BISEXUAL ROMANCE: Soaking Wet (Threesome, MMF Bisexual Threesome, Gay Romance, Menage) Read online

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  Copyright © 2015 by Sophia Wolf – All rights reserved

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  SOAKING WET

  BISEXUAL ROMANCE

  BY SOPHIA WOLF

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 1

  Airports are dismal no matter when you’re trying to navigate them, but on that afternoon, with rain pouring down outside, and hundreds of people milling around the baggage claim area at O’Hare, and spilling out to try to catch cabs or meet friends, returning home was a particularly grim situation for me. I’d been gone for three days. It was supposed to be five, but my business trip ended rather unexpectedly when the President of the company suffered a heart attack — not fatal, thank goodness — and canceled his appearance at the conference.

  Since much of what had been planned revolved around his attendance, the conference organizers decided that anyone who wasn’t involved in the rest of the programming could go on home.

  I very nearly decided to stay, but it was August in Dallas, and when I stepped outside the hotel and my eyeballs felt like they’d been turned into raisins, I turned around and made my return trip reservations before lunch. I lucked into a mid-afternoon flight, and I was back in Chicago by five, just in time to catch the rush hour traffic. I didn’t mind, though, so long as someone else was driving. I was going to be able to sleep in my own bed that night, with my own boyfriend.

  I’d missed Hank; he and I were so well suited that I couldn’t imagine life without him. He was smart and funny, and nice to look at, though not oppressively good looking. He had thick blond hair and gray-blue eyes with dark lashes and brows, which I always thought was very cool. I liked the way he looked.

  I liked the way he made love too, and our sex life was still exciting even three years after we’d moved in together. To be honest it was that more than the weather in Dallas that made me decide to come home early. I missed sexy time with Hank.

  My cab crawled through traffic. It was so overcast that all the streetlights and headlights were on, and the colors shimmered in the pools of water on the pavement. I liked rainy days, they made me feel dreamy. I thought about what Hank would say when I got in, probably not long after he got home from work.

  “Surprise!” I’d say, and he’d spin me around in his arms, kissing my face and saying how much he’d missed me. Then we’d order dinner and while we waited for it to arrive, we’d have sex. Then after we ate, we’d do it again, and maybe we’d watch some TV, and after the news, we’d go to bed and make love half the night.

  Yeah, I had it all planned out. What I hadn’t planned was arriving home and finding Hank in our bed with some woman. They were going at it too, sixteen to the dozen, her moaning and screaming, which I suppose, was why they didn’t hear me come in. I very nearly said, “What are you doing?” I was so shocked that I’d turned into an idiot.

  Finally I settled on “Hey!” and Hank almost flew off of her. If I hadn’t been so angry it might have been funny. If I hadn’t been so heartsick, and angry, and feeling so completely betrayed, it might have been funny. But it wasn’t.

  “Who the hell is this?” I demanded as Hank scrambled to cover himself. “And don’t bother, I’ve seen everything of yours. You might want to throw that sheet over your girlfriend, though.”

  “What are you doing home? You’re not supposed to be here until Friday.”

  It was my fault?? “I heard you were cheating on me and I decided to come home and shoot you.”

  “What?” he yelled, and his girlfriend screamed and flew out of the bed and the bedroom, stark naked. That was kind of funny.

  “Who told you?”

  “Jesus, how many of our friends know you fuck around on me? Who gets taken off the Christmas card list, Hank?”

  He fell back on the old this-isn’t-what-it-looks-like line and I said, “It looks like you were screwing someone who wasn’t me in our bed. Did I get that wrong?”

  “Well… no.”

  “I don’t get it. We have a good thing going, and you give it all up for some stupid skank who’s running up and down the hallway, naked, screaming because she thinks I’m going to kill you.”

  “I didn’t plan to give anything up,” he said. His jaw had taken on the sullen stiffness that said he was getting annoyed with me. Like he had any right to be annoyed.

  “Well I have some news for you, you just did.” I marched out of the bedroom and picked up my suitcase.

  “Holly! HOLLY!” he shouted, trailing after me in his towel. I went out into the hallway where his girlfriend was standing, trying to cover herself with her arms. When she saw me she started screaming again, and I yelled at her to shut up.

  “Holly! Wait, Holly.”

  “What do you think you can say to me to make this better, Hank?”

  “Can’t we talk about this?”

  I reached past him and pulled the door shut. Hearing it lock was one of the sweetest things ever.

  “I don’t think we can. Good luck getting back into the apartment,” I said and stormed off, back out into the rain.

