Tempting Meredith (18 page)

Charlie’s rough voice penetrated the abyss of pleasure. “What about you, Meredith? Would you let him in here? Do you want both of us touching you?” The pressure increased and—

She forgot to breathe. It wasn’t his thumb. It was too plump, too smooth.

Could she take him? Would it hurt? She held her breath, waiting, anticipating.

He slid down and positioned himself at the more traditional entrance.

She needed him so badly that she whimpered, “Please, God, Charlie.” Someone. Anyone. “Fuck me.”

He fed her a little, but not enough. Taunting. “Not until you answer me.”

“What?” Had he asked her a question?

“Do you want both of us fucking you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I can’t think.”

“I don’t want you to think. I want you to answer me, honestly.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she cried.

He stopped. Froze.
Fuck
. What had she said? More importantly, why had she said it and how could she take it back?

She crawled onto the bed and across to the other side, dragging sheets and blankets with her, swaddling herself in them, hiding, as if they would protect her. She folded her legs to her chest and crushed her arms around them. She wanted to bury her face in her hands, at the very least close her eyes, pretend she was alone, pretend this was a bad dream. But it wasn’t a dream, and she had to deal with it. Fix it.

Charlie followed her. His cock was sheathed. When had he found time to put on a condom? She hadn’t even thought about protection. She’d given him all the power, all the control, all the responsibility. She’d trusted him. The thought set her heart to pounding and stole her breath.

Bracing himself on his hands and knees, he crowded her, nuzzled her neck, dragged his lips along her jaw, then drew back and held her gaze. “You won’t lose me.”

The intensity she saw in his eyes warmed her, scared her, confused her. She cleared the painful knot plugging her throat. “I didn’t mean...” She took a deep breath, trying to cleanse the emotion that threatened to spill from her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a—”

His finger pressed against her mouth, cutting off that last word. “It’s not,” he whispered.

He didn’t let her respond, just kissed her with seductive nips that left her breathless and chased away the fear and doubt. He stripped her armor of blankets and sheets, finished removing her shirt and skirt then stroked her legs to her ankles. He lifted one foot, unbuckled the leather strap and slipped off the shoe, handling her as if she were precious, fragile. She’d never understood the appeal of the fairytale princesses, hadn’t been able to relate to them. But she wondered if this was what Cinderella had felt like when Prince Charming had placed the glass slipper oh-so-carefully on her foot.

After the second shoe clunked on the floor, he left her on her back, naked and open to him. He kneeled above her, his cargo shorts low on his hips. His cock thrust through the parted zipper. He yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Light brown freckles and sparse auburn hair sprinkled his chest. As he swept his shorts down narrow hips, over muscular thighs, and then kicked them off, his biceps, shoulders and pecs flexed. He wasn’t model beautiful. He had a working man’s body—tan lines around his neck and arms, hair where a man was supposed to have hair, muscles everywhere. Even his fingers were lean and sinewy.

He entwined her fingers in his and lifted her hands above her shoulders, bracing himself. He covered her with his warm body. His chest grazed her pebbled nipples. His hips settled in the cradle of her thighs, and his cock lay heavy against her. He didn’t make her wait any longer but slid inside.

She closed her eyes, desperate to escape the emotion she saw in his. Because she was beginning to believe it. She was beginning to believe in him.

His beard scraped the side of her face. “It’s more,” he murmured as he slid out and thrust, his cock massaging her, his groin rubbing her clit.

She tried not to hear, tried to shut out his words and focus on the growing tickle of pleasure at her core.

“It’s more.”

She lifted her hips and met his thrust, chanting in her head,
No.
No.
No
. But she lost herself in his musky scent, his sweat-slick skin. Couldn’t separate their raspy breaths, their tripping heartbeats.

He stopped talking and put his lips to better use kissing her senseless, emptying her mind of everything but the pleasure and the need to take it to the pinnacle. She reached, stretched, tightened her fingers in his as if she could grasp her climax and yank it in. And then she held her breath as she reached the brink, that fleeting, magical moment when she knew she was going over. She tumbled into ecstasy, blinding flashes of light and dark, reverberating roars filling her ears and pleasure washing over her nerves again and again until she collapsed beneath him.

It
is
more
, she answered silently. She squeezed her eyes tighter, denying the truth. A tear leaked out the corner and slid down her temple. She panicked and rubbed the side of her face against the sheets, not wanting him to see.

