let their mutual ambiguity slide but now in the light of day, one probable reason was glaringly obvious. With a sigh, Trisha let her hammering head fall into her hands. What a fool! One or both guys were probably married. She had let her naïve little schoolgirl crush supersede her hard-earned adult intuition and experience. They had tag-teamed her with their charm, undoubtedly determined to bag some starstruck babe from the past and Trisha had played right into their hands and oh-so easily. With another grumble of regret, Trisha shamefully recalled how she had been unable to resist Nazz and Pasquale. Exactly how had they managed to get her so abnormally revved up? Another revelation hit Trisha hard, bringing her swiftly to tears. Sobbing softly for a few moments, she sucked in a few deep breaths and wiping the water from her eyes, willed herself to stop crying. Whether she liked it or not, Trisha had to admit that all indications pointed to her being the drugged victim of a date rape—the total lack of inhibitions, at least for her, memory loss, and a dazed nauseous feeling the morning after. She’d seen it many times through her work but like all the others, never thought it would happen to her. Not one to wallow in self-pity, Trisha knew that the first thing she would have to do is press charges against Nazz and Pasquale. At the thought of their blatant misuse of
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her feelings, her distress swiftly shifted to anger, the surge of adrenaline supplying her with enough energy to get out of bed. Rising, she stumbled over to the kitchen and chugged down three large mugs of water from the cooler. Water that hardly touched her raging thirst. Out of habit, she then started to make her usual Herculean cup of morning java but the strong aroma that she so loved nauseated her to such a point she quickly abandoned the idea. Rifling through the fridge for some juice, she passed over several items including a carton of milk, a head of lettuce, a package of low-fat cheese slices and a loaf of bread. Looking around she saw one of her lofty plastic containers, too tall to fit in any of the horizontal racks, wedged in between the ketchup and the mustard on the inside door shelf. Atop its fitted cap was a little sticky note that read “Drink me”. Surely to God Nazz and Pasquale wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave evidence of their crime behind. Trisha yanked the container out and peeled back the cover. A strong aroma wafted up, immediately filling every cell and nerve ending in her body with one primary sensation—need. Looking like an unsavory blend of tomato juice and red wine, the concoction was helplessly drawing her as surely as Nazz and Pasquale had done the night before. Hair of the dog. Or was that dogs, plural. Hmm. Out of the blue, Trisha’s whole body began to vibrate, her throat as dry as dirt while her mouth conversely watered. Gaping at the rich dark fluid, her mind her mind shouted “NO!” but her body had gone deaf. Following the handwritten instructions the guys had left, she recapped the container, placed it in the microwave and let it warm for a couple of minutes, the suddenly enticing aroma of the drink growing stronger as it was heated through. It felt like an absolute eternity waiting for the bell to chime signifying the end of the requested heating time but when it finally did, Trisha nearly tore the door off the microwave. Grabbing the narrow container, she ripped off the top and downed it in one draft. Hot
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and thick, it filled her mouth and slid down her throat with ease, a sharp metallic taste registering on her tongue after she swallowed the last of it. Instantaneously she felt better. Her nagging dehydration disappeared, the pain in her head and body were nullified and her sore smarting eyes returned to their normal state, leaving only a slight sensitivity to the glaring soon-to-be midday sun as it streamed through the kitchen window. Less than two minutes ago she felt as though she had one foot in the grave but now, she felt invincible. After a hot shower, she’d be ready to take on the world. At the very least, she was going after Nazz and Pasquale for what they had undoubtedly done to her. Heading back into the bedroom, Trisha walked around to the far side of the kingsize mattress where a fluffy blue and white housecoat lay thrown across a floral upholstered chair in the corner. D’Artagnan was curled up in a ball on it, his soft snoring bringing a smile to Trisha’s face. Petting him gently to awaken him, she picked him up and gently set him on the floor, once again smiling at the distinct look of irritation within his green eyes. En route she stepped on something flat but bulky, smooth but uneven—a handful of conflicting sensations read through the sole of her foot as she stumbled. Turning back, she glared accusingly at the object that had “tripped” her, immediately knowing what the black leather square on the carpeted floor was. Reaching down she picked it up and flipped it open. On the left side in two vertical rows and peeking out from a series of slits were a mass of credit cards. Opposite was a driver’s license, complete with a photo of the bearer and all his vital statistics including his home address. It was right near the precinct. As she stood staring at the tiny image of Nazz, Trisha decided she would drive by Nazz’s home on the way into work. Yes, it was wrong, yes, it went against everything Trisha had ever been taught as a police officer, and yes, it was stupid. But she knew how to handle herself and wasn‘t
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about to get in over her head. All Trisha wanted, she told herself, was to see where he lived. Then she would turn them in and walk away. But first she would have to get set. Stoically she laid out everything she would need on the bed. In dress order, she laid out a sports bra and panty set and socks, next taking her police-issue steel-toed boots from the closet and setting them on the floor below the neat pile of items. Beside her underwear, she placed her uniform, belt, hat and nightstick. Pulling open her top dresser drawer she retrieved one more thing. With a snug push, she jammed her police issue Glock handgun into the holster on her belt. Now she was ready.
