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“Oh, come on already!”
Alfred barely needed a shove, hovering on the threshold to the suite, but Thomas gave him one anyway.
“There he goes!” Thomas shouted, teetering slightly as he followed the other man into the suite.
Alfred landed against the opposite wall, mustering an impeccable mask of his remaining dignity, belied only by the glassy, whiskey-reddened haze of his eyes.
Martha put a hand over her mouth, smothering the unladylike giggle that had almost been a short. She sank down on the small footstool by the couch, legs folding out to the side as her heels slid into the plush carpet.
Thomas was halfway to the bar cart when she looked up, digging into the ice bucket with his bare hands. She rolled her eyes, accepting the whiskey — always whiskey with these men, it seemed — and swirling it.
Alfred seemed to be making an effort to stay upright. He leaned heavily against the entryway wall, gaze flicking between the two of them with some trepidation.
His eyes landed on her, and Martha preened under the attention. Internally, she sighed over his choice. Thomas never let such things go.
Such people go.
She set her drink aside, ducking Thomas’ suit coat as it sailed past her head.
“Help me out of my dress?” she asked Alfred, wobbling slightly in her heels as she stood. Perhaps she should have taken those off first. Oh, that was too much effort.
Alfred’s eyes went fantastically wide. Predictably, his gaze leapt immediately from her to her husband’s back, still bent over the bar cart.
“I—ehm,” he cut off, swallowing, “Ma’am—“
“Fantastic,” Martha said, spinning around before he could force out a refusal, “The catch is at the top, and then the zipper is hiding underneath the hem.”
“Of course.” Alfred replied.
“It’s quite tight,” Martha lifted the hair that had fallen from her twist out of the way, “You may need to hold the fabric together to keep it from sliding off the track.”
Warm fingers grazed the nape of her neck, deft even after several drinks. Martha shivered slightly, eyes sliding shut.
She let out a soft sigh as the dress loosened around her, feeling the zipper slide effortlessly down to the small of her back. A firm grip held the tracks together, sinking into the muscles along her spine.
Thomas was grinning at her when she opened her eyes, gaze dark and heated. He held two more whiskeys in his hands, approaching the two of them in a slow, deliberate waltz.
Alfred hesitated as the zipper hit its end, the heat of his fingers slipping from her spine. The slight hitch in his breathing would be imperceptible, if not for the proximity of their faces.
“Much better,” Martha said, stepping out of Alfred’s arms, “Thank you, dear.”
Her husband winked as they passed each other, his eyes briefly glancing down her gaping dress.
Martha floated into the bedroom, shrugging out of the dress. After a moment, music drifted into the suite, soft yet lively.
She briefly admired the skyline through their window, the river dark and somber as it tracked through the lights of the town. Even now, at some godforsaken hour, there was music and the sound of distant cafe customers, chattering in French.
Kicking off her heels, she pulled on the transparent nightgown Thomas adored, wrapping the silk tie loosely around her waist. She refused to look in the mirror, wiping under both eyes and along the corners of her lips with the back of her thumbs.
With a final thought, she yanked the pins out of her hair, chucking them toward the open suitcase in the corner. She ran a hand through the slightly frizzy curls, sighing quite drunkenly.
Thomas loved his whiskey. And it seemed to agree with her, as much as she protested the next morning. Everything was light and warm, from her toes to the tips of her ears.
She reappeared in the living room with none of her earlier grace, drifting toward the music with a song on her tongue, beating against her teeth.
“There’s my wild woman,” Thomas said appreciatively from the sofa, “Isn’t she a sight, Alfred?”
Martha took her whiskey back with a smile, settling on the arm of the chair next to him.
Alfred had been cajoled into the opposite loveseat during her brief outfit change. His eyes carefully skirted the neckline of her robe, never once dipping below her collarbone.
“Sir,” he answered Thomas, in that particular British way of neither agreeing or disagreeing.
Sir. Oy, they were still stuck on that ridiculousness.
“Give him more whiskey,” Martha complained, waving at her husband, “He’s gone all stiff again.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows at the full glass set in front of Alfred. “You heard the lady.”
It had taken hours to get Alfred to relax even a fraction. Martha wasn’t going to let their good work go to waste — not after she’d felt the fleeting touch along her spine, strong hands ghosting along her waist like they could wrap all the way around her, with room to spare.
