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The night air is cool on my skin, the wind sweeping up the skirt of my dress, softly caressing my bare thighs. I pull open the large door to the bar, Patrick and Jackson right behind me, the seductive music sucking us in. The three of us have just left a mutual friend's birthday party, deciding to have a quick drink before heading home. I feel especially sensuous, Patrick and Jackson's brown eyes roving over my breasts, the curve of my ass and the pout of my lips, for the last few hours. Since I met these sexy, Irish-blooded brothers six months ago, I have been consumed with fantasies of them, pondering the deliciousness of crossing the line beyond our flirtation.
Nothing has ensued yet from our heated stares, and double entendres. I attributed the lack of our sexual engagement to my reluctance (and inability) to choose between them, to allow one to penetrate me while leaving the other to feel rejected, ultimately losing the egotistical, territorial battle that is particularly powerful between kin. Now I flourish under their attentiveness, rethinking my options. I am so aroused I can barely sit still, constantly adjusting myself on the seat between them at this small, round table.
The waitress serves our drinks, momentarily distracting me from the two men's stares. We thank her, clinking glasses before falling into a deep conversation about their upcoming baseball game. The thought of them in their uniforms makes me smile slyly. I manage to take one sip of my amaretto sour before I feel a hand stroking my bare knee underneath the table. It is impossible to figure out which brother is doing this, because neither of them have ever tried to touch me so intimately before, and they are both leaning forward with their hands in their laps.
The mystery thrills me, and the warm hand starts to make its way up my inner thigh. I smile as Patrick animatedly recounts a story, and I wonder if he's the perpetrator. After all, he is the eldest and the more outwardly sexual, but Jackson is secretly devilish himself, though less obvious about his seductiveness. Jackson watches me intently, grinning boyishly. Soft fingertips brush against the front of my panties, making me almost jump in shock. I consume my drink several sips at a time just to hide the amused expression on my face.
"What's wrong?" Patrick asks, being his usual observant self. Of course, he may know exactly what-- and who-- is responsible for my altered countenance.
"Everything's perfect," I manage to say without moaning as the fingers exert more pressure.
"So, you want to go home after this?" Patrick asks, raising an eyebrow at me suggestively, always blatantly flirtatious with me.
I smile, shrug. "Actually, I wouldn't mind hanging out for awhile," I propose. This is hardly an unusual invitation, since the three of us have spent many hours in each other's company, usually making me feel extremely excitable. I can't resist prolonging the all-consuming feeling of being so... wanted.
The brothers exchange glances but I can't read their silent communication.
"I have to go pick up my jacket from Roxie's first," Jackson says. The rubbing under the table ceases, leaving me simmering, desiring.
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