Title: You and Me (The Three of Us)
Summary: Felicity is the model for Tommy's nude art class. Oliver can't stop thinking about the girl he's never met – the one he only sees in Tommy's sketches. One night, they meet, and everything changes.
Author's Notes: Thank you so, so much for the great response to the first chapter – I was so thrilled to hear what you all thought. Once again, I was slow to get this chapter out, but I hope the content makes up for it. On a related note, the total chapter count for this story has been bumped up to 3, because Tommy Merlyn likes to take his sweet time in the bedroom arena, so blame him. SMUT AHEAD. Happy reading!
This time, they hold her hands as they walk. She didn't bring gloves tonight because she thought she'd be getting straight into her car and driving back to the dorms, so she'd be grateful for the warmth they're providing if only she weren't so worried about her palms becoming clammy. Like, 'severe cardiac event' clammy.
Tommy's thumb strokes her knuckles, and she bites down a scream. Doesn't he know she's about to have a meltdown? Does he have to be so goddamn appealing all the time?
On her other side, Oliver keeps shooting careful glances at her and loosening his grip, as though he thinks she'll want to bolt at any second.
Truthfully, she has considered it. Really, what is she even doing right now? Going home with two practical strangers, and not to read from the Torah either. What would her mother say if she knew?
(Probably, 'good for you, baby! Be safe and enjoy every minute of it!' but – no. NO. She is not thinking about ever having that conversation.)
The narrow footpath slopes down a gentle incline ahead of them, and she can see a large, lush lawn opening up in front of the building. Fancy accommodation, she thinks, noting the small stone fountain surrounded by white gravel in front of the wide staircase. This might not be Harvard territory (and she hasn't yet built up the courage to ask if that's one of the three colleges they were kicked out of) but there's still a demand for decent security and good landscaping, apparently. (She's trying not to feel resentful, but her dorm has some serious maintenance problems, and nobody on campus seemed to actually care about that Daniel Brewer was able to get into the building to keep depositing 'gifts' outside her door a couple of years ago.)
Her breath mists in the air in front of her, and she's just wondering whether it's worth pulling either of her hands away to adjust the collar of her jacket against the wind, when the heel of her boot hits a slightly slippery stone on the path at just the wrong angle and she shrieks, the world pitching alarmingly around her as she tips backwards.
"Whoa!" Tommy exclaims as he tightens his grip, reaching for her waist to pull her up.
But it's Oliver who scoops one arm around her and yanks her into him with full force. Her heart pounds and her legs feel like jelly underneath her as she tries to support her weight on tangled feet. "You okay?" Oliver asks, his voice rumbling through her chest.
"Mortified," she manages, sounding only slightly strangled, "but that's sort of my default setting anyway." Her hands are braced on his rock solid biceps; she's never been that enamoured of men who are bursting out of their t-shirts, but this? Is pretty damn delightful.
"Ollie, could you maybe manage not to induce some kind of arrhythmia in our guest?" Tommy requests dryly. "I'm sort of hoping she'll survive the night – and also, you know, the rest of her life."
Felicity cranes her neck to look at him, because Oliver seems to want to keep hold of her and honestly, she's not complaining. Tommy is watching the two of them with a softly affectionate grin, his dark eyes sparkling with promise. Red-blooded confidence races through her veins as she lifts an eyebrow with silent challenge. "What makes you think you're not equally to blame for my cardiac problems?"
Tommy's grin widens with surprise, and to her immense joy, she sees a pink flush to his cheeks. "Oh, so sorry," he says smoothly. "How ever can I make it up to you?"
They're out in the open, she thinks. It's dark, but the path split from the sidewalk only a short distance back. Anyone could walk through here at any moment.
She lifts her hand, and beckons him with one finger.
Oliver's fingers tighten around her hips as Tommy approaches, his irises darkening with desire. His fingertips dance across the exposed skin of her throat and she shivers, her eyelids fluttering closed. She feels his hand steady her jaw, and then his warm mouth closes over hers. This time he's more confident and demanding, coaxing her lips open and tasting her like a man possessed.
Her blood runs hot and cold at the same time, her senses amplified and her nerves hypersensitive to Tommy's touch. She wants every second of this and more. She wants to touch and taste and feel – to shatter so completely that she might never be whole again.
Tommy tucks in closer to her, banding one arm across her back to support her as she leans towards him. She twists her fingers into the fabric of Oliver's coat and feels his hands grip her hips more firmly in response. When a whimper rises from the back of her throat, Oliver almost groans – and then gently rocks his pelvis against hers. She gasps into the kiss, and Tommy breaks away to throw a look of mild irritation in Oliver's direction. "You trying to communicate something, there, buddy?"
Oliver surprises her by doing it again, this time slipping his thigh between hers and applying firmer pressure against her core. She shudders with pleasure, tiny jolts of electricity zipping up and down her spine. "Damn right I am," he says roughly, and leans down to press a sudden bruising kiss to her mouth.
"Fuck, that's hot," Tommy mutters. He leans around them to check the path for any unsuspecting passers-by who might be about to get an eyeful. "Maybe we should get inside before this becomes a cliché."
Felicity is on board with going inside, but has a few follow-up questions about the second part of that statement. Do people usually commence the foreplay part of a threesome on this path? She pulls away from Oliver's extremely talented tongue – ignoring his little grunt of displeasure – and repeats, "Cliché?"
Tommy winks playfully at her, lifting a hand to indicate their surroundings. "Uh, dark, secluded woodland?" He wrinkles his nose. "Well, like, three trees, but anyway – check. Young super hot people trying to get freaky with each other? Check." He glances along the path once again. "It is literally only a matter of time before a family of cannibals decides to hunt us down."
Felicity snorts with laughter, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with fondness for the two of them. This could so easily have been different, she recognises: she would have liked them both a lot even if mutual attraction weren't an issue. She would have found it easy to be their friend. They're both good and sweet and funny – and yeah, crazy attractive, which probably would have played havoc with her brain from time to time. But she would have found a kind of home in their friendship – and she thinks they might have made a little room for her of their own accord.
It's a little sad to think that that's probably off the table now. As interested as the two of them might seem in the heat of the moment, she seriously doubts they're in the habit of keeping in touch with the women they share. It makes sense – she can admit that to herself. Why complicate a great friendship with the petty rivalry of liking the same person? Easier to cut everybody else loose once they're done and protect the small island they've made for themselves at all costs.
Knowing that probably won't make it any easier tomorrow, though.
She pushes the small pang of disappointment firmly away. She agreed to this because she wants it – wants the two very, very attractive men who touch her like she's made of silk and kiss her like a promise to rip her apart.
"Come on," she says to them, her heart made brave just for tonight. "Let's go inside before we get eaten." And she winks at Oliver, reaching up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
She tucks her arms into their offered elbows (Tommy offers his cheek, too, and turns it at the last minute to catch her mouth for one sweet second) and they half-walk, half-run the remaining distance.
Three steps into the apartment, Tommy curses and hisses, "The pizza boxes!"
Felicity watches with some amusement as he hurriedly tosses his sketchpad to one side and moves quickly down the short hallway, half-turning to throw a palm up in her direction. "Uh, give me two seconds, okay?" He reaches the doorway to what she assumes is the living room, and grimaces. "Crap, maybe make it five minutes. Ollie?"
"Oh, I can keep us both occupied for five minutes," Oliver promises with a wicked smile, shrugging off his jacket. His charcoal t-shirt is nicely fitted to his muscular form, and the sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. It takes everything Felicity has not to melt at the sight.
Of course, some of the melting might be due to the aggressive use of central heating in the apartment. Felicity is only half-joking when she fans herself and says, "Jeez, did you guys sneak me on a jet to the Bahamas without me noticing?"
