I eased up and down on his strength and his weakness. He held me down, made me stop moving, did that like he couldn't take it anymore. I sat there, accepting all of him, holding him, not moving, my desire filled and pulsating. Karl pulled my hair, moved my face until I was looking at him.

He stared in my eyes. I tried to move my eyes. He forced me to look at him. I wanted to look away, but he made me look at him, forced my emotions to reveal themselves. We remained that way, connected, unmoving, water heating our skin. Looking in each other's eyes. I felt something I didn't want to feel. I wanted him.

I wanted Karl.

It looked like he was about to become emotional and say something foolish, something regrettable. It was there. He had chased me up a mountain. He had taken me to Greensboro.

He whispered, "Say it."

"No."

"Say it."

"Don't do this to me."

He had been pursuing me from the moment our eyes met.

His pursuit of me perpetually interrupted by his older brother.

I moved my eyes from him like I was once again avoiding the truth, began moving up and down as fast as I could. He tried to stop me, but I wouldn't stop. Karl was moaning. I was moaning. The sounds of skin slapping, the sound of splashing water and moans filled the room, blended with the harps and violins, ethereal sounds that, when combined, made us sound like we were in a Buddhist temple.

I rose and fell harder.

Moans grew.

I slowed it down. Slowed us down.

Karl asked, "You okay?"

It took me a moment to catch my breath. "Get your camera."

"Serious?"

"Take...take..." Tingles overwhelmed me. "Take some more...take more pictures."

His camera was on the edge of the bathtub, so we weren't disconnected long.

He sat up and once again I welcomed him inside my love, slid down on his erection, eased down to the sounds of my moans and his camera clicking. A dozen moans later he put the camera to the side. He was begging for me to make him come, trying to hold me down on his erection, clinging to me, cringing, moaning like he needed to experience all of my yoni. I refused to move. If I moved I would start coming. I would lose control. I would lose my power. I would say things that came from the heart. He was throbbing, growing harder, getting wider, and I was leaning forward, making him not move too much, feeling water pressure up against the entrance to my chocolate star at the same time.

I whispered, "Are you okay?"

He moaned, could barely talk, could just release moans and become aggressive.

He grabbed my ass, forced me up and down, did that as he pumped and grunted like a madman.

His legs trembled.

My breasts were against his damp chest, his heartbeat as strong and rapid as mine.

He moaned. "Damn. Shit. Damn, baby."

Karl was coming. His orgasm attempting to induce mine.

My orgasm teased me, tickled me, sent electricity and brushed fire across my damp skin.

I held him until his erection no longer existed, until he was soft.

The camera was within reach.

I took the camera and started photographing him in his ecstasy.

His face was damp with water and sweat. His eyes tight. His mouth open, his breathing intense. I moved away from him, stood up, took shots of his face, from his expression to his stomach. And I took shots of his softening lingam. A lingam that looked swollen and fulfilled.

He was so strong, body so hard, so well-defined, yet after coming he was so weak.

Samson in the hands of Delilah. Adam standing before Eve.

So vulnerable.

I put the camera down, eased back into the water, went to him, kissed his face.

I held him and caressed what was left of his erection, held on until I felt him soften to the point of being unusable. I stood up and turned around, water raining from my flesh, then I sat with my back to his chest. One of his hands found my breast, the other touched my face. The hand that was on my face, the one that touched my skin, I held it, moved it underwater, put his fingers on my clit.

I came for him. My body felt like a rapid heartbeat.

Karl took his hands away from my plea sure, put his fingers inside my mouth.

He reached for the camera again. Held it out to photograph both of us. Took close-ups of our naughtiness. When he was done capturing this private moment, he put the camera to the side.

Karl pulled me close to him, held me like he wanted me to himself.

Held me as if we were both jumping out of a plane, skydiving in tandem.

Falling.

It felt as if we were falling.

THIRTY-FOUR.

After, we dried off.

I let him take me into his enormous bedroom, a bedroom that should come with servants, and let him place me facedown on his leather bench, my feet touching the floor as he slid behind me, as he got ready to re-fuck me, as he took me from behind, his hands on my waist.

I moaned, surprised and amazed that he wanted more.

This was Karl. This was what he did. This was how he related to a woman. This was how he showed love. He made me lie flat with my legs closed, he lay on top of me, his legs outside mine, my yoni tight around his erection. With his weight on me, he pulled my hair back, put his mouth and teeth on my skin, was sucking my neck and kissing me, his every move so benign and gracious.

His front door opened, the sensor telling me that someone had entered his mini-castle, felt him holding me by my waist as feet walked across wooden stairs. Heavy shoes echoed. Hurried steps. Then came the hum of his elevator. Downstairs, someone had gotten on the elevator.

Karl continued stroking me. We changed positions, his hands pulling me back up to my knees, my hands holding the edge of the bench as he made me feel like I was on angel dust.

I moaned, moved, but Karl kept me where I was.

Someone was getting off the elevator.

I surrendered to Karl, moaned my sugary and pleasing singsong moans.

Someone came into the bedroom, heard him moving through the music, passing by the flutes, his footsteps blending with the harps. I heard breathing. Passionate breathing. The breathing of wanting. The breathing of envy. I looked up, saw Mark standing feet away from us, watching us in silence.

