When Diplomacy Fails . . . Read Online Free Page B

realized that they were staying in the personal and family wing, not the guest wing. He also wondered if something might actually happen. Caron seemed relaxed, and she had put Ayisha’s and his rooms adjoining. They connected, too.
    Ayisha did seem to agree. She had her fingers inside his shirt and one of the buttons was undone. Well. It seemed it might be a good weekend after all.
    Caron sat back with a coy smile, watching.
    “You’ll probably find the bed more comfortable,” she said, and waved at the far end of the great room she used as bedroom, office and lounge.
    Well, that was obvious consent. She didn’t seem offended, and that was good.
    Ayisha giggled as he lifted her over his shoulder, swatted her ass and carried her up the broad risers.
    Her blouse and bra yielded without struggle, and he enveloped her in a kiss and embrace, warm flesh against him.
    They were naked and tingly when he felt a familiar sensation. An amazing set of boobs against his shoulders.
    “Caron?” he said in surprise. Dammit, he should have been more alert, too. He hadn’t noticed her undressing and coming over. Yes, she’d dropped the gown, and her underwear.
    “You can’t imagine I’m just watching , can you? I expect equal attention.”
    Oh, the bitch. Already he was clinging desperately to self control.
    In moments, her mouth was on his, her warm, supple breasts against him, and Ayisha shifted so her body was all over his lower half. He kept a steely grip on his nerves as they moved about, straddling and using him. The panting he heard wasn’t entirely theirs.
    He focused on one thing at a time, ignoring sensations, or trying to. Silken sheets, sweat-cooled skin, tumbling hair, and Ayisha, soft and slick and shivering in response to him.
    Her hips were very nice, rounded rather than oval, her thighs supple, and her skin wore a hint of spice. It was much easier to give than receive like this. Much easier.
    He reached out for Caron, who was next to him and waiting patiently for him. He ran a hand down her flank and rose to look across.
    Caron was . . .
    Yes, she really was. Her fingers and lips were on Ayisha’s skin, and . . .
    Holy shit.
    He clamped down on every fiber in his body, and the rush that hit him was as intense as an adrenaline dump in combat, but far, far more pleasant. Endorphins ripped through him like never before. It was like falling off a cliff.
    He slid his hand up, and traced her lips with a finger, a physical confirmation for his eyes, while trying to decide what to do.
    Ayisha wrapped an arm around Caron and clenched, and clutched for him with the other. With the taboo broken, he collapsed on them and stopped thinking, in a burning, melting rush. He was beyond drunk, beyond lost, and only a thread of control remained, a glowing, sparkling line amidst the waves of fog in his brain.
    Then two warm mouths collided on him and his brain jolted in disconnect.
    He wasn’t sure if he was the first to scream.
    It didn’t end with that, and he never got past it all feeling like a dream, an hallucination, an unreality that he couldn’t wake up from and didn’t want to.
    An hour later they stopped, gasping and sweating and with unfocused eyes. Caron kissed Ayisha sloppily, then him, then bounded off the bed and into a kimono. She headed for the kitchen, as Ayisha headed for the bathroom. Ayisha came back with cool, damp towels. Caron returned with three glasses of tart limeade and a bucket of ice.
    They wound up sitting in a triangle, and he gauged them. They seemed comfortable enough, neither fawning each other nor shying away. They grinned when they made eye contact.
    Even if he wanted to tell anyone, no one would ever believe this.
    “Thanks much,” Ayisha said as she accepted a glass.
    “You’re welcome,” Caron replied. “I’m feeling dehydrated. And worn.” She ran a hand through her dark, tangled waves of hair.
    Shortly, he was massaging Caron’s feet with mint lotion, while Ayisha braided her