It took Alfred less than a second to toss back the drink, swallowing down the whiskey with ease. He met Thomas’ eyes, a challenge buried in the slight twitch of his lips.
She wondered, distantly, if Thomas would let Alfred hold her. After. If there was an after, after all.
That was too many afters. She shook her head, bemused.
“Good man,” Thomas said, not rising to the bait. His head lolled around, until he was looking up at Martha, slightly off-kilter. “How shall we reward him, darling?”
Martha had played this game a hundred times before. This time, however, she didn’t need any encouragement. She straightened on the arm of the sofa, an absent hand trailing along her collarbone.
“I think we should send the poor man to bed,” she said regretfully, “He must be exhausted.”
“He’s been working all day,” Thomas agreed, considering, “What do you think, Alfred? Is it time for bed?”
“If you insist, sir,” Alfred replied, expressionless. His left hand tightened around his thigh, half-hidden by his jacket.
“Tch,” Thomas hissed between his teeth, turning back to Martha, “I think he’s getting tired of us.”
Martha pursed her lips, taking a sip from her glass. She watched Alfred squirm under Thomas’ gaze, waiting until his eyes flicked back to her.
With a pointed look, she undid the tie around her waist, letting the robe unfurl slightly, until the edges were just covering her nipples, the curve of her breasts bared to the room.
Alfred’s cheeks flushed, betraying his near-perfect composure. Martha watched as the flush traveled along the side of his neck, bright against his pale skin. His eyes settled even higher up her neck, somewhere above her chin.
Oh, Alfred. A few glasses of whiskey with Thomas, and here they were. It was almost inevitable.
“Are you?” she asked, setting her glass into Thomas’ waiting hand. She stood, feeling her husband’s eyes bore into the space between her shoulder blades.
God, he loved to watch her. It was gratifying, in a way she could rarely put to words.
“Ma’am?” Alfred asked. He watched her, wary as she crossed the short distance between them.
“Are you tired of us?” Martha clarified, nudging his legs open, “Would you like to go to bed?”
She savored the way his eyes widened, hands immediately grasping her hips to steady her as she sank into his lap.
This close, she could smell the whiskey on his breath. She pushed her hands into the gap between his suit coat and shirt, trailing her fingers along the heated firmness of his abdominals.
God, but he kept in good shape. She’d admired that about him from the beginning -- the way he kept himself in a perpetual state of military-readiness, like some war was just over the horizon.
It took little effort to tilt her hips slightly, grinding against the front of his pants. An answering hardness met her inquiry, sending a burst of heat through her core.
She could feel Thomas’ gaze like a tangible thing on her back, hot and still so well-controlled. As much as he wanted -- wanted, in the physical, yearning sense -- he would never step beyond her lead. And she would never flit too far beyond his, as tempting as it was.
“Say goodnight to Martha, would you, Alfred?” Thomas said, light and airy. Like she wasn’t sitting in their butler’s lap, a wedding ring glinting on her finger and her husband a scant three feet away.
She felt Alfred freeze against her, processing the command. He opened his mouth, staring at Thomas, only to close it a moment later.
Smart man.
“Alfred,” Thomas said, not finishing the order.
The hands around her hips tightened briefly, drawing her attention. Alfred’s jaw grazed her cheek, stubble scraping against her skin.
“Goodnight.” he breathed, barely a whisper against her neck.
Martha shivered again, feeling her nipples harden against the soft fabric of her robe. Suddenly, the room was frigid around her, the only source of heat clinging to her hips with steady hands.
“Martha,” Thomas broke the silence, an undercurrent of suggestion deepening his voice slightly, “Give Alfred a goodnight kiss.”
She grasped Alfred’s face in between her hands, fingers sliding against faint stubble and soft skin.
He was breathing quickly, chest heaving silently against hers. His eyes were the darkest she’d ever seen them, pupils swallowing the brilliant blue she’d come to cherish.
She leaned in, tilting his lips up to meet hers. He went without protest, following her lead as she pressed their mouths together.
The kiss was painfully chaste, lasting barely more than a few seconds. She pulled back before he had time to truly respond, leaning their foreheads together.
His hands tightened around her hips again, as if to hold her lips against his. There was something possessive burning in his eyes, some hidden, unknown side of the man she’d only ever seen glimpses of.
