Linda Alvarez - The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

DeVille reached out and slapped Harcourt’s leg. “Come on, Harcourt. For the lady.”

Austin stepped forwards quickly, tugged Harcourt’s hat from his hand, and pressed her lips to his, interrupting whatever he had been about to say in protest. Her hat fell off. His lips were far softer than she’d expected, and he tasted like whiskey with all the burn gone.

She dropped his hat in the straw and ran her gloved hand up his chest. That was nice and firm. She scrubbed her palm across a nipple, but she could barely feel it beneath his clothing. His fingers closed over her wrist and lifted it. “Are you sure about this?” he said. Flickers of lantern light reflected in his eyes and glistened off the new dampness on his lips.

“As sure as shooting,” Austin said. “Get over here, DeVille.”

“That’d be Virgil to you.”

“Then I’m Sarah. Sarah Jane Austin.” Her free hand, ignoring the pleasantries, shaped Harcourt’s narrow waist and rubbed next to the knife sheath at the small of his back.

Harcourt’s eyes closed for a moment, then he grinned down at her, a quick flash. “Virgil, this lady is compromising me.”

“I’ll protect you,” he said, solemnly.

Preparations took little time. Harcourt opened out the men’s bedrolls atop their canvas tarps, with enough straw beneath for cushioning, while DeVille skimmed off Austin’s coat, knelt, and unbuckled her chaps. His fingers danced along her hip bones, then slid down the outsides of her thighs and cupped her knees above her boots. He tipped his head back to look up at her and said, “It’s a nice change from petticoats and corsetry. Downright inspirational, in fact.”

Austin swallowed and said, “You’ve got considerable clothes yourself. Harcourt, you going to help me with this?”

“Give me his coat, and I’ll hang it up.”

That wasn’t what she’d meant. She stripped off her gloves and, before laying her hands on DeVille’s coat, cupped his face instead. Stubble rasped her palms; he turned his head to press a damp, whiskery kiss into her palm before she reached his mouth. He was more skilled and intent than she’d been prepared for, and when she finally tugged away from him and shoved his coat off, her vest was off, her shirt had been unbuttoned to the waist, and pulled mostly out of her pants. She didn’t linger over DeVille’s waistcoat buttons as she’d intended, fearing she’d find herself ravished and sated before she’d even extracted his watch from its pocket. That would hardly be fair to Captain Harcourt.

DeVille helped her with the shoulder holsters he wore, laying his guns carefully away on a big silk handkerchief. Austin then glanced at Harcourt, whose hands went to the buckle of his gun belt, letting it slither down his hips until she caught the worn leather and laid the weapons aside.

She said to Harcourt, “You take his shirt off.”

A pause. DeVille said, “Lady’s choice, Aaron.” Their gaze met and held in silent conversation. Austin tried imagining using Harcourt’s Christian name herself, and couldn’t quite conceive of it.

Harcourt took a moment, visibly collecting himself, then went to work in businesslike fashion on DeVille’s cuffs and collar. He hesitated again. “You sure about this?”

DeVille shrugged. “I don’t think our Sarah’s that delicate, are you, honey?” He licked his lips, though, and looked away while Harcourt’s hands, suddenly gentle, worked the linen over DeVille’s shoulders and down his arms, and pulled off even his undershirt.

Austin understood, then. The bruise from earlier wasn’t showing except as a red mark, but DeVille was scarred all over his ribs and belly, as if he’d been peppered with a giant shotgun. She forced herself to look away from the damage and saw he had a good pair of shoulders on him. He said, “It’s from canister shot, down in Virginia. You got anything to say?”

“You look fine to me,” she said. She elbowed Harcourt aside and set to DeVille’s pants buttons. He didn’t seem to mind her fumbling there, so she fondled his cock and balls through the fall of his pants before dipping her hands inside and drawing him out. His rosy cock had a pretty arch to it, and she imagined, with suddenly dry mouth, how it might feel inside her cunny.

Harcourt moved behind her and unknotted the thong binding her hair, then spreading her hair over her shoulders. He burrowed his calloused fingers down to her scalp and massaged, a pleasure that brought tears to her eyes. By the time she had DeVille fully naked, her own shirt had disappeared and Harcourt had his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her ear while neatly flicking open the buttons on her pants.

Harcourt lifted his head long enough to say to DeVille, “You first,” and returned to her ear, her cheek, her throat, her shoulder, each kiss or nip making her tremble. She shuddered when she felt him hardening against the small of her back, and squirmed against him. He breathed raggedly into her neck and squeezed her to him more tightly. She wondered why he hadn’t wanted to go first himself. So long as she had him eventually, she supposed it didn’t matter.

Austin tugged DeVille forwards by the arm. “Kiss me,” she said, just before his mouth closed over hers. His clever fingers delved beneath the bandages she used to bind her bosom, and a moment later she felt another set of hands join in. Cotton fluttered down her sides and to the floor, and for the first time in six years, hands other than her own touched bare skin. She whimpered and sagged back against Harcourt, who cupped and held her breasts for DeVille’s hot, delicate mouth.

She twisted in their grip for an eternity, until DeVille muttered something and Harcourt lifted her off her feet, with no more effort than she would have used in picking up a kitten. DeVille, she realized, was yanking off her boots, then her pants. She had just enough presence of mind to grab, but she wasn’t quick enough to prevent him from seeing the rolled bandage that provided the other element of her male disguise. He grinned up at her and kissed her right on the quim. “Maybe it’s time for those bedrolls,” he said. “Harcourt, do take off that blamed knife. And the rest of it, while you’re at it.”

Austin lost some details after that. Both men seemed intent on making her lose her mind. She had never felt anything so good in her life as strong male bodies pressed both to her front and her back, their hands seeking out every sensitive spot she had. For a long time she did nothing but hold on and respond to whomever happened to be kissing her at the time. She could tell them apart even with her eyes closed: DeVille’s artistry and the scrape of his moustache, Harcourt’s smoother skin and more aggressive tongue and teeth. Harcourt’s hands were more direct, too, which she appreciated as she began to feel more and more wild for release.

His blunt, calloused finger delicately traced down the line between her buttocks, then stroked the folds of her quim. She cried out. The finger pressed upwards, opening her with impossible gentleness. The tip of the finger curled inside, and she cried out again. Harcourt said, sounding out of breath, “I think she might be ready for you, Virgil.”

“God damn … hold her for me …”

She didn’t want to wait for anything. Austin grabbed DeVille’s cock. “Hurry up , you son of a-” She lost her breath as he nudged himself inside, stretching her deliciously; then Harcourt’s hands shifted her hips in some small way, and DeVille slid in even more deeply, until there was no more space between them at all. He rolled his hips, rubbing deeply into the centre of her pleasure, and she gasped, “Again!”

“Anything for a lady,” he said, and after a little more of this she crested with a sharp cry, clinging to him until the waves of pleasure ebbed. She felt wonderful, but still wanted more. She squirmed between them both, sliding her hands from DeVille’s shoulders to his hips and back again. She could still feel him inside her, harder than before, and Harcourt’s cock like an iron bar digging into her waist.