Oliver grins ruefully. "Neither of us like the cold." He reaches out and rather playfully undoes the top button of her coat. "But I can turn it down if you're really attached to that coat."
She pretends to consider this even as she lets him crowd her up against the door. "Hmm, it is a really good coat," she muses. "And I got it on sale, too, so – ohh…"
His warm mouth opens against the skin of her throat, and suddenly she's grateful for the door behind her back because there's no way she'd be standing upright otherwise. His stubble feels more than a day old, and it scratches and tickles pleasantly even as his tongue swipes across her skin, sending shudders of pleasure down her spine.
She feels his hands slide between them and pluck open another button. "How about now?" he murmurs into her neck, the vibrations of his voice resonating with the humming of her nerves.
She forces herself to concentrate, squinting up at the bare bulb of the hallway light, very aware of the path his lips are taking. "I don't know," she says, embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. "It's warm, and it has this hood that you can detach –"
Oliver pushes the lapels of her coat as far apart as he can with the restriction imposed by the remaining buttons. His mouth drops to her collarbone, his teeth nipping lightly at first, then a little harder when she inhales sharply and squirms against him. His hands are still gripping the fabric of her jacket, and damn it, she wants him to touch her so badly. Her bold streak rears its head again, and this time it's her hands that reach up to undo a button and – just in case – the belt as well.
He makes a pleased noise, his breath hot over the moist marks he's leaving in his wake. "I'm pretty persuasive when I put my mind to it." He sounds annoyingly smug, and she's about to point out that he earned most of his persuasion credit by having incredibly sexy forearms, not by peppering her neck with stubble-burn, but then he actually licks her, dragging the flat of his tongue into the curve of her shoulder and bites down hard.
"Shit!" She lets her head drop back, her fingers grasping his arms to steady herself. It feels so fucking good, that little bit of pain mixed with so much pleasure, and she feels a rush of heat between her thighs. "Oh my god, Oliver…"
Then wonderfully, blessedly, he tugs at the last two buttons and shoves the heavy fabric haphazardly off her shoulders. Her arms are trapped by the pull of the collar behind her back; she wriggles a little to get free, but Oliver moves in close, the length of his body caging her in against the door. His palms skim her waist, fingers brushing dangerously at the hem of her t-shirt. "I like this," he says, his eyes dark with hunger. "You, at my mercy." His mouth captures hers roughly but all-too-briefly, and he rests his forehead against hers. "Or maybe I'm at yours."
A thrill runs through her at the idea of having this man in the palm of her hand – literally, if she has anything to do with it – and she presses herself back against the door to get enough leverage to lift her leg and hook it around his very solid thigh. "You tell me," she breathes, applying some pressure in hopes that he'll understand what she wants.
Oliver slides his thigh between hers and without warning, grabs her firmly by the waist and lifts her just enough that he can grind against her at the best possible angle. The hard, delicious friction is exactly what she needs – a slow, simmering heat begins to build, and she moans low in her throat, her fingers scrabbling against the door. It takes her a second to realise that the firm pressure she can feel against her hipbone is his erection, and the next time his thigh meets the heat of her core, she tilts her pelvis to rub him a little more.
His eyes flash with blazing heat. One minute his hands are almost innocently resting over the fabric of her t-shirt, the next his hips are pinning her to the door and his fingers are next to her hot skin, his thumbs sweeping large arcs over her the curve of her waist. "Oliver…" she pleads softly.
His fingers are just lifting to cup her breasts when there's a loud clang from the other room, and she hears Tommy's muffled curse. Soft fabric rustles in the living room; the lighting dims, and then a mere second later, Tommy appears in the doorway looking a little dishevelled but pleased with himself. His eyes follow the line of her jean-clad leg and linger on the stretch of skin visible below her rucked up t-shirt. "You want me to give you guys another five minutes?"