Behind her, Thomas exhaled softly. The glass in his drink clinked softly as he swirled it, drawing out the moment.
“Alfred,” he said, suddenly gruff, “Do you want to fuck my wife?”
Martha didn’t dare breathe. She held perfectly still on Alfred’s lap, caged in by his hands and the growing hardness beneath her.
“Yes, sir,” Alfred said after a beat, tearing his eyes away from her face.
Unapologetically honest, even in his apparent discomfort.
She couldn’t see Thomas’ expression, but she could imagine it. Triumphant, layered in something detached he allowed her, in moments like these.
“Martha,” Thomas said, with that familiar tone in his voice again, “Would you like Alfred to fuck you?”
She shivered again, feeling Alfred’s hands tighten around her again. Reassuring her.
“I would like that very much,” she said, feeling him twitch against her as he processed the admission.
“Well,” Thomas said, mock-surprised, “What are we waiting for?”
Alfred’s gaze slid down to hers, a question burning in his eyes. So damned polite, for all their efforts otherwise.
He drove them both crazy, it seemed.
“Please?” she asked, low enough that it was just for the two of them. The plea sank in, and he groaned, hands tightening around her hips.
Martha opened her mouth to ask again, only to be cut off by a sudden, bruising kiss. The hands around her hips dropped to her thighs, hefting her up off his lap with impressive strength.
Alfred kissed like a dying man desperate for air. Like this was his last moment in the mortal realm. He kissed her, and it was all she could do to kiss back, moving with him as something bright burned between them.
She’d thought, briefly, that kissing her butler -- however attractive said butler was in his uniform aside -- would be a step too far. But everything felt so right, suddenly, with whiskey on her tongue and Alfred’s shirt collar in her hands. With Thomas, the music, and the swirling pleasure in her veins--
They broke after a long moment, breathless.
“To the bed?” Thomas asked after a pause, voice low. A question, instead of an instruction. Alfred’s last chance to bow out gracefully, whether he knew it or not.
Martha looked up at Alfred. Before she could fully form the word -- please -- she was suddenly in a bridal carry, staring dizzily at the ceiling as she was carried toward the bedroom.
Thomas trailed after Alfred, banking -- but not dousing -- the fire between them with his good humor. He turned off the lamps one by one as they headed into the bedroom, whistling under his breath.
Alfred stepped around her discarded dress from earlier, depositing her on the bed far more gently than Thomas ever had. She smiled up at him, stretching back on the bed as the whiskey rushed to her head.
There was so much longing, in those eyes. Bedroom eyes, she heard her mother’s voice saying. Wanting.
“Darling,” Thomas said, sweeping into the room with half his shirt undone, “What did I miss?”
Martha grinned up at her husband, noticing the way Alfred’s eyes only briefly left her face, flicking toward Thomas as they waited for further instruction.
“Nothing yet,” she said, resisting the urge to giggle, “I was…admiring the view.”
Alfred knelt on the bed next to her, shadowed in the light from the street lamps outside.
“Take off her clothes,” Thomas ordered, taking up a position behind the butler and peering over his shoulder, “I want her naked.”
“Sir,” Alfred said, clipped. His hands reached out, trailing across the delicate skin between her breasts.
Martha pushed her hips up, demonstrating her eagerness. Alfred’s fingers slipped into the robe, tugging it off each arm with precise, delicate care.
A good butler always knew the value of what he was working with, at any moment. Clothes included.
He handled her with such reverent care, sweeping his fingertips unerringly across her erogenous zones, calluses scraping against her skin.
She was naked before she realized, spread out on the bed with a growing ache between her legs.
When she looked up, Thomas had a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, whispering quietly in his ear. Martha didn’t bother to strain to hear, closing her eyes and humming along to the faint music drifting through the window.
Firm hands gripped her legs, drawing her back to the present. She opened her eyes just in time to see Alfred’s head dip between her legs, Thomas’ hand firmly pressed between his shoulder blades.
Alfred’s tongue flattened against her core, licking a broad stripe upward. She let out a startled moan, hips jerking up as heat flared through her body, sudden and aching.
“Good,” Thomas said, leaning across Alfred to watch, “Just like that…”
Martha moaned as the motion was repeated, feeling herself grow even wetter around Alfred’s tongue. She clenched down around nothing, allowing Alfred’s hands to spread her legs.
