Is four too many — or not enough?
But an unexpected encounter makes Gina rethink many of her assumptions, questioning even the stability of their ménage à quatre.
Follow Gina through a day of surprises, excitement, passion — and proof that, in the end, all you need is love.
(Polyamory, reverse harem — plus, interracial, bisexual FMMM+ romance)
Sneak Preview: Foxtrot, Tango, Whiskey
Yaya’s was — according to Sam, and to Franny — one of the oldest, most storied nightclubs in the City. It had been a dance hall since before Prohibition, and Sam swore there was still a speakeasy hidden in the basement. It was in North Beach, maybe a twenty minute walk from the restaurant, so Marie, Gina and the boys went on foot.
Michael and Barbara wished the birthday girl well and promised to drop her presents by the apartment in the morning — after they had had their own celebration with the Takedas.
It was a gorgeous twilight stroll; no fog, no wind. Even living in a neighborhood called The Sunset, Gina actually didn’t get to see the sun set very often in San Francisco. Overcast obscured the show most nights. But on nights like this one, there was something magical, marvelous about the lingering, seamless slide from sunset into mauve, silvery dusk. Walking arm in arm with Marie down the Embarcadero, Gina decided that this glory too was one of her birthday presents. Oh, she was happy to share it with the whole city, but she knew in her heart that this night was hers.
Of course, nothing with Jim, Matt, and Sam was ever a simple stroll, and so while Gina and the beautiful older woman admired the fading light, the boys linked arms, went up on their toes, and began an intricate, synchronized set of ballet steps, humming some very familiar tune together.
Marie snorted. When Gina raised an eyebrow at her, the porn star chuckled, “Swan Lake.”
“Oh,” said Gina, as if that had explained anything.
Marie laughed, and Gina laughed along, truly happy — and not just because of the champagne or the sunset, though neither one of those things hurt.
“So,” said Marie once the boys too had dissolved into laughter, their impromptu dance break forgotten, “you enjoying your birthday?”
“Aw, hell, yeah.”
“You looked a bit pensive when you and Michael showed up.”
Gina shrugged, and then, because she couldn’t seem to stop talking about it, told Marie the story of the lady on the streetcar.
Marie listened respectfully — remarkably few dirty jokes — nodding at all of the right places. When Gina had finished, just as they were crossing off of the Embarcadero onto Bay Street, she asked, voice low, “Are things going well with you and these guys?”
“Definitely.” In her mind, she heard Jim say Abso-fucking-lutely!
Marie squeezed Gina’s shoulder. “Well, then, she’s just a jealous bitch.”
“Sure.” Luisa had said the same. “But… I keep wondering, I mean, I’m heading east soon —” Three weeks, two days. ”— and what’s going to happen? What do I want to happen, and is that the same as what they want? Do they even want the same things as each other, let alone me?”
Again, Marie listened sympathetically, nodding. After a half a block, she said, “Kitten. It seems to me that that’s kind of how relationships work: a leap of faith. If you both — all — want it to work, then you make it work. If you don’t care, then…”
“There you go.”
“Also,” mused Gina as she watched Matt trying to tickle Sam, “the sex is off the fucking hook.”
Again, Marie chuckled. “Then, yeah, the dumb bitch didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about.”
“Yeah,” said Gina, determined to be determined. Her brain kept worrying at the edges of the problem, like a tongue worrying at a broken tooth. But her heart — and her pussy — knew what they wanted, knew they were getting it, and were perfectly happy to tell her mind to go fuck itself.
Yaya’s was a fabulous on the inside as it was outside — it looked like something right out of an old movie. Up on the walls were vintage posters representing every kind of dance music Gina could think of: jazz, hip-hop, latin, rock — Gina spotted the Murphy brothers’ band up on the walls three times.
Tonight’s act was a local swing band. Sam, who knew one of the clarinet players from high school, said they were one of the hottest big bands in the country. And as soon as they stepped into the club, Gina could hear why: they had a tight, manic sound, and their lead singer, a curvy blonde with a slinky dress and a hairdo that covered half her face, had a smoky, sultry voice that promised heartbreak, but also a hell of a ride on the way down.
The boys never let her off the dance floor — not that she minded. Foxtrots, rumbas, cha-chas… Jim even taught her to jitterbug, while Matt showed her something he swore was called the Lindy hop. Even Marie got into the act, pulling Gina back onto the floor, sweaty and glowing, dancing some kind of improvised tango thing that really did make Gina want to tear the older woman’s tiny green dress off.