He rolled off her. She grabbed the sheet and tucked it under her chin, covering herself as she curled up on her side. She followed the sound of his footsteps to the bathroom and back. The bed bounced.

“Hey.” He touched her shoulder. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “The three of us.”

She didn’t answer. She had one more day with Charlie. One more day with Blaine.

She’d sort out her feelings when she got home. She’d be able to think once she was alone.

Chapter Sixteen

The drive home hadn’t been lonely. But
being
alone had given her too much to think about, too much time to miss them. Both of them. Oh, she’d known she’d miss Charlie, but she hadn’t expected to feel like she’d left something undone with Blaine. After all, they’d talked about that night. He’d explained. She’d forgiven. They’d put it to rest. Although, maybe she’d also resurrected it by involving Blaine in their play.

Yeah
,
it has nothing to do with the possibility that he could be Cassandra’s father and he doesn’t even know she exists.

Huggins greeted her at the door, weaving between Meredith’s legs. Meredith dropped her purse and rolled her suitcase against the wall. She’d unpack later. She scooped up Huggins and kissed the top of her head. The cat’s purr vibrated against Meredith’s chest, making her smile. “I missed you, too.”

But her smile faded and her heart sank when she spotted the mail Darrell had piled on the secretary by the door. On top of the grocery circulars, mail order catalogues and a few long white envelopes with bills in them sat a squat brown box. The handwritten address was in a child’s familiar scrawl.

Splashdown. Her return to the real world was complete. It hadn’t been an idyllic vacation. She’d dealt with old ghosts and a migraine. But the sex had been great. For that matter, she’d enjoyed everything else. The ATV ride, the games of Cutthroat and 8-ball, the three of them talking over breakfast, lunch and dinner. Simply watching TV curled up against Charlie. Sitting on the porch and playing fetch with the dogs.

Her stomach burned with regret. She wanted to go back. Huggins began to squirm when Meredith unconsciously squeezed her tighter, so she relaxed her grip and let the cat leap to the floor.

Her cell rang, interrupting her pity party. She didn’t answer it. It was probably Charlie checking to see if she was home yet. She’d text him later. But she wouldn’t talk to him. He’d make promises and plans. Texting would be safer. She’d talk to him after she figured everything out.

“Well, Huggins,” she said with forced cheer. “Do I open the package now or after I unpack?” There wasn’t any question that she
would
open it. It was her medicine, and she’d take it no matter how bitter the taste. “Hmm. Perhaps you’re right. Unpack. Then a glass of wine.” Medicine always went down easier with wine. It masked the bitterness.

Ignoring her sudden, overwhelming fatigue, she fed Huggins, unpacked and started a load of laundry. She opened a bottle of Shiraz, poured a generous serving in a lowball and tossed the cork in the glass urn perched on the pedestal in the corner of her dining room. It landed soundlessly on top of the sea of corks that had gone before it. She sat cross-legged on the muted red rug covering the hardwood floor in her living room, the mail spread before her, a trashcan beside her. She sipped her wine, tossed the junk mail and stacked the bills—a simple process until Huggins plopped in the middle of it all. Instead of coaxing her off, Meredith slid the pieces of mail one by one from under her. Each time, Huggins half-heartedly swatted at her hand. When the queen of the jungle’s mountain was reduced to flatlands, Huggins stood, stretched and sauntered away, leaving Meredith alone with the package.

Charlie wouldn’t have left her alone. He’d proven that when he hadn’t abandoned her after learning about Dylan and Blaine.

Um
,
where was he supposed to go?
You
were in
his
home.

She shook off the argument. It didn’t matter. She was just delaying the inevitable. She lifted the box into her lap and with shaking fingers, picked at the tape sealing the top. Finally, she folded back the flaps. Inside was another box, about the size of her hand, wrapped in sparkly red paper and topped with a big iridescent bow that changed colors depending on the angle. She lifted it and found the card underneath, created by her daughter’s own hands. A piece of red construction paper, but her bright progeny hadn’t colored it with crayons. She’d shaped, cut and glued other pieces of construction paper to create rainbows and stars. Then she’d glued them to the card. The rainbows weren’t the random designs of an almost eight-year-old child. Meredith brushed her fingers over them. The color order was a precise, inverse double rainbow. Her chest swelled, and tears burned her eyes.

She opened the card, and a child’s labored cursive greeted her in purple crayon.