“Give her a finger,” Thomas said, “Slowly.”
Alfred acquiesced, a finger sliding into her a moment later. She moaned, grinding up into his mouth as the sudden intrusion slid against her walls, thick and perfectly crooked.
“Grab onto his hair, darling,” Thomas instructed her, “Tell him how well he’s doing.”
Martha slid her hands into Alfred’s hair, tugging on the soft, blonde curls. Between her legs, he groaned against her, sending vibrations through her core.
“So good,” she gasped, feeling his finger begin sliding in and out of her, crooked to find that perfect spot within her, “More, please.”
“You want more?” Thomas asked. He was grinning over Alfred’s shoulder, a flush high on either cheek, “Alfred, give the poor woman another finger, would you?”
Alfred leaned back briefly to catch his breath. His lips were shiny in the low light, dripping with her wetness.
“Did I say you could stop?”
At Thomas’ question, Alfred hesitated.
“No, sir.”
“Then continue,” Thomas ordered, his hand tightening on Alfred’s shoulder, “As you were.”
“Yes, sir.”
Martha moaned as the second finger slid into her, parting easily around them. As requested, Alfred’s mouth returned between her legs, picking up where he’d left off with a flick of his tongue.
She squirmed against the bedsheets as the ache in her core grew, letting out quick, uneven breaths. Everything was warm, and she could feel her orgasm approaching like a rainstorm, every cell in her body standing to attention.
Between her legs, Alfred grunted softly, as if sensing her distress. The fingers inside her crooked upwards, grinding against that perfect, mindless spot, until she was practically shoving herself into his mouth, moaning.
“Good,” Thomas said, sounding pleased, “Just a little bit more…”
Alfred’s tongue swirled around her, digging in. Martha gasped, going rigid on the bed as pleasured coursed through her, hot and dizzying.
She tipped over the edge into orgasm with a soft, shuddering cry, feeling Alfred’s fingers twitch inside her as she clenched down. She could feel her body fluttering around him, as sensitive as a live wire.
Thomas made a pleased noise somewhere above her. Alfred’s mouth pulled away from her a moment later, his fingers slipping out with a wet, squelching noise.
Martha was too blissed out to care, breathing heavily on her back. She felt her thighs slide together, trying to keep the room upright in her mind as everything spun behind her eyelids.
Oh, Alfred. She was never going to get that memory out of her head, it seemed.
“Darling?” Thomas asked. She made a quiet noise of acknowledgement, stretching out on the bed.
Alfred said something to Thomas, too low for her to catch. She forced her eyes open, wanting to see both of them again.
“Are you ready for more?” Thomas asked, when he saw her eyes on him, “Alfred is eager to…help.”
She watched as, in the near-darkness, a vivid blush spread across Alfred’s cheeks. His eyes roved up and down her body, just as heated as Thomas’.
“Please,” she said, smiling up at her husband, “I’d like that.”
“Excellent,” Thomas said, clapping Alfred on the shoulder, “I don’t think I need to explain this part, do I?”
“No sir,” Alfred said, through his blush, “I understand.”
Gentle hands redirected her on the bed, reopening her legs. Martha glanced down, realizing that Alfred had shed his clothing sometime during their conversation.
He was hard a leaking against his thigh, flushed a painful red that rivaled the blush across his cheeks. But when their eyes met, she could see only cool, distant affection.
He still sees this as a job, Martha realized, spreading her legs and shifting back so he could fit between them, Or he’s trying to.
“Beautiful,” Thomas said, hovering over Alfred’s shoulders. He was shirtless as well, broad chest framing Alfred’s lithe, muscled back, “You’re doing so well.”
She couldn’t tell who that comment had been directed toward. The realization made something in her stomach twist, hot and forbidden. Thomas was praising them both -- her and Alfred, for being beautiful. For being beautiful together.
Alfred’s hands grasped the backs of her knees, lifting her legs slightly. When he had her leaning against his legs, he leaned forward, hand curled around the base of his erection.
Thomas followed him, leaning down across the bed as the tip of Alfred’s erection parted her around him, wet and easily forgiving.
He entered her in one smooth, slow thrust. She took a steadying breath as he bottomed out inside her, deeper than she could believe.
There was a soft gasp above her, Alfred’s or Thomas’, but everything was secondary to the feeling of him inside her, hot and straining against her very core.
