Page 37 of A Good Prospect

Chapter Fourteen

Ophir was overwhelmed by the deluge of sensation when Salvador lunged for him and laid that enormous kiss on him. It wasn’t just the intensity of the sudden grope and the freedom of finally being able to admit their lust for each other—it was the idea that Tamasin was watching avidly that set Ophir off.

If Tamasin spoke the naïve truth, that she couldn’t separate them and wanted to be affectionate toward both of them, was there anything wrong with that? Not that Ophir could see. Only one of them could marry her, but she was right—they were partners, a contract that presumably extended into the future for decades if they got their quartz mill going in a smart fashion. There was no breaking them up, as far as Ophir could see.

So he returned the kiss lustily, reaching one blind hand out to find Tamasin and draw her closer. He could hear her panting, could even feel the steam from her breath against the side of his face as he languidly sucked on Sal’s tongue. His prick was so taut he’d come the moment anyone dared touch it, and perhaps just from the stimulation of Sal’s pinching fingertips. He wove his hand through Sal’s thick, lustrous hair, reveling in the silken feel, the locks sliding over his strong, muscular neck. He gripped Tamasin by the wrist to keep her near, wondering if they would suddenly grapple in another round of fisticuffs the moment either one of them made a sensual move on the woman, and then Ophir was gasping for air.

Sal dropped to his knees and veritably inhaled Ophir’s prick into his hot mouth.

Ophir was so stunned his breath caught, and for a moment he nearly choked. Perhaps he was just imagining what Sal felt trying to cram his oversized phallus down his gullet. Semen surged up the length of his prick and a few drops of ejaculate spurted into the hot mouth, and Ophir’s hand automatically slapped against Sal’s forehead, to push him away, to indicate he must slow down.

But Sal was voracious in his suckling, so enthusiastic that large hungry sounds echoed off the adobe walls of the room. And the next thing Ophir knew, Sal was spinning on his butt atop the cowhide rug like a fallen vaquero, as Ophir angrily stomped to the far side of the room.

What? What had just occurred? Ophir spun to see the confused and pained look in Sal’s eyes, and Tamasin cried, “Ophir! Why did you shove Sal?” She squatted next to the fallen cowboy to smooth the curtain of hair from his forehead, tenderly.

“Yeah, partner,” Sal said hoarsely. “If you didn’t want me doing that, a polite ‘no thank you’ would do. You didn’t need to nearly crack my skull open.”

Ophir rubbed his face, his mind racing to recreate the past few moments. “I know it had something to do with North Carolina,” he stammered, completely dumbfounded. “A sudden vision leaped into my head. Some of those men…” And then he remembered what it was. He took several long steps toward Sal, to take his other arm and help him up. “Good God almighty, Sal. I can’t apologize enough.”

Sal frowned. “What men in North Carolina? What does that have to do with me?”

Ophir rubbed his face again, hoping to wipe the shame and anger away, but he’d have to confess to Sal. Otherwise he’d never understand why Ophir had reacted that way to having his cock sucked by another man. “There were some men…” He gently smeared a lock of hair over Sal’s forehead, but he couldn’t look him in the eye. “Not to equate you with those sons of bitches. But yes, some of them thought it was great fun to manhandle me as if I was some kind of donkey. I guess a memory flashed before my eyes when it hit me that it was a man sucking on me. Good God, I hope you don’t take it personally, Sal.”

“Manhandled you?” Tamasin inquired. “Meaning, without your approval?”

Ophir tried to laugh. “I don’t think my approval entered into it, my niña. Being a slave doesn’t give you many rights to object to anything.” He sighed. “But yes, mauled me whenever they’d drink rum, laughing, taunting me. And my traitorous body responded—who wouldn’t under similar circumstances? So they took this as a positive response, and only amplified their attentions.” He shrugged. “They were bored. There’s not much to do on a tobacco plantation for Yankees of privilege.”

“Don’t think about it,” Tamasin urged. “I try not to.”

It occurred to Ophir that Tamasin had also been manhandled by her husband. Sure, it was mauling within the confines of holy matrimony, but when one of the participants didn’t really desire it, it was still manhandling. It made Ophir feel filthy, especially when his body responded, giving the impression that he was enthusiastic about the sucking and frigging. “I try not to think about it. A sudden memory must have appeared in my brain, somehow.”

