Grace

 

He could have ignored my stupid text messages, far away on the sand somewhere. He could have put it down to an idiot hostess attempt and shrugged it off as nothing.

But he didn’t.

I couldn’t hold back the grin as Thomas Heath appeared in reception with his coat collar high, shrugging off his outer layers without a word as I fought the urge to leap up and down on the spot.

I didn’t know what was coming over me. It was bizarre. A seemingly mindless attempt to forge a human relationship with someone inhuman. Yet still, I couldn’t stop.

“You couldn’t resist the honeycomb temptation,” I goaded with a laugh.

He didn’t laugh back, but he did manage a flash of a smile.

“I couldn’t resist the lure of a pretty little pussy, regardless of whether its owner insists on spooning ice cream down my throat.”

His words zipped right through me, my pride blooming bright, even though it was little more than a joke.

It didn’t feel like a joke.

He couldn’t resist. Couldn’t resist me.

I was still grinning like a fool when Brett stepped on through with a pile of receipts in his hand. He started when he saw our returning guest, raising an eyebrow but offering a nod without any outward sign of bristling.

“You came back for sprinkles, then? Just as well, or she’d have sent a search party down the beach.”

“I’ll bear that in mind next time I get an invitation,” Thomas said back, and it kept my grin at full throttle.

Next time.

I couldn’t stop myself wondering how many next times there would be. This week, or maybe another. If there was another.

If we’d ever see him once he checked out this second time round.

If he’d run back to the city and never come back.

If he knew us at all. If he ever had.

“I’m not much of a fan of desserts,” he told me. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

I didn’t recognise my own filthy mouth as it took on a life of its own. “I’m not much of a fan of taking two dicks in an already wrecked body, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

Brett was silent for a long moment, and so was Thomas. Both of them staring like I was an alien minx beamed down from the stars.

It was me who laughed first, long and loud, with tears pricking my eyes at the absurdity of this whole situation and how it had changed us all.

“She’s quite the siren, your wife,” Thomas said, and it set me off all the more.

“She is this week,” he replied, and I caught sight of the glint in his eyes.

Their low laughter was the world. Their lust for me was the moon in my sky, pushing and pulling my tides, my whole body reeling with crazy sensations.

Confidence.

It was confidence.

Relief.

Priorities reordered.

Love.

Life.

The excitement of two hot bodies pressed to mine.

It was everything.

And nothing.

The whole universe laughing at itself in my belly.

“I’m sorry,” I wheezed, but they didn’t make a move to stop me. They were steady, smiling back at me with a hint of puzzlement that tickled me that little bit harder.

And then there were more people there. Guests returning from the beach and finding us hovering there in reception, me lost to words as Brett stepped behind the counter and handled their enquiries about a dinner venue.

I met Thomas Heath’s eyes as I swallowed my laughter, and his were bright. Hard. Burning.

His were enough to set me spinning, wanting more of him along with my gorgeous husband.

Not later, but then.

Right then and there.

I forced myself to look away from him and wave away our guests to the pub in the village with a decent semblance of a professional smile. One day I wouldn’t be doing that, sending them away to eat elsewhere. They’d be staying right here, no matter if I had to scour the whole world to find someone for our kitchen.

I couldn’t risk looking back at Heath, so I didn’t. I slipped out from behind the counter and led the way into the dining room, gesturing to my array of pudding supplies with a flourish.

“You really did go all out, didn’t you?” our blonde guest said, and I nodded.

“Always.”

A look passed between the two men that set my heart on fire. It wasn’t bitter, nor competitive, simply two men sharing their humour at the zany woman in front of them.

It was perfect.

My fingers were shaking as I dug the honeycomb ice cream from the freezer and attempted the three desserts. I felt like a fool, a total idiot as I slavered on the honey topping, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping the mood right between the three of us as I handed over my creations and pointed to the window seat Thomas chose every morning.

I watched him eat, my knee pressed to my husband’s under the table, foot tapping as I weighed up the potential of him casting this off as nothing. Saying my ice cream was shit. Provoking an argument out of nowhere.

He didn’t. Neither of them did.

“You can keep the ice cream duties for yourself once you finally manage to snare a decent chef,” Thomas said when he was halfway through.

“I can?”

It was Brett who nodded his agreement. “Very nice.”

It was preposterous. A couple of scoops of ice cream and a dusting of stupid sprinkles. Just something from a kid’s party no matter what kind of mid-afternoon adult treat spin I wanted to put on it.

If only it were the only mid-afternoon treat I had in mind.

I looked at the clock on the far wall. Approaching four p.m., which left a few quiet hours before guests returned and made themselves ready for the bar after dinner. It left a few hours I wanted to fill, and parts of me I wanted to fill with them.

I really was officially crazy, thrumming with desire for something I shouldn’t want in a million years, especially not with a man we’d despised in those early days, and who Brett still thought was a blast from the past come back to tear us down.

Still, I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

Getting to my feet was dithery, my sundae spoon clanking against the glass as I gathered up the other empty bowls and retreated to the kitchen to put them ready for the dishwasher.

It was when I pushed back through the kitchen door that I found them shoulder to shoulder in silence, both of them with eyes on mine as I pulled myself up sharp.

We couldn’t.

Shouldn’t.

My ass was still sore as I clenched it, but my pussy was fluttering through the ache, begging for more.

I really was a slut this week.

“It’s afternoon…” I began, risking speaking empty thoughts to nothing if they weren’t on my wavelength.

My mind may have been dubious, but my flesh was reading the broadsheet. I knew they were with me, down deep where it mattered.

My feet took an instinctive step backward as my husband made his move. “The reception door buzzes our suite,” he said. “It’s our most sensible venue.”

Most sensible, but most dirty, having Thomas Heath in our own private space. I nodded regardless.

“You mean now? Right now?”

“We ate your ice cream,” Thomas rasped, taking a step forward of his own. “I’m with your husband, I think it’s about time your pretty mouth returned the gesture.”

With your husband.

It was the only hint of camaraderie I’d ever heard uttered between the two of them, and it was more than enough to keep me moving, keep me retreating to my usual space.

I just hoped we wouldn’t regret opening our personal doors to someone so determined to break them down.

Our living room was more of a mess than I’d have liked. Clothes draped over the sofa as I retreated through to the bedroom. Luckily, Thomas Heath didn’t seem to mind my untidiness, his gaze all on me as he followed me through.

Maybe I shouldn’t have taken him through to our most intimate area. Maybe the living room itself would have done. But as I crossed the threshold into our deepest private territory, I knew it was a good call.

It sizzled here.

Burned here.

His presence felt dirty and bursting with life in here.

I was shivering all over as I dropped to my knees on the mattress and both men stepped up to join me.

And my mouth was already open wide for cream number two when they dropped their pants.