The stretch was -- it was unspeakable. She clenched down, hissing under her breath as her walls twitched weakly around him.
Alfred’s hands found her hips, squeezing them briefly. He was trembling above her, holding perfectly still as she adjusted to the new girth.
“How do you feel, darling?” Thomas asked. His hand slid along her face, offering additional comfort. Buoying her in the sudden sea she’d lead them into.
“Full.” Martha breathed, “Very full, darling.”
Inside her, Alfred twitched at the admission, letting out a groan. The muscles of his chest and arms flexed in the low light, straining.
“Are you ready for Alfred to move?” Thomas asked, voice softening. His hand had settled behind her ear, possessive.
He always waited for her confirmation, even when she was desperate and gasping for it. Always watching her, looking for signs of discomfort or unease.
“Please,” she said, tightening around Alfred in a deliberate squeeze. Above her, he groaned again, shaking slightly with the effort of remaining still.
It was a delicious, forbidden sound. Especially from him. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard him vocalize anything unintentionally in her presence.
“Alfred,” Thomas said, deceptively light. He was grinning. “You heard her.”
Without warning, Alfred’s hips snapped upwards, punching a sudden breath out of her. She grabbed onto his arms for dear life, eyes widening as he began fucking into her, slow and methodical.
Somewhere above her, Thomas was laughing. She wished, distantly, that he knew what it felt like. To have someone so deep inside of you, bare and scraping against every atom. To feel that pleasure fracturing through your body, until she was mindless with it, eyes closed and focused entirely on --
“You can pick up the pace anytime,” Thomas instructed, his voice -- the voice -- slicing through her half-formed thoughts, “Can’t he, Martha?”
Martha moaned her approval, feeling Alfred’s hands tighten around her legs, lifting them up slightly higher. Everything was reduced to the feeling of him inside her, in and out, perfectly efficient thrusts never too deep or shallow.
Without thinking, she ran a hand down between her legs, aching for something to grind against. She was so wet, still heady from her last orgasm, but she was close again. Close enough that it would just take --
Thomas’ hand tightened around her neck, stalling her hand. “No. Not until I say.”
Above her, she felt Alfred exhale, the first sign of effort all evening. She opened her eyes, smiling up at him and leaning into the brand of Thomas’ hand.
He glanced down at her after a few beats, ripped away from his task. His hips stuttered slightly as their gazes connected, losing their perfect rhythm.
“Darling,” Thomas said, his previous displeasure forgotten, “Do you want Alfred to come inside you?”
Martha clenched down on Alfred reflexively, thrown by the thought. Above her, he made a choked-out noise, ducking his head.
“I do,” she said, craning her head so she could see her husband, “Please?”
Thomas’ eyes softened. His hand moved from her neck, stroking along her cheekbone.
“Of course,” he said, voice rough, “Anything you want.”
Together, they turned back to Alfred. He was staring at them, eyes wide and dark.
“Please?” Martha repeated, reaching out to cradle his face. He was so beautiful like this, flushed with exertion and reverent with his hands around her.
Alfred closed his eyes, leaning into her palm. With a moan, his hips stuttered in broken rhythm, slowing into a grinding, hitching motion.
A moment later, Martha felt that tell-tale warmth within her. She held Alfred through it, whispering soft praise as he spilled into her, lips parting in a silent moan.
It was everything she could have wanted, to hold him like this. To see his expression when he tipped over the edge, finding release in her.
Despite the ache between her legs, growing more insistent, she waited patiently as he came back to himself, eyes blinking open. His hands slipped from her legs, moving to pull himself out.
“Don’t,” Thomas warned, holding up a hand. “Stay there.”
Martha bit her lip, quietly thrilled by what was coming next. She clenched down gently around Alfred, feeling him soften slightly inside her.
As requested, he held perfectly still, arms straining on either side of her head. She admired the smooth, lean muscle across his chest, wondering how it would feel against her hands.
“Martha,” Thomas said, voice low, “Touch yourself.”
There was another hot, twisting thrill in her stomach. She dropped her hand from Alfred’s face, sliding it down between her legs.
Alfred made a wordless noise as she clenched down around him, grinding up into the heel of her hand. With him inside her, she was still riding so close to the edge, aching with pleasure.