Candles had been lit, scented the room with lavender. The music was on the sound system, turned low, everywhere at once, the music stimulating. This home had become a tribal sanctuary. A place of healing. A place of love.

Mark swallowed before he whispered, "Hey, baby."

I set free a beautiful singsong moan. "Hey, baby. I called you."

"Was in Peachtree City all day."

"How was your day?"

"Hectic. Had to...had to...run errands...had this meeting...took all day."

He had on jeans. T-shirt. His muscles so strong, my sensations making his look pious.

I said, "Come here. Let me please you, baby."

"I can't stay."

"I know."

Mark was taking his pants down, bringing his lingam toward my mouth, allowing me to suckle and please him as Karl pleased me. This had become my need. The abnormal plea sure that felt so normal. With my hands and mouth I gave him therapy, shared my energy with him, tried to relax his troubled center. By way of orifice and lingam, we united, his hardness and my heat. I stopped giving him oral gratification and began pleasing him with my hand. Did that as Karl wined, made his hips roll, took me deeper into my own plea sure, his ebb and flow not hurried, not vulgar, his movements the perfect massage. As Karl moaned and stroked his way deeper into his own plea sure, as he transcended to places unreachable, I smiled at Mark, pulled him closer, took him in my mouth again. Mark was swelling. Karl was swelling. My clit throbbed, was swelling, felt hard, so erect, electricity flowing through my body. I was so wet and on fire. The energy between us could light up Vegas for one hundred years.

I stopped to catch my breath, stopped so I could moan for a while, panted and stared at Mark's lingam, long and hard like a beautiful plantain. It was standing, it was strong, it was erect.

I licked the corner of my lips, ready to praise him.

I took him inside my mouth, used hands and tongue, strokes and savoring. As I mouth-praised him his moans praised me in return. He whispered my name, touched my face. His breathing thickened. His body tensed. His moans trapped in his throat, became a vicious hum. He ran his fingers through my hair. He was gone. He had abandoned this landscape, had been whisked away. And now he was moving through the topography of plea sure. He radiated, his hardness and heat melding with the warmth and tenderness inside my mouth. He struggled to keep his orgasm at bay, but I wanted him to come. Mark held my hair, trembled like he was about to lose his balance, like he was about to fall to his knees. He came hard and loud. He came as I fought off my own voluptuous orgasm. Plea sure left him slowly, then with suddenness, then again slowly.

He moaned throughout his journey into the land of a wonderful orgasm. His orgasm was as sweet as Bajan cherry juice.

I pleasured him until his plantain became a soft, sweet banana.

In that moment I loved him. I loved his brother. I loved them as if they were one person.

And Karl. Was pleasuring me. Seeking his orgasm. His sounds a deep, constant purr. A rumbling moan. He was lost in me. I loved that sound because that purr and hum sounded like it was just for me, each purr or hum telling me how he felt being inside me, an unspoken compliment, better than him saying that the yoni was good, his sounds homage to the yoni. And my sounds were an equal compliment. I was loud. I think I had grown louder over the years, as my body changed, as plea sure became more intense, as single orgasms bloomed into multiples. Mark was still here but I didn't notice him, not then. I was in the moment. Cursing. Praying. Calling God. Allowing orgasm to find me.

Mark's hand touched my face. "Don't come, baby."

"I'm trying not to."

"Don't let that ugly bastard make you come."

"Make him stop treating me like this."

"Show him he can't make you come."

"Let me come for you, baby."

"Don't come."

"Make him stop fucking me like this."

"Don't come."

Karl fucked me so good. Karl fucked me so hard.

I moaned to Mark, "I'm sorry baby he's making me come shit he's making me come."

But using the word fuck diminished the power of what he was doing. Calling it fucking gave it distance. That distance made me feel safe. But I couldn't lie to myself. This was better than fucking. Couldn't lie when I knew the truth. Much better than fucking. The connection was beyond physical.

We were making love. Karl. Mark. And I. We were sharing energy, spiritual needs, bonding.

Mark kissed my face, gave me his tongue. With his hand in my hair he smiled at me as another orgasm approached me, my eyes glazed over, the world electrical and ethereal, everything underwater, then he gave me his tongue as I shuddered, he sucked my tongue and stole my wicked moans.

The place they took me was beyond ethereal. Was higher than Strawberry Fields in Jamaica, was twice as lush. It was an unseen room inside the mansion in heaven. A place filled with white sands and warm sun. Karl moved inside me as if being inside me made him feel alive, as if touching me was salvation. He moved as if touching this body, seeking refuge inside this yoni gave him wholeness.

Mark whispered, "Don't come."

"I'm sorry, baby."

"Don't come."

"I'm so sorry, baby."

Karl moved inside me with unadulterated envy, his envy undisguised. His older brother had upstaged him and now he wanted to show me he was better. Each stroke was better than the one before, each stroke deep and synergistic, like he was injecting me with a drug that amplified what I was feeling. His tempo revealed lust and frustration. I was moaning. I was dying, this death wonderful.

Karl was jealous because he knew I was craving his brother more than him.

It was about competition between the two. A wonderful competition that had benefited me to no end. Both wrestled with seduction, as if I had become their femme fatale.

Karl was losing, now he had stepped his game up.