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Circle

By Vanessa Mullen
Page 2 of 2

Blake sat on the edge of the bed playing with the folds of his sleeves. He twisted a mass of fabric up between his fingers, then unballed it and began twisting it the other way.

      "Why not get undressed?" Jenna demanded in exasperation.

      The hand drifted away from the mangled fabric to Blake's mouth. "I don't want to scare him off."

      "This is Avon, remember? The man whose pride will never let him admit he's anything less than perfect at everything. He'll come in and act like Cassanova."

      "You're forgetting one thing."

      "Which is?"

      "He really is a puritanical alpha."

      There wasn't really an answer to that, so she concentrated on her make-up, smoothed her skirt and checked her hair once more. The clock told its own story. Avon was late. Aware of Bake's frustration, she sat down behind him and began to kneed his shoulders. At that moment, the door slid open to reveal Avon. Sleekly groomed, he was wearing an outfit that she had never seen him in before. Black leather encased him snugly from top to toe, concealing everything even as it proclaimed a challenge to the world. Blake's shoulders tensed under her hands. His quick intake of breath told its own story. As one, they rose from the bed and made towards Avon.

      Avon smiled at Jenna, a knowing look that said he knew exactly how he was making her react, knew the excitement that was tingling along her veins and making her mouth suddenly dry. They flowed into a kiss, lips meeting, merging. His arms held her in a casual strength that was greater than she'd expected. Then Blake's arms enveloped them both and she came up for air, gasping at the sensation of being held by both men at once. Blake's broad chest pressed into her back, heartbeat thudding into her spine. His excitement fed her own and she was racing towards flashpoint far too fast, far too soon. She moaned, pressed the ache of her nipples into Avon's jacket, arched her head back to rest it on Blake's shoulder. Lips grazed the skin of her neck; a hand slid over a breast to grasp it firmly and -

      She shuddered, seizing the tatters of her self-control and pulling them together. Grasping Avon's hand firmly, she removed it. His head lifted up and his eyes smiled at her, vampire-bright.

      "Some of us," she said acidly, "are overdressed."

      "Oh, I don't know." Avon's drawl was sardonic to the extreme. He glanced down at Jenna's outfit. The skirt barely covered her hips and the sheer leggings she'd chosen were dusted with diamante powder. The tight velvet of the top clung close and did nothing to conceal the nipples that pushed hard at the fabric.

      She had the sudden urge to slap him. Avon and his damned superiority. Did he have to treat her like a tart?

      "You look beautiful," Blake murmured from behind her, but it wasn't the same. He might mean it, but it was an aesthetic appreciation only. She needed to be wanted as a woman. She needed someone to want her as desperately as she suddenly needed to be wanted herself.

      Eyelets clinked as each one was jerked past the buckle of Blake's belt. A clunk as it fell to the floor. Relief flooded through Jenna. After all her earlier confidence, she could not now have borne being the first to undress. The sound of the zip on his shirt followed and she turned, running a grateful hand over the strength of his chest.

      "Avon?" Blake's gruff voice uttered the name as a challenge and ever one to take up the gauntlet, Avon smiled.

      "Ladies first."

      "You're right," Jenna said with some satisfaction. "He really is a puritanical Alpha."

      That got the reaction she'd been hoping for. Stung, Avon reached up and started undoing the snap fasteners of his jacket. The action was curiously deliberate, as though he were trying to steer a central path between sexual provocation and complete normality. Blake took a step forward, reached out, and snapped another fastener undone. Avon froze, then, as though accepting a challenge, undid another one himself. The tension between the two men was palpable, a strange combination of fear, antagonism, competition and, on Blake's part at least, barely concealed lust.

      For an instant, Jenna felt superfluous. Then, recognising her own role, she stripped. She let the action come close to a dance, drawing each garment off slowly and sensuously, revelling in the feel of the fabric gliding over her skin. She lay back on the bed, legs in the air and rolled up the leggings, laughing at her own wantonness, feeling Avon's eyes on her and not caring any longer what he might think. There was a heat in that gaze. It spoke to her of the things that exist between men and women. It spoke of the tight embrace of bodies and the sharp pleasure of one entering another.