She lifted her hips up slightly, drawing him deeper into her as she chased her orgasm. Alfred groaned, slipping forward exactly where she wanted him, growing harder against her walls as she --
There was a moment of perfect, twisting bliss as she came, clenching down in a series of spasms. Distantly, she felt Alfred’s hands cradle her face, as she had done for him, coaxing her through it.
She gave a final, dirty grind against her palm, gasping for breath. When she opened her eyes, Alfred’s were clenched shut. He was mouthing something to himself, expression twisted.
“Beautiful,” Thomas repeated, as reverent as Alfred’s expression, “Darling?”
Martha nodded, feeling half out of her head. She leaned back onto the bed, boneless and dizzy again.
There was another quiet, whispered conversation over her head. Martha didn’t pay attention, floating on the sudden rush of endorphins flowing through her veins.
Paris. Yes, this had been an excellent suggestion, after all.
Thomas shifted, jarring the mattress slightly. A moment later, Alfred slipped out of her, gently enough to minimize any discomfort.
Rougher, familiar hands replaced him, parting her legs. Martha made a happy noise as Thomas’ finger probed her wetness, letting him drag her down to the edge of the bed.
Alfred replaced Thomas behind her, lifting her up gently so she was on his lap. His hand cupped her jaw, conveying such care with hardly a word.
She opened her eyes, not realizing they had closed again. Alfred was staring down at her, inches from her face.
“Ready?” Thomas asked, moving her legs so they were around his waist. It wasn’t clear who he was asking, but Martha nodded anyway, feeling Alfred do the same a moment later.
The thrust into her, while expected, was still surprising. She opened around her husband, feeling another hot, forbidden thrill at the idea that he was -- that they were --
“Hold her,” Thomas said, slightly breathless as he began fucking up into her, just the way she liked it, “Up against your chest.”
She moaned as Alfred maneuvered her up, spine pressed to his sternum. She could feel him hardening against her lower back, rubbing against her with every thrust that shook her body.
The angle of Thomas inside her shifted, until she was almost reclining Alfred’s lap, legs wrapped around her husband’s waist.
She let out a grateful breath as Alfred’s hands snaked around her chest, bracing her against him. He was a solid weight at her back, warm and reassuring.
“Tell Alfred,” Thomas said, voice tight with exertion, “What a good job he’s doing, darling.”
Martha moaned, feeling a particularly vicious thrust hit something deep inside her. She rode the pleasure-pain of it, grasping at Alfred’s arms.
“You’re doing,” she cut off, hissing, “such a good job. You felt -- oh, so good in me…”
Thomas’ pace increased, as if urged on by the praise. Behind her, she felt Alfred twitch against her, moaning softly into her neck.
“He did, didn’t he?” Thomas asked roughly, “I could tell how -- how well he fucked you.”
Every brutal snap of hips jarred her backward into Alfred’s arms. She felt him twitch against her back, chasing the friction mindlessly. Almost like Thomas was fucking him through her, one motion through all three of their bodies, infinitely pleasurable.
“Tell him how good you feel now,” Thomas said, panting slightly as he leaned down, kissing her briefly, “Tell him how good it feels when I’m fucking you.”
“It feels -- good,” Martha managed, feeling Alfred’s arms tighten around her, grateful for something to grab onto, “So good, Thomas. Every time, it’s so good--”
Behind her, Alfred ground against her back, digging his cock into her back with a moan. He was fully hard again, slick against her heated skin.
“Touch her,” Thomas instructed, breathless. He was getting close, now -- she could tell.
Martha twitched desperately in Alfred’s arms as his right hand drifted between her legs, grazing where Thomas disappeared into her. He slid his fingers against her, gentle motions swiftly turning to firm, grinding circles.
She moaned, clenching down around Thomas. Everything was bright and just on the edge of too-much. His fingers, the smell of him in her nose -- the feeling of him getting off against her, hips jerking with every thrust from Thomas. Thomas--
With that thought, she came suddenly, clenching down as fire burned through her. Alfred’s fingers stalled, palm retreating to lay across her pelvis, pressing down lightly.
She rode the aftershocks, feeling Alfred’s palm press down, as if to touch Thomas. It felt heavenly, and she leaned back, grazing his cheek with a grateful, upside down kiss.
A moment later, Thomas spilled inside her, cursing quietly. He leaned forward, dropping his sweaty head against her shoulder, chest heaving.