Felicity feels a flicker of guilt beneath her excitement at seeing him. She's never done this before, but she's pretty sure that threesome etiquette demands a fairly equal division of attention.
Then again, from the glimmer of approval she saw in his eyes earlier – and still sees now – she can tell that this is important to Tommy. He's been careful tonight about making sure that she's comfortable, that this isn't too much too fast. Of course he would want to be sure that she likes Oliver too, given that she only met him tonight, and that she wants both of them enough to feel secure about what they're going to do.
She pushes up on tiptoe to kiss Oliver's cheek, amusing herself with the relative chastity of the gesture. "Actually, I was hoping to see more of your apartment." She smiles softly at Tommy. "With or without pizza boxes."
Oliver sets her down gently, his hands lingering a little on her skin and the curve of her hips. She shrugs off her coat completely, reaching up with one slightly shaky hand to hang it on the hook on the wall.
Tommy tuts loudly. "You didn't even take the lady's coat, Ollie? What could you have been doing this entire time?"
Felicity surreptitiously straightens her t-shirt and her glasses, runs a hand through her hair, and pats her swollen mouth. "Just keeping me warm," she says, her chest swelling with affection at the way Oliver ducks his head sheepishly.
She turns her attention to Tommy, who quirks an eyebrow at her and bends low into a mock bow. "The grand tour will start promptly at –" he pulls his arm from behind his back to check his watch, "uh, 11:07." Shadows slant across his face in the dim light, and she shivers to see the sparkle of promise in his eyes. He lifts his arm, fingers unfolding gracefully from the palm of his hand. "If you'll allow me…"
She expects him to lead her through to the living room right away, but as soon as her fingers close around his warm hand, his grip tightens and he draws her close. For a moment, it's just the two of them – Tommy's forehead touching hers, his other hand lightly cupping her cheek. "Have I mentioned," he begins, his voice husky, "how incredibly lucky we both feel to have you here tonight?"
Felicity's heart jumps a little at his obvious sincerity. Everything about tonight seems almost too good to be true, she thinks, and yet – she's definitely here. This is as real as it gets. She lifts her chin and kisses him softly. "Feeling pretty lucky myself," she murmurs against his mouth. "And that's just in the hallway, so who even knows what the rest of the night holds?"
The breath of his laughter mists the bottom edges of her glasses, and that seems to amuse him even more. He turns his hand to lace their fingers together, tugging her across the threshold into the living room. She takes in every detail with focused interest – from the orange glow of the street light slanting through the gap in the curtains to the haphazard piles of DVDs around the base of the TV, as well as the surprisingly clean coffee table. There's a soft, dark purple throw draped over the couch and she wonders – before she can stop herself – whether it's a keepsake from a former girlfriend. The floor lamp in the corner is on but dimmed, casting long shadows around the room.
"I'm not going to lie," Tommy says, "we are basically a personification of the male college student stereotype. So, in the interest of full disclosure, I moved most of the mess to the kitchen." He gestures to the door behind him. "I really can't guarantee what kind of wildlife could be having a territorial dispute in there even as we speak, so maybe don't go in there… probably ever."
Felicity takes a moment to appreciate his handsome face, this close to hers, and the pleasing fit of his dark shirt. She wants to touch him – to feel his solid body under her hands, and wrap her legs around him. It's almost incomprehensible to her that such a possibility is now a reality, despite a catalogue of strongly supportive evidence. Without really thinking, she lifts her free hand and flattens it against his abdomen, feeling his muscles tense as he realises what she's doing. She presses just enough to feel the contours of his flesh against her fingertips, her hand gliding smoothly upwards towards his firm pectoral.
Tommy stares down at her with dark, hooded eyes. He looks almost as though he can't believe she's really there – and instantly, she wants to wipe that look away, so she pulls her hand free from his, cups the back of his neck, and pulls him down to kiss her.
Every kiss they've shared so far tonight has been an exploration – of each other, and of what they both want – but this one is different. This feels like a bold declaration, with hot open mouths and bodies pressed tightly against each other: I want you.
Tommy furnishes this with a little extra information when he kisses his way along her jaw and whispers into her ear, "I want to taste you."
She gets his meaning right away, but it flummoxes her for a moment. She feels heat rush to her cheeks and she has no idea whether to say what she's thinking, which is oh god, yes, please – because maybe that'll freak him out a bit, if she wants it that badly?
"Can I?" he persists, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her ear and encountering the cold metal of her industrial piercing. Her scalp prickles pleasantly at the sensation, and her eyelids flutter shut. "Please, Felicity?"
She lets her forehead drop to his shoulder, using his body as some kind of shield against her embarrassment. "Yes," she breathes. "Just… Tommy…"
He nuzzles into her neck, his mouth opening against her pulse. "Yeah?"
Oh, god. This is possibly the most humiliating thing she's ever had to say. "I, um… I'm not exactly used to…" She blows out a frustrated breath into the material of his shirt, still unable to look him in the eye. "Nobody's ever done that before. To me, I mean. Well, obviously I mean me, who else would I –?"
Tommy stops what he's doing with his delightful tongue, and pulls back to give her a quizzical look. "Really?"
She knows he doesn't mean it quite the way it sounds. He isn't trying to be judgemental, he isn't freaking out – he's just surprised. But the embarrassment still sits like an uncomfortable weight in her stomach, and she automatically avoids his gaze. She and Cooper broke up more than six months ago, and although she doesn't regret the experiences she had with him, she's now increasingly aware that their sex life was merely – for lack of a better word – straightforward. Good, yes, but not exactly ground-breaking.
She's not sure exactly how Tommy interprets her expression, or if he exchanges any silent communication with Oliver – who she's peripherally aware of leaning against the doorframe behind her – but he's quick to duck his head into her line of sight, concern written all over his face. "Hey," he says softly. "Listen, I didn't mean to upset you. If you don't want to, that's okay – we don't want to push for anything more than you're comfortable with tonight."
"I do want to," she says quickly, almost without thinking. "Believe me, I so want to. Just as long as you understand that it'll be new for me, so I don't know how I'm going to handle it, or if I'll even–"
"We'll go slow," Tommy assures her. "You tell me to stop, I stop."
It's scary, how much she trusts both him and Oliver. They're practically strangers, but she's about to put herself in their hands for one night – and deep down, she knows that any fear she feels comes from the idea of pushing her own boundaries and stepping outside her comfort zone. If there's ever going to be a time for her to try something new, it's now – and damn it, she really wants to do this.
When she lets Tommy lead her to the couch and settle her back against the soft cushions, though, her pulse flutters in her throat and she has to concentrate on slowing each and every breath just to feel moderately in control of herself. Tommy plants one knee on the couch next to her and leans over to kiss her deeply. She feels a weird spike of nervous excitement to realise that his mouth will soon be touching her most sensitive area – the thought is almost incomprehensible. She's so wired right now, so responsive to his every touch; what on earth will this do to her? Will she even survive?
Tommy pulls away slowly, his eyes flashing with wicked possibilities. His hands flatten against her thighs, rubbing slow confident strokes, almost massaging her tense muscles. She wills herself to relax, sinking further into the cushions and licking her lips as she watches his strong, attractive hands move against her dark jeans.
Yeah, she's definitely not going to survive this.
He lets his thumbs swipe along her inner thighs, closer and closer to her apex on each stroke until he finally – finally – touches her, first with a brush of his knuckle, and then with a firm press of the pads of his thumbs against her aching centre. She can't help the breathy moan that escapes her. She wriggles her hips a little, parting her legs just enough to make more room for his thumbs or – god help her – any others fingers he might care to touch her with.
Tommy's eyes darken visibly, and she swallows. He aligns his thumbs together, one above the other, and rubs her harder this time, the denim ridge of her jeans unyielding against the sensitive flesh underneath. Pure pleasure coils tightly in her belly; she whimpers and squirms, her fingers digging into the armrest. "Tommy…"
He surges forward, hand sliding into her hair as he kisses her hard, a brutal clash of teeth and lips. "I can't wait to see you come," he whispers harshly. "God, Felicity, you're so beautiful…"
A rustle of fabric catches her attention, and her eyes move past Tommy to see Oliver settling into an armchair on the other side of the coffee table, his gaze fixed on her. He sits neatly, looking almost relaxed, but she sees the ragged edge of his control flaring in his hungry eyes and knows it's taking something out of him to stay so far back right now. It's incredibly gratifying, even if she does have to tamp down on her own urge to reach for him.
Tommy catches her wandering attention, and a sly smile tugs at his lips as he turns to look at Oliver. They hold each other's gaze for a long moment – yet another silent conversation, she thinks, though this time with a thrill of anticipation rather than annoyance – then Tommy turns back to her, a new look of mischief in his eyes. She barely has time to interpret what that might mean when his fingers deftly undo the button and zip of her jeans. Tommy tilts his head, silently affirming that she's still okay, and then he taps her hips lightly – his message clear.
Behind him, Oliver's hand comes to rest over his jean-clad erection.
She plants her hands on the couch cushion underneath her and lifts her hips, allowing Tommy to pull her jeans down almost to her knees. When she lets her ass drop back to the couch, she feels the smooth fabric against the backs of her legs and she shivers, thinking of what's to come. Tommy glances up at her, winking boldly, before pulling the jeans all the way to her ankles. She realises her ankle boots are still on, and the thought of Tommy removing them too seems profoundly embarrassing, but he doesn't even think twice about it – just unzips them efficiently and slides them off, placing them carefully underneath the coffee table. Then, suddenly, her jeans are whipped away, and she realises she's half-lying on the couch with bare legs, plain black cotton panties, and her t-shirt still on. Her instinct is to cover herself – to fold inwards and flee.
Yet Tommy somehow makes her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world when he gets on his knees in front of her and visibly swallows when he sees the slick arousal darkening her panties. Watching Oliver begin to gently rub himself gives her an almost intoxicating sense of power, even if she is about to be at Tommy's mercy.
His hands cup the backs of her calves and lift them to rest on his shoulders, the fabric of his t-shirt tickling her sensitive skin. When he shuffles in closer to her, she surprises herself by moving to meet him, her legs sliding over his back until her knees are hooked securely on either side of his head. He looks up at her and grins, half-turning his head to press a kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh. "Will you do something for me?" he asks, his voice hoarse.
She nods without thinking. She's come this far, why not go a step further? She's pretty sure she'll be saying yes a lot tonight anyway.
Tommy's dark eyes focus carefully on hers. "I want you to look at Oliver for me, okay?"
She blinks, a little uncertain. He wants her to watch Oliver jerk off, or…?
"Show him," Tommy says. "Show him what you like. Tell him what you want. Can you do that for me?"
She nods again, slowly this time, and lifts her head to meet Oliver's eyes. His hand is still, but he's almost sitting forward on the edge of his seat, staring at her as though she might suddenly disappear. "Okay," she whispers, more to Oliver than Tommy. "I can do that."
She says this, but it's still difficult to remember when Tommy leans forward to kiss his way along her thighs, his stubble scratching and stimulating her pleasantly. "Keep looking at Oliver," he reminds her, a quiet murmur between her legs.
For a short while, she loses herself in the sensation of Tommy's warm mouth against her skin, even as he taunts her by tugging the fabric of her panties away from her hipbone and drawing out the long journey he's taking to get to where she wants him the most. He kisses the soft skin of her abdomen, his fingers framing her hips almost reverently. She can't help but stare at the top of his head, his dark hair so stark against her light skin. Then, remembering, she looks up at Oliver. His anticipation is still plain to see, but there's something else in his eyes too – some new warmth and affection as he watches Tommy devote himself to her flesh.
Then Tommy swipes his tongue underneath the thin cotton hem of her panties, all the way across the soft, soft skin just above her clit, and she gasps and shudders, fingers flexing against the couch.
Oliver's eyes darken, and he licks his lips. "She liked that," he tells Tommy, the sound of his hoarse voice startling in the quiet of the room. "Look at her hands, Tommy."
Tommy does, a small wicked smile flickering against her skin. He looks up at her as he winds his fingers through the loops of cotton over her hips, and she obligingly shifts so that he can tug them off.
Unexpectedly, he leans back and tosses them to Oliver. She blinks and almost protests with embarrassment, but Oliver looks deadly serious as he rubs the damp fabric between his thumb and forefinger. "God, Tommy," he croaks, licking his lips again. "She must be soaking."
Felicity shivers, another rush of liquid heat slicking her thighs. She could count her own pulse just from the throb she feels at her core. Tommy grips her knees firmly just as she's about to squeeze her legs together, and spreads them wide apart, the sensation of cool air against her hot flesh almost too much to bear. The look on his face when he sees her glistening skin nearly makes her come undone. "Jesus," he breathes. "Can you see, Ollie?"
Oliver cranes his neck, and she knows he's staying put on his side of the room to avoid overwhelming her, so she spreads her legs wider, hooking one knee over the arm of the couch and opening herself up for him.
"Fuck." Oliver's hand resumes its slow, careful movements. "You are so beautiful, Felicity."
"Yeah, you are," Tommy says earnestly. "I wish you could see yourself right now."
Somehow, she doesn't need to, she thinks. She can see the looks on their faces – she knows how much they want her. No matter how this night goes, she'll always remember this moment and the overwhelming rush it gave her.
Then Tommy leans forward and closes his mouth over her, and she bucks her hips with a startled gasp.
Oliver says, rather dryly, "I think she liked that, too."
Felicity is too overthrown with sensation to pay attention to Tommy's presumably non-verbal response. She can feel the heat of his mouth against her outer folds – the wetness of his tongue sliding over her slick skin, and the occasional nip of his teeth. He's kissing her, she realises; sucking gently on her flesh, lapping at the taste of her.
This time, when she looks at Oliver, she's grasping for solid ground – something to tether her to this world even as she crumbles to pieces. That winding coil of pleasure begins to build again, the fires stoked by both Tommy's hands and lips, and Oliver's hungry, unflinching gaze. Tommy flattens his tongue against her folds, and curls it into her as he takes a long, glorious lick. The tip catches her clit and she cries out weakly, her hands shaking.
"Use your fingers, Tommy," Oliver instructs. "Spread her open and lick her again."
Holy fuck, just the sound of his voice is going to be the end of her, she knows it. Hearing Oliver tell Tommy what to do, how to please her, is the sexiest thing she's ever witnessed in her life. He looks so confident and authoritative, sitting over there, watching as Tommy devours her. It's kind of mind-blowing to know that he's cataloguing every sound she makes, every tiny movement, and using them to tell Tommy how to make her come.
She wonders if they'll reverse the situation later. If one of them will tell her what to do. Or – and she shivers – if she'll be the one observing them.
Tommy's thumbs draw her folds apart, and his tongue pushes into her, softly teasing her fluttering walls. She almost sobs when he gently strokes his fingertip against her slick heat, waiting until she's ready before sliding it deep inside. He sets a slow but persistent pace, and she unconsciously rocks her hips in time with him, each gasp a cry for more.
Oliver's voice is rough when he says, "Her clit, Tommy."
"Fuck, yes," she breathes, nodding at Oliver, almost overcome with blissful gratitude.
Tommy slips another finger inside her, curling them gently with each stroke. He glances up at her, his eyes sparkling sinfully, before pursing his mouth over her clit and sucking hard.
