Free Inn on the Edge by Gail Bridges Page B

breathless in her wake.
    I wasn’t the only one watching.
    Josh took my hand, pulled it onto his lap. Pressed it into
his crotch. Then he leaned in close to me and whispered, “There’s something
about this meal…”
    “I know!”
    He didn’t say any more. Zettia was at Josh’s side, busily
drizzling honey onto his Belgian waffle. He shifted in his seat. His cock grew
hard and hot under my hand.
    “See?” he said.
    I did.
    The food kept coming. And from the inn’s four Guides seated
at the table, other stuff—sensual stuff—kept coming too. All of it,
mixed together. Food and sexual innuendo. Sexual innuendo and food.
    What a heady mix.
    How fun it was!
    After a while I understood. This was just another game. Like
last night, only with more people.
    This game, I could play.
    There were fluffy omelets full of cheese and onions being
passed from person to person. There were smoldering sidelong glances between
guests and Guides. There were light-as-air waffles with crisp edges. There were
handsome men flexing their muscles as they lifted heavy jugs of fruit juice.
There were tender poached eggs perched on perfectly toasted English muffins…and
there was me , squirming on my seat, a delicious throbbing between my legs.
And Vane, with a bulge in his crotch so obvious he didn’t have to sit with his
legs apart to make sure I saw it.
    Because I did.
    Josh and I shared a look.
    “You okay?” he whispered, his eyebrows raised almost to his
hairline. He waited for my answer, nervous, playing with his syrup-tined fork.
He flipped it between his agile, guitar-playing fingers. Over and under, over
and under. He made the fork walk between his fingers, or tried to anyway. He
succeeded only in coming alarmingly close to launching the sticky thing across
the table. My Josh. Did he really think I would make him stop his little
flirtation with the lovely Zenith? “Because we can leave if you want to, Angie.
If all this makes you uncomfortable…”
    “I’m fine. Never better,” I said, taking away the fork
before he hurt himself. “You?”
    He pointed his chin at Zenith, who had unbuttoned her blouse
and was showing significantly more cleavage. She was leaning over, rubbing her
ankle, swinging her breasts in his direction, making sure he got a good long look.
Josh grinned. “Yup. Doing fine over here!”
    We laughed. I gave him his fork. We kissed, then went back
to the serious business of eating and following the sexual currents flowing
around us. I was also quite interested in the Dutch baby pancake on my plate, a
novelty for me. The thin pancake was as big as the plate it sat on, its golden
edges towering above the rim, reaching toward the ceiling. I squeezed a lemon
wedge onto the pancake, sprinkled it with powdered sugar, then tore off a chunk
of the edge.
    Heavenly.
    And then the touching started.
    The first time came as a surprise, when I passed a platter
of coffee cake across the table to Valerian. “Thank you, Angie,” he said, running
his fingers up and down my wrist, my forearm, my elbow.
    I sucked in my breath. “You’re welcome,” I whispered,
shivering.
    And it happened again with the quiche. A caressing brush
against my breast from Vane as he reached to take the dish from me. “I love
quiche,” he whispered.
    I shuddered. “Me too,” I murmured, blushing, feeling as if
we’d just had simultaneous orgasms.
    It wasn’t just me.
    Zenith’s hand fell onto Josh’s thigh as she poured juice
into his glass. He let it stay. After a while he put his hand over hers,
pressed it into his crotch—and I didn’t even mind. It was all a game. Besides,
I liked Zenith. For some reason, because I am not a lesbian, her hair made my
loins quiver with longing.
    And it was…fun.
    All of it. The food. Crunchy granola, made right there in
the inn’s kitchens, roasted in Zettia’s industrial-sized oven.
    And the people. Vane’s knee pressing against mine.
    Those delicious little sausages he piled on my plate