Summer Swap 3.7

“It’s not a big secret, Scarlet,” Philippe said.

“It is a big secret. You know how I know it’s a big secret?”

“How?”

“Because I didn’t know it, and I know everything.”

Philippe shook his head, narrowing his eyes on her and smiling. “You’re a Carla wannabe.”

She scoffed, and in mock offense, said, “How dare you.”

“You’re more like her than you even know.”

She said, “Chey did say I intimidate Byron.”

“Probably. How about Sully? Do you think he would ever cross you?”

“He wouldn’t dare. But not because I intimidate him.”

“Want another moonshine?”

“Yes, please.” She handed him her empty glass as he rose with his own. While he crossed to the raised end of the room, she said to his broad back, “Sully wouldn’t cross me because he cares about me. I care about him, he cares about me.”

“You love each other,” Philippe said, pouring more moonshine into their glasses.

“We do. Can you pour a third glass?”

He right-faced, eyebrow raised in sly contemplation. “Are we expecting company?”

“You never know,” she said, smiling.

“That’s good,” he said, sliding closer a third glass and pouring moonshine into it. “The more the merrier.”

“That must be your motto.”

Philippe chuckled, plugged the bottle and regarded her. “That is my motto. Who’s the third? Cheyenne or Sully?”

“It could go either way,” she said, waiting a beat, then narrowing her eyes on him, enjoying the moment and her own surreptitious zinger. “Who do you want to see come through that door?”

Philippe leaned his butt on the edge of the dresser, his abundant male package slumping into the crotch of his shorts, reminding her what drew her here tonight. He crossed his thick arms. “It would be great if it was both of them.”

“You like to party.”

“I do,” he said. “All night long.”

“It takes a group to satisfy you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

She cocked her head. “Oh?”

“I satisfy them.”

There was something in his confident tone that changed her chemistry. She lost her grip on the control of the conversation, on the path of the evening. It had gone from 0-60 like a Ferrari; from coy to sexual innuendo to promises of exquisite rapture in a matter of heartbeats. She bit her lower lip as she smiled as an honest reaction to his words—but not wanting him to see it. She didn’t want to have sex with him, only to get off on playing with his thing. Cheyenne said he shot ropes like a firehose. “You’re a giver,” she said.

Philippe chuckled again, then eased upright, collected the two glasses and walked to join her, sitting on the other side of the table. He slid her glass closer, saying, “It’s my calling.”

“Everyone has their thing,” she said.

“What’s yours, Scarlet? What’s your thing?”

“I think you know what it is. You were trawling the waters with your tackle.”

“And you bit.”

“Looks like it.”

He said, “Your thing is my thing.”

“My thing is things in general.”

“And I’ve got something special for your collection.”

“You certainly do.”

He eased back in his chair, cool and languid, eyeing her, then drinking some moonshine. He licked his lips. “Well, here we are.”

She drank some moonshine. “Yep. Here we are.”

“And here it is.” His smile was broad in his thick beard, eyes winking back the overhead light as he quick-glanced where his crotch was below the table.

“You want me to make the first move, I take it,” she said.

“You’ve put me in that position.”

“How so?”

“Either you come and take what you want, or I stand up, unzip, and drop it on this table. You see, I’m a gentleman.”

“You’re not a drop it on the table man.”

“How gauche.”

“There’s that French again, trying to sweet talk me.”

“You’ve been sweet talking me all night, Scarlet.”

“All right,” she sighed with heavy resignation. “If that’s the way you want it.” She stood and stepped out of her slides.

Philippe pushed his chair back from the table, eyes on her, sinking his posture. She sauntered around the table, assessing her subject. Philippe was a big man. Burly and muscular. He wore a charcoal T-shirt with a V-neck. His muscular forearms were furred, his hands rugged but well-groomed. He wore oyster-khaki shorts, cotton, with a brass zip and button. Like his forearms, his legs were powerful, furred and dark-tanned. She straddled his lap, her bottom sagging between his parted thighs, those masculine hands of his coming to cradle her weight. It was the first time since she was married that any other man had put his hands on her ass. She shivered, and her nipples hardened.

Their eyes connected but they said nothing. The only sound was their breathing, low and slow. A chuckle breezed from her nose as she brought her hands together and unbuttoned his shorts. Philippe smiled, his lips thin and pursed like he stopped the smile from breaking into laughter. Now she smiled too, caught in the understanding that while this was sexy and naughty, there was also something ludicrous about the whole thing. She bit her lower lip again, and Philippe’s eyes narrowed, like he loved when she bit her lower lip. She drew down his zipper, saying, “After all this, it better be in here.”

“Believe me, I’ll be more upset than you are if it’s not.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

She looked into his eyes as she gripped his bulge right over his feathery-soft cotton shorts. The bulge was pliable, giving, and more than two handfuls. “Still there,” she whispered.

“Thank god,” he said.