Happy Mother’s Day
.
From Cassandra Ryan
.

With a watery smile, she set the card aside and unwrapped the gift, careful not to tear the paper. She lifted the lid and folded back the white tissue paper.

Inside was a necklace. Twenty-eight imperfectly shaped clay beads. All the colors of the rainbow strung on a purple silk cord. She slipped her hand underneath the smooth beads. Two double rainbows. A flat, heart-shaped red clasp was slipped through a loop at the end of the silk cord.

Perfect in its imperfections. She wanted to wear it, wanted to preen in front of the mirror, wanted to feel the cool beads gradually warm with the heat of her skin. She wanted to show Nikki and say, “Your niece made this. Isn’t she brilliant?” She wanted to present it to Blaine and say, “This is what we created that night. Isn’t she amazing?” She slipped the clasp from the loop and raised it to her neck. The beads were cold and solid. Real. Unlike Cassandra, who was an ache in Meredith’s heart, a hole in her soul. She was photos and cards and gifts and letters from her fathers. Instead of fastening the clasp, Meredith lowered the necklace back into the box and folded the rainbow of colors in the stark white tissue paper.

She fit the lid back in place and carried it upstairs to that drawer in her dresser.

* * *

As promised, Charlie thought about Meredith’s proposal. Hell, it was
all
he thought about. He tried
not
thinking about it, but that was impossible. He even dreamed about it. Fucking incredible dreams.

Making love to Meredith while Blaine watched had just about blown off the top of his head. It had been that good. Best fucking sex he’d ever had. Would it have been that good with just anyone watching? Charlie couldn’t imagine sharing Meredith with another man like that. He couldn’t imagine making
himself
that vulnerable with anyone else.

So why Blaine? And why had it been so good? He couldn’t pinpoint anything in their friendship that had led them there. Sure, they’d lived together the last four years. But so what? He’d lived with other men. Granted, none of those men had been gay or bi, at least not to his knowledge.

Was it because Meredith had put the idea in his head, or had he subconsciously wanted Blaine all along? Had he squashed those desires before even acknowledging them because of society’s hang-ups?

All he knew was since that day in the pool room when he’d realized Blaine wanted him, he’d had a new awareness of his friend. His hands.
Thank you
,
Meredith
,
for the image of Blaine’s fingers wrapped around my cock.
Yeah, the man definitely had sexy hands. His smile, his eyes. Even his crotch, which Charlie now spent way too much time staring at. He told himself he was looking for signs of arousal. That might be part of it, but the truth was he was dying to see it, touch it, taste it. And then there was Blaine’s ass. Was that why he was so tempted by Meredith’s, why he wanted to penetrate it? Because he really wanted Blaine’s? Fuck. Who knew?

He’d observed animals enough to know that bisexuality wasn’t a human invention. Animals did it. A lot. It was the natural order of things. The Bible-thumpers had that part wrong. He didn’t agree with them on the moral aspects either. So it wasn’t morality or homophobia that had him questioning his attraction to Blaine.

It was a different way of perceiving himself, his sexuality. Because if he was attracted to Blaine, he wasn’t straight. And if he brought Blaine into his bed, he wasn’t monogamous. That was probably the scariest aspect of the ménage. While he hadn’t spent a lot of time contemplating marriage and a family, when he did, he imagined one woman and a couple of kids. Nowhere in his imaginings had a man appeared. Until now.

Now, he was considering him and Meredith and Blaine. All three of them together. Not just for a night or a couple of nights, because his friendship with Blaine wouldn’t survive that.

No, if this was gonna happen, it would be for the long haul. He didn’t want anyone hurt. Not Meredith. Not Blaine. And he didn’t want to live without either of them.

* * *

Blaine sat on the porch, sipping his coffee. Zach bounded up the steps with the stick Blaine had just tossed, Abby trotting at his side. Zach dropped the stick at his feet, and Blaine picked it up and threw it again. The dogs waited for him to give the fetch command, their tails slapping the wooden planks, their ears twitching. As soon as he said the word, they were off, their nails scraping the porch.

He loved the quiet mornings out here when the sun was flirting just below the eastern horizon. Even after the season started, this was the best time of the day. Most of the families didn’t get out early, not like the hunters.

