Cat Scratch Fever (8 page)

José drew in a sharp breath.

Felicia had two buttons on the bottom of the shirt left to go, but she figured her teasing had gone on long enough. She opened them quickly and, with a little help from José, wriggled the shirt off.

Getting the jeans off took a bit more effort, but that allowed both women to get in on the unwrapping. When he stood before them wearing only his blue bikini briefs and the smug smile that a man who’d just been undressed by two attractive women deserved to sport, Felicia and Mel looked at each other. ‘You take the right side?’ Mel said.

A matter of seconds and he was wearing nothing but the smile. Fully naked, he seemed a little nervous under their scrutiny, glancing at the artwork on the walls instead of meeting their eyes. But he still looked smug – and aroused. His whole body looked filled with the same delightful tension that animated the impressive erection that jutted in front of him.

So tasty. José had some streaks of white in his black hair and she knew he was older than she and Mel were, maybe in his early forties, but his body didn’t show it. He was slim all over, his muscles sleek rather than bulky, his skin a delicious dark-honey colour, only slightly lighter where it was normally covered by clothes. She hadn’t noticed the other night that he didn’t have tan lines; she wondered if that was just his darker complexion or if he sunbathed naked when he had a chance. Now that was a lovely thought.

He wasn’t as broad shouldered as Gabe, though, she noticed. And a bit of chest hair would make him all that much yummier.

She shook herself mentally. It wasn’t polite, somehow, to compare the man she was actually with to someone else. Not to mention the fact that she’d never had a chest-hair fixation until she’d met Gabe. Somehow that tantalising glimpse of golden fur had got under her skin – and then the full view had finished her off. She was fixated on that body, that leonine gold-tipped pelt, that more sharply defined set of muscles. Even two days without really seeing him hadn’t minimised the impact.

Before, she’d always liked smooth chests and slim catlike bodies. Hadn’t she?

To prove to herself she still did, she stroked her hands down José’s torso, not concentrating on the nipples yet, just on the feel of his skin under her hands. Heated silk over…not steel, but something resilient, warm, yet just as solid. She wanted to think of a good word to go with the ‘heated silk’ image, but the sensation flowing from her fingertips seemed to short-circuit something in her brain. Forget metaphors: this was the male body in a particularly fine form, and her female body appreciated it. Appreciated it as in wanted to lick, kiss, nibble and otherwise taste every available inch of it. That lovely uncut cock, for instance – but all in good time.

All right, then. Just because she was a
little
fixated on Gabe didn’t mean she was broken.

She let her hands roam back up, brushing the taut nipples, feeling her own tighten in empathy. Mel moved to join the action.

‘Hey,’ José said, laughing. ‘Someone’s overdressed for the party. Or should I say two someones?’

If José’s unveiling had been slow and teasing, the women, by some unspoken agreement, undressed in a flurry of flying garments. Not that Felicia had much to striptease with anyway; she’d changed into a little Indian gauze sundress when she’d gotten home, trying to beat the heat, and that and minuscule panties were all she had to contend with.

Mel grabbed the bottle of champagne. ‘Anyone for a drink?’

Felicia started to say no. Then she met her friend’s eyes. Mel glanced from the bottle to José’s body and back again, and that was enough to communicate the idea to Felicia. ‘Sounds good!’ she said.

Then she helped Mel tip José back on to the bed. Not that it was a lot of work; he was more than willing to be tipped.

Mel proved as competent at opening a champagne bottle as she was at dealing with leopards and margays. This didn’t mean she didn’t allow some of the bubbly to foam forth in dramatic (but not sommelier-approved) fashion – it meant that she aimed the alcoholic explosion carefully, getting most of it on José. She then poured some more on his flat belly. Most of it puddled in his navel, but some headed for the thicket of dark hair and the tree trunk of his cock.

‘Don’t move,’ Felicia said. ‘It’s harder to lick off the sheets!’

The sheets were a lost cause anyway but, since the women seemed to have taken control, it might add to his sensations if he tried to keep still. Sort of like bondage without the trouble of actually tying him up.

