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Suddenly, Glenn’s passion burst out of his iron control. His already-hard erection almost pushed its way out of his pants, it wanted inside Morgan so bad. His arms tightened around the leaner man. Their faces pressed in for a harsh, nose-knocking, teeth-clashing kiss.
In seconds, they had ripped their T-shirts and sweats off and were lying on the floor, the bottle of oil snatched off the shelf and in Glenn’s hand. Morgan widened his legs, holding his knees up over his clenched forearms, his hole looking so enticing that Glenn had to clamp down hard on his emotions or the party would be over before it began. Not that he would be able to last long anyway, they were both so aroused.
Just sliding his slippery finger into that tight pucker was almost enough to make him lose it. Glenn forced himself to slow down, to breathe deeply, and to lube Morgan properly. But hell, it was hard to make himself take the time when his aching dick was beating like a drum, demanding, “Now, now, now.”
When a third finger slid smoothly into Morgan’s dark channel, Glenn allowed himself to relax a little, rolling a condom over his engorged cock and pouring some oil over the latex.
“Hurry up. I’m dying here,” groaned Morgan, stroking his hand up and down his own cock. Watching him caused Glenn’s heart to pound harder and he wouldn’t have thought that possible. Not that he could think much, anyway. All his blood had headed south minutes ago and wasn’t coming back any time soon.
Roughly, Glenn pulled Morgan onto his lap, holding his dick in his hand. “Incoming,” he murmured, pushing past those tight sphincter muscles and sliding deep into Morgan’s welcoming heat.
Morgan wrapped his long legs around Glenn’s hips, pressing down to take every inch of Glenn inside himself. “Feels so good.”
“Hell yeah.” Glenn thrust up hard, using his hips, thighs, and leg muscles.
The men set off with a violent, animal pace, thrusting together, bodies sheening with sweat instantly, muscles taut and straining. They wrapped an arm around each other and joined their other hands on Morgan’s cock, pulling together, tugging on it, twisting their grips in the same rhythm they pounded in and out of Morgan’s ass.
“Too much, too good. Gonna blow,” groaned Morgan.
“Me, too.”
Glenn pushed up hard with all his power, jack-hammering into Morgan once, twice more, then Morgan’s cock jetted between their bodies and Glenn’s did the same deep inside Morgan. He thrust up a few more times and kept his hand over Morgan’s, and Morgan spurted once more, then they leaned into each other, hearts racing, bodies shaking.
“I think we just ran the four-minute mile,” gasped Morgan.
“Four minutes? Hell, we must be slowing down in our old age,” joked Glenn, swiping sweat off his forehead.
They disentangled their bodies, then Glenn said, “Let’s have a shower, and then we need to decide what show we’ll get tickets for and what hotel we’ll stay in.”
* * * *
Work was really busy, but for the first time in years, Xonra’s mind kept wandering off task. Wandering to Morgan’s blond hair, pale blue eyes, fair skin, lean runner’s build, deceptive, wiry strength, and perceptive remarks. Wandering to Glenn’s broad shoulders, muscular build, tanned skin, chocolate eyes, and his black hair with the little touches of gray in it. Not to mention his sharp mind and equally sharp childhood holiday memories that brought back her own happy thoughts of MaryAnne.
Oh, the bedroom time had been beyond her wildest expectations. Never before had she experienced three orgasms in a night, although she knew some women regularly did. She also knew others who never had an orgasm just with sex. So she’d considered herself pretty lucky, really, to generally orgasm. But three. Wow! “Mind-blowing” didn’t even come close. Besides, they weren’t just hot in bed, they were smart, witty, and good companions. She could never stay with a man who didn’t engage her mind as well as her body. And these two had. In spades.
But what happened next? She still had Morgan’s card, with his work and cell phone numbers on it. And his sister’s number as well. She smiled at the memory of her call to his sister Jayne and their feminine bonding by the end of the few moments. So she could call him, easily. Somehow, that seemed tacky. One-night stands were supposed to be just that. A one-night-only event. Even though she’d gotten the distinct feeling they wanted to see her again. But maybe that was her hormones talking, not her brain.
Xonra sighed, straightened her shoulders, and ordered her brain to concentrate on her job.
Her biggest problem right now was Jeremiah J. Curlin. The fact that he shouldn’t even be her problem didn’t make him any easier to deal with. Apparently, Mr. Curlin had a bottomless wallet and an insatiable desire for attractive young women to work at his historical village. It was a major tourist attraction, and a major client of HR Resources. In various display houses in the village, the women were required to bake over open fires, launder and iron costumes, or sit in the parlor weaving or sewing. There was a school peopled with children and teachers, a smithy with a brawny blacksmith, and various shops selling period-appropriate stock.
“Mr. Curlin,” she explained over the phone for what seemed like the ten thousandth time, “women aged eighteen to thirty, as per your requirements, don’t want to wash laundry, iron, and bake the old-fashioned way. In fact, many of that age group don’t iron or bake at all. We have half a dozen women in their forties willing to work for you, but you don’t even wish to interview them.”
“They’re too old. Thirty is as old as I’m prepared to take,” he answered curtly.
“But this is a historical village, correct? Surely having some older women working there would make it look more realistic,” she cajoled him.
“I’m not interested. They’re not fertile. That is to say, in 1901, the average woman was dead at age forty. I want them in their twenties. Look harder.” He hung up.
“That man is definitely strange,” she said to herself as she punched the button to tell Moss to keep looking.
“He’s weird, all right. He came here dressed in his costume, looking like something out of an old movie. Ellie said he gave her the creeps, like he was undressing her or something. She sent Frank in with the coffee. Refused to be anywhere near him,” said Moss.
“Well, he didn’t listen to me any more than he listened to you, so I guess you’ll have to keep trying.”
“Shame, he’s so damn rich. That village of his is a huge tourist attraction. They also hire it out as a movie set. Earn a packet from that, too. Well, I’ll keep trying, but I’m telling you, twenty-somethings don’t want to wear a costume and bake and iron for minimum wage and no tips,” he replied.
Xonra shrugged it off and turned to her next problem. She tapped her fingernails, turquoise today, against the desk as she scrolled through a spreadsheet, then looked down and noticed the color on her left index finger was already chipped. Sighing, she grabbed her purse from under her desk and sifted through the bottles of nail polish there before picking up the correct color. Her eyes were focused on her hand as she repaired her nail, but at the back of her mind, memories of her awesome night of sex with two men danced around, dampening her panties and making her nerves tingle.
