Denise
An overwhelming feeling of wholeness swept over me as I stirred awake, still sandwiched between Quincy and Nikki.
Nikki's breasts were pressed warm and soft against my stomach and her head rested on my chest. I couldn't help but get lost in the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the rhythm of it, the intimacy of it, the way her body melted into mine.
In all the books I'd read about polyamory, none had done this feeling justice.
Even as a writer, I couldn't quite find the words for it.
Completeness, maybe. But somehow that wasn't enough for the fullness my heart felt laying here between the love of my life and this majestic woman who I'd only known for less than twenty-four hours.
It didn't make sense. How captivated I was by her.
How I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy when she and Quincy touched.
It was as if her pleasure had become my own, as if every gasp she made was wired directly to my core.
I don't know if I woke her or if she was already awake, but she looked up at me through heavy-lidded eyes and smiled.
"Hi," she said sleepily
"Hi, beautiful," I said, pushing some of her locs away from her face, my fingers lingering against her jaw.
"What time is it?" she asked, shifting slightly so her leg slid between mine.
It was still dark outside, so I knew we hadn't slept very long.
I also knew we were going to look and feel a mess in the morning if we didn't hydrate and attempt to get some type of nutrition into our bodies, though right then, with her warmth seeping into me, I couldn't bring myself to move.
"I don't know, but I'm starving."
"I should probably get back to my room so you guys can start your morning," she said, sitting up, the sheet pooling at her waist and exposing the curve of her back and the marks I'd left there.
"Let us at least feed you before you go. I'll order room service," Quincy said, eyes still closed but rolling over to grab the phone, his hand finding her hip possessively.
"Yeah, stay," I pleaded with my eyes, my hand finding the small of her back, tracing the indentation of her spine.
"You guys sure?"
"Yes," we said in unison. She bit her lower lip, holding back a smile, and my heart stuttered in my chest, my body remembering exactly what that beautiful mouth of hers could do.
We all took turns in the restroom freshening up while we waited for the room service delivery.
We had naturally fallen back into the cuddled position we'd been in, making random small talk.
But this time she was in the middle, her back to me, my arm draped around her waist aimlessly caressing her stomach and her head on Quincy's chest while his fingers traced lazy patterns up and down her arm.
"Do you have a favorite book?" she asked.
"I have, like, a top three in each genre, but I don't think I can narrow it down to one single book," I replied.
"That makes sense."
"What about you?"
"Yeah. ‘Blue Like Mourning’ by D. Miller. Have you read it?"
I hoped like hell she thought my silence was me trying to remember if I'd read the book, but the truth was Quincy and I were exchanging an entire conversation with our faces.
I shook my head slightly, letting him know I had no intention of telling her I was the author of her favorite book.
For some reason, I didn't want that fact to change our dynamic.
I didn't want her to be a fan or see me as I saw some of my favorite authors.
So instead of telling her the truth, I played stupid.
"Um, no. What's it about?" I asked. I watched Q's face drop, realizing I might have fucked up by lying.
"Healing through the grief of someone close to you committing suicide," she said, her voice soft and raw.
"I don't think I've ever related to a book so much.
It was like she was writing my story. Except I didn't lose a spouse.
It was my cousin, but we grew up like siblings.
The book is so beautifully written. Have you ever read a book that made you want to sit down and pick the author's mind?
I just want to talk to her and let her know she healed something in me when she wrote that. "
Tears threatened to fall from my eyes as I rubbed up and down her arm, my thumb tracing the delicate skin on the inside of her elbow.
First, I hated that she knew that kind of pain.
I hated that she experienced even a portion of the hurt I had written about in my book.
But second, I was humbled. Humbled because my words held the kind of power I had intended, even though it wasn't really my story to tell.
My sister's husband, my brother-in-law, had taken his own life, and I had to watch how that affected her.
I watched her fight and break and crawl and stumble through years of depression and grief.
I admired her strength because I don't know if I could ever be as strong.
She gave me her blessing to tell her story, so I did, because there was immense beauty in her perseverance.
"Wow, that's beautiful, Nikki," I said, my voice breaking. I grabbed her wrist and rubbed my hand over the tattoo I had noticed at the club, the ink now taking on new weight and meaning. It made a lot more sense now. "Is that what this is for?"
"Yeah," she whispered, "I was really depressed for a while after it happened. That book helped me get through."
I could tell so many different thoughts were going through Q's head.
Probably disappointment in the fact that I had lied to her, but also empathy for the amount of vulnerability it took to share that part of herself with us.
He pressed several kisses to her forehead before there was a knock at the door, signaling that our food was here.
We enjoyed the lavish breakfast Q ordered for all of us: stuffed French toast, scrambled eggs, sausage, country potatoes, and fresh-squeezed orange juice.
We found ourselves getting lost in conversation again, and miraculously, the topic of our occupations never came up.
I was sure that was because careers were a sensitive subject since she had just lost hers.
I felt really bad about that. I found myself wondering if she was going to be okay come Monday when reality sank in.
I was worried for her, but she hadn't seemed fazed by it at all, reconfirming my Lynn theory.
The longer we sat and talked, the more I felt drawn to her, like gravity had shifted and she was the center.
She wasn't just a pretty face and masterful seductress.
She was unbelievably smart, funny, and witty.
I almost felt bad that my normal laser-focused attention was being pulled to the images replaying in my head.
The taste of her still on my tongue, the way she had slid against me, her fingers tangled in my hair.
But between the flashbacks of her riding my face, I was able to conclude that her mind turned me on just as much as her body.
The chemistry between the three of us felt organic and inevitable, like we had been moving toward this moment our whole lives.
I couldn't help but notice Quincy looking at her the same way I was, in awe of the woman who had just shared herself so intimately with us, who had let us see her.
We had another long day ahead of us, and none of us had slept very long, but that didn't stop me from wanting to prolong the time we spent with her, to memorize the way she laughed and all of her facial expressions.
I was sad when we realized the sun was up.
At that point, we knew it was just irresponsible if we were planning on getting our money's worth from the event.
So we kissed her goodbye, slow and lingering, so she could prepare for the day while Q and I decided to get a few more hours of sleep in.
Despite his best efforts with breakfast, I was going to be nursing a mild hangover, so I needed the rest. But I was restless in Q's arms, my skin humming with absence, already feeling like something was missing.