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Chapter Four For the second time in two days, Trisha pulled up across the street from the house at 8880 Riverdale Drive. The day before she had driven by in the early afternoon at the address on Nazz’s driver’s license before heading into work but saw no signs of life. It was now Sunday evening around six p.m. and while Trisha didn’t exactly know what she was looking for, she remained persistent, determined she would find it. Putting her tan Fiat into park, Trisha was again impressed by the fact that the property looked like it belonged in a special New Age issue of Architectural Digest. Entirely comprised of white stone, it was a Lego-like collection of windowless boxes and rectangles completely void of any windows on the building‘s façade. Like yesterday, no other vehicle was visible but undoubtedly there could be a whole fleet in the humongous garage situated off to the left. While not as strong as earlier in the day, the sun still shone brightly as it began its slow descent under the horizon. All day, Trisha had been reduced to wearing a pair of dark sunglasses as her previous and bizarre case of light sensitivity had returned with a vengeance along with another bout of intense fatigue. She should head straight home to bed but a nagging need for something she couldn’t describe got the better of her. Driving to the end of the street, she turned left and parked her car. Getting out, she then headed down the alley that led to the rear of Nazz’s yard, soon coming up to his back lawn. As she stepped up to peek through the fence’s slats she worked to ignore her increased heart rate, clammy palms, queasiness and headache. Damn nerves. Peering through one narrow opening, Trisha took in the manicured lawns of the expansive property while she waited for a response. Several kidney-shaped floral gardens consisting of such eye-catching flowers as fire and ice lilies, birds of paradise,
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Gerber daisies, velvety snapdragons and African violets, centered by tall lacy panels of heather and baby’s breath added brilliant bursts of color to the static green of the wellgroomed grass. Erect white statues of angels, birds and other winged creatures like griffons and even Pegasus were nestled here and there among the hedges and more sedately colored foliage that edged the perimeter of the estate. Even so, the stunning sculptures stuck out amid the stronger hues of the space while adding an unexpected air of serenity and magic. A gazebo, a deck, a patio and a mighty impressive barbeque completed the pretty picture but apart from the cool breeze that blew through the large sycamore tree that centered it all, there wasn’t a whisper of movement. Where the hell is he? Probably out with the little missus and God forbid, their handful of rambunctious kids. At the very notion of running smack-dab into Nazz’s family, Trisha sighed deeply, another wave of nausea and weariness washing over her. Bit by bit, her physical state continued to deteriorate as did her resolve to catch a single glimpse of Nazz and maybe Pasquale one last time. Turning away from the fence she realized she had made a big mistake. She really hadn’t thought any of this through. Apart from the stupidity of the idea, what about the possibility of encountering one of their wives or children? The last thing Trisha wanted to do was hurt any innocent bystanders. What was done was done and while she was determined it would never happen again—at least not with her— Trisha felt there was no need to alert anyone to what happened two days ago. And if that wasn’t convincing enough, the captain could put her on suspension for her show of poor judgment in sneaking around an assailant‘s property without a warrant. She would turn Nazz’s wallet into the police when she filed the complaint— which she was going to do right now. Just then, a loud snap on the back gate sounded and it swung open a crack. Peering out, only half of his person visible through the narrow opening, stood a remarkably rough-looking Nazz. The tousled hair and clothes were all right—even kind of sexy in a
