My two guests attacked the last bits of braided confection on a tray in my living room. I’d dusted the white frosting with blue, pink, and violet, my bisexual tribute to the muddled state of my birth. My kids had gotten the first pieces, but that was yesterday, and today was for adult pleasures.
“This is really good,” Adam said, licking blue sugar off of his lips. My fingers tingled to feel his short, sandy hair, his chiseled face, his full lips I ached to kiss. He lounged with the ease and confidence of the gorgeous prize he was, his navy shirt opened to a tantalizing patch of chest.
Helena snorted on the other end of the sofa. She was a bisexual queen in her scarlet tank top, her dark hair lazily tied back, a knowing smirk on her lips that said she knew exactly what she wanted, and she wanted exactly everything, all at once.
“King cake instead of pazckis,” she said, her dark eyes holding me where I stood. “You’re such a Southern fucking degenerate.” She licked an elegant finger to its base, sliding slowly and luxuriously back to its tip. I could feel the heat of Adam’s excitement as she held us both captivated, savoring all attention in the room.
Rising from my loveseat, I picked up the tray and tossed it on my desk. Helena’s eyes tracked me as I leaned down over Adam, one hand pressed into the cushion beside him, so close to that gorgeous hair, and so tantalizingly far. A light gray smudge lingered on his forehead, his lingering tribute to the Roman church of both of our childhoods. His sandalwood aftershave sent a tremor through my arm, even as I held Helena’s gaze still.
“The rites must be observed,” I murmured, trailing a hand down Adam’s side. His pants were already bulging with excitement and need, caught between my hands and Helena’s smoldering desire. “It’s a special day,” I added.
“What, Valentine’s Day?” Helena returned. Her body showed the lie of her sardonic calm. She bit at her lip ever so slightly, her fingers danced along her thigh, her breasts rose and fell rapidly with her breath.
“No,” I said, I savored her tiny blink of surprise, Adam shifting beneath my arms, waiting and wanting. I slowly extended my tongue to his ashen forehead. It was bitter and smokey, murmuring a hundred desires and pains within me. Adam let out a whimper as I licked him clean of his mark of penitence.
“Ash Wednesday,” I added. “To remember our sins.”
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