  Chapter 2

  So maybe it wasn’t so smart to walk out like that. I was soaked to the skin within a few minutes, and I had no idea where I was going to go. I walked over to Michigan Avenue and stood there watching the traffic sweep past. What was I going to do? I’d have to go to a hotel until I could figure out what was going to happen next.

  “Holly? Holly Foxworth?”

  Oh my God, the last thing I needed was to run into someone I knew. I stole a glance in the direction of the voice. “Greg?” Greg and I had dated in high school but I hadn’t seen him in years. I’d always thought he was the best looking boy I ever knew, and he’d grown into a devastatingly handsome man with black, curly hair and clear blue eyes that could stare holes through you. It was hypnotic. I couldn’t look away.

  “What are you doing out in this weather?”

  “Running away from home,” I said with brightness I didn’t feel. “You?”

  “You’re soaking wet.”

  Like I hadn’t noticed. I was about to say something smart-assed, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to be funny about this. “I know,” I said, and made it worse by breaking down into tears right there on the street corner. I sobbed and I sobbed, telling Greg the story and making no sense at all. But it didn’t matter; I had to get it out even if I was unintelligible. And maybe it was better garbled after all.

  “Come on, come with me.” He hurried me across the street and into the Hancock.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I live here. We’re going to my apartment and getting you dried off.”

  I didn’t even have the energy to protest the plan. Just then he was of
fering me what I wanted, sanctuary, and someone willing to take responsibility for me, someone to tell me what I should do until I was ready to start thinking again.

  Mercifully the elevator was empty so no one but Greg saw me sobbing on the way up to his condo.

  “Come on,” he said leading me to the bathroom. “I’ll get you something to wear. Just take your things off and get dry.”

  “I have—” I began. “I have— I have—” It was like a case of emotional hiccups. “Suitcase.” I opened it to pull out some dry things and found that everything in it was soaked. There was a big tear in the side that I hadn’t noticed, and it must’ve been leaking the whole time I was walking through the rain. “My things!” I wailed.

  “Get dry,” Greg said again, and disappeared.

  I stripped off my wet things. The cloth stuck to me and I had to fight my way out of everything. I went from heartbroken to angry at my underwear, and back again.

  I was toweling off when Greg knocked and stuck his hand into the bathroom. “This is all clean. It’ll be big on you, but I put a safety pin in the shorts in case you need it.” He waved his hand and I grabbed what he’d brought, a white tee and a pair of boxer shorts.

  Once I got dried off I slipped them on and had to admit that I looked kind of cute in the oversize clothes. Men’s shorts might just be a nice summer cover-up at the beach.

  By the time I was ready to leave the bathroom I’d pulled myself together, and the first thing I did when I joined Greg in the living room was apologize. “I know I looked like a lunatic,” I began but he held a hand up.

  “It’s fine. We all have bad days. Come and have a glass of wine and we can talk.” That voice, that dark, velvety voice… in spite of my upset, Greg’s voice made me feel tendrils of desire again. That was bad. I was so off men at that moment.

  I settled down on the couch with my wine. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”

  “I moved in about six months ago. I assume you live nearby.”

  “Gold Coast. A rental. How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?” I knew exactly how long it had been. Second year of college. We’d had a huge fight over… well, to be honest I wasn’t sure anymore what it had been about.

  “I think it was sophomore year. You were dating one of your professors.”

  I covered my face with my hand. “Don’t remind me. I was going through a Marguerite Duras/Francoise Sagan phase, and it was all so desperately romantic to be in love with an older man. Except it wasn’t.”

  “No, I don’t imagine it was.” He smiled and I remembered how crazy I’d been about him. “So, do you want to talk about it or…?”

  I took a big gulp of wine. “I came home from a business trip to find my boyfriend in bed with some other woman.”

  “Ouch. And was he at least contrite?”

  “No. Apparently it was my fault for coming home early.”

  “Double ouch. Why didn’t you kick his ass out of the apartment instead of leaving yourself?”

  “I didn’t even think about staying, to be honest. I wanted to get out of there.” Then I told him about how I locked Hank and his naked girlfriend out of the apartment, and Greg threw back his head and laughed until he went crimson.

  “That’s perfect! Man, remind me never to piss you off like that.”

  Somehow I felt a whole lot better now that I’d told my story. I felt less foolish and angry for sure, though the hurt lingered. I finished my glass of wine and held it out for a refill. Enough wine and I’d even stop hurting.

  “You love him?” Greg asked.

  “I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Do you think love just stops like that?” I had the sense that he was genuinely interested in my response, as if it was a. he’d grappled with.