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grungy sort of way—but his skin was extremely ashen, sick-looking even, and his glazed dark eyes were bloodshot and puffy. For the second time in less than forty-eight hours, Trisha gawked at the man before her in disbelief. “Ah…Nazz?” Lifting one trembling hand to his face, Nazz shielded his eyes as he peered out from beneath his palm-turned-barrier, his voice a hoarse whisper as he spoke. “Oh, Trisha…hi. Pasquale and I were really hoping to see you again.” “Ever hear of a phone?” Right. After the old “wham bam thank you ma’am” they do a vanishing act that would make David Copperfield envious and now they’re hoping to see her again? Nice recovery. But what she couldn’t possibly know, was that Nazz and Pasquale were prepared to wait a literal eternity for her. However wait was the word. They needed her to come to them for things to continue on. Trisha tried to smirk at his nearly cowering manner but her legs were like lead and her stomach ground and churned with a ferocity she’d never experienced. Thinking quickly, Trisha wordlessly held up his wallet which she had hung onto, her hand trembling uncontrollably now as black, you’re-going-to-pass-out dots started to appear before her eyes. Stumbling a little to the side she slumped forward. Nazz threw open the gate and caught her in his arms. “You’d better get in here.” “Not on your fucking life.” Without a word, he scooped Trisha up and carried her now limp body into his house. Inside was dimly lit and cool and almost immediately, Trisha felt a sense of relief at getting out of the indescribable heat of the setting sun. Carrying her across a circular
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foyer, Nazz moved through the darkness to set her down onto a soft solid surface. A short scratch followed by a flare of light broke the gloomy stillness as he struck a match and rising, lit a set of candled wall sconces. Slowly the area was bathed in a warm flickering glow. They were in a large columned sitting room and she was lying on a plush velvet settee. Nazz returned to her side and sat lightly beside her. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of black jeans. His pale skin gleamed in the glow of candlelight. Lightly he reached up and stroked her cheek, the feel of his skin nearly wiping the reason for Trisha’s secret surveillance of his home from her mind. Nearly. Anger and indignation shifted down to hurt and humiliation, leaving Trisha with the one question that had brought her to his doorstep. “Why‘d you do it?” “Take it easy,“ Nazz replied, evading her query. His black hair falling into his eyes as he tilted his head to one side. “Everything’s going to be all right.” “Don’t touch me. And just in case you’ve forgotten, it is illegal to give a person drugs without their knowledge or consent.” A look of pure confusion crossed Nazz’s face for a split second. Then, he laughed. “Drugs? Oh Trisha. You are priceless.” Her fury returned in a flash. Pushing him aside, she got to her feet and spat out a response before heading for the door. “You won’t find this so funny from inside a prison cell.” Nazz caught her in a twinkling and whirling her to face him, pushed her up against the wall, his strong arms wrapped about her waist and pulling her against his hard body. “There is an explanation for all of this.”