Martha shifted slightly, sandwiched between the two men. She could feel Thomas’ -- and Alfred’s -- spend leaking from her, slipping past Thomas and onto the sheets.
As it had before, the thought thrilled her. She wondered, absently, how many rounds it would take to --
“Darling,” Thomas interrupted that line of thought, muffled against her collarbone, “Good?”
Martha nodded, relaxing against Alfred as Thomas pulled himself out of her, wincing. She accepted a brief kiss from her husband, holding tightly to Alfred’s arms as her legs were dropped to the edge of the bed.
“Alfred?” Thomas asked, his voice just as gentle. Behind her, she felt Alfred freeze, legs tensing under her thighs.
“I’m…fine, sir,” he said, sounding slightly strained. Martha could feel him shift against her back, still painfully hard -- and slick.
“Of course you are,” Thomas said genially, rocking back onto his heels. He grinned at Martha, teeth flashing in the darkness, “Darling?”
Martha made deliberate eye contact with her husband, shaking her head ever so slightly. His grin widened.
“Alfred,” he said, light and airy again, “Martha isn’t finished yet.”
“...Sir?” Alfred said.
“I’d like you to come inside her again,” Thomas continued, grin widening, “Now, please.”
Alfred paused, then began shifting his arms, as if to turn her around. Thomas cut him off, raising a hand.
“Just like that,” he corrected, leaning in, “I want to see her face when you enter her.”
Any other time, Martha would have rolled her eyes at her husband, tired of his posturing. But now, feeling Alfred’s hands slide down to her buttocks, slipping past them to finger her open, she could only take a deep breath, holding perfectly still.
Alfred pushed inside her slowly, mindful of the difficult angle. Martha forced her eyes open, making eye contact with Thomas as she was filled, inch by inch.
One, two short thrusts later, and Alfred was coming into her with a moan, hiding the noise in her neck. Martha closed her eyes, blissful as warmth bloomed inside her again, pleasant and thrilling.
Thomas made an approving noise, slipping off the bed. He wandered into the living room, no doubt in search of water and whatever snacks the suite had, hidden in its fancy cupboards.
After a moment, Alfred seemed to regain some level of higher functioning. He lifted her up by her thighs, pulling out of her in an admirable display of strength.
Martha smiled softly as she was deposited against the pillows, closing her eyes as a hand smoothed her hair back. Everything was perfect -- from the weightlessness of her limbs, to the leaking she could feel between her legs.
Alfred settled on the bed next to her, relaxing with a groan. Her fumbling offer to share the obscene stack of pillows behind her head -- really, Thomas’ choice in suites was always baffling -- was quietly refused.
“You’ve more than earned that,” he said. His voice-- everything -- was suddenly so raw. Full of emotion he never allowed them, even in private.
A hand slid to her hip, tightening briefly. Martha grasped it eagerly, tugging him toward her.
His lips found hers in the darkness, unerring and true. She kissed him, wondering briefly at the feeling of him pressed against her, a banked heat growing in her stomach.
He was so soft. Soft with her -- soft for her. She didn’t think she could ever have enough.
“Ah. Getting started without me?”
Martha broke the kiss, grinning at her husband. He was holding a different bottle of whiskey and a packet of dried fruit, looking incredibly proud of himself in the doorway.
“Just getting warmed up.” she said, batting her lashes. Thomas’ eyes -- dark and hungry, even when he was loose and happy like this -- slipped from her to Alfred, searching.
“Oh?” he asked, depositing the snacks on the nightstand, “I love the way you think, darling.”
Martha giggled as he jumped onto the bed next to them, holding onto Alfred as the mattress shook. Thomas kissed her briefly, then tucked her under his arm, coming eye to eye with Alfred.
There was a long pause as the two men stared at each other, neither yielding. Alfred still had a hand on her hip, even as she leaned into Thomas’ chest.
“Have you ever been fucked before, Alfred?” Thomas asked, breaking the silence. His gaze was steady, never leaving Alfred’s face.
Martha watched as a familiar, vivid blush grew across the younger man’s neck, rising to his face. She held her breath, waiting.
“N-no, sir.” Alfred said, stuttering slightly. His composure, weakened as it was, fractured even further.
There was another long, drawn-out silence.
“Would you like to be?” Thomas asked.
Martha tipped her head back, laughing until it hurt.