Sal finally spoke. “Ophir. You know I’m not those men. I wasn’t doing it to laugh at you, or gain some prurient…Well, all right. Prurient thrill, I’ll admit that.”

Their laughter eased some of the tension, and a thought occurred to Ophir. How to erase even more tension, blot the awkwardness from everyone’s recent memory. Taking Tamasin by the upper arms, he said soothingly to her, “Gentle flower. We need to teach you all over again that being touched by a man doesn’t always have to be traumatic or distasteful. I know that, in my logical mind, but I have yet to really learn it, too.” He steered her to the sideboard so she could give a little hop and perch there on her ass where he had formerly leaned, greasy with spicy butter. She did slide a little on the butter that had dripped there, and Ophir stood between her thighs, stroking the side of her placid face.

“You have bad memories,” he said tenderly. “I have bad memories.” He chuckled. “Sal only has drunken happy memories, if he can remember them at all.”

“No fair,” Sal said cheerfully. He, too, leaned a hip on the sideboard, perhaps eager to see what Ophir’s plan was.

“Now.” Ophir pressed a tranquil kiss to Tamasin’s juicy berry lips. But only one—he didn’t want her to rear up, grow tense, or lash out as he had. His fingertips snaked down to her thighs, thumbs hitching up the hem of her Californio skirts, inching the fabric up her milky legs until he could hook his thumbs in the waistband of her drawers. “Being touched doesn’t have to be horrid or alarming. I’ll show you a gentle, pleasant manner of being touched. You just have to relax and trust me.”

Her eyes glittered almost as though laden with unshed tears, and her lower lip trembled, but Ophir didn’t feel her tense. He stroked her face some more before falling to his knees, as Sal had done before him. Tamasin uttered a little surprised gasp—“Oh!”—but didn’t pull away the tiniest inch.

Would Sal react with jealous fisticuffs because Ophir was the first to pleasure the woman? He would find out soon enough if Sal could really accept the idea of sharing his ostensible fiancée.

* * * *

Oh, Lordy.What on earth was Ophir doing?

Tamasin allowed him to slide her drawers down. She had no embarrassment at being seen naked—well, maybe a little, back when she had been a collection of bruised broken bones. But now she’d gained weight, the bruises had vanished, and she thought she could compete with any other thirty-year-old from the Emerald Isle. But…What was he doing on his knees, nuzzling his crisp moustache against her inner thighs?

Lordy,she might be a tad mortified that her quim wept trails of sweet juice. Watching Salvador gobble up the impressive breadth of Ophir’s penis had her so moist she was damp down to her knees. Ophir licked and nibbled at her inner thighs, no doubt tasting the juice trails that betrayed her state of lust. Her spongy pussy lips were so saturated with eager sap, she could feel the bulging prepuce at her core extending, reaching out in blatant greed.

Oh, this would not do! If he kept this up, she would have to reach down and shove him away as he had done to Sal. Or, even more unthinkable, she would have to slide her own fingertips over that prepuce and frig herself into that mindless crescendo she liked to enjoy so much when alone. She’d always wondered if men experienced the same explosion of ecstasy when they had orgasms, but there had never been anyone to ask.

“Oh, Ophir!” she cried out unintentionally when he darted the tip of his tongue out to touch her clitoris. It fluttered wildly, the blissful shuddering radiating down her inner thighs and up the center of her abdomen, nearly making her ovaries leap with the intensity of such a simple thing. A touch of the tongue apparently was enough to grip her entire body in the throes of euphoria, and she found herself almost sobbing, either wanting him to get on with it, or stop!

Salvador clambered onto the cabinet behind her, leaning against the wall and sheltering her between his thighs. A great warmth oozed into her—she felt protected and relaxed, clamped between his sturdy leather-clad thighs. She allowed her head to roll onto his solid chest as she breathed in his essence of cow hides and sweet grass. She snaked her tongue out like Ophir was doing down there somewhere, and licked the pit of Sal’s sweet throat.