“Do you want to split a cheese plate?”
She cocked her eyebrow, wiping the remnants of bernaise sauce from her lips.
“Do you have a black hole in place of a stomach? I’m stuffed.”
“More wine then.” He topped up her glass and she shook her head.
“I already agreed to your terms, to your working methods, to everything. I’m in love with everything you do. You really don’t have to get me smashed to seal the deal.”
His eyes darted from the crumpled napkin on the table, to her fingers, idly fiddling with the top button on her dress. The flesh beneath her knuckles rose and yielded with every twist, until the button came loose and she stretched, exposing more of her succulent breasts and their peachy lace encasement.
When people talk about long games, they probably picture this tableau, the result of six months hard graft, on both sides. Six months of flirting that went from professional to questionable and back again. Ever since he’d caught wind of her looking for new representation, he’d wanted her for his portfolio, and would stop at nothing. And well, she was compliant. Eager. But reserved.
That he had been lost in a crush on her since the second month was almost secondary. And Colette encouraged it. Colette watched him take FaceTime calls with her and shivered at the tonal shift in his voice whenever Marianne spoke. The two women had never met, though they had spoken on the brief occasions Tom’s wife had picked up the work phone. Colette’s fluent familiarity with English slang under the rich veil of her German accent was unnerving and arousing.
Colette drained her wineglass and thought about flagging down a waiter for the sweet menu after all. She looked at Tom – smouldering effortlessly as he checked his phone. He looked up and caught her eye, making her blush.
“How about a coffee?”
“Yes, I think so. And then we really ought to be going.” she added, sliding the tip of her stockinged toes along his calf.
The waitress appeared before he could reach beneath the table and grab the toes.
“Two Americanos and the bill please.”
The young girl grimaced.
“I’m sorry sir, the coffee machine has broken down about five minutes ago and we can’t get the engineer here for another hour.”
“Ah. Just the bill then?”
She nodded and scurried away.
“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to finishing my meal with something hot, strong and sweet.”
“Well we do have a cafetiere and an unopened package of Kenya’s finest roast at home.”
“Plus Marianne is working from home today, and I know she’s dying to meet you.”
“You had me at Marianne. Back to yours then?”
The wait for the waitress to return with the bill was some exquisite agony. And the short drive from the restaurant back to his house seemed longer than ever. Each light was red. Each turn blocked by bottlenecks. Colette rested her hand on his thigh and stared at the road ahead, as he did.
“We’re back.” Tom called into the darkened hallway as he unlocked the door. The building was deliciously warm, and smelt of Marianne’s favourite perfume. Soft light spilled from the landing; she must have been in bed.
Colette slipped off her heels and suddenly seemed small and nervous, shrugging out of her winter coat and shivering as she placed it on the hook beside the door.
“Up here, babe. In the office.”
They found Marianne tucked up on a chair in the box room, her laptop balanced on one bare knee. When she moved it to the windowsill so she could jump up and fling her arms around Tom’s neck, they found she was wearing only a t-shirt; standing on tiptoe, her bum was bared and Colette smiled as the two embraced before her.
“And finally, the two most important women in my life meet. And I am plagued with worry.”
He needn’t have; the beauties were advancing on one another; drinking in their similarities and differences, magnetised. Marianne’s fringe was falling into her eyes, and Colette reached to scoop the hair away,
“Entschldigung” she whispered, and both shivered.
“Did you two have fun?” Marianne slid her hand around Colette’s waist and kissed her cheek.
“So much fun. Have you been working hard? Nose to the grindstone?” She dug her nails into Marianne’s left buttock. The flesh was warm and supple and dimpled from the rough seat of the chair.
“Oh yes. Grind. Grind. Grind.” And with each repetition she insinuated her thigh between Colette’s. Colette whose flimsy floral dress gave way easily. Colette who was soft and warm and wonderful. Colette whose cunt was also bare, moist and hot against Marianne’s skin. Colette moaned softly, and moaned again when Tom’s fingers brushed her neck as he unbuttoned her dress whilst Marianne stood on tiptoe to kiss her. They only broke apart to step out of their restrictive clothing; Mari flung off her t-shirt carelessly and eagerly helped Colette with her shoes, as Tom, grinning from ear to ear, removed his shirt, trousers and underclothes as if his life depended on it.
His cock strained to see them stood together, unable to keep their hands from the seductive territory of these new bodies. He couldn’t help touching himself, hoping against all hope that the glorious scene before him wouldn’t do him in prematurely.
He needn’t have worried. Colette had her eyes on him, her wicked, clever gaze.
“Sit.” She gestured to the soft comfort of the easy chair, and her movements were fluid, almost rehearsed – she sank elegantly to her knees and opened her mouth to show him the lubrication of saliva within before extending her tongue and gliding it over the bulbous head of his cock, her delicate fingers stroking the swollen, cum-filled sac beneath.
Mari watched her, but more she watched Tom’s face; the pleasure and contentment she rarely saw when she was the one pleasuring him. The sight made her warm, like she was a brightly burning candle. When Tom caught sight of her, he held out his hand and she went to him, kissing him and feeling her cunt twitch with every moan against her lips as Colette worked beneath them.
Suddenly Marianne felt a hand between her legs; Colette’s fingers easing upwards, towards her cunt. Her knees weakened a little, and Colette seized her chance to extend further – lifting her head but replacing her compliant lips with her dextrous fingers around Tom’s erection so she could angle the other hand to the sweetest parts of Marianne’s cunt, slippery and welcoming to one, two, three…
Tom took the opportunity to admire these women – his women – and in particular the curve and weight of Marianne’s breasts as she leant against the chair arm. She came closer to him as Colette worked her cunt, and he seized the opportunity to take her nipple between his lips. She mewed and twisted against the dual assaults on her delectable body; and all the while Colette kept her motions firm and even, until Tom murmured how close he was to coming, and suggested they move to the bed.
Flat on his back, Marianne eagerly clambered aboard his face, grinding her cunt against his stubbled cheek as Colette took a deep breath and lowered herself onto his stiff prick, bouncing herself up and down. Tom let them get on with it; use him for their own pleasure. Though he couldn’t see her, he felt Colette lean back, and the occasional brush of her fingertips against his shaft as she began to rub her clit alongside the sensation of him filling her. He was there to be used; he never loved Marianne more than when she fucked his face until she came, her essence soaking into his skin and the vibrations of her quaking thighs staying with him long after her orgasm had faded. It was Colette who came first, clenching and squealing around his cock. She rocked back and forth as the sensation subsided, but this was short-lived – she wanted to watch Marianne – to reach out and touch her more. There was space enough for her to kneel on the pillow beside Tom’s head and kiss her again; and reach forward to cup her sweet breasts, the nipples almost sharp against her palm. Manipulating the sensitive flesh made Colette grind harder, quicker against Tom’s tongue and mouth – and soon she arrived too; panting and whining against Colette’s shoulder, almost weeping. She retired from her queenly seat and the two women looked at one another, then turned their heads to examine Tom’s erection – slick from Colette’s cunt and almost painful to look at. Some kind of compersion telepathy ensued, and they slunk back down the bed to bring their heads close together once more, licking him clean as they did so. This was all too much for Tom, and they giggled as cum spurted over their lips and cheeks.
Tom let out a deep, satisfied sigh. He needn’t have worried that they wouldn’t get on.