When she finally got them to let her catch her breath — and down a whiskey sour — Sam was up by the stage, apparently talking to his friend in the band, while Matt was dancing with Marie, two very different, very sexy redheads, moving together like kites on the same breeze.
Jim kissed her shoulder, lips cold from his martini. “For a non-dancer, she sure can move.”
“Mmm.” Gina was happy to agree, noting that they weren’t the only ones watching the striking pair. “Well, she does dance the horizontal mambo for a living. Jim?”
“How would you feel if Marie were to, um, join us tonight?”
Suddenly his focus was entirely on Gina. “Really?” When she nodded, he chuckled, his face in its habitual wry smirk. “How would I feel about the MILF-iest MILF who ever MILFed getting naked and playing with us? Say another word and I might jizz all over the inside of my trousers, which would make Hillary really shirty.” When Gina held her hands up, he laughed, “Yeah, cuz. I think that would bechoice.”
Smiling — shocked that she’d actually dared to ask — she kissed him, tasting the gin in his mouth mixing with the whiskey in hers. When they looked up again, Sam seemed to have broken in, and now he was dancing with Marie, as Matt made his way over to their little table. “Jim?”
“What’s up with Sam?”
He goggled at her. “Sam?”
“Well,” she said with a shrug, “he’s been moody all night. I mean, look at him.” Dancing with a woman Gina knew he’d had fantasies about since he hit puberty and discovered porn, Sam had a serious, almost stoic expression on, as if the dance was something he were enduring rather than enjoying.
Jim snorted dismissively. “Nah, Gina-girl. He’s just being a wanker. Got his knickers up his bum. Don’t worry about it.”
Only Gina couldn’t not. “Is something… bothering him?” In her ever-traitorous mind, she was imagining Sam as the lady from that morning’s boyfriend, consumed by jealousy at the sight of her with Matt or Jim, uncomfortable with them when the two kissed, disgusted by them when they fucked. (Matt with his legs around Jim’s waist…)
Again Jim waved Gina’s worry away. “It’s nothing, really. Believe me, him on the rag is definitely not something you have to worry about.”
“Who’s on the rag?” Matt asked. He was glowing, his tie undone, his collar undone. He looked absolutely edible, which Gina had every intention of testing. Later.
“Just Sammy moping.” Jim gave Matt a quick peck on the lips, which gave Gina a thrill of the forbidden — but who was going to give a shit about two men kissing in a San Francisco nightclub? He picked up his empty glass and Gina’s. “Keep Miss Gina here company, okay, mate? I’ll get us all another round.”
Once Matt had kissed her neck — thank the lord she wasn’t as fair as he was or she’d have been one perpetual hicky — Gina laced her fingers through his. “So do you know why our straight boy is acting all funny?”
“I…” Matt frowned, his face as always an open book. Seeing the concern bursting over Gina’s, he squeezed her hand. “No. It’s nothing bad, I promise. Look. Ask him. I think that would help.”
Scowling, Gina squeezed his hand back, staring out at their lover and his favorite porn star. “Okay. I will.”
“Good.” Matt kissed her again, this time on the lips. “So is Marie joining us tonight?”
“I…!” she spluttered. “I was gonna ask… I mean, would that be okay?’
Matt laughed, his face once more nothing but open prairie and sunshine. “Of course that would be okay with me! But is it okay with you?”
“Sure. I mean, I would be happy to have someone as attractive as she is to play with, and I know for sure now that she knows how to use that body. I think the idea of you and her both naked and rubbing up against them is straight out of Sam and Jim’s adolescent fantasies. But is it something you’d like?”
Gina shrugged. “You know I’ve… been with other girls.”
“Sure. And I’ve been with a girl or two before you too. But if Lisa, say, were to suddenly decide that she actually liked dick after all, I don’t know that I’d want to have anything to do with her. It’s not about the equipment for me so much as who it’s attached to.” He leaned in as the band came to a soaring crescendo. “So I ask again: would you like Marie to join us, or is it just that you think we’ll like it — not that that’s a bad thing either.”
“Uh.” Marie was leading Sam off the floor, her arm around his waist. His face was dark with some emotion Gina couldn’t even guess at. She could imagine feeling jealous at the sight of her boyfriend — one of her boyfriends — so close to another woman, his hand in his pants pocket, adjusting himself.