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“Yeah I know. Either you or Pasquale are married and just wanted a little on the side, hassle free.” Again Nazz found her words amusing. “Where do you come up with this stuff?” he smiled. “No, we aren’t married and we didn’t drug you. You‘re just going to have to believe me.” “I don’t have to do anything.” Nazz’s gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and then down to her throat, before moving up to her mouth again. Brushing her lips with his own, he pressed soft wet kisses along her cheek and down her neck until he arrived at that sexy spot on her throat. As he opened his mouth wider and began sucking slow and strong on the sensitive region, Trisha felt her determination weaken and her pussy twinge, an invisible cord linking the rapturous pressure on her neck with the channel between her legs that had already begun to tingle. “No,” she spat out softly, pushing at his shoulders but Nazz had a death grip on her and his relentless sucking undermined her intent. A searing sharp shot of pain in the skin beneath his mouth brought Trisha around and struggling she pushed more insistently against his body. “Ow! Nazz, don’t. Please!” However the hard, fast nip directly morphed into something infinitely more pleasurable, shifting the earlier sensual sensations into something deeper, darker, more raw. Within seconds, Trisha’s head had fallen back into the cradle of one of Nazz’s hands as she repeated her shouted command. Only this time, she meant something quite different. “Pleaaaase…” Gone was the distrust, gone was the guilt. All that remained was the throbbing desire for his hands, his mouth, his cock—any and all of them—moving within her hands, her mouth, her body.
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Locked together, bit by bit, they slid down the wall to the floor. Never taking his lips from her throat, Nazz pulled Trisha onto him before rolling over on top of her. With a couple of lingering licks on her throat, he spread her legs with one of his own and then situated between them, rose to his knees where he began to swiftly remove her clothing. Deliciously dazed, Trisha felt hypnotized by his gaze and made helpless by the strange power of his kiss. Like before, she felt that every nerve ending on and in her body was teetering on the edge of explosion, trembling and desperate with the need to burst. Now naked and spread out before him, Trisha watched through eyes heavy with want as Nazz peeled off his pants. Though the space was still a little shadowy, she could determine that, most remarkably, he looked a thousand times better than he had only moments earlier. Where his flesh had seemed pasty and sunken, the smooth, nearly beige skin of his face now appeared dewy and healthy. Gone too were the bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. The coffee-flecked black circles that beheld her now were glittering and glowing with desire. Still kneeling, he reached down and with one hand at the back of her neck brought her up to a sitting position and flush with his cock and its burgeoning head. With a quick flick of his nail, he deeply nicked the cap, a dark line of crimson directly bubbling up. Jumping, Trisha gasped loudly as her eyes flew up to Nazz’s face, her head still steadied in his one-handed grip. Without emotion or comment, he watched her closely as if trying to gauge her reaction. “What… Why… Doesn’t that hurt?” His dark sexy grin answered her long before his response did. “Yeah.” Nazz then clasped either side of Trisha’s head and guided her toward his rod and its blood-spotted head. Instinctively, Trisha braced her hands against his thighs and pulled back. 37
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“No.” “It’s okay,” he said softly, the satiny warmth of his voice dispelling her repulsion and fear. But only a little. “No Nazz. I can’t.” Frowning, she let her gaze drop to Nazz’s enticing cock with its pulsing vein only inches from her face and the aromatic scarlet liquid that dotted the swollen sphere atop it. Immediately her mouth started to water and she grew unbearably anxious, inexplicably hungry. “Yes, you can,” he said lowly. “You want it. You need it. Can’t you smell it?” Trisha could indeed, the familiar aroma that she had also encountered in Nazz’s mystery concoction yesterday wrenching on her heightened nerve endings, calling to them and filling her, to the point of near madness, with a dark, desperate need. Sensing Trisha’s dam of resolve was about to break, Nazz erotically urged her on. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair. “It’s okay. Go ahead.” With a groan, Trisha lurched forward and fastened her lips around Nazz’s shaft. Poised at the top, she sucked its head eagerly a half a dozen times, the taste of his blood ricocheting through her and driving her lust even further. Driving her hot mouth all the way down to the base, Trisha then pulled all the way back up, completing a handful of tight wet top-to-bottom strokes, the strong flavor of salt and iron turning her on like never before. Sucking impatiently again on the pulsing head, Trisha dropped one hand to jerk up and down Nazz’s shuddering shaft while the other cupped and massaged his heavy balls. Nazz’s gentle caresses through her long hair turned frantic, his fingers digging into her skull as he involuntarily thrust his hips forward and pushed Trisha’s head against him hard, driving her tight mouth onto him. Moving both hands around to clasp Nazz’s butt, Trisha’s fingers dug into the sensitive flesh, a touch that elicited a deep moan of appreciation from between his full
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lips. Casting a leisurely look up the length of his body, Trisha’s lust-filled eyes found and held Nazz’s in a knowing stare. Seconds later, the dark disks of his pupils rolled back in his head as it tilted backward, the movement thrusting his chin into the air. The winded groan that hissed out from between his soft, slackened mouth preceded the hot spray of semen from his cock that blasted all the way to the back of Trisha’s throat. Clinging to Nazz’s lower half tightly, Trisha’s eyes drifted shut as she continued to move her mouth up and down. When he finished, Trisha unhurriedly held him lightly in her hands and pressed a series of long wet kisses over every inch of his limp cock from the thick wide base all the way up to the spherical head. Pulling her lips away, she studied him. It was a fine instrument, even flaccid. Frowning she looked closer. Where was the cut Nazz had inflicted on himself? There was no trace whatsoever of the gash he had gouged into the tender flesh. Cautiously she fingered the taut-skinned head that was completely smooth, lifting her face up to look at Nazz questioningly. Before she could ask, he had dropped down and eased Trisha onto her back, her upside-down view of Pasquale standing over her, quickening her already fast pulse. “Your turn, princess,” he said with a wink. Every inch of Trisha’s body was now vibrating with a need she couldn’t easily define. The sight of both Pasquale and Nazz created a hunger in her she’d never felt but it was quickly overshadowed by a burning hot confusion. “I don’t know, I-I just don’t understand any of this. I’m not usually like this. Really I’m not.” “Methinks thou doth protest too much,” Pasquale said lightly as he unzipped his pants and, easing them down over his hips, let them drop to the floor. Stepping out of the fabric that bunched at his ankles, he kept his eyes on Trisha’s face, while she was desperately wishing she could return the favor. But from her position beneath, his full 39
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balls and hard cock jutting out in her direction, silently demanding to be sucked, was distracting to say the least. Trisha’s eyes grew wide, her voice directly matching her earnest expression. “No really. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life.” “It’s okay, Trisha. We know you’re not promiscuous, if that’s what you mean,” Nazz said. “I told you there was a reason.” “Yeah,” Pasquale said with a wink. “It’s not you. It’s us. We’re very…persuasive.” Reaching down, he seized his rigid cock and, with his eyes never leaving Trisha’s, began to rub it slowly. No flipping kidding. Slowly he fell to his knees where together, Nazz and Pasquale very systemically gave every inch of her body a good going over. First kissing, then switching to licking and sucking they moved from her neck and shoulders to her arms, hands and even fingers. Veering around her breasts, they resumed at her rib cage, damn near driving her crazy with a particularly pleasurable stint paid to her bellybutton. From there they worked their way down her thighs and calves to her feet and toes, sucking her toes with such strength and skill, Trisha just about came. But not quite. For that she’d need some concentrated attention and by now, the guys’ neglect of Trisha’s aching breasts and pussy was getting downright uncomfortable. Meandering his mouth up the length of her body, Pasquale finally began suckling her abandoned breasts. Grasping her with one hand, he squeezed the ample flesh which raised one throbbing nipple up to his lips. With his tongue, he circled it, flickering the tip back and forth, before taking it into his mouth and sucking it. Then he switched to the other breast. Trisha thought she had died and gone to heaven. Each luxurious pull of his lips resulted in a twinge in her pounding pussy that was in dire need of a good sucking itself.
