Page 18 of Triple Threat

Too long it would seem.

What would her lips feel like; what would her kiss taste like? How would her pussy taste? Her lips around my cock. It had been entirely too long since I had a woman go down on me. I stroked faster, squeezed tighter. The shower beat against my back, wreathing me in steam.

I thought of taking her from behind, holding those hips, giving her everything I had. I shuddered again, imagining the sensation against my soapy grip on my shaft. Was she shy? Was she dirty? Would she wrap her legs around me? Would she look up from sucking my cock and tell me to come on her face?

I felt my balls tighten, that tension chasing its way up from the base of my spine.

“Oh God,” I grunted and I came. My good knee felt rubbery as my orgasm blew out of me like an exorcism. “Fuck.” My voice was thick and raspy. I was glad that no one had seen that, and some of the lingering thoughts I had about Sadie sank a stone of shame in my stomach. She was important to Lach, and we’d never had the same girl. It was an all but unspoken rule between us.

Not a hard rule to keep, considering how little I pursued women these days.

I finished the shower cold. I shaved; taking the red stubble away made me feel younger and more aggressive. Old Conan had a rough beard, didn’t keep clean-shaven. He was a different person, he wasn’t me. It took me longer than normal to bring myself back to centered. I couldn’t hide in my old world forever. Sadie needed to be brought something to eat, and facing her would be arduous as usual. Nothing seemed to damp her ire.

She looked up at me as I entered her room, her gaze tracing my face. “I think I liked you better with a bit of scruff. This makes you seem more civilized.”

I felt my lips twist, and I tamped the smile down into a disapproving expression, one that I admit was becoming harder and harder to hold onto.

“What’s this?” Sadie asked as I delivered her dinner.

“It’s a slice of Alabama prime rib, served en sandwich with fromage Americano and a plain aioli,” I said. “With petite salted frites.”

“That’s a really fancy way of saying ‘bologna sandwich,’” she said, looking at it with some mild interest. “At least it’s normal and not half moldy out of a trashcan.”

I winced inwardly at the images she conjured, but kept my expression stoic.

Sadie glowered at me. “It’s bad enough you’ve kidnapped me, are holding me against my will, dress me up like a Victoria’s Secret model, and have beensuperinvasive.” Her expression softened. “I guess a little normal is… nice.”

“Last time I attempted to make you somethingnice, you trashed my kitchen and threatened me with my own knives,” I said. “Bad business that.”

She smirked. “So, this was meant to be some kind of punishment? Food that’s not someone’s leftovers?” She rolled her eyes and said, “Get over yourself.”

“Oh, Iamsorry.” I gave her a mocking bow. “I told you how this would work, and you decided to ignore what I said. So, this is what you get. You get basic fare, locked doors and a chemise thin enough that I could use you as a thermostat, do you understand?” I asked.

“I hate your stupid games,” she said, looking away from me.

“It is not my game; I didn’t set the rules. I am playing by them as well,” I said.

“Who’s in charge then?” she asked.

“Lach is in charge,” I said. “He brought you, he set the terms, and he left.”

“I don’t know a Lock,” she said, frustrated.

“He knew you, he knew your name,” I said. “And he said that you were to be brought back to health and your hair returned to its natural color. I have brought your health back, but the hair dye wasn’t quite to his liking, said it looked like an amateur did it.” Her hand went to her hair, grabbing at it absently.

“It doesn’t look bad, actually,” she said. “It’s better than it was. This Lock sounds like a real jerk.”

“Thank you,” I said. “At leastsomeonenow appreciates the work I’ve had to put into this.”

“The chicken the other day was good,” she said. “It really was. I haven’t had anything like that before, definitely haven’t had anything this nice in years.” She nudged the tray with her toe. I grimaced inwardly at that. A bologna sandwich was nice?

“The chicken is a comfort food I like to make,” I said. “There are many other things like that that I know how to do.”

“Like what?” she asked. “I don’t always get to eat that well. This is usually my level of gourmet.” She nudged the tray with her toe again, sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, huddling in on herself.

“I’ll make you a proposition,” I said. “I’ll answer your question, if you’ll answer a question for me, one for one.”

“Like truth or dare, just no dares?” she asked, looking skeptical. I nodded in agreement. “Fine, what else can you cook?”

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