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That was the problem with fantasies.
“Nice,” Lancelot repeated.
Hugo’s smile turned into a frown. “Ah yes. Nice is not always a good thing in English.”
Dammit, she wasn’t hiding her feelings, and because of that, had hurt theirs. “It is in this case. It was really good.”
Hugo folded his arms. “I think that is worse, yes?”
“Yes,” Lancelot replied. He stood up and joined them on the couch, leaning toward her, peering at her face as if he could see into her brain. “You’re disappointed.”
“Not at all.” And she wasn’t really. How many women could say they’d had a night of intimate, emotional sex with two men? Very few.
It was hardly Hugo and Lancelot’s fault that her fantasies about a ménage had always gone a different way.
“She is.” Hugo looked affronted. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she stammered. “I was just surprised by some of what happened.”
“What surprised you?” Hugo asked.
“It’s just that there was so much…talking.”
“You’re a poet,” Hugo said. “Words are your forte. Your medium.”
“I know, I know.” Sylvia felt flushed and foolish, rising, needing to put some distance between her and them. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”
“Oh no, we’re going to talk about this.” Lancelot rose as well, crowding into her personal space. He loomed over her, huge and a little threatening.
Sylvia swallowed, her mouth dry. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Dr. Marchand.” Lancelot didn’t take his eyes off her. “What do you think? Because I think she wants something from us, something she’s hiding.”
“Not exactly hiding.” Hugo’s tone had taken on a distant, academic tone. They were talking about her, not to her. Discussing her as if she wasn’t right there.
Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest, hoping to hide the way her nipples had gone hard.
“Rather, I believe she is embarrassed,” Hugo continued.
“Embarrassed.” Lancelot seemed to savor the word.
“She was very open with us yesterday,” Hugo continued. “Admitting a desire to have sex with two men, for some, would be a source of shame. To admit any physical desire is dangerous for a woman, given current social norms and the policing of women’s bodies and needs.”
“Uh-huh.” Lancelot hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “So what you’re saying is that she wants something even kinkier than two men.”
Hugo rose and stretched, raising his arms over his head. The movement emphasized his size. If it wasn’t for Lancelot standing there, she would have described Hugo as large and muscular. The dichotomy of Spartan warrior body and Greek philosopher mind had been one of the reasons she, and half the other people taking his class, had been so enamored with him.
She was staring at the small strip of skin that had been exposed when his shirt rode up. She wanted to lick him right there. She wanted to lick him, and then he’d force her to lower the zipper of his pants with her teeth. He’d pull her hair, force his cock into her mouth, and then Lancelot would—
Sylvia darted around Hugo. “I should, uh, go…somewhere.”
Hugo chuckled. “It’s your house.”
“Don’t let her leave this room,” Lancelot said darkly.
Hugo stepped into her path without saying a word, his big body blocking her route back to the kitchen.
Hugo was in front of her, Lancelot behind her. She couldn’t get away. Dammit, this was so fucking hot.