The door opened, and Blaine’s heart skipped a beat then plunged forward. Charlie had been chewing on something since Meredith’s departure. He didn’t know what it was. He’d been waiting patiently, although a little anxiously, to find out. It involved him. He just didn’t know how. Judging from Charlie’s determined expression as he leaned against the porch railing facing Blaine, his curiosity was about to be appeased.

The dogs loped onto the porch, and Zach dropped the stick in front of Blaine. He left it there, and the dogs, realizing playtime was over, trotted down the steps in search of more fun.

Charlie cleared his throat but didn’t say anything.

Blaine decided to help him along. “Spit it out.”

“I want you to know that I wouldn’t even consider doing this with anyone else,” Charlie said.

“Doing what?”

The dogs barked in the distance. A jay’s chatter grated more than usual.

Charlie glanced away then back. “You like her.”

So this was about Meredith. No surprise there. He’d known he couldn’t hide his feelings from Charlie. “Yeah.”

“She wants—” He stopped. “She makes it sound so damned tempting. The three of us. Together.”

Blaine inhaled sharply. Despite their play, he hadn’t expected this. Especially not from Meredith. Not after the way it had ended with Dylan. “She wants it? Or you do?”

“She does.”

Blaine needed to understand exactly where everyone stood. “But you don’t?”

Charlie turned around and braced his knuckles on the porch railing so Blaine couldn’t read his face, but he couldn’t miss the tension in his back. His shoulders were up under his ears.

“It’s okay.” The brief flare of hope was doused, but he understood. “You’re in love with her. You don’t want another man touching her. That’s only normal.”

Charlie swung back around, eyes a tortured blaze. “That’s just it. I like the idea. It’s all I can fucking think about.”

The admission knocked the wind out of him. Even the squawking jay had shut up. “So you’re actually considering it.”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I weren’t.”

Blaine frowned. “Look, I’m not into one-night stands anymore. I’m too old for that shit.”

Charlie nodded. “The way you feel about her, I expected that.”

Blaine took a deep breath. This next would be difficult. It could change everything, and not necessarily for the better. It could mean the end of their friendship, but he was bone tired of hiding his feelings. “It’s not just her.” He swallowed. “I’d be touching you, too.”

Charlie dropped his gaze to the porch.

“I’d be touching you. On purpose. Nothing accidental about it. And I’d fucking love it.”

Blaine got to his feet and took the few steps to stand in front of Charlie. Tentatively, he placed a finger under his friend’s chin and lifted his head until their eyes met. When he’d rolled out of bed this morning, he hadn’t planned this. But Charlie was meeting his gaze now. His blue eyes were confused, fearful. Excited. He wasn’t pulling away, even though he had to know what was coming.

Holding his breath, Blaine slowly leaned in, giving Charlie plenty of time to bolt. He didn’t go straight for the mouth. He dipped to the side and brushed his lips at the corner of Charlie’s. Blaine closed his eyes and savored the first sweet taste of his dreams. And prayed it wasn’t the last. He slid his lips along Charlie’s bearded jaw. He could smell the spicy scent of soap, as familiar and as sexy as everything else about the man.

He released Charlie’s chin and slid his hand to the back of his neck. His hair was slightly long, but Blaine liked it that way. The strands sifted between his fingers.

He shifted to Charlie’s mouth, hovered over it. Charlie’s tongue darted out and moistened his lips. It was all the invitation Blaine needed. He kissed him, a whisper of lips against lips.

Charlie’s lack of response was virginal, uncertain. But then, he
was
a virgin when it came to men. Blaine took a little more, pressing tender, undemanding kisses until he felt a flicker, a tentative answer. Charlie’s lips pursed and, amazingly, parted the slightest bit. Blaine’s world began to spin. His heart pounded. Or was that Charlie’s heart? He lifted his head. Charlie was panting, warm puffs of breath that tickled Blaine’s cheek. His eyes were glazed, unfocused. Charlie blinked and awareness seemed to return, but he still didn’t pull away.

Before they went further, Blaine wanted to make sure Charlie understood what he was asking. “You need to think about what this will mean. Because it won’t just be me and her and you and her. She won’t always separate us. It’ll be you and me, too.”

Charlie groped for Blaine’s free hand, found it, then placed it against Charlie’s groin and molded it to his dick. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Charlie said, his voice thick.

Blaine was speechless for a minute. Charlie Connor had a hard-on for him. How the fuck did that happen? More importantly, why hadn’t they done this years ago? “Is that for me or is it for the visual of me fucking your girlfriend?”