Page 59 of Triple Threat

A bit more, slowly.

“Oh my God,” she rasped. I hesitated; it was important to not rush here.

“Is this okay?” I whispered. I felt her nod her head.

“Yeah, yeah, I’mveryokay,” she gasped softly. I pushed a bit more. She shifted her hips, and arched her back more, making more room to accommodate my size. The tension eased, and I sank the rest of my length into her. I could feel her tremble, and her breath fanned hot against my arm. She shuddered and moaned when I started to pull out again.

“That was almost all of it,” I said.

“Almost?” She was breathless.

“Almost,” I agreed.

“I want all of it.” She pushed back against me, and I obliged. I gave her the full length, gently, and slowly. There were too many instances in the past where I had not gauged such things correctly, and thinking size was everything I had rushed, become a battering ram or a jackhammer. Those women didn’t orgasm, they didn’t enjoy it, and eventually I realized that was what had been wrong.

I found my own pleasure not just from them, from the use of their lips and pussies and tits, but frompleasing them.Making them coo and come, that was far better and far more enjoyable. I learned I was capable of that. I kept my pace steady and slow. I would be able to go faster, but not yet. She still hadn’t fully relaxed enough to take me at anything more than gentle.

Lach didn’t have this problem, he didn’t have to be this cautious or considerate. He wasn’t small, and if the women had complaints, they were never about his equipment. He was, well, normal sized. Why in the bloody hell was I thinking about him at a time like this? I finally let the fullness of my cock fill Sadie, pushing until my hips were firm against hers.

“There is so much,” Sadie whispered. “It almost hurts.”

“I’m sorry, Poppet,” I said and eased my cock completely out of her.

“That didn’t meanstop, Conan.” She reached down between her legs to grasp my cock. “Put it back in, please.”

I entered her again, slowly as I had before. It seemed like a blissful eternity, giving her gentle slow half strokes, and listening to her make those delicate small sounds. I felt a certain tension start growing in the base of my cock, a tightening in my bollocks. I let myself flow into a meditative mindspace, focusing on my breathing, the steady movement of my body, and her body against mine.

“Oh shit,” I groaned as the spasm pulsed through me and I felt the first jet of cum. I hadn’t even thought of one of the condoms in the nightstand, and I knew she wasn’t on any sort of birth control; at least not to my knowledge anyway. I tried to pull out but I could only shudder as my orgasm wasn’t going to be denied or interrupted. I finally managed to get free of her pussy so that the last few squirts of cum decorated the inside of her thigh.

“Put it back, put it back in.” She sighed.

I was never one to disobey a lady, so I did. I quivered, my cock was powerfully sensitive, and she ground against me a few times, and I could feel our mess running out of her. She started clenching around me, and then she gave a shriek and all but collapsed against me.

“That was incredible,” she whispered and kissed my arm.

“It was,” I agreed, my own breath spent and my cock finally growing soft inside her.

“I am going to be hella sore.” She snuggled against me. “But totally worth it.”

I put my arms around her and smiled. There were things that wanted my attention, but they would have to wait. I wanted to stay in this moment, content, and spent.

Could this work?I certainly hoped it could.

Chapter Eighteen

Lach…

The Meerschaum Tobacconist was the sort of place that Roan would have adored, with its dark wood-paneled walls, antique brass light fixtures, and all that stately pompousness. It was expensive, hard to get into, and highly desired as a meeting place for self-important wheelers and dealers. The place was saturated with tobacco musk, from the boxes of cigars, to the drying room where there was some artisanal heirloom tobacco being dried and cured under highly controlled conditions. If I smoked, I might appreciate the amount of effort that was going into creating tubes of flammable leaves.

For me, the great appeal of the Meerschaum Tobacconist was their house bar. Getting a seat at that teak plank bar was a seat at the table of Odin. The wood had once been the deck of the battleship USS Maryland, recovered from Pearl Harbor, where she survived the battle. It was a neat piece of history. The thing I was waiting for was the neat glass of the house barrel aged gin. It was as dark as a nice scotch, and the herbal elements wedded to the time it spent in the barrel, perfection.

The person I was here to meet was likewise perfection.

Kaijin had beaten me to the Tobacconist, and she was a piece of art. She could have stepped out of a 1930s pulp art review, in a metallic green silk cocktail dress, trimmed with gold and geometric patterns at the neck and down the seam. Her makeup had the same elegant precision and accented her eyes.

There were tiger women and dragon women, and all the rest of the racist sexist commentary, but seeing her look at me with those almost black eyes, I saw the truth. Kaijin was a serpent – cold, calculating, and without weakness. “I am most glad to see you, Mister Lachlan,” she said with a modest accent

“Always a delight, madam,” I offered her a polite bow. I gave her a smile, fairly high power. This was a new game, a new dance. And I knew more of the truth about her, the truth behind all the makeup and performance. Her name really wasn’t Kaijin, she wasn’t any form of Asian. She was American by birth, raised and educated in France, with a degree in theater, and then a strange jag off into the French Foreign Legion. I considered blowing the ruse open with a few lines of Mandarin, or Vietnamese, just for laughs.

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