She exhaled through pouted lips as a wave of sudden and deep arousal shimmered on her skin, bringing her pulse in a thunderhead. Philippe’s ample male bulk felt incredible in her grip.

She said, “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Her phone pinged as her hands parted his fly, revealing Philippe wore no underwear. “Hold on a second,” she said.

“Oh, come on.”

Scarlet laughed and dismounted Philippe’s lap, crossing to her side of the small round table to read the text before the screen went blank again. She said to Philippe, “Wait here.”

“Where am I going to go? . . . I’m betting our guest has arrived. They’re not shy, are they?”

She shook her head. “They don’t know they’re a guest yet.”

“Okay, Carla,” he said, sitting there smirking, legs wide, shorts unzipped.

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him, instructing him, “That’s enough.”

He was still laughing as she made it to the door. She cracked it open and poked her head out to see Sully standing clear to the opposite side of the wide, carpeted hallway. “Did you bring it?”

Sully showed her the tape measure, holding it up without saying a thing, his face expressionless.

“Thank you, baby. I mean it.” Now she stepped out of Philippe’s suite and closed the door behind her, just her and her husband, alone in the quiet hallway. Sully looked down at her bare feet. He sniffled. “How’s it going in there?”

“Good, good,” she said. “What were you doing up there by yourself?”

“Waiting.”

“Everything still good?”

Sully closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows high, sighing. He showed a gentle smile. He opened his eyes again, looking at her. “Everything’s still good, babe.”

She crossed her arms, admiring the man she fell in love with and married. She crossed the hallway in slow steps and met him face to face, very close. He smiled wider, his eyes narrowing on her, studying her. Her hand rested on his chest. “Is your heart racing?”

“You feel it.”

“I do. Feel mine.”

Sully scratched his head, still smiling, looking a little unsure, but still definitely into this wild thing. He looked at her chest, then rested his open hand on it. “Your nipples are hard.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“Your cheeks are blushed.”

“Are they?”

Sully chuckled, and she liked the vibrations transferring to her chest through his warm palm. “They are, babe.” His thumb caressed one of her nipples pushing out the fabric of her top.

She held his wrist with both hands. “I want you to come in with me.”

Sully scrunched his nose and shook his head no, like she’d offered a kid cod liver oil. She laughed and fell against him, wrapping her arms around his warm and familiar body. “You don’t have to.”

His arms went around her. “What are you guys doing in there?”

She pushed back and showed him a coy face. “You’d have to come in to find out.”

He raised his chin and looked down his nose at her, pretending to be unaffected. “Keep your secrets th—”

Her hand cupped between his legs and found him rock hard. Sully went woozy, head rocking on his neck, eyes fluttering. She said, “This why you wore a baggy shirt?”

“Yeah,” he gasped, leaning back against the wall and loving her palm stroking up and down on the belly of his rock hard cock. A big one. A nice one. One she loved.

“Can I have my tape measure?”

He nodded, produced it again from his shorts pocket. She let his manhood alone and took it. “Thanks for doing that for me. I’m so forgetful.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, standing upright again, regaining his composure after she’d disarmed him by handling his erection. “No problem.”

“Come in with me.”

He scrunched his nose.

“Come in and have a drink. Then you can go.”

“Does he know I brought you a tape measure?”

She shook her head. “I told you he doesn’t. Why?”

Sully shoved his hands in his pockets, mouth squirming, brow lowering. “I don’t serve anyone.”

“You serve me.”

“I like you. . . . I don’t serve other men.”

“You only like me?”

He rolled his eyes, stepped into her space and put his arms around her. “The tape measure’s for you. You’re with him. It’s a proxy thing.”

“I get it, baby. I don’t want this to be weird. If you come in and have a drink, it won’t be.”

He huffed a big breath and slowly exhaled. “He’s not naked, is he?”

“No. Not yet.” She stepped back out of Sully’s clutch, running a hand along his forearm then clutching his hand, the two of them feet apart, connected by their loving grip. “You can leave anytime. . . . One drink.”

Sully waffled, his head lolling again, eyes rolling around. He considered it.

“One drink,” she said. “You can stay. You can go. It’s all up to you.”

Ever the analyst, Sully sucked his luscious lower lip into his mouth, his resolve weakening as his curiosity began to get the upper hand. What was his wife doing in there with this other man?

He took one step forward, she smiled, taking one step back. Then they were moving to the door, her pulling Sully along, showing him her desire to have her husband near her. With her. They stopped at the door.

Sully held her again, the hard belly of his cock pressed into her stomach. “One drink.”

“One drink,” she agreed. “Then it’s up to you.”

Their eyes stayed connected, Sully’s mind working a thousand miles an hour. He kissed her. She held his kiss for a long time, her lust spiraling out of control, ripping through her hayfields like a Kansas cyclone. When their mouths separated with a wet pop, they were both smiling. In this crazy thing together. Linked.

She reached behind her, levered the handle and pushed the door open. “Come on in with me,” she said. “Let’s see what happens next.”