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t feeling jealous. The sight of bright, bubbly Marie rubbing up against dark, sober Sam made the tips of her nipples ache.
“Yeah,” she sighed into Matt’s ear. “Lord, yeah, I want this.”
Matt shuddered — whether at the sound and feel of her lips or at what she was proposing, she could only guess.
The band was shifting into a slow number — a soaring clarinet solo by Sam’s friend opening a swaying melody that the rest of the band unhurriedly took up.
Marie pulled Sam up to Gina, laughing. “Kitten, time for you to take this boy for a spin.”
Gina searched Sam’s face, which was as serious as it had been all night.
He held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
“Why, Mister Yazdi,” Gina said in as Southern a fashion as she could manage, channeling her inner Danielle, and laid her fingers in his, “I would be delighted.”
He led her out onto the dance floor.
Up on the stage, the blonde chanteuse was saying over the music, “We aim to make every night a special night for you folks. But especially the lovers.”
The crowd cheered blearily back.
Sam pulled Gina to him, and they began to dance. What the step was, she didn’t know, and didn’t care — it was the dance, and he was leading and she would follow and good Lord…!
The singer went on, “And especially the lovers with something…special to celebrate.” The world became very bright and very dark at the same time as a spotlight focused on her and Sam. The singer continued, “Happy birthday, Gina.” Then she started into the lyric.“There’s a saying old, says that love is blind…”
Gina almost fell over, but Sam held her up, kept her dancing. Following his lead, she still couldn’t help gawking at him.
The smile that came to his lips barely leavened his somber expression, but it was like the first light of dawn. It broke over Gina, warming her. “Happy birthday.”
Without interrupting the dance, she kissed him, and was vaguely aware of people applauding around them. Fuck them. She didn’t give a shit about them. When the kiss found a natural breaking point, she found herself staring into his dark, bottomless eyes. “Sam?”
He nodded once.
“Jim and Matt — you’ve been so serious, I asked them, and they said you had something you —”
“I love you.” His expression didn’t change, but it was as if Gina could finally recognize it. “I love you. I am so crazy in love with you, Gina Billings. Have been since that first day on the mountain.” When Gina could only gawk at him, he looked away. “I know it’s awfully fast. And I know you may not be there yet—”
She found her mouth moving, found herself saying something that had seemed so scary to even consider earlier, but now it felt obvious and true. “I love you, Samir Yazdi”
His face softened, and now he was the speechless one.
“Sam.” She bit her lip. (So fucking complicated!) “You know I love Jim and Matt too.”
“Of course!” He looked as if she’d hit him in the stomach. “Of course. They’re my best friends.”
“And it… it isn’t hard to… share?”
He shook his head.
“And them, doing things together — it doesn’t squick you?”
For the first time that night, he laughed. “Squick? No.” He dipped her. “I guess… At first it totally took some getting used to, like all of it. But no. I… I really think it’s kind of beautiful.”
They kissed again, because neither of them could think of anything else to say or do, the dance moving them along. When they broke, they danced cheek to cheek. Into her ear he murmured, “I mean, it’s not a turn on for me or anything. But if you wanted me to, I’d even —”
“No.” She backed up and raised a finger to his lips. “It ain’t about what I want. It’s about what you want. You do what makes you feel good and that’ll make me happy. Okay?”
“Okay.” He stared into her eyes, and she seriously wished everyone else would go away, because right now she wanted this man.
After another few bars, she realized there was more to talk about. “Speaking of what we want.” She licked her lips. “Marie would like to, um, join us all tonight. I really want that too. So do Matt and Jim. Would you —?”
“Fuck, yeah.” His face was serious again, but now Gina recognized it for what it was. Desire. Love. “All night long I’ve been fighting down two things — wanting to just blurt out what I said just now… and imagining you sitting on my face while Marie rides my cock.” Sam was nearly as dark-skinned as Gina herself, but blood was blood; his face darkened more.
“Well now,” Gina purred, the imagined feeling of his tongue leaving moisture between her legs almost as if he were licking her, “that sounds like a truly delightful suggestion, Mr. Yazdi.”
The song came to a close, and he lowered her into a deep dip, almost to the floor, his own body pressed to hers, his arms keeping her from falling.
When he lifted her again and kissed her, she murmured into his lips, “What you say, Sam, baby, if we were to grab our three playmates and take this party somewhere a bit less public?”
Is four too many — or not enough?
(Polyamory, reverse harem — plus, interracial, bisexual FMMM+ romance)