Triplets Make Five

He was tall and his shoulders were broad. His rippling muscles were threatening to bulge from the very expensive suit he had on, and his sandy blonde hair contrasted wonderfully with his tan skin. His deep brown eyes stayed hooked on me, his thick fingers wrapped around a glass of amber liquid, and I delicately grabbed my martini glass.

My eyes couldn’t stop scanning him. He had a striking jawline that tapered into high cheekbones. The smirk on his face told me he was looking at exactly what he wanted to see for the evening, and he raised his glass to me in a toast. I raised my martini glass to him, blushing underneath his gaze. But, his eyes never left mine, even as we wrapped our lips around the edges of our glasses.

Oh, how his lips seemed to glide across the crystal glasses. I bet they would glide across my skin just as effortlessly, stained with the amber liquid he was drinking while he devoured me whole. I imagined that strong body covering me from the world, shrouding me from the reality of the apartment I’d have to eventually go back to.

But not for long.

Not if I could nail this next song.

I slowly peeled my eyes away from him and threw them back to the stage. I couldn't get distracted now, I couldn't lose this chance. This job could change everything for me. And trust me, it wasn’t easy to change your situation being a lounge singer with no education in New York City.

I couldn't think about how wonderful those bulging arms would feel around me, though I knew I would think about it when I fell asleep tonight.

Right now, I had another song to nail. That’s where my attention needed to be.

3

Foster

The moment she stepped on stage I knew she was beautiful, but when she sat down at the bar she was absolutely intoxicating. Those crimson red lips beckoned to my cock while she flagged the bartender down, and I couldn’t help but swivel my chair towards her. The outfit she had on was perfect. It molded to every curve of her body while keeping the most important parts a complete secret. She was a boxed up present-- perfectly wrapped for the shape it was but never once gave away what was underneath.

I watched her grasp her martini glass and swirl the olives around the edge. She was a classy woman underneath that sultry act. There was hardly a woman in this city who didn’t order a cocktail that was brightly colored, and I watched as her eyes connected with mine. I raised my glass to her in a toast. I was toasting outwardly to her success, but I was toasted inwardly to mine.

I didn’t know how, but this was the woman I was getting home tonight.

She turned back to the stage after she had studied me for quite some time and I turned my attention back to the bar. I had no intentions of watching any of the other acts unless she hit the stage again. I could tell by the panting of her chest that she was just as caught up in the moment as I was. And it only solidified my theory when I caught her eyes flicking back towards me.

Every once in awhile, when she thought I wasn’t looking, those mysterious blue eyes would find their way back to my face. So, I grabbed my drink and headed towards her before I took a seat at the bar next to her.

“Your performance was incredible. Was that arrangement your own?” I asked.

I saw the eyebrow she cocked onto her head. I knew she thought no one in the club would recognize how foreign the song was, but I did. I knew of every rendition and every remix that song has ever taken on, and even that was new to me.

“Yes, it was. I’m surprised you knew that,” she said.

“A woman like you must have her talents on and off the stage. Call it a lucky guess,” I said.

“Then I shall consider it as such.”

“It’s also interesting how you chose the color red anyway, given that your eyes are substantially blue. Most women would’ve played off that,” I said.

“Well, I’m not most women,” she said.

“I can tell that simply by the drink you ordered. An actual martini instead of a brightly-colored, sweetened concoction passed off as one,” I said.

“You are martini connoisseur, Mr…?”

“Dobson. Foster Dobson. And no, I’m simply a connoisseur of women.”

“Which translates into ‘I’m going to attempt to take you home with me and make you part of the platter’. Correct?” she asked.

I heard the bartender snicker and I couldn’t help but grin. Now I understood why she chose the color red. It wasn’t some stereotypical ploy to woo the men from the stage she had just been on. It was the color that matched her attitude.

And I would enjoy silencing that attitude with my cock tonight.

“There is no platter, Miss…?”

“You can simply call me ‘Ella’,” she said.