Just Past Two (Comes in Threes)

by Elia Winters

  Abby laughed, the light laugh when she wasn’t taking something seriously. “I’d rather not.”

  “Why not? Don’t you trust me?” He sat up the rest of the way. “We’re married, Abby. I’m committed to you. Forever. Remember this?” He pointed to the band around his finger. “I’m not gonna just go walk out on you because you, what, blew some guy in the library stacks?”

  “So what if I did blow some guy in the library stacks?” She pulled the covers up over her naked body, leaning back against the headboard. “And I did, by the way. But it’s not really your business.”

  “No, I know.” Shoot. She was getting mad, and he didn’t want to make her mad. “I like it. I like seeing this part of you. I want to get to know this side of you better.”

  Abby shook her head. “You aren’t that kind of guy.”

  So this was about him. The pang of disappointment closed his throat for a moment. Maybe he could prove her wrong. “Try me.”

  Abby sighed. She looked off toward the wall, arms folded over the sheet. “I don’t know. That side of me…doesn’t exist anymore. To bring it all back, it’s like…we’re better off just not going there. Opening a can of worms. You can’t unknow something, and I don’t want you to think any less of me.” She turned back to him. “Especially when you aren’t sharing anything of yours.”

  They were back to that again. “I’ve told you literally everything in my past, even if not in detail. I dated some women. Some short-term relationships, some longer relationships. We had pretty straightