Sandwich Play

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Sandwich Play

ISBN 9781419919169
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Sandwich Play Copyright © 2008 Brigit Zahara

Edited by Helen Woodall.
Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication November 2008

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in
part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing,
Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Dedication

For Tracy

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the

following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Architectural Digest: Advance Magazine Publishers Inc.

Camaro: General Motors Corporation

Clinique Elixir: Clinique Laboratories, LLC LTD LIAB Co.

Fiat: Fiat S.p.A. Corporation

Glock: Glock Gesellschaft M.B.H. LTD LIAB

Jell-O: General Foods Corporation

Lego: Lego Juris A/S Corporation

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Chapter One

Officer Trisha Sutton pulled her car into the parking lot of the all-night convenience

store somewhere around eleven p.m. Thursday night and cut the engine. Having just

dropped off her partner at his home in Queens after their routine eight-hour patrol

shift, she decided to pop in and see if she could pick up a few not-all-that-necessary

things before heading to her brownstone in the Bronx. Truth be told, she was in no

hurry to go home. She wouldn’t be able to sleep—at least not very well or for very long.

There was nothing to do—summer TV viewing was at an all-time low—and there was

no one there waiting for her. Unless you counted D’Artagnan. Her cat.

Each night when Trisha returned from work, the orange tabby, miffed at its owner’s

late afternoon and early evening absence, would be more than a little standoffish for the

first twenty minutes or so. Only when he felt he had punished Trisha adequately would

he saunter over and allow her to scratch his ears.

What remained of their night from there was pretty much routine. Trisha would

take a shower, nuke some leftovers in the microwave and devour them while channel

surfing on the tube. She might do some reading or even try to unwind with a little yoga

before going to bed. After four, maybe five hours’ sleep, she’d get up and do it all over

again. That was her life and had been ever since the death of her husband, Roger,

almost two years ago. Both dedicated to serving the community, they had met and

fallen in love on the force, together vowing to make a difference in the city they called

home. In his memory, Trisha kept that commitment.

Inside the brightly lit food and gas stop, Trisha grabbed a basket and headed for the

produce. After selecting a couple of tomatoes and a head of lettuce, she turned down

the hot beverage aisle halting halfway at the sight before her. Trisha stared at the profile

Brigit Zahara

of the masculine figure who stood a few steps away, something more than a little

familiar about the guy in front of her.

Familiar and fabulous.

“Nazz?”

The guy was clad in a supertight pair of faded jeans, strategically ripped in the ass

to give any who had the good fortune of passing behind him a teasing glimpse of the

goods. Clunky black boots peeped out from the fringed bottom hems of his pants and

the black leather bomber jacket stretched over his wide shoulders buckled at his waist.

Casually perusing the two horizontal rows of exotic teas that spread out before him, the

man turned his head slowly. His glittering black eyes, the identical shade of his jacket,

locked with hers.

Yep. It was Nazz all right.

Technically speaking, it was actually Nazzareno. But back when she had harbored a

never-realized high school crush on the exotic-looking European exchange student

twenty years earlier, he had threatened to kill anyone who used the full version of his

first name. If his brooding dark looks and unsmiling expression were any indication, he

still might.

“Yeah?”

Even with a single utterance, the sound of his deep voice made Trisha’s stomach do

a funny little flip-flop. Just like the old days.

One side of Nazz’s wide mouth pulled up in a half smile as he leisurely pivoted

around to face her, the dark cowhide parting to reveal his naked chest underneath. The

sight of his smooth olive skin made Trisha’s pulse react. Any Nazz sighting always had.

Back when she was a very young fifteen, seeing him in the flesh, even without a

peek at his pretty impressive pecs, created a very confusing reaction that reduced her

knees to Jell-O and filled her tummy with a mass of ultra-hyper butterflies on speed. A

few short years later she would learn what those extreme responses really meant but at

the time, the sensations his face or smile could produce were downright unsettling.

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Not that she ran into him all that much.

Throughout their time together at St. Jermaine’s High School, Trisha didn’t see the

object of her affection very often. She was in tenth grade and he was a twelfth grader, so

their two worlds rarely intersected. She was occasionally lucky enough to catch glances

of his sublime shape in the hall between classes as well as blurry glimpses of his

muscular form as he sped past her on the soccer field.

That’s when her eyes were glued to Pasquale DeLuca, Nazz’s distant cousin and

teammate. Only slightly shorter and possessing a warm milk-chocolate shade of hair

and eyes, Pasquale was considerably stockier than Nazz. One might even refer to him

as bulky but that was fine with Trisha—all his bulges were in the right places. There

was also one other difference between the two—where Nazz could be called brooding

and serious, Pasquale was all sexy smiles and suggestive winks.

Speaking of which, rumors abounded that the two Italian Stallions were real good

friends as in wink, wink, nudge, nudge but Trisha never believed it. She could feel the

sheer hetero masculinity oozing out of them both, even from a distance.

Sometimes during a game as she stood with the other cheerleaders at the far end of

the soccer field, Trisha would sneak a superfast peek at Nazz and Pasquale sitting on

the bench and engrossed in the action on the field. Secretly she wished that they would

both ask her to their senior prom. Wouldn’t it be, like, so cool if they all went together?

She’d wear a gown of her favorite color, lavender, and the guys would look so hot in

black tuxedos. But the kids wouldn’t understand. They’d think the three of them were

freaks. For sure, they’d think she was a freak for wanting to go steady with two guys.

And yet that was all Trisha could think of. She even envisioned what it would be

like. Her squeezed in the middle, with Nazz on one side and Pasquale on the other as

they walked through the hallways at school, their arms lazily looped around one

another’s waists. All the kids would be talking and gossiping about them behind their

backs, all the while furtively envious of them. She had not considered the sexual

dynamics but simply innocently yearned for the three of them to be together, somehow.

Brigit Zahara

But like so many of her classmates, Trisha was cursed with extreme adolescent

shyness when it came to being one to one with the opposite sex. In the end, she

succumbed to “the norm” and kept her feelings for her two honeys to herself, choosing

instead to just love them from afar and within ten short months, Nazz and Pasquale had

come in and out of her life.

But never out of her heart.

Ever since then, Trisha had spent more than a few wasted days wondering

whatever became of her closet crushes, her teenage flutterings eventually turning into

full-blown adult fantasies, or to be precise, one fantasy in particular. When she was

single, hardly a month went by when she didn’t daydream about the two men and

throughout her twelve-year marriage she was often surprised at the continuation of and

consistency of the dream itself.

The times and places that Trisha imagined their threesome varied but one factor

remained constant. In each dream, Nazz and Pasquale were just-turned and therefore

totally legal twenty-one-year-olds whereas Trisha was the woman she now was—still

pretty, in even better shape than before, but possessing a maturity, confidence and

sexual awareness she couldn’t have dreamed of in high school.

“I don’t believe it.”

Another male voice coming from the opposite end of the aisle cut into her

reminiscing. Trisha turned, smiling broadly at the approaching figure of none other

than Pasquale DeLuca.

“Oh my God! What a surprise!”

“You got that right. How have you been, Trisha?”

The question astonished Trisha. She’d always thought that neither guy knew she

existed let alone knew her name.

“And heeeey, dig the getup,” he continued, winking, a pair of sexy dimples making

little dents in his cheeks, as he eyed Trisha up and down. “I always did love a woman in

uniform.”

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That last word made one of the many recurring daydreams Trisha had about the

two guys come rushing back.

In a flash she saw herself, burning with desire and need, as she pushed Nazz up

against one of the walls in the boys’ shower. They were out from under the steaming

sprays of the central showerheads where, seconds earlier, they had been, the water

plastering their hair to their skins and their clothes to their bodies as they kissed with an

urgency that spoke of their long-time-in-the-coming reunion. Now fully drenched, they

stood in a light clinch, breathless and staring into each other’s eyes.

Nazz gazed down at Trisha, his black eyes blazing, the rise and fall of his chest

quickening. Slowly, almost tentatively, his hands drifted around her back and slid

down the swell of her hips to firmly cup her ass. Then he pulled her hard against him,

the operative word here being hard. As Trisha leaned into him, she immediately felt the

stiff length of his cock through the thin fabric of his lightweight jersey shorts pressing

against her mons and pelvis. That was good on its own but with a gasp, Trisha

swooned at the feel of her skirt being lifted and a second rigid pole pressing against her,

only this one from behind, the thick solid weight spreading the cheeks of her ass. It was

Pasquale, his cock urgently pushing at the flimsy material of her panties while his

tender touch delicately moved around to shyly caress her breasts. Arching her back, she

leaned against Pasquale’s hard body, one arm moving up and over to curl around his

head as he nuzzled her neck.

Through eyes glazed with pleasure, Trisha looked at Nazz, her fingers digging into

the warm flesh of his shoulders as her peripheral gaze absorbed his wet hair, the

strands across his forehead dripping little drops of water that glanced off his cheeks to

fall with a seductive splat onto his full lips. Leaning forward to playfully trace the

watery tracks with her tongue, Trisha licked lightly at Nazz’s mouth. His response was

immediate, his lips parting to cover hers while his tongue entangled and teased hers.

The warm weight of his fingers on her wrist steered her hand down onto his saturated

Brigit Zahara

bulge. With his hand covering hers, Nazz guided Trisha’s movements up and down

against his cock that, even through the veil of cloth, jerked in response to her touch.

Eager to hold the throbbing rod in her hand, Trisha walked her fingers up and under

the band of Nazz’s shorts. Moving down through the mass of soft curls, she gently

grasped the jutting extension of his cock, the feel of the thick rigid weight making her

pussy twinge in response. Unconsciously, Trisha fell into a steady stroke of Nazz’s taut

tool as Pasquale undid her skirt and eased it, along with her panties, down to the

ground. Stepping out of them, Trisha shuddered at the delectable decision that awaited

her…what did she want to do first? Suck Nazz’s gorgeous cock until it popped or have

Pasquale cram his very erect rod full and hard into her pussy that was presently

pleading for attention?

As if to address her silent dilemma, Trisha felt the pressure of Pasquale’s hands on

her shoulders, easing her down onto her knees. Now eye level with Nazz’s impressive

erection, its head bulbous and deliciously discolored, the answer was crystal clear.

Taking his cock in one hand Trisha lay a series of long, leisurely licks upon his

shuddering shaft. She flickered her tongue back and forth across and around his

swollen head, marveling at its supersoft skin that so contrasted with the granitelike pole

below it. Then anxious to surround his rod with heat and pressure, she took the entire

length of his cock into her mouth and began sucking it at a slow sensual pace as she

bobbed up and down its length, one hand cupping and caressing his full balls beneath.

Groaning, Nazz entangled his fingers in Trisha’s hair as his leaned against the wall, his

eyes fluttering shut.

While enthusiastically kissing her neck and shoulders, Pasquale caressed his way

down over the warm globes of her ass and with a tender but firm touch, inserted a

couple of fingers into Trisha’s, by now, dripping pussy. She murmured against the

warm weight of Nazz’s cock in her mouth as Pasquale moved his fingers in and out

rhythmically, his fingers flickering back and forth in a way that made her quiver with

the need that could not be fulfilled by hand.

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Pasquale must have felt it too for seconds later, Trisha felt him easing her hips back

so she was on all fours, Nazz adjusting his stance so she could continue sucking his

close-to-coming cock. Just as Nazz’s cock stiffened within her mouth, forecasting his

just-around-the-corner orgasm, Trisha stiffened at the hard pressure of Pasquale’s cock

as he dove eagerly into her hot tight core. Breaking into an ambitious pace, he pumped

his ready and rigid length into her repeatedly, his eager thrusts filling her full, tugging

her engorged clit and sending her clean over the edge.

While Nazz’s hot cum sprayed into the warm recesses of Trisha’s mouth, Pasquale’s

quick climax flooded Trisha’s clutching, coming pussy with love cream as the three of

them exploded together.

This had actually happened.

Well, apart from the kissing and fucking part. In fact the only physical albeit

innocent contact she’d ever had with Nazz and Pasquale in all their time together was

in that shower. Moreover, it was the last time she saw them.

What had really happened was one dusky spring evening after St. Jermaine’s won

the year-end City Championships, the entire soccer team, in a heightened state of

celebration, dragged each and every one of the cheerleaders off the field and into the

boys’ locker room, treating the squealing pack of girls to an impromptu shower. While

the water from the showerheads completely drenched the frenzied females right

through their thick yellow sweaters and paneled black miniskirts, the guys proceeded

to douse all those present in shaving cream. High-arching streams of white froth hissed

and shot through the air to land with a splat, soon slathering and slithering down over

the mass of writhing faces and bodies as they all laughed and slipped around on the

wet, tiled floor.

Along with the entire team and squad, Trisha was thrilled to see Nazz and Pasquale

return for this all-important tournament. The distant cousins had been ill for the past

few weeks, even missing several critical games back-to-back, but like the true

champions they were, they had come back to play when the chips were down, even if

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that meant wearing shades to keep their still-sensitive eyes protected from the dying

rays of daylight.

When Trisha stumbled backward, she tried to break her fall with her hands but

ended up skinning her knuckles and landing flat on her butt. Nazz swiftly helped her to

her feet, planting a fleeting, gallant kiss on her hand before turning and disappearing

into the excited waterlogged throng.

Whirling around she ran straight into the arms of none other than Pasquale, who

followed suit. Puckering up, he brushed her fingers with his lips then with a wink,

turned and jumped onto the dogpile of bodies.

And there Trisha stood, a brush with not one but both of her secret crushes leaving

her stunned and trembling with excitement, and soaked to the skin in water and white

foam.

And then the coach had arrived and ended the celebrations.

No wonder her recurring fantasy picked up where reality had left off and took it in

a more delicious direction—one that saw Trisha on her knees hungrily sucking Nazz’s

cock while Pasquale did her doggy style.

At the thought of the vision, Trisha started and was unceremoniously jerked back to

the present moment. Without thinking, her view dropped down to swiftly take in the

white band of Pasquale’s shorts that peeped out above the band of his jeans, the button-

down fly and surrounding fabric straining with the bulk beneath. Flushing, Trisha

quickly lifted her gaze up to his face that was beaming with a sexy luster that looked as

if he had just finished a good jog—minus the color.

Casting a glance in Nazz’s direction she saw that he was watching her in that dark,

intense, Michael Corleone manner that used to make her legs quiver and her insides

spin. And clearly, he hadn’t lost his touch. With one searing look, he had her only a

heartbeat away from coming right there in front of the hot chocolate mix. In return,

Trisha could only return Nazz’s stare, her gaze slowly moving to take in the details of

his face. Incredibly, he looked exactly the same as he had two decades earlier. There

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was not a hint of gray mixed among the black strands of hair, no creases lining the outer

edges of his black eyes and no softening of his oh-so-hard body. The guy hadn’t aged a

day and yet, there was something different about him. If it was possible, his eyes

seemed to have darkened even more and now, as they beheld her, glittered with a

strange light that made Trisha tremble. As well, his skin, while still smooth and

inviting, appeared a noticeably lighter shade than she recalled and it too had a strange

sheen to it. And there was something else, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Nazz was still looking at her expectantly, seemingly waiting for an introduction.

“I guess you probably don’t remember me but I’m Tri—”

“Trisha MacAvie. Of course I remember you. How could I forget the hottest

cheerleader on the squad?”

Even though Trisha herself was stunned silent by Nazz‘s unexpected declaration,

the suddenly moist region between her legs was atypically screaming for attention.

Since Roger’s death, Trisha had come to refer to that particular area of her body as the

dead zone. Not even masturbation had managed to arouse any real pleasure.

Nazz laughed then, a low throaty sound that sent shivers up and down Trisha’s

spine. Her nipples hardened into taut points that pressed painfully against the starched

fabric of her uniform and without rhyme or reason, Trisha got the unsettling inkling

that Nazz knew what she was thinking. Swallowing, she struggled to keep her voice

even and get hold of her suddenly elusive sense of self-control.

“Well it’s now Trisha Sutton, but…me?”

“Yeah, you,” he replied with the sexiest grin imaginable. “Don’t tell me you didn’t

know that I had a real thing for you.”

No way.

“No way.”

Nazz took a couple of lazy steps toward her.

“Way. A real big thing for you.”

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Pasquale leaned over and whispered in her ear, his breath hot and moist against her

skin.

“He did. Real big.”

Through her peripheral vision, Trisha thought she caught the brief movement of

Nazz’s right hand as it drifted down to rub the bulge in the front of his jeans. Whether

or not he actually did that, she couldn’t be sure and when she momentarily dropped her

gaze to his groin, the hand in question was in his jeans pocket. Even without a visual

aid, his words immediately brought on the mental image of him stroking his cock as he

eyed Trisha hard in an I’m-gonna-fuck-you-real-good way.

A second glance revealed that Nazz‘s hand wasn‘t in his pants pocket at all. Only

his thumb was hooked in the top edge of the diagonal opening.

Masking a bunch of conflicting emotions, Trisha looked up to meet Nazz’s eyes

once again.

“I never knew. That’s funny.”

“Really?” Nazz asked. “How come?”

Though innocently intended, the word “come” on his lips swiftly translated into

something dark and delicious. A shiver of pleasure fluttered in Trisha’s stomach,

snaking down as far south as it could go. Shifting, Trisha squeezed her legs together,

afraid that the bubbling brook between them would turn into a grade five river and

burst through the makeshift damn created by her flexed thighs at any moment.

What the hell was going on?

It was so unlike her to have such a strong physical reaction to anyone, never mind a

couple of strangers, which, Nazz and Pasquale, basically were.

Mystified, Trisha was further dumbfounded when she found herself voicing a long-

overdue admission.

“Well, I kinda had a thing for you.”

She looked at Pasquale and smiled.

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“Both of you.”

A couple more steps and Nazz was standing within inches of her, his chiseled face

heart-stopping in its strong masculine beauty. He made an acknowledging movement

with his head.

“You know, I heard that once or twice but we finally gave up hoping it was true.”

“We?”

“Yeah. We both had the hots for you too,” Pasquale said, his warm eyes sparkling

with sincerity.

“You’re kidding? Then why’d you give up?”

Nazz look surprised.

“You wouldn’t even look at us. At least not me. Every time I tried to make eye

contact, you’d practically run in the opposite direction.”

Pasquale nodded.

“Same.”

“I was shy.”

“I was too,” Nazz said.

“Ditto,” Pasquale chimed in before Trisha continued.

“No, I mean, really shy. At least with guys. I wanted to talk to you both but I was

just too scared.”

By now, the three of them were standing in a close circle, a strong vibe coursing

crazily from one to the other in a titillating triangle of chemistry. Slowly Pasquale

reached out a hand and lightly fingered the badge on Trisha’s chest.

“The question now is…are you still?”

Trisha lifted her eyes from her insignia to move meaningfully from Pasquale to

Nazz.

“Not so much.”

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Chapter Two

The next evening, the three of them took Nazz’s car, a flawlessly restored 1980s

black and gold Camaro, to a lounge that turned out to be only a couple of blocks from

their old school.

In the little two-story strip mall nestled along the quiet avenue of the north side

residential area, there once used to be an arcade, a convenience store and a music

school. Today in their place now stood a real estate office, a tanning salon and

Cherry’s—a quiet, low-lit watering hole that was void of the usual hockey-jersey, ball

cap-wearing, fight-picking riffraff known to frequent some neighborhood pubs. For that

reason alone, Trisha had become a regular. That, as well as the lounge’s choice of Nina

Simone-type music. A sparse collection of well-dressed, well-behaved twosomes and

threesomes were seated at a series of small candle-centered tables randomly placed

about the artfully decorated joint, people talking quietly and sipping their drinks while

a stream of soft meandering blues music drifted out from the one-man act on the small

stage. Settling into a semicircular high-backed booth that was in total darkness save for

the single light fixture on the wall it backed against, Nazz and Pasquale and Trisha

ordered a bottle of Shiraz.

The next several hours were spent catching up including a bittersweet round of “Do

you remember?” and “Whatever happened to?” With Trisha comfortably situated

between Nazz and Pasquale, the three of them continued to chat easily as the night

wore on. Nazz ordered another bottle of wine just as the piano man announced his last

set for the evening. By this time, the gap had closed between the three former

acquaintances—both time- and space-wise. They were now sitting so close together,

their thighs touched, lightly but with enough voltage to poof a collie into a poodle.

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“It’s so good to see you,” Pasquale said, brushing a strand of hair from Trisha’s

forehead. Regressing into her former state of shyness, she glanced down.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

As if Trisha’s declaration made it okay to look, Pasquale let his gaze drop down to

Trisha’s half-parted lips. Leisurely he reached over and gently crooking his finger under

her chin, drew her attention up once more. Seeing Pasquale’s eyes locked on her lips,

Trisha’s view similarly fell to his.

For a quarter of a century she had dreamed of kissing that full mouth and exploring

its recesses with her tongue. Now with him only inches away, the temptation was

unbelievable. In fact, it was painfully strong, almost as if she was hypnotized and

physically unable to resist the incredible magnetic pull toward him. Bit by bit, she felt

them moving closer together toward a lazy, infinite fusion. When at long last Pasquale’s

lips met hers, it was a soft kiss, his mouth moist, warm and tender but nevertheless

remarkably skilled at producing a flash fire within Trisha’s body. Immediately

responding, Trisha kissed him back with an urgency that surprised her. Countering his

mouth‘s moves, she imitated the tentative flickering of his tongue against her lips as it

implored them to open further.

At the feel of Pasquale slowly pulling back, Trisha was overcome with a strong

sense of disappointment. And confusion.

What was she doing? And who was this woman she had suddenly become?

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I shouldn‘t have done that.”

“Why not?” he said, giving her a knee-knocking grin as he took her hand. “You

wanted to. I wanted you to. It‘s all good.”

“H-e-l-l-o?”

Both Pasquale and Trisha turned to look at Nazz.

“It’s getting a little lonely over here.”

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Trisha laughed, warming at the heat from Nazz’s body as he curled one arm

around her shoulders and scooted closer.

“Oh yeah? And just what am I supposed to do about that?”

The deliberate smile Nazz gave her quickly faded as his black eyes found hers, a

slight frown crossing his brow as he whispered his response.

“Come here.”

From the very first moment Trisha had laid eyes on Nazz in the convenience store,

the scorching chemistry between them had been nearly tangible. Now at a fever pitch,

Trisha felt both titillated and overwhelmed by the uncontrollable sensation that was

drawing her to him once again. As with Pasquale only moments earlier, she felt a

strangely powerful pull that was just this side of beyond her control. Without

hesitation, Trisha tilted her head to one side, their noses lightly brushing as Nazz leaned

down to kiss her. This time though there was no playful teasing, no tentative tasting, no

beating around the bush. This was the mother of all kisses. Dynamic and torrid, it was

an adrenaline-charged exchange filled with hot, wet fire. Nazz’s creative use of his lips

and teeth pulled and pushed and nipped Trisha’s mouth in ways that kicked her pulse

into overdrive. And talk about tongue! Never a fan of excessive tonsil swabbing, Trisha

felt her whole body melt at the sensation of Nazz’s strong tongue circling and caressing

every inch within her mouth. When at last he pulled back, Trisha’s head was spinning.

Breathless, she gradually became aware of their surroundings. Drawing herself up,

she cleared her throat and turned her attention outward to the piano player but he too

seemed in on the conspiracy to raise her blood pressure. His long fingers stroked the

keys, caressing them as he urged a series of sweet sultry sounds from them. Reaching

shakily for her glass and draining it in a single gulp, Trisha sputtered slightly at the

light feel of Nazz and Pasquale’s fingers skimming under the hem of her skirt, their

hands coming to rest one on each of her nylon-covered knees. Not a fan of pantyhose,

Trish routinely opted out for the lacy elastic-topped nylons instead, preferring the

freedom and freshness that went along with two separate leggings sans crotch.

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Without turning her head, she smiled in acknowledgment, even as she fought to

ignore her pussy that was pounding so hard it seemed to be providing its own

percussion accompaniment to the piano music. Nazz, who was seated on her right,

shifted and slid his right hand up to where her thighs pressed together, preventing any

further progress. Lifting his left arm from around Trisha’s shoulders, he stretched up

and loosened the light bulb from the fixture on the wall behind them, soon putting

them in total darkness. He then gently pushed his third and fourth fingers against the

soft skin of her legs, delicately urging them to part as his thumb caressed the top of her

thigh. While he touched her, Pasquale’s left hand glided up over her rib cage to lightly

cup her left breast.

“Wait,” she whispered groggily. And yet, even as the word slipped from between

her lips and her head fell back into the arm Nazz had returned to lightly drape around

her shoulder, deep down she didn’t want to wait at all. Hadn’t they all waited long

enough?

As Nazz and Pasquale touched her both high and low under the deep delicious veil

of darkness, wispy, smokelike thoughts drifted through her mind.

What is happening to me? Why is the desire to—pardon my French—fuck and suck these

two guys senseless, suddenly so strong? Whose fabulous aftershave is that? And has it become

very hot in here or is it just me?

All at once, Trish found it stifling, her perception of the room quickly shifting from

that of a pleasant lounge to a sultry den of sins.

“You look hot,” Nazz said in a deep voice.

“Thanks.”

That low sexy chuckle registered in more than a few places on Trisha’s body

including the back of her neck, the precise area that Pasquale was now nuzzling.

“No, well yes,” he said between nuzzles, “you do look hot but I think Nazz meant

you look flushed.”

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“Oh?” Trisha turned to look at him but couldn’t see his expression in the darkness

which made her distantly wonder, how could he see if she was flushed?

“Here,” Pasquale said. “Let’s make you more comfortable.”

Trisha felt the first few buttons of her blouse being undone, cool skin brushing her

feverish flesh. His hand drifting down into her top, Pasquale cupped her right breast

this time, the pressure of his fingers stronger and more encompassing as his thumb

made agonizingly slow circles around the rigid point of her nipple.

Gasping, Trisha glanced around the room. What if someone saw them?

“Relax,” Nazz said, his low voice stroking her in the darkness, his breath on her

throat sending shivers all over her body. “They can’t see us.” He started to lick in a

straight line from her collarbone up to earlobe.

“But— Oh wow. But…how do you know?”

“Trust us,” Pasquale answered in a quiet definitive tone. “Now just lie back and

enjoy the ride.”

As the soaring melody of the piano increased in volume, mimicking Trisha’s own

swelling need that was still pleading for Nazz’s close-but-no-cigar touch between her

thighs, Trisha complied. Adjusting her position, she slithered forward enough to open

her knees. Nazz and Pasquale were now working one on each side of Trisha’s neck,

bathing the area in licks, kisses and edgy bites, their cool breaths and sharp teeth

sending a shooting ache to ricochet between her throbbing nipples and now riverlike

slit.

“You smell good,” Pasquale whispered, his voice barely audible above the erratic

pounding of her heart and raspy, uneven breath.

“It’s Elixir,” she offered weakly. “By Clinique.”

Nazz and Pasquale’s light chuckles sent another ripple right to her core.

“I wasn’t talking about your perfume.”

Brigit Zahara

As if to make Pasquale’s point, Nazz moved his hand all the way up and pressed

his middle fingers against the drenched fabric of Trisha’s panties. He palmed her for a

bit, the wide base of his hand moving against her mons as his long digits strained

against her veiled pussy. Trisha stifled a sharp breath as she saw the waiter approach.

But he merely passed without so much as a glance in their direction. Nazz chose that

moment to take his under-the-table handiwork to the next level. With a flip of his wrist,

he withdrew his hand to the top of her dainty underwear and delved beneath the

skinny satin band. Using his two interior fingers, he began stroking Trisha’s trembling

folds all the way from the pulsing bud at the top to the aching entrance further down

and back again.

“Ah…”

Covering her lips with his own, Nazz flickered his tongue within her mouth in time

with his fingers that moved in and out of her pussy.

Trisha was beyond dizzy. She felt close to blacking out as little sparks of light

danced in front of her eyes. Nazz was still stroking her, his thick, hard fingers rubbing

up and down, in and out, gently increasing speed and pressure.

Another pressure, that of his foot against first one and then the other of her calves,

spread her legs under the table.

“What?” she murmured between his kisses. “What are you doing?”

With a jump, Trisha became aware of Pasquale under the table between her legs. In

a flash he had removed her underwear and had positioned his face between her knees.

Reflexively, Trisha started to snap them shut but Pasquale caught each one. Holding her

open, he began to lick and suck the inside of her thighs while Nazz continued to caress

her pussy from top to bottom.

Trisha arched her back and bit her lip as Pasquale moved closer and closer, finally

reaching her pleading clit. Teasing her mercilessly, he made wide lazy circles around

the swollen ridge in a dance of denial that left Trisha twisting with need. When she

grabbed his hair with one hand, her fingers digging hard into the silky brown strands,

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he got the message and quickly covered her clit with his mouth, soon settling into a

slow steady sucking action that matched the rhythmical thrusting of Nazz’s fingers

inside her. When they changed positions and Pasquale’s tongue drove deep into her

vagina while Nazz thumbed her clit, Trisha grabbed Nazz’s moving forearm with her

free hand, working hard to prevent the scream that was welling up. With his mouth on

hers, Nazz’s tongue delved deep, just as Pasquale’s was and Trisha came hard,

shuddering and moaning into Nazz’s kiss as her fingernails dug into the softness of his

skin.

When the spasms finally ended and she floated, disoriented and shaky, back down

to earth, Trisha worked to get her bearings. Underneath the table, Pasquale was

planting little aftermath kisses on the tops of her thighs and knees as he eased her

panties back on and up, the warm moist pressure of his lips causing her to clutch

around Nazz’s fingers still inside her. “Mmm,” Pasquale said as he emerged from

below. “You taste as good as you smell.”

“I can’t wait to find out for myself,” Nazz replied, as he brought his hand up from

between her legs. “Come on.” Dropping his arm from around her shoulders to take her

hand, he lightly pulled her out of the booth. “Let’s get some air.”

* * * * *

Outside it had begun to drizzle a bit and the night air was cooler than indoors, a

fact Trisha was exceptionally grateful for because her entire body was still on fire from

her very recent covert climax. She was also very glad that Nazz and Pasquale kept

gentle but firm hands around her waist as they steered her out and around the building

to the back. Her knees were knocking so badly she just knew that without their support

she would be more than a little wobbly.

Now in the shadowy alley behind the mall and far away from the overhead glare of

the streetlights, they came to the black spindly looking outline of the fire escape. There,

Nazz abruptly stopped and lightly yanking Trisha around to face him, pushed her up

against the brick wall, his cool, full mouth covering hers again.

Brigit Zahara

Trisha returned his kiss with vigor, their tongues churning wildly within the warm

wet recesses of each other’s mouths as their lips pulled and sucked and massaged in

chorus.

Switching quickly from a spit to a downpour, the midnight rain pelted their

entwined bodies, drenching them in a sexy translation of their one-time platonic shower

together all those years ago.

Only there was nothing platonic about what was going down now.

Wrapping her arms about his strong shoulders, Trisha was thrilled to experience

Nazz’s extraordinary oral skills once more. Not only was his mouth very powerful, the

strong suction and skilled movement of his lips upon hers easily pushing her buttons,

but his tongue moved with an incredible dexterity and finesse within Trisha‘s mouth,

gliding over her gums and teeth with just the right amount of pressure. At the thought

of his lips and tongue doing to her quivering slit what they were doing to her mouth

right now, Trisha’s hips unconsciously pushed forward.

Nazz’s rock-hard rod met her frontward thrust, its thick, long rigidity pressing

against her mons and up the front of her pelvis. Another mumbled moan of need-tinged

desire came from Trisha and Nazz read it perfectly. Reaching up under her dress, he

grabbed her panties and with one easy jerk, ripped them from her body. Quickly

unbuttoning his pants, he then grabbed Trisha’s ass with one hand and in a show of

remarkable strength, hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his thighs.

He pulled his lips back long enough to murmur “I want you” then, positioning

himself in line with her, Nazz drove his hips forward and with one sharp hard plunge,

dove into her slick snugness.

Biting her lip, Trish stifled a gasp as Nazz’s stiff shaft sunk deep, stretching her to

capacity. The entire weight of her body rested sturdily in his palms as he spun them

around so his own back was now facing the wall. Powerfully pulling her against him,

Nazz fell into a steady stroking pace that quickly made Trisha pant.

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From behind, she could feel another pair of hands, Pasquale’s hands, as they

massaged her neck and shoulders before floating around to fondle her breasts.

After a time, Pasquale anchored his hands on Trisha’s hips, pushing her down

again and again onto Nazz’s cock as his own hard-on bumped and rubbed between the

cheeks of her ass.

All the while, the rain continued to soak them through, a summer monsoon that

rendered their bodies slick and warm.

With Nazz thrusting inside her and Pasquale thrusting against her, Trisha moaned

as each lunge registered throughout her entire body, not only in her aching core but all

the way from the hair on her head down to her rain-soaked toes. She shuddered as

Nazz continued to seductively pulse his hips forward, driving his very ready cock into

her as he pressed hot kisses into the curve of her throat. Then suddenly he pulled back.

“Hang on,“ he said breathlessly, taking his lips from her neck. He was looking over

Trisha’s shoulder at Pasquale when he next spoke. “Maybe we shouldn‘t do this.”

Excuse me?

“Don’t stop,” Trisha said, effectively pulling him closer and pushing her pussy even

harder against his cock. Dropping both hands down to clutch the smooth globes of his

butt, she dug her nails into his flesh as she kissed his neck and sucked his earlobe. Her

strategy worked. Whatever thoughts Nazz had seconds earlier were clearly ditched as

he groaned loudly. Squeezing her tight within his hands, he drove himself into her with

renewed passion.

Faster and faster they sped toward their long-anticipated release. Heartbeats away,

Pasquale bent down slightly to ease the bulbous head of his cock into Trisha’s rain-slick

puckered hole. Pumping his exposed shaft with a tight fist he regularly rocked his hips

forward, nudging his cock head back and forth within her. Moaning, he fell forward

against Trisha’s back, chocolate hair brushing blonde, as he sunk his teeth into the

pliant skin of her shoulder. With a rapturous scream Trisha burst into a gazillion pieces,

her bottom jiggling and bucking with the spasms of an explosive climax. Arching her

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back against Pasquale she clung to Nazz, whose orgasm was triggered by Trisha’s. With

a growl, he too bit her neck, sucking her flesh in a way that she could feel throughout

every single nerve in her body. Pleasantly pumped from both sides, Trisha quivered

endlessly at the feel of Nazz and Pasquale simultaneously jolting within her.

When the fireworks stopped exploding behind her eyes and her spirit returned to

her body, Trisha became aware of Nazz’s hands as he guided her legs down and her

body up into a standing position. He’d already pulled his cock out but was still

standing bellybutton to bellybutton with her, the warm, wet heavy shape of his flaccid

shaft rubbing enticingly against her pubic hair. Likewise Pasquale withdrew himself,

his cock pressing against the right cheek of her ass.

Holding Trisha’s still trembling form, Nazz looked deeply into her eyes, the

intensity within just about pushing her to orgasm number three.

“How do you feel?”

Actually that was a very good question. Despite feeling emotionally euphoric,

Trisha was really dizzy and lightheaded, even weak. A strong wave of wooziness hit

her full force and the last thing she heard before she fainted was Nazz’s deep smooth

voice, filling and exciting her as surely as his cock had done just seconds earlier.

“Let‘s get you into bed.”

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Chapter Three

The next morning Trisha woke up with what felt like the mother of all hangovers.

Desperately dehydrated, she hoisted herself up, immediately grumbling at the

pounding pressure in her head and screaming ache that throbbed all through her body,

inside and out. Squinting from behind stinging eyes that seemed to have become

remarkably light sensitive overnight, she noted that she was, in fact, at home in her own

bed. All she could remember from the night before was the meeting, chatting and

longtime-in-the-coming hookup with Nazz and Pasquale. How and where and when

she got home? No idea.

Out of the corner of her eye Trisha caught a flash of yellow. Turning her head, a

movement that elicited another pained groan, she saw a single sheet of notepaper—her

own notepaper-lying on the pillow, the decorative stationery having been a Christmas

gift from her mother. Picking up the page, she directly recognized the back-slanted

script of a southpaw. Struggling to see through her blurred vision, she began reading

the left-handed writing.

We had to leave but left you something in the fridge that is guaranteed to make you feel

better this morning. Nuke it for two minutes. Ignore the taste. Hair of the dog.

Love,

Nazz and Pasquale

Trisha stared at the words for a long moment. No “last night was great”? What

about a “We want to see you again”? From what Trisha could recall they all had a really

good time, in truth so good it was well worth repeating. You’d think two single guys

like Nazz and Pasquale would absolutely jump at the chance to replay the previous

night’s festivities. Unless…

Brigit Zahara

Dragging herself over to the edge of the bed and hauling her feet onto the floor,

Trisha disjointedly pieced together bits of their conversation, suddenly remembering

how strangely evasive Nazz and Pasquale had been when they were in the “What have

you been up to?” and “What are you doing now?” phase of their reunion. Where she

had easily disclosed the details of her past, both of the guys had remained remarkably

reserved about what they had done with the last twenty years of their respective lives,

generally answering questions with such vague answers as “I’ve been around, here and

there” or “Dabbled in a few things, nothing major”. At the time, Trisha had let their

mutual ambiguity slide but now in the light of day, one probable reason was glaringly

obvious.

With a sigh, Trisha let her hammering head fall into her hands. What a fool! One or

both guys were probably married. She had let her naïve little schoolgirl crush supersede

her hard-earned adult intuition and experience. They had tag-teamed her with their

charm, undoubtedly determined to bag some starstruck babe from the past and Trisha

had played right into their hands and oh-so easily.

With another grumble of regret, Trisha shamefully recalled how she had been

unable to resist Nazz and Pasquale. Exactly how had they managed to get her so

abnormally revved up?

Another revelation hit Trisha hard, bringing her swiftly to tears. Sobbing softly for a

few moments, she sucked in a few deep breaths and wiping the water from her eyes,

willed herself to stop crying. Whether she liked it or not, Trisha had to admit that all

indications pointed to her being the drugged victim of a date rape—the total lack of

inhibitions, at least for her, memory loss, and a dazed nauseous feeling the morning

after. She’d seen it many times through her work but like all the others, never thought it

would happen to her.

Not one to wallow in self-pity, Trisha knew that the first thing she would have to

do is press charges against Nazz and Pasquale. At the thought of their blatant misuse of

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her feelings, her distress swiftly shifted to anger, the surge of adrenaline supplying her

with enough energy to get out of bed.

Rising, she stumbled over to the kitchen and chugged down three large mugs of

water from the cooler. Water that hardly touched her raging thirst. Out of habit, she

then started to make her usual Herculean cup of morning java but the strong aroma that

she so loved nauseated her to such a point she quickly abandoned the idea. Rifling

through the fridge for some juice, she passed over several items including a carton of

milk, a head of lettuce, a package of low-fat cheese slices and a loaf of bread. Looking

around she saw one of her lofty plastic containers, too tall to fit in any of the horizontal

racks, wedged in between the ketchup and the mustard on the inside door shelf. Atop

its fitted cap was a little sticky note that read “Drink me”.

Surely to God Nazz and Pasquale wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave evidence of

their crime behind. Trisha yanked the container out and peeled back the cover. A strong

aroma wafted up, immediately filling every cell and nerve ending in her body with one

primary sensation—need. Looking like an unsavory blend of tomato juice and red wine,

the concoction was helplessly drawing her as surely as Nazz and Pasquale had done the

night before.

Hair of the dog. Or was that dogs, plural. Hmm.

Out of the blue, Trisha’s whole body began to vibrate, her throat as dry as dirt

while her mouth conversely watered. Gaping at the rich dark fluid, her mind her mind

shouted “NO!” but her body had gone deaf.

Following the handwritten instructions the guys had left, she recapped the

container, placed it in the microwave and let it warm for a couple of minutes, the

suddenly enticing aroma of the drink growing stronger as it was heated through. It felt

like an absolute eternity waiting for the bell to chime signifying the end of the requested

heating time but when it finally did, Trisha nearly tore the door off the microwave.

Grabbing the narrow container, she ripped off the top and downed it in one draft. Hot

Brigit Zahara

and thick, it filled her mouth and slid down her throat with ease, a sharp metallic taste

registering on her tongue after she swallowed the last of it.

Instantaneously she felt better. Her nagging dehydration disappeared, the pain in

her head and body were nullified and her sore smarting eyes returned to their normal

state, leaving only a slight sensitivity to the glaring soon-to-be midday sun as it

streamed through the kitchen window. Less than two minutes ago she felt as though

she had one foot in the grave but now, she felt invincible. After a hot shower, she’d be

ready to take on the world. At the very least, she was going after Nazz and Pasquale for

what they had undoubtedly done to her.

Heading back into the bedroom, Trisha walked around to the far side of the king-

size mattress where a fluffy blue and white housecoat lay thrown across a floral

upholstered chair in the corner. D’Artagnan was curled up in a ball on it, his soft

snoring bringing a smile to Trisha’s face. Petting him gently to awaken him, she picked

him up and gently set him on the floor, once again smiling at the distinct look of

irritation within his green eyes. En route she stepped on something flat but bulky,

smooth but uneven—a handful of conflicting sensations read through the sole of her

foot as she stumbled. Turning back, she glared accusingly at the object that had

“tripped” her, immediately knowing what the black leather square on the carpeted floor

was.

Reaching down she picked it up and flipped it open. On the left side in two vertical

rows and peeking out from a series of slits were a mass of credit cards. Opposite was a

driver’s license, complete with a photo of the bearer and all his vital statistics including

his home address. It was right near the precinct.

As she stood staring at the tiny image of Nazz, Trisha decided she would drive by

Nazz’s home on the way into work.

Yes, it was wrong, yes, it went against everything Trisha had ever been taught as a

police officer, and yes, it was stupid. But she knew how to handle herself and wasn‘t

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about to get in over her head. All Trisha wanted, she told herself, was to see where he

lived. Then she would turn them in and walk away.

But first she would have to get set.

Stoically she laid out everything she would need on the bed. In dress order, she laid

out a sports bra and panty set and socks, next taking her police-issue steel-toed boots

from the closet and setting them on the floor below the neat pile of items. Beside her

underwear, she placed her uniform, belt, hat and nightstick. Pulling open her top

dresser drawer she retrieved one more thing. With a snug push, she jammed her police

issue Glock handgun into the holster on her belt.

Now she was ready.

Brigit Zahara

Chapter Four

For the second time in two days, Trisha pulled up across the street from the house

at 8880 Riverdale Drive. The day before she had driven by in the early afternoon at the

address on Nazz’s driver’s license before heading into work but saw no signs of life. It

was now Sunday evening around six p.m. and while Trisha didn’t exactly know what

she was looking for, she remained persistent, determined she would find it.

Putting her tan Fiat into park, Trisha was again impressed by the fact that the

property looked like it belonged in a special New Age issue of Architectural Digest.

Entirely comprised of white stone, it was a Lego-like collection of windowless boxes

and rectangles completely void of any windows on the building‘s façade. Like

yesterday, no other vehicle was visible but undoubtedly there could be a whole fleet in

the humongous garage situated off to the left.

While not as strong as earlier in the day, the sun still shone brightly as it began its

slow descent under the horizon. All day, Trisha had been reduced to wearing a pair of

dark sunglasses as her previous and bizarre case of light sensitivity had returned with a

vengeance along with another bout of intense fatigue. She should head straight home to

bed but a nagging need for something she couldn’t describe got the better of her.

Driving to the end of the street, she turned left and parked her car. Getting out, she then

headed down the alley that led to the rear of Nazz’s yard, soon coming up to his back

lawn. As she stepped up to peek through the fence’s slats she worked to ignore her

increased heart rate, clammy palms, queasiness and headache.

Damn nerves.

Peering through one narrow opening, Trisha took in the manicured lawns of the

expansive property while she waited for a response. Several kidney-shaped floral

gardens consisting of such eye-catching flowers as fire and ice lilies, birds of paradise,

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Gerber daisies, velvety snapdragons and African violets, centered by tall lacy panels of

heather and baby’s breath added brilliant bursts of color to the static green of the well-

groomed grass. Erect white statues of angels, birds and other winged creatures like

griffons and even Pegasus were nestled here and there among the hedges and more

sedately colored foliage that edged the perimeter of the estate. Even so, the stunning

sculptures stuck out amid the stronger hues of the space while adding an unexpected

air of serenity and magic. A gazebo, a deck, a patio and a mighty impressive barbeque

completed the pretty picture but apart from the cool breeze that blew through the large

sycamore tree that centered it all, there wasn’t a whisper of movement.

Where the hell is he? Probably out with the little missus and God forbid, their handful of

rambunctious kids.

At the very notion of running smack-dab into Nazz’s family, Trisha sighed deeply,

another wave of nausea and weariness washing over her. Bit by bit, her physical state

continued to deteriorate as did her resolve to catch a single glimpse of Nazz and maybe

Pasquale one last time. Turning away from the fence she realized she had made a big

mistake. She really hadn’t thought any of this through. Apart from the stupidity of the

idea, what about the possibility of encountering one of their wives or children? The last

thing Trisha wanted to do was hurt any innocent bystanders. What was done was done

and while she was determined it would never happen again—at least not with her—

Trisha felt there was no need to alert anyone to what happened two days ago.

And if that wasn’t convincing enough, the captain could put her on suspension for

her show of poor judgment in sneaking around an assailant‘s property without a

warrant. She would turn Nazz’s wallet into the police when she filed the complaint—

which she was going to do right now.

Just then, a loud snap on the back gate sounded and it swung open a crack. Peering

out, only half of his person visible through the narrow opening, stood a remarkably

rough-looking Nazz. The tousled hair and clothes were all right—even kind of sexy in a

Brigit Zahara

grungy sort of way—but his skin was extremely ashen, sick-looking even, and his

glazed dark eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

For the second time in less than forty-eight hours, Trisha gawked at the man before

her in disbelief.

“Ah…Nazz?”

Lifting one trembling hand to his face, Nazz shielded his eyes as he peered out from

beneath his palm-turned-barrier, his voice a hoarse whisper as he spoke.

“Oh, Trisha…hi. Pasquale and I were really hoping to see you again.”

“Ever hear of a phone?”

Right. After the old “wham bam thank you ma’am” they do a vanishing act that

would make David Copperfield envious and now they’re hoping to see her again? Nice

recovery.

But what she couldn’t possibly know, was that Nazz and Pasquale were prepared

to wait a literal eternity for her. However wait was the word. They needed her to come

to them for things to continue on.

Trisha tried to smirk at his nearly cowering manner but her legs were like lead and

her stomach ground and churned with a ferocity she’d never experienced.

Thinking quickly, Trisha wordlessly held up his wallet which she had hung onto,

her hand trembling uncontrollably now as black, you’re-going-to-pass-out dots started

to appear before her eyes. Stumbling a little to the side she slumped forward. Nazz

threw open the gate and caught her in his arms.

“You’d better get in here.”

“Not on your fucking life.”

Without a word, he scooped Trisha up and carried her now limp body into his

house.

Inside was dimly lit and cool and almost immediately, Trisha felt a sense of relief at

getting out of the indescribable heat of the setting sun. Carrying her across a circular

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foyer, Nazz moved through the darkness to set her down onto a soft solid surface. A

short scratch followed by a flare of light broke the gloomy stillness as he struck a match

and rising, lit a set of candled wall sconces. Slowly the area was bathed in a warm

flickering glow. They were in a large columned sitting room and she was lying on a

plush velvet settee.

Nazz returned to her side and sat lightly beside her. He was shirtless and barefoot,

wearing only a pair of black jeans. His pale skin gleamed in the glow of candlelight.

Lightly he reached up and stroked her cheek, the feel of his skin nearly wiping the

reason for Trisha’s secret surveillance of his home from her mind.

Nearly.

Anger and indignation shifted down to hurt and humiliation, leaving Trisha with

the one question that had brought her to his doorstep.

“Why‘d you do it?”

“Take it easy,“ Nazz replied, evading her query. His black hair falling into his eyes

as he tilted his head to one side. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Don’t touch me. And just in case you’ve forgotten, it is illegal to give a person

drugs without their knowledge or consent.”

A look of pure confusion crossed Nazz’s face for a split second. Then, he laughed.

“Drugs? Oh Trisha. You are priceless.”

Her fury returned in a flash. Pushing him aside, she got to her feet and spat out a

response before heading for the door.

“You won’t find this so funny from inside a prison cell.”

Nazz caught her in a twinkling and whirling her to face him, pushed her up against

the wall, his strong arms wrapped about her waist and pulling her against his hard

body.

“There is an explanation for all of this.”

Brigit Zahara

“Yeah I know. Either you or Pasquale are married and just wanted a little on the

side, hassle free.”

Again Nazz found her words amusing.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” he smiled. “No, we aren’t married and we

didn’t drug you. You‘re just going to have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

Nazz’s gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and then down to her throat, before

moving up to her mouth again. Brushing her lips with his own, he pressed soft wet

kisses along her cheek and down her neck until he arrived at that sexy spot on her

throat. As he opened his mouth wider and began sucking slow and strong on the

sensitive region, Trisha felt her determination weaken and her pussy twinge, an

invisible cord linking the rapturous pressure on her neck with the channel between her

legs that had already begun to tingle.

“No,” she spat out softly, pushing at his shoulders but Nazz had a death grip on

her and his relentless sucking undermined her intent. A searing sharp shot of pain in

the skin beneath his mouth brought Trisha around and struggling she pushed more

insistently against his body.

“Ow! Nazz, don’t. Please!”

However the hard, fast nip directly morphed into something infinitely more

pleasurable, shifting the earlier sensual sensations into something deeper, darker, more

raw. Within seconds, Trisha’s head had fallen back into the cradle of one of Nazz’s

hands as she repeated her shouted command. Only this time, she meant something

quite different.

“Pleaaaase…”

Gone was the distrust, gone was the guilt. All that remained was the throbbing

desire for his hands, his mouth, his cock—any and all of them—moving within her

hands, her mouth, her body.

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Locked together, bit by bit, they slid down the wall to the floor. Never taking his

lips from her throat, Nazz pulled Trisha onto him before rolling over on top of her.

With a couple of lingering licks on her throat, he spread her legs with one of his own

and then situated between them, rose to his knees where he began to swiftly remove her

clothing.

Deliciously dazed, Trisha felt hypnotized by his gaze and made helpless by the

strange power of his kiss. Like before, she felt that every nerve ending on and in her

body was teetering on the edge of explosion, trembling and desperate with the need to

burst. Now naked and spread out before him, Trisha watched through eyes heavy with

want as Nazz peeled off his pants. Though the space was still a little shadowy, she

could determine that, most remarkably, he looked a thousand times better than he had

only moments earlier. Where his flesh had seemed pasty and sunken, the smooth,

nearly beige skin of his face now appeared dewy and healthy. Gone too were the

bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. The coffee-flecked black circles that beheld her now were

glittering and glowing with desire.

Still kneeling, he reached down and with one hand at the back of her neck brought

her up to a sitting position and flush with his cock and its burgeoning head. With a

quick flick of his nail, he deeply nicked the cap, a dark line of crimson directly bubbling

up.

Jumping, Trisha gasped loudly as her eyes flew up to Nazz’s face, her head still

steadied in his one-handed grip. Without emotion or comment, he watched her closely

as if trying to gauge her reaction.

“What… Why… Doesn’t that hurt?”

His dark sexy grin answered her long before his response did.

“Yeah.”

Nazz then clasped either side of Trisha’s head and guided her toward his rod and

its blood-spotted head. Instinctively, Trisha braced her hands against his thighs and

pulled back.

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“No.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly, the satiny warmth of his voice dispelling her repulsion

and fear. But only a little.

“No Nazz. I can’t.”

Frowning, she let her gaze drop to Nazz’s enticing cock with its pulsing vein only

inches from her face and the aromatic scarlet liquid that dotted the swollen sphere atop

it. Immediately her mouth started to water and she grew unbearably anxious,

inexplicably hungry.

“Yes, you can,” he said lowly. “You want it. You need it. Can’t you smell it?”

Trisha could indeed, the familiar aroma that she had also encountered in Nazz’s

mystery concoction yesterday wrenching on her heightened nerve endings, calling to

them and filling her, to the point of near madness, with a dark, desperate need. Sensing

Trisha’s dam of resolve was about to break, Nazz erotically urged her on.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

With a groan, Trisha lurched forward and fastened her lips around Nazz’s shaft.

Poised at the top, she sucked its head eagerly a half a dozen times, the taste of his blood

ricocheting through her and driving her lust even further.

Driving her hot mouth all the way down to the base, Trisha then pulled all the way

back up, completing a handful of tight wet top-to-bottom strokes, the strong flavor of

salt and iron turning her on like never before. Sucking impatiently again on the pulsing

head, Trisha dropped one hand to jerk up and down Nazz’s shuddering shaft while the

other cupped and massaged his heavy balls.

Nazz’s gentle caresses through her long hair turned frantic, his fingers digging into

her skull as he involuntarily thrust his hips forward and pushed Trisha’s head against

him hard, driving her tight mouth onto him.

Moving both hands around to clasp Nazz’s butt, Trisha’s fingers dug into the

sensitive flesh, a touch that elicited a deep moan of appreciation from between his full

Sandwich Play

lips. Casting a leisurely look up the length of his body, Trisha’s lust-filled eyes found

and held Nazz’s in a knowing stare.

Seconds later, the dark disks of his pupils rolled back in his head as it tilted

backward, the movement thrusting his chin into the air. The winded groan that hissed

out from between his soft, slackened mouth preceded the hot spray of semen from his

cock that blasted all the way to the back of Trisha’s throat. Clinging to Nazz’s lower half

tightly, Trisha’s eyes drifted shut as she continued to move her mouth up and down.

When he finished, Trisha unhurriedly held him lightly in her hands and pressed a

series of long wet kisses over every inch of his limp cock from the thick wide base all

the way up to the spherical head.

Pulling her lips away, she studied him. It was a fine instrument, even flaccid.

Frowning she looked closer.

Where was the cut Nazz had inflicted on himself?

There was no trace whatsoever of the gash he had gouged into the tender flesh.

Cautiously she fingered the taut-skinned head that was completely smooth, lifting her

face up to look at Nazz questioningly. Before she could ask, he had dropped down and

eased Trisha onto her back, her upside-down view of Pasquale standing over her,

quickening her already fast pulse.

“Your turn, princess,” he said with a wink.

Every inch of Trisha’s body was now vibrating with a need she couldn’t easily

define. The sight of both Pasquale and Nazz created a hunger in her she’d never felt but

it was quickly overshadowed by a burning hot confusion.

“I don’t know, I-I just don’t understand any of this. I’m not usually like this. Really

I’m not.”

“Methinks thou doth protest too much,” Pasquale said lightly as he unzipped his

pants and, easing them down over his hips, let them drop to the floor. Stepping out of

the fabric that bunched at his ankles, he kept his eyes on Trisha’s face, while she was

desperately wishing she could return the favor. But from her position beneath, his full

Brigit Zahara

balls and hard cock jutting out in her direction, silently demanding to be sucked, was

distracting to say the least.

Trisha’s eyes grew wide, her voice directly matching her earnest expression.

“No really. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life.”

“It’s okay, Trisha. We know you’re not promiscuous, if that’s what you mean,”

Nazz said. “I told you there was a reason.”

“Yeah,” Pasquale said with a wink. “It’s not you. It’s us. We’re very…persuasive.”

Reaching down, he seized his rigid cock and, with his eyes never leaving Trisha’s,

began to rub it slowly.

No flipping kidding.

Slowly he fell to his knees where together, Nazz and Pasquale very systemically

gave every inch of her body a good going over. First kissing, then switching to licking

and sucking they moved from her neck and shoulders to her arms, hands and even

fingers. Veering around her breasts, they resumed at her rib cage, damn near driving

her crazy with a particularly pleasurable stint paid to her bellybutton. From there they

worked their way down her thighs and calves to her feet and toes, sucking her toes with

such strength and skill, Trisha just about came.

But not quite. For that she’d need some concentrated attention and by now, the

guys’ neglect of Trisha’s aching breasts and pussy was getting downright

uncomfortable.

Meandering his mouth up the length of her body, Pasquale finally began suckling

her abandoned breasts. Grasping her with one hand, he squeezed the ample flesh which

raised one throbbing nipple up to his lips. With his tongue, he circled it, flickering the

tip back and forth, before taking it into his mouth and sucking it. Then he switched to

the other breast. Trisha thought she had died and gone to heaven. Each luxurious pull

of his lips resulted in a twinge in her pounding pussy that was in dire need of a good

sucking itself.

Sandwich Play

Moving up from her toes, Nazz arrived at the throbbing center of her core. By now,

Trisha’s pelvis was so clenched with need, it was trembling. Letting his gaze drift up

from her dripping pussy, Nazz grinned.

“How ’bout we go watch a little TV?”

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

Nazz stared at her with those cum-producing eyes.

“Ladies first.”

With that he dipped his head down and shifting down, drew her legs up and over

either side of his head. Spreading her saturated outer lips with his fingers to better

expose her glistening strip, Nazz closed his mouth around her clit and began slowly

sucking it. Her body responded hard and fast. Within seconds Trisha exploded, the

unremitting pressure of Nazz’s mouth reducing her to a quivering mass.

Breathlessly, Trisha opened her eyes and glanced down at Nazz. He lifted his head

and with a devilish smile that glinted in his eyes and spread his full lips, he shifted

down and began again. Trisha groaned as she watched Nazz’s head begin to bob

rhythmically while he laid a whole slew of long, strong licks on her throbbing pussy.

Back and forth he worked her over real good—moving his amazingly powerful tongue

all the way up only to use the underside to trail back down. Harder and faster he went,

holding her thighs apart as they began to tremble with the onset of another climax. His

tongue now working at an intense rate. The strong pressure of Nazz’s tongue quickly

pushed Trisha to come violently, her hands and legs jerking as the moist friction of both

the guys’ mouths rocked her body.

Before she had even recovered, Trisha felt the heavy pressure of Nazz’s cock

pressing enticingly along her pelvis as he lay down atop her. Caressing her face with

one hand, he slipped his thumb between her lips just as he slid his cock into her pussy.

Trisha sucked it instinctively, biting down hard and tasting that warm metallic taste as

Nazz filled her over and over again.

Brigit Zahara

Her focus drifted over to Pasquale who, tilting his head, began kissing Trisha’s neck

in the very spot that did it for her—just a pinch above the collarbone. And pinch was

the word. Starting as a playful little nip it soon shifted into an intense suction on her

throat that was just this side of painful, but in a very good way.

That’s going to leave a hickey, Trisha thought hazily as the combined efforts of Nazz

and Pasquale drove her to an explosive release unlike anything she‘d ever experienced.

Multicolored lights flashed behind her closed eyes, every nerve in her body

stretched taut and quivering. All her senses were heightened to an unbelievable razor-

like sharpness that moved her body to a bizarre state of clarity and awareness.

Where before she may have heard the occasional splash of rain here or there, or

enjoyed the steady muffled hum of it from safe indoors, now Trisha could hear the

tentative first few drops of rain that had begun to fall outside in a new and unusual

way. Everywhere, all around, the water from the sky seemed to be bouncing off the

pavement, pinging off the metal trash cans and thudding against the wooden fences. It

was as if the noise was amplified a hundred times over, but beyond that, Trisha could

smell the strong buffet of aromas that, assaulting her suddenly delicate nose, could best

be described as damp urban alleyway. Garbage, dirt, animals, concrete, metal, wood

and wire all mingled together with the fresh cleanness of the rain and Trisha, with her

inexplicably intensified sense of smell, felt as if she were getting the aroma of these

things for the very first time.

Above that she could hear the thunderous ticking of a clock in the other room, the

deafening electrical humming buzz of the fridge and the pounding of own heart like a

deafening bass drum in her ears.

Surrounded in the beautiful bouquet of male pheromones, hair and skin, Trisha

sighed as the guys switched positions and Pasquale took his place between her thighs.

With his hands pulling double duty, one kneading her breasts while the other was

between her legs, lightly fingering the throbbing bud of her clit, Pasquale lifted her up

with incredible ease and began to thrust in and out of her, his controlled small

Sandwich Play

movements still creating enough friction to do the job. Kneeling at her head, Nazz

guided Trisha’s hands back and up onto his cock where together they laid a whole

series of tight-fisted strokes onto his rigid shaft. With Pasquale’s hard cock ejaculating

inside her and the feel of Nazz’s warm cum spilling out between her fingers, Trisha

came again, bringing tears of sweet release to her eyes.

After a time of lying warm and sticky and close together, Trisha’s still breathy voice

broke the silence. “You still owe me an explanation.”

“Me?” asked Pasquale.

“No, me,” said Nazz. “Actually both of us owe you, Trish. What do you want first,

the good news or the bad news?”

“Let’s go with good.”

“You know the incredibly good times we’ve just had?”

Trisha nodded.

“Well, we can keep having those times forever.”

Trisha propped up onto one elbow.

“How do you figure that?”

“Because…”

Pasquale took over from there.

“Because the bad news is, Nazz and I are…on a liquid diet.”

“Coward,” Nazz muttered.

“Then you tell her.”

Trisha’s gaze moved from one to the other.

“I don’t get it. And tell me what?”

Nazz breathed deeply, squinting his eyes as if to recall some distant memory which,

in actuality, he was.

Brigit Zahara

“Do you remember our championship win at St. Jermaine’s, specifically the shower

afterward.”

Trisha blushed.

“Remember? I can’t seem to forget it. For years, I’ve dreamed about that

celebration.”

“So have we. That’s why you were.”

“Huh?”

“Remember when I kissed your hand?” Nazz said.

Trisha blushed, her body warming at the recollection.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you had skinned your knuckles when you fell.”

Trisha shrugged.

“Umm, maybe, I don’t remember that, but so what if I did?”

“When I kissed you, my lips touched a bit of the blood on your hand.”

Pasquale piped up.

“Same.”

Trisha’s confusion only grew worse.

“So?”

“Trisha, we weren’t sick those last few weeks before the big game. We

had…changed.”

“Changed?” she asked, looking again from one to the other. “Changed into what?”

Now Nazz seemed to be tongue-tied, so Pasquale jumped in.

“Into beings with a very long life expectancy.”

At first Trisha didn’t get it. At all. But slowly she began to mentally review the facts

from then and now. Here were two guys she hadn’t seen in some twenty years and yet

today they were both ageless, exceptionally strong, mesmerizing and charismatic,

Sandwich Play

sensitive to sun and by their own admission on a liquid diet and touting a very long life

expectancy. She giggled. One conclusion immediately came to Trisha’s mind.

“So are you saying you’re both vam…” she laughed again, “I mean are we really

talking about the V word here?”

Nazz’s response was short and sweet.

“Yes.”

“Yeah and Nazz is still caught in a time warp, fashionably speaking that is,”

Pasquale laughed lightly. “Through the years, I’ve tried to get him to dress in more

current fashions but he’s got a death grip on his faded jeans and bomber jacket.”

Trisha sat all the way up. Ignoring Pasquale’s comment she spoke to Nazz, “What?

Gimme a break. Just how stupid do you think I am?”

“You’re not stupid at all. That’s why we can trust you with this,” Nazz said

imploringly, sitting up beside her. “Remember that dream you kept having?”

Trisha nodded vaguely, all sign of a smile now gone from her face.

“You were having that dream about us because we were dreaming it. The blood we

tasted on your knuckles way back then linked the three of us for all eternity.”

“You guys are serious, aren‘t you?”

“Dead serious,” Pasquale said with a wink.

“That’s not funny,” Trisha replied, running a shaky hand through her hair. “So, am

I…like you now? I mean, your blood, on your…“ she pointed in the direction of Nazz’s

cock, “I swallowed that. Does that make me one too?”

“No. There’s more to it than that,“ Nazz whispered. “What you’ve been given

though is a little taste of what can be. All you have to tell us is if you want it or not. Do

you want it Trisha?”

Before she could give him her answer, Pasquale spoke.

Brigit Zahara

“Hey, Nazz,” he said, rolling over toward Trisha and sitting up, throwing an arm

around her shoulders, “do you remember that play we used to do where we’d bookend

an opposing player and stay on him until he gave in, dropped the ball and let us score?”

“Yeah,” Nazz replied, his black eyes dancing with desire. “It was called a Sandwich

Play.”

Trisha looked back at Pasquale, smiling as her eyes locked with his. He was gazing

down at her with a sexy grin. “So what do you say? Are you game for a little two-on-

one?”

As she the three of them fell back onto the floor, Trisha knew her answer to both of

the guys’ questions was yes.

About the Author

A former operator for the CIA, Brigit Zahara unleashed her passion for excitement

and adventure through her work, spending a good deal of her early adulthood

traveling throughout the United States and Europe, with lengthy spells in New York,

Los Angeles, Louisiana, Venice, London, Florence and Malta.

In her early thirties Brigit retired, looking then to her closet habit of writing fiction

as a means of indulging her need for pulse-pounding action. From there, her taste very

quickly turned to the tantalizing arena of erotica.

These days, Brigit lives in a seaside villa in Majorca, spending the steamy days

penning even steamier stories and the cool, ocean-breeze-kissed evenings researching

love scenes with her heart’s destiny and husband of nearly eight years. She welcomes

hearing from fans.

Brigit welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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