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Moving up from her toes, Nazz arrived at the throbbing center of her core. By now, Trisha’s pelvis was so clenched with need, it was trembling. Letting his gaze drift up from her dripping pussy, Nazz grinned. “How ’bout we go watch a little TV?” “Why don’t you fuck off?” Nazz stared at her with those cum-producing eyes. “Ladies first.” With that he dipped his head down and shifting down, drew her legs up and over either side of his head. Spreading her saturated outer lips with his fingers to better expose her glistening strip, Nazz closed his mouth around her clit and began slowly sucking it. Her body responded hard and fast. Within seconds Trisha exploded, the unremitting pressure of Nazz’s mouth reducing her to a quivering mass. Breathlessly, Trisha opened her eyes and glanced down at Nazz. He lifted his head and with a devilish smile that glinted in his eyes and spread his full lips, he shifted down and began again. Trisha groaned as she watched Nazz’s head begin to bob rhythmically while he laid a whole slew of long, strong licks on her throbbing pussy. Back and forth he worked her over real good—moving his amazingly powerful tongue all the way up only to use the underside to trail back down. Harder and faster he went, holding her thighs apart as they began to tremble with the onset of another climax. His tongue now working at an intense rate. The strong pressure of Nazz’s tongue quickly pushed Trisha to come violently, her hands and legs jerking as the moist friction of both the guys’ mouths rocked her body. Before she had even recovered, Trisha felt the heavy pressure of Nazz’s cock pressing enticingly along her pelvis as he lay down atop her. Caressing her face with one hand, he slipped his thumb between her lips just as he slid his cock into her pussy. Trisha sucked it instinctively, biting down hard and tasting that warm metallic taste as Nazz filled her over and over again.
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Her focus drifted over to Pasquale who, tilting his head, began kissing Trisha’s neck in the very spot that did it for her—just a pinch above the collarbone. And pinch was the word. Starting as a playful little nip it soon shifted into an intense suction on her throat that was just this side of painful, but in a very good way. That’s going to leave a hickey, Trisha thought hazily as the combined efforts of Nazz and Pasquale drove her to an explosive release unlike anything she‘d ever experienced. Multicolored lights flashed behind her closed eyes, every nerve in her body stretched taut and quivering. All her senses were heightened to an unbelievable razorlike sharpness that moved her body to a bizarre state of clarity and awareness. Where before she may have heard the occasional splash of rain here or there, or enjoyed the steady muffled hum of it from safe indoors, now Trisha could hear the tentative first few drops of rain that had begun to fall outside in a new and unusual way. Everywhere, all around, the water from the sky seemed to be bouncing off the pavement, pinging off the metal trash cans and thudding against the wooden fences. It was as if the noise was amplified a hundred times over, but beyond that, Trisha could smell the strong buffet of aromas that, assaulting her suddenly delicate nose, could best be described as damp urban alleyway. Garbage, dirt, animals, concrete, metal, wood and wire all mingled together with the fresh cleanness of the rain and Trisha, with her inexplicably intensified sense of smell, felt as if she were getting the aroma of these things for the very first time. Above that she could hear the thunderous ticking of a clock in the other room, the deafening electrical humming buzz of the fridge and the pounding of own heart like a deafening bass drum in her ears. Surrounded in the beautiful bouquet of male pheromones, hair and skin, Trisha sighed as the guys switched positions and Pasquale took his place between her thighs. With his hands pulling double duty, one kneading her breasts while the other was between her legs, lightly fingering the throbbing bud of her clit, Pasquale lifted her up with incredible ease and began to thrust in and out of her, his controlled small
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movements still creating enough friction to do the job. Kneeling at her head, Nazz guided Trisha’s hands back and up onto his cock where together they laid a whole series of tight-fisted strokes onto his rigid shaft. With Pasquale’s hard cock ejaculating inside her and the feel of Nazz’s warm cum spilling out between her fingers, Trisha came again, bringing tears of sweet release to her eyes. After a time of lying warm and sticky and close together, Trisha’s still breathy voice broke the silence. “You still owe me an explanation.” “Me?” asked Pasquale. “No, me,” said Nazz. “Actually both of us owe you, Trish. What do you want first, the good news or the bad news?” “Let’s go with good.” “You know the incredibly good times we’ve just had?” Trisha nodded. “Well, we can keep having those times forever.” Trisha propped up onto one elbow. “How do you figure that?” “Because…” Pasquale took over from there. “Because the bad news is, Nazz and I are…on a liquid diet.” “Coward,” Nazz muttered. “Then you tell her.” Trisha’s gaze moved from one to the other. “I don’t get it. And tell me what?” Nazz breathed deeply, squinting his eyes as if to recall some distant memory which, in actuality, he was.