      There was a void within her that demanded fulfilment. Be still, she told it. The longer the wait, the better it feels when it finally comes. She watched with a dreamy pleasure as Avon and Blake finished undressing one another. For all Blake's restraint and Avon's apparant indifference, there was a natural eroticism to it. Blake's hands were almost shaking as he unfastened the tightness of Avon's trousers and peeled the leather downwards. Avon, to Jenna's silent amusement, insisted on removing his own underpants. He was as good-looking as she'd imagined him to be. Side by side and competing for her attention, they were attractive indeed. Blake's muscular bulk contrasted with Avon's slimmer figure. A line of hair darted down Avon's chest to lead the eye straight to his genitals. His penis was swelling, coming to a life of its own as she watched. She stroked her own breast, rubbed a nipple between her fingers and watched the sudden reaction as Avon's cock leapt fully to attention. That was flattering.

      Blake was already erect and weeping at the tip. That wasn't quite so flattering, but it still looked wonderful. He was large and a beautiful deep red colour. She could see the tension in him, the need for Avon that tugged and tugged at him and the fear that didn't dare act. The need might not be for her, but it still drew her. She went to him, kissed him, embraced him, and for a moment felt the full force of that passion sublimated onto her body. His tongue pressed forcefuly into her mouth, hands grasped her buttocks and pulled her close. She pressed uncontrollably against him, almost spitting herself on his manhood. Then the moment was gone and he was simply Blake once more. Senses reeling, she let him support her until they turned in mutual query to Avon.

      He had the look of a man caught out, of someone who felt he was in a a place where he had no right to be.

      "You and Blake..." he said softly.

      "No," she replied, not even sure what she meant by the word. She reached out an arm and drew him into the circle with herself and Blake. They touched Avon, feeeling the smoothness of his skin, the springiness of his hair, the delineation of his muscles. As a pair, in silent unspoken harmony, they made love to him. Slowly, tenderly, they mirrored one another, exploring his beauty, finding the places that drew a reaction. She could feel it now, feel Blake's passion, feel it in every shuddering intake of breath that they forced from Avon, feel it in the reluctant tremor of his hand when she kissed the skin inside his elbow, feel it in the accelerating heartbeat. This was a different Avon. This wasn't the casual cynic who flayed with caustic wit. This was something deeper, more elemental. This creature they were awakening was the true core of the man.

      The ache between her legs was screaming at her now and no one had even touched her there.

      "Please," she whispered, not even sure whom she was speaking to.

      Blake lifted her up in a pair of strong arms, tossed her into the air so that her hair flew around her, caught her, pressed her to the bed. Reflex took over. She arched upwards, blindly seeking a body against her, but she was denied. Blake held her shoulders to the bed and moved round until he had lifted them up to rest upon his knees.

      "Avon," he said.

      Avon looked at the spread-eagled readiness of her, at Blake's hand caressing her hair.

      "I can't," he said. "She's yours."

      "Avon," Blake said again, his voice deep and rough. "Make love to us."

      Avon was a dark-winged bird poised for flight. She didn't dare move for fear of frightening him away. Hesitantly, he took a step forward.

      "Avon," she whispered softly. "Avon."

      He swooped down, sat astride her and came to rest deep within her body. She waited for the movement that her body craved, but it didn't come. Instead Avon leaned forward and touched his lips gently to Blake's. The world hung suspended, as though the three of them were linked in some eternal loop in time.

      Then Avon came down, kissed her violently and began to move within her. Each thrust was hard, demanding and she responded, pressing upwards to meet him. His hands were on her breasts, ravaging, squeezing, drawing ecstasy as the roughness of his thumbs rubbed across her nipples. Then, even that touch was gone as Avon concentrated everything on the hard shaft plundering her body. Faster and faster he came and she cried out helplessly, writhing and twisting beneath him, nothing mattering now but the pleasure that coursed through her.

      She came with a shudder that shook her right through and relaxed in limp abandon even as Avon collapsed to lie exhausted on top of her. With one corner of her mind, she was aware of Blake gently lowering her head to the pillow. She heard his cry as he brought himself to completion and felt the mattress shift under his weight as he came to lie beside her. Rolling slightly onto one side, she unceremoniously dumped Avon to lie between them. Blake's arm curved across Avon's back, imprisoning him in a tender embrace. Jenna met his eyes as they looked into hers, read the roil of emotion and reached out to gently smooth away the sweat-slicked hair from his forehead. Blake smiled the rueful smile of a man who knows himself to be a fool. They lay for minutes or more, still and silent. Then, Avon stirred and sat up. Without speaking, he cleaned himself with a tissue and dressed, drawing on the leather garments, putting a silent black barrier between himself and them.

      "Avon," Jenna began, but Blake hushed her.

      "Avon," his voice was deep and resonant, "find your own freedom."

      Avon paused on the threshold of the door. "I'm not sure that I can." Then he was gone.


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