A harsh sob rips itself from her throat, her orgasm so close now – just a little bit more and she'll be right there. One hand stays fisted in the soft material of the couch, but she can't help sliding her other hand into Tommy's hair, clenching her fingers in the dark strands. She rocks her hips again, pressing herself closer to his face. When she looks at Oliver, she knows she's about to fly apart; desperation makes her swollen lips part and her chest heave, and she mouths his name across the space between them.
Oliver grips himself through his pants, his eyelids slamming closed for a moment, lips moving but no sound coming out. When he opens them again, he looks almost wild with desire; a muscle flickers in his jaw, and his knuckles blanch against his dark jeans. His dark eyes watch her, unblinking, and she can't look away – she doesn't look away – until she comes, stars blanketing her vision as she writhes and moans under the spell of Tommy's clever mouth. She doesn't even hear herself talking until she's on the way down, her muscles slowly, slowly unclenching around his fingers. "…Oh my god, oh my god, oh fuck yes, yes, yes – jesus, Tommy…"
Tommy takes his sweet time drawing every last spasm from her body, massaging her sensitive clit until she sags, boneless, into the couch. Then – evil, evil man – he sits back on his heels, looking ridiculously smug, and lifts his glistening fingers to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he inhales deeply before sucking them clean.
"Bastard," she murmurs weakly.
Tommy grins at her, levering himself up on his knees to reach up and kiss her –
"Wait," says Oliver suddenly. With unexpected speed, he's out of the chair and rounding the table towards them, sinking to his knees next to Tommy. His eyes flit between Tommy's mouth and chin – still shiny with her arousal – and Felicity's open legs, her skin speckled with stubble burn, her sex red and puffy and very very wet.
She knows, with sudden clarity, that Oliver wants to taste her too, he just can't decide how he wants to do that. Maybe he thinks putting his mouth on her now will pale in comparison to the climax she's still floating down from, or maybe the idea of kissing another guy is a little daunting. Truthfully, she'd like to experience both, but maybe it's her turn to direct now – and she wants to pick the option that will truly connect all of them – at least for what remains of tonight.
Unhooking her unsteady leg from the arm of the couch, she leans forward to press a brief kiss to Oliver's lips, then slides her hand into his hair, applying the barest amount of pressure to turn his face towards Tommy.
She doesn't need to tell him twice, apparently, because Oliver's hands move up to bracket Tommy's face, closing the gap and kissing him open-mouthed. Felicity watches them with her breath caught in her throat, the sight of their tongues sliding together almost unbearably hot. Oliver slowly pulls back, his gaze locked with Tommy's for a long moment, thumbs stroking his cheeks. Tommy exhales slowly, recovering, but he doesn't seem surprised or confused.
They've done this before, Felicity realises.
Good, she thinks firmly. Because she's starting to get a feel for what she wants from tonight – what her ultimate fantasy might be, if there's a chance of achieving that – and seeing Oliver and Tommy kiss like old lovers has just cemented the desire in her mind.
As if he can read her mind, Oliver turns to look at her, his eyes flashing with so many possibilities. "You taste incredible," he says almost wondrously. "Here, let me show you…"
He kisses her long, deep and slow, his tongue stroking into her mouth so that she can taste herself thoroughly – tangy and strangely addictive, and all the better for coming to her from Tommy via Oliver. She wants to pull him into her – to feel their bodies against hers, all warm skin and hard muscle.
"Bedroom?" Tommy whispers as they part.
She presses her forehead to Oliver's, nodding and reaching blindly for Tommy's hand. "Bedroom," she agrees.
Author's Note: Yes, the threesome is coming soon. Thankfully, the last chapter is well underway, so hopefully I'll be able to post it within the next week. Sexy sex ahoy! (Also, the POV switching is back in the final chapter. This one just started with Felicity and snowballed a little.) Thank you for reading – I always love to read your comments so please let me know if you loved it/hated it/were ambivalent.