Billie - Part 4

Saturday morning arrived not with an alarm, but with the soft, hazy light of a foreign sun filtering through the heavy hotel curtains. The air in the room was warm and still, scented with the lingering perfume of wax, wine, and satisfied sex. I was the first to stir, my body a pleasant map of last night's pleasures. Tom was a warm, solid presence behind me, his arm draped possessively over my waist. And between us, curled into Tom's side like a contented kitten, was Billie.

Her dark hair was a riotous mess across the pillow, her face soft and peaceful in sleep. She looked younger like this, the nervousness from the bar completely erased, replaced by a profound, well-earned tranquility. I watched her chest rise and fall, a deep, even rhythm, and felt a surge of fierce, protective affection. We had done that. We had given her this peace.

The stillness was broken by the shrill, insistent buzz of a mobile phone on the nightstand. It wasn't one of ours. It was Billie's, face down, vibrating angrily against the polished wood.

She stirred, her brow furrowing in confusion. With a soft groan, she fumbled for it, her eyes blinking open. "Hello?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Tom and I lay perfectly still, feigning sleep, our ears straining to catch the one-sided conversation.

"What?... No, I know what time it is, I was just... asleep." She sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around her waist. "France? What do you mean, you're in France?... A ferry? You got that drunk?" A pause. "A football match? In Paris?... His favourite team? And they had a spare ticket?... No, I'm not angry, I'm just... surprised. Of course you couldn't say no."

She ran a hand through her tangled hair, a slow smile spreading across her face. It wasn't a smile of annoyance. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated freedom.

"Okay... Okay. Yeah, that sounds amazing. Call me when you get there... Love you too. Bye."

She ended the call and set the phone down, staring at it for a long moment. Then she turned, her eyes finding mine in the dim light. "Well," she whispered, a wicked glint in her eye. "He won't be back until late Sunday afternoon. The boys surprised him with a spare ticket and he couldn't say no."

Tom's arm tightened around my waist, and I felt him chuckle silently against my back. I propped myself up on my elbow, smiling at her. "That sounds like a wonderfully convenient surprise," I said, my voice laced with amusement. "What ever shall we do with all this unexpected time?"

Billie's smile widened, a slow, predatory bloom. "I have a few ideas," she said, her gaze drifting from me to Tom, who was now pretending to wake up with a theatrical stretch.

"Morning," he rumbled, his voice a low, sexy gravel. "Everything alright?"

"Better than alright," Billie said, her confidence from last night now fully restored in the bright morning light. "We have the whole day. And tonight. And most of tomorrow."

"Is that so?" Tom's eyes met mine over her head, a silent, triumphant communication passing between us. "In that case, I believe we should start the day properly. A celebration of your sudden freedom."

"What did you have in mind?" Billie asked, her tone playful.

"I was thinking," I said, taking over, "that you might be a little... sore. From last night's exertions. I think a four-handed massage is in order. To start."

The suggestion hung in the air, charged with promise. Billie's eyes lit up. "A four-handed massage?" she repeated. "I've never had one."

"Oh, you're in for a treat," Tom said, already swinging his legs out of bed. "Anne gives a massage that could make a monk weep. I'm merely the enthusiastic, but less skilled, second pair of hands."

We laid her face down on the vast expanse of the king-sized bed, the morning light illuminating the pale, smooth landscape of her back. Tom found the complimentary bottle of hotel massage oil, warming it in his hands before pouring a fragrant pool onto her skin.

We started simply, our hands moving in synchronized harmony, spreading the oil across her shoulders and down her back. Tom took her left side, I took her right. We worked in silence, the only sounds the soft hiss of our hands against her skin and Billie's contented sighs. We kneaded the muscles of her shoulders, easing away any residual tension. We stroked down her spine, our fingers following the elegant curve of her lower back, over the swell of her buttocks, and down the backs of her thighs.

But this was never just about relaxation. It was about reawakening desire. Our touches began to change. They became slower, more deliberate. My hands lingered on the soft skin of her inner thighs, my fingertips brushing teasingly against the edge of her sex. Tom's hands drifted up, his thumbs tracing the dimples just above her ass, his fingers spreading to knead the firm globes, pulling them apart slightly to expose her most hidden places.

Billie began to move, a subtle rocking of her hips, a silent plea for more. Her breathing grew deeper, more ragged.

"Turn over," I commanded softly.

She did, her body flushed and glowing, her eyes dark with renewed lust. Her nipples were hard, dark peaks against the pale skin of her breasts. We poured more oil, this time across her stomach and chest. Our hands roamed freely, sliding over her slick skin, avoiding the places she most wanted to be touched. We circled her breasts, our fingers tracing the sensitive undersides, but never quite making contact with her aching nipples. We stroked her stomach, our hands dipping low, tangling in the neat patch of dark hair between her legs, but never quite touching the slick folds beneath.

She was whimpering now, her hands fisting in the sheets. "Please," she breathed. "Please, don't tease me."

Tom smiled, bending down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking it gently, while I finally gave her what she was asking for. I slid my hand between her legs, my fingers parting her wet folds, finding her clit hard and swollen. I circled it once, twice, and then I settled between her thighs.

I looked up at her, meeting her wild, desperate eyes. "Let me take care of you," I whispered.

And then I lowered my mouth to her pussy.

She was soaked, her taste a sweet, musky evidence of her arousal. I started with soft, exploring licks, my tongue delving between her folds, tasting every part of her. I found her entrance and dipped my tongue inside, feeling her clench around me. I moved up to her clit, sucking it gently, then flicking it with the tip of my tongue, feeling her hips lift off the bed, seeking more.

Tom moved to kiss her, swallowing her cries, his hand pinching and rolling her other nipple. I worked her clit relentlessly, building the rhythm, feeling her tension coil, her thighs beginning to tremble. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find that rough, sensitive patch deep within, and stroked it in time with my tongue.

"Anne," she gasped against Tom's mouth. "Oh god, Anne, yes... right there... don't stop..."

I didn't stop. I sucked her clit hard, fluttering my tongue against it, my fingers pumping inside her, and with a sharp cry, she shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, her back arching, her pussy clamping down on my fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. I stayed with her, licking her gently, drawing out her aftershocks until she collapsed, boneless and gasping, onto the bed.

I moved back up her body, kissing her softly, letting her taste herself on my lips. Tom and I flanked her, our hands stroking her skin, letting her come back to earth slowly. She was radiant, her skin flushed, her eyes shining.

For a long moment, she was silent, just breathing. Then she turned to me, her expression shifting. The soft, sated glow was replaced by something else. Something hungry, determined, and fiercely wanton.

"I want to go down on you now please?" she said, her voice a raw, urgent whisper. Her eyes, dark and intense, held mine. "I want to do the same that you have done to me please." She wasn't asking permission anymore. She was stating a need. "I'm hungry to taste your pussy, Anne. Please."