He parted her swollen labia with his fingers and dipped two of them deep inside, buried all the way to his knuckles. She was slippery and wet and so very hot. Her muscles clamped around his fingers even as he pressed deeper. She arched her back as he slowly fucked her with his hand, dragging her juices out along her passage with each slow sweep of his fingers. When she was truly wet, her swollen lips dripping and glistening, Ulrich straightened up.
He wrapped his fist around the base of his erection and felt his abdominal muscles clench in response. Slowly he pressed his hard cock against her creamy sex, dragging the smooth crown back and forth over her slick opening. He was big, the head of his cock swollen with blood, round and dark as a ripe plum. He didn’t want to hurt her. They’d never had sex before tonight—hell, he hadn’t known her before tonight—and he wasn’t sure how pliable she was, how much of him she could take.
Her mate was average, his erect cock not all that big—around six or seven inches in length. Camille had taken him with ease, merely sitting back on his erection until he’d slipped beyond her tight sphincter muscle and arrowed deep inside her dark passage.
Concerned for his unfamiliar partner’s pleasure, Ulrich pressed forward, carefully forcing his cock’s broad crown against hot, wet flesh. The woman continued feasting on Camille’s snatch and he pushed harder, until she raised her hips and shoved back against him.
His cock slid part way in and he felt her sex enfold him like a warm glove. Her slick tissues parted, then tightened around his length in undulating waves of pressure. Ulrich wrapped his big hands around her slim hips, grabbed hold to anchor himself and thrust harder, pressing forward until his balls slapped against her smooth lips. She grunted, raised her head, and turned to look at Ulrich with an expression of surprised pleasure. “You’re a big one, aren’t you? I like that.” She arched her back and practically growled. “Give it to me. Do it hard.”
Then she turned back to Camille, licking and sucking with such total abandon that Ulrich heard the wet, slurping sounds she made, the low hum of pleasure that seemed to vibrate out of her throat. Her mate continued slowly fucking Camille’s ass with a look of utter bliss on his face.
Ulrich caught the man’s rhythm and fucked his partner, slamming his hips against her smooth buttocks, rotating his pelvis against her for even more penetration. The pace sped up until they’d become a virtual fucking machine, the four of them there on the bed in a cheap hotel where’d they’d met purely by accident.
A chance encounter in a bar, one they’d never had the opportunity to repeat. But Ulrich recalled the feel of the stranger’s smooth, tight pussy clenching his cock. He still heard the sounds they’d all made—grunts and moans and breaths catching, the smells of clean bodies and hot sex. Most of all, he remembered watching Camille climax, sharing the rippling spasms of her clenching pussy, the woman’s busy tongue licking and twirling through slick folds of flesh and, through their mindlink, feeling Camille’s orgasm all the way to his toes.
The man had come next. Ulrich could still see the way his mouth twisted in a silent rictus, a soundless cry of release, remember how he’d worried the stranger’s fingers might have gripped Camille’s breasts too tight, that she’d be left with bruises.
The woman’s climax had surprised him. She’d suddenly arched her back and screamed, then thrashed wildly against his cock as if trying to break free. Some sixth sense had made him hold her, made him ramp up his speed until he was slamming into her spasming pussy with everything he had. His long fingers dug into her slender hips, his balls hit her clit on every downward stroke, the head of his cock rammed solidly against her womb.
He’d raised his eyes just as his own climax began and looked directly into Camille’s beaming smile. “I love you,” she’d said, the thoughts whirling in his mind while the hot coil of orgasm tightened his balls and blasted out the end of his cock.
Later, they’d bathed and, with hugs and kisses, parted ways, all of them sexually satisfied but realizing there was nothing more to hold them together. He didn’t even remember their names. It was the seventies, after all, the height of the sexual revolution. Swinging probably wasn’t the smartest activity for a young police lieutenant or his wife, but the memories were precious to him, even now.
He’d held that night in his fantasies for years, pulling it out when the time was right. But here and now, in these memories Anton secretly shared, Ulrich missed only Camille. Missed her scent, her taste, her touch and smile, her sass and her brass.
His memories slipped back to that walk in the park, the day after. “I wish they’d been Chanku.” Ulrich’s soft words carried a lifetime of pain. “I wish we knew of others like us, others we could share this amazing world with. As good as the sex was, it can never be anything more.”
“If we find someone, I hope it’s a woman with a tongue like hers. I’d be willing to share our bed with someone like that.”
Laughing, Ulrich grabbed Camille’s hand and they’d walked on through the park. A private, very personal memory between a man and his beloved wife.
Feeling much like the voyeur he was, Anton slipped free of Ulrich’s memories, arched his spine and stretched as if coming awake from a brief nap.
When he opened his eyes, Ulrich was walking back inside the hospital. There was a smile on his face and a bounce to his step. Anton reached for his wallet and the card with Millie West’s phone number. It looked as if he was going to need it.
Chapter 2
Bay climbed off of the big GS 1200 motorcycle in front of the small diner Anton had suggested he check out, slipped his helmet off and stretched. The pop of vertebrae crackling as he arched his back sounded overly loud, but it felt so good he did it again. Just three days to cover almost three thousand miles from San Francisco to New York and he was absolutely exhausted. Still, he felt energized. He practically vibrated with a sense of expectation.
Anton’s call this morning had given Bay a destination much more specific than what he’d managed to glean out of the newspaper article and off the Internet at the hotel where he’d stayed his first night on the road.
Hell, he couldn’t even recall what state that one had been in, much less the town. The trip itself was merely a blur of miles covered, a few hours’ sleep at roadside hotels and meals best forgotten when he actually remembered to eat. He’d crossed mountains and desert, wide open plains and thick forest, changed two flat tires and gotten lost once when road construction sent him on an impatient detour, but he stood here on the sidewalk in Rome, New York with the firm belief he was only a couple hours at most from his destination.
All roads lead to Rome. Maybe, but with that thought in mind, Bay felt positive this spot was really the beginning of the final leg of his journey. He locked his helmet to the bike and stuffed his thick leather gloves into the tank bag. Then, rubbing his bare palm over his stubbly chin, he headed inside the diner. A cold wind blew but the late spring sun heated his leather riding suit. Still, it felt good to close the door on the chilly morning. He nodded to a redheaded waitress behind the counter, noted the half dozen patrons seated about the small restaurant and then grabbed a loose newspaper lying on a chair by the front door. He took a seat near the window where he could keep an eye on the bike.
It was only eleven in the morning, but he’d been riding since around four and it felt good to sit on something that didn’t vibrate. The redhead brought him strong, black coffee without being asked and handed him a menu printed on plain, white paper.
Bay smelled bacon cooking and his mouth watered, but he flashed a grin at the waitress and got an interested smile in return. He glanced over the menu and sipped at the surprisingly good coffee, then opened the newspaper. His breath literally caught in his throat when he saw the picture.
Not the same shot,