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“Do you remember our championship win at St. Jermaine’s, specifically the shower afterward.” Trisha blushed. “Remember? I can’t seem to forget it. For years, I’ve dreamed about that celebration.” “So have we. That’s why you were.” “Huh?” “Remember when I kissed your hand?” Nazz said. Trisha blushed, her body warming at the recollection. “Yeah.” “Well, you had skinned your knuckles when you fell.” Trisha shrugged. “Umm, maybe, I don’t remember that, but so what if I did?” “When I kissed you, my lips touched a bit of the blood on your hand.” Pasquale piped up. “Same.” Trisha’s confusion only grew worse. “So?” “Trisha, we weren’t sick those last few weeks before the big game. We had…changed.” “Changed?” she asked, looking again from one to the other. “Changed into what?” Now Nazz seemed to be tongue-tied, so Pasquale jumped in. “Into beings with a very long life expectancy.” At first Trisha didn’t get it. At all. But slowly she began to mentally review the facts from then and now. Here were two guys she hadn’t seen in some twenty years and yet today they were both ageless, exceptionally strong, mesmerizing and charismatic,
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sensitive to sun and by their own admission on a liquid diet and touting a very long life expectancy. She giggled. One conclusion immediately came to Trisha’s mind. “So are you saying you’re both vam…” she laughed again, “I mean are we really talking about the V word here?” Nazz’s response was short and sweet. “Yes.” “Yeah and Nazz is still caught in a time warp, fashionably speaking that is,” Pasquale laughed lightly. “Through the years, I’ve tried to get him to dress in more current fashions but he’s got a death grip on his faded jeans and bomber jacket.” Trisha sat all the way up. Ignoring Pasquale’s comment she spoke to Nazz, “What? Gimme a break. Just how stupid do you think I am?” “You’re not stupid at all. That’s why we can trust you with this,” Nazz said imploringly, sitting up beside her. “Remember that dream you kept having?” Trisha nodded vaguely, all sign of a smile now gone from her face. “You were having that dream about us because we were dreaming it. The blood we tasted on your knuckles way back then linked the three of us for all eternity.” “You guys are serious, aren‘t you?” “Dead serious,” Pasquale said with a wink. “That’s not funny,” Trisha replied, running a shaky hand through her hair. “So, am I…like you now? I mean, your blood, on your…“ she pointed in the direction of Nazz’s cock, “I swallowed that. Does that make me one too?” “No. There’s more to it than that,“ Nazz whispered. “What you’ve been given though is a little taste of what can be. All you have to tell us is if you want it or not. Do you want it Trisha?” Before she could give him her answer, Pasquale spoke.
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“Hey, Nazz,” he said, rolling over toward Trisha and sitting up, throwing an arm around her shoulders, “do you remember that play we used to do where we’d bookend an opposing player and stay on him until he gave in, dropped the ball and let us score?” “Yeah,” Nazz replied, his black eyes dancing with desire. “It was called a Sandwich Play.” Trisha looked back at Pasquale, smiling as her eyes locked with his. He was gazing down at her with a sexy grin. “So what do you say? Are you game for a little two-onone?” As she the three of them fell back onto the floor, Trisha knew her answer to both of the guys’ questions was yes.
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About the Author A former operator for the CIA, Brigit Zahara unleashed her passion for excitement and adventure through her work, spending a good deal of her early adulthood traveling throughout the United States and Europe, with lengthy spells in New York, Los Angeles, Louisiana, Venice, London, Florence and Malta. In her early thirties Brigit retired, looking then to her closet habit of writing fiction as a means of indulging her need for pulse-pounding action. From there, her taste very quickly turned to the tantalizing arena of erotica. These days, Brigit lives in a seaside villa in Majorca, spending the steamy days penning even steamier stories and the cool, ocean-breeze-kissed evenings researching love scenes with her heart’s destiny and husband of nearly eight years. She welcomes hearing from fans.
Brigit welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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