They started on laving off the spilt rivulets of crisp gold wine from the expanse of José’s chest. Felicia supposed a sommelier also might not approve of the flavour combination of brut champagne and aroused male. But she did. José’s skin tasted good, very clean, but salty and a little musky, with an undertone of spice, and, leaving aside the way it made her own skin heat in empathy, it actually went well with the champagne.

They worked in towards the nipples, lapping there for much longer than the amount of champagne there warranted. At first, José was still and mostly quiet, trying to keep the puddle on his belly where it belonged.

That was no fun!

Felicia began to apply a little more suction, working with her tongue as she worked with lips and light pressure of her teeth. With a strangled noise, José put his hand on the back of her head. She thought for a second that he was trying to move her, but the pressure of his hand told the opposite: he wanted her harder.

Her peripheral vision told her that he’d done the same to Mel.

Oh. My. God.

Grabbing her hair like that made her clench and catch her breath – not the sensation in itself, but the unexpectedness of it. Rough directness from someone normally so gentle was exciting because it showed how much they were affecting him. And that, in turn, jacked up her arousal to a higher level.

Mel was the first to break off and begin kissing down his torso. This didn’t seem to help José’s level of coherence, especially when she began licking. Her pose was catlike, crouched on all fours like a lion at the watering hole, and Felicia found herself distracted from what she was doing by the visual feast. Mel’s pink tongue moved over the quivering muscles of José’s taut belly. She brushed her lovely little breasts against him, getting them champagne basted in the process. Mel was much paler than José, almost as fair as Felicia on her torso (no nude sunbathing for
her
evidently, or even bikinis) but her skin had the same golden undertones as José’s and her hair was a similar blue-black. It made for a gorgeous effect, stylised as some kind of tony erotic photography, but brought to earth by scents: sweet flowers, sharp, yeasty champagne and warm, aroused flesh.

For a bit, Felicia was mesmerised by the beautiful sight. She continued to suck and play with his nipples, feeling herself getting slicker and hotter in response to the sensory feast, but unwilling to risk breaking the spell by taking a more active role. But she could only resist for so long and soon a second lioness joined the first at the waterhole.

Unfortunately, another tongue lapping at his belly was too much for José’s self-control. He began to twitch, then to jerk around, laughing. ‘That tickles,’ he choked out.

They persisted until he threw them off. Flipping Mel over, he grabbed the bottle of champagne. She tried to squirm away, but José’s greater strength, and his weight on her legs, kept her pinned down. She was doing a good job of resisting for someone who clearly wanted to lose.

‘Help me out here!’ He handed the bottle to Felicia, then grabbed Mel’s wrists and pinned her to the bed.

Mel’s lovely skin looked even prettier with a champagne glaze. And, as Felicia quickly discovered, girl-skin and champagne tasted just as lovely together as boyskin and champagne, though subtly different, and tasting it sent similar waves of arousal crashing over her.

Mel stopped fighting as soon as their lips touched her. The giggling, though, went on for a while. Apparently, they’d got her to a point where she couldn’t stop, even as they suckled at her breasts and she arched against them, silently begging for more.

The giggling stopped when José opened her legs and poured champagne so it ran from her blue-black pubic curls and down, its sheen mingling with the slickness on her dark lips. (He’d put her own shirt under her bottom beforehand, not that the sheets could be saved.)

He licked. ‘Champagne and oysters!’ he said happily, then buried his face between Mel’s thighs and settled down, reaching up to play with her nipples at the same time.

Not wanting to distract from what looked like a damn fine situation for both of them, Felicia settled back to watch, tucking her hand between her legs and lazily stroking her clit, not ready to come, but enjoying the spirals of sensation that spread through her.

Mel went still, as if the feel of José’s tongue had shocked the giggle-fit out of her. Her body began to tremble. Her belly moved like a Middle Eastern dancer’s Felicia had seen once, a sea of ripples. It wasn’t until he slipped two fingers inside her, though, that she cried out.

She was still trembling from the orgasm when José changed position to lie over her, teasing her slit with the head of his cock. ‘Please,’ Felicia heard her beg, her voice husky and urgent.

If she’d been José, Felicia didn’t think she could have done what he did: seemingly ignoring that plea and continuing to rub himself against Mel’s slickness without entering her.

Listening to her become more and more incoherent, watching her writhe against him, trying to slip his cock inside her, must have been gratifying. Felicia appreciated that kind of torment herself, both giving it and getting it. But Mel looked so hot – flushed, damp from the champagne bath, her midnight hair sticking up all around her – that, if Felicia had a penis, she was pretty sure it would have been doing all the thinking.

Then again, the way Mel shuddered and clutched at him when he finally did enter her probably made it all worthwhile.

They moved together, kissing each other, Mel’s legs around his hips. Not a wild-animal fuck, but slow and sensual and affectionate.

And really lovely to watch, too.

Watching the show, Felicia realised – quite to her astonishment – that, while her body ached with arousal, she wasn’t burning to be in Mel’s position. Maybe she was more of a voyeur than she’d ever realised, but watching her friends’ pleasure in each other was satisfying in its own right. Not the same as actually being the one doing the screaming, but damn hot anyway.

She stroked at herself, trying to match her rhythm to the leisurely one of the lovers she watched. At that moment José seemed to remember she was there. He whispered something in Mel’s ear, nuzzling as he did, and she replied, though Felicia could not hear her.

With practised grace, the pair rolled over, only scrambling a little to stay joined. Mel remained pressed against José for a little while, her hips working against him, her mouth pressed to his. Then she sat up, arching back and reaching behind herself to support her weight on José’s thighs. ‘Join us?’ she asked Felicia. Her tone was as calm and polite as if she’d asked Felicia to sit at their table in a café, but her face was red, her eyes glazed; the detachment was probably from the effort to talk at all.

Felicia scooted forwards, not quite sure of the best way to join in. She could lick where they were joined, play with José’s balls…

‘Kneel over me,’ he murmured. ‘Sit on my face. I want to make you both come for me.’

Now
that
was an offer a woman couldn’t refuse. (Well, she supposed
some
women could, but those women weren’t likely to find themselves in a position to get such an offer anyway.) She climbed aboard.

José’s tongue and lips seared. Little stabs of heavenly fire, radiating from her clit to fill her whole body. She was so sensitive she could feel his beard stubble against her. It was just on the right side of the pleasure/pain line, almost sandpaper, but not quite.

And still his tongue worked, his lips applied gentle pressure. After the long arousal, it was almost too much to bear. Felicia’s head spun. She slumped forwards, suddenly lacking the co-ordination to hold herself up. Falling, but Mel caught her, and she toppled into a kiss. Once again, she felt a sense of astonishment at how soft Mel’s lips were, even when her kiss was mindlessly fierce.

She wanted to touch them both, to stroke and caress, but she couldn’t bear to let go of the sweet armful she held. Mel was breathing raggedly as she rode José. Her kiss grew more and more urgent.

Felicia understood completely. Her own body was tightening, contracting around its centre. It was all about José’s tongue working on her and Mel’s tongue in her mouth, about the triangle of bodies and lust they formed. She managed to slip one hand to Mel’s breast, capturing a bobbing nipple.

Then her world exploded and it was all she could do not to disengage from Mel’s mouth and scream, let alone do anything useful. José didn’t stop, though. He slowed down long enough for her to catch her breath, then kept going.

She thought the first orgasm had been powerful, but the second dwarfed it. This time she really did slump forwards, done. When José attempted to pull her back to his mouth, she laughed, choked out, ‘Too sensitive,’ and squirmed away to watch.

Now he put his hands on Mel’s hips and began to guide her movements as if she weighed no more than a doll. She seemed to like that. She leant forwards, grinding herself against him. He urged her up and down faster, bending his knees for leverage and thrusting into her from below.

They didn’t quite come together, from what Felicia could tell. But, when Mel threw her head back and opened her mouth in a silent roar, José was not far behind her.

Afterwards, they made a puppy pile in the ruined bed – José in the middle, a woman snuggled on either side – and passed the remains of the bubbly back and forth. Most of it ended up in the women, since José was technically on call.

It was about 1 a.m. when they finally bid her a sleepy good night. ‘You could stay,’ she said, not sure if she really meant it, or if it would be comfortable to have three in her bed even if she did.