  “No, not really. Which is why I’m no longer sure that I loved him in the first place. Y’know what? I’m tired of talking about Hank. Let’s talk about you. What have you been doing?”

  “Corporate position. I’m the Chief Operating Officer of Halliwell Therapeutics.”

  Impressive, though I’d always suspected Greg would do well. “Well done, you. Great job, great place to live. Are you married? No, you would have brought me a woman’s robe or something if there was one available.”

  “You’re right, I’m not married, Miss Sherlock. I was, briefly, but it didn’t work out.”

  I wanted to ask why, but I wasn’t drunk enough for that, not yet anyway.

  Greg asked if I wanted some dinner.

  “Have you eaten?” I asked”

  “Yes, that’s where I was coming from when I met you. There’s a restaurant I like in the nine hundred building.”

  “Then no. I’m not really hungry, but if you were having something I’d pick.”

  “You’re welcome to whatever is in the fridge.”

  “Thanks,” I said, aware that there was an uncomfortable silence settling on us. It wasn’t that we had nothing to say to each other, I was pretty certain of that. Rather, I had the feeling that there was something still there between us, which needed to be acknowledged. “Greg…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you remember why we broke up?” It had only just come back to me.

  “Sure. Of course. We were both looking in other directions. You to your professor and me—”

  “To other guys. How did that work out for you?”

  “Pretty well. Better than your professor, I’m guessing.”

  “Is it an exclusive thing?”

  “By no means. I’m an equal opportunity lover.” He gave me a considering look over the rim of his glass, and asked, “Why?”

  “I have this sense that you and I have some unfinished business, but if it’s over for you, it’s over. I’m not someone who—”

  Before I could finish the thought he had moved in close and wrapped an arm around my waist.

  “I was hoping you’d say something,” he told me before the first kiss.

  And the fire was still burning, after all these years. What had been banked, flared and roared between us with kisses so hungry that I felt I could devour him whole, and he me. My whole body began to thrum with desire as we lay back on the couch and kissed until my lips grew hot and swollen.

  “After all these years,” I said aloud, and Greg replied, “I’ve thought about you a lot, wishing I could have done better. Wishing I had another chance.”

  “You have it,” I whispered. I was ready for anything, and not just out of a desire for revenge. I longed to sleep with Greg again. “Bedroom?”

  “Yes, come on.” He pulled me to my feet and we danced our way into the bedroom, lips locked, bodies pressed together. I wanted to feel his skin on mine, so I began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and as we tumbled onto the bed, I tore it off of him.

  It wasn’t the wine that made me forget Hank and what he’d done, it was Greg, and it was the combination of memory and the sensory overload. I couldn’t be heartsick if I tried. Touching Greg was like touching my own past, and it was exciting and comforting.

  I let go of everything that had happened that afternoon, and fell into our lovemaking with a clear mind and heart. And it was good.

  Chapter 3

  When I woke, the sun was shining, and it matched my mood. The sex had been terrific, and my body felt like a well-tuned, well-oiled machine. I replayed the match in my head, lingering over my favorite bits like the way Greg gave head. He’d always eaten pussy really well, but now?

  He could go pro with that mouth of his. I felt so loose, so relaxed and satisfied. I wouldn’t need sex again for days, maybe weeks.

  Except, I wanted more. I wanted to spend the day the way I’d spent the night, on top of Greg, under Greg, tied in knots with Greg. I rolled over and discovered that he was not in bed with me, but that he’d put down a few towels so I didn’t have to sleep in the wet spots.

  I could smell coffee, so I figured he was out in the kitchen making breakfast. I got up and strolled out th
ere in the all together like the minx I was — or at least the minx I felt like being that morning — and just as I rounded the corner and said, “Who do I have to fuck to get a cup of coffee?” I realized that he was not alone.

  There was another man in the kitchen. He was sitting on the counter and he and Greg were in a lip-lock.

  “Oh hell,” I said, grabbing the dishtowel off the refrigerator door, and trying to get it to cover all the important bits. “Um… sorry.” I ran back to the bedroom and crawled under the covers. I didn’t know if I should be embarrassed or disappointed, or upset.

  Or some combination of all three? Or maybe, and I didn’t even know how to process this, was I feeling excited at the sight of them kissing?

  I knew two men together were like catnip for a couple of the women I knew, but until that morning, I’d never understood the attraction. I was suddenly getting it, though, and it was… interesting.

  I heard the door open and Greg walked in. “Hey, Holly, are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I said from under the covers.

  He pulled them down and sat down on the bed. “Honey, you know how it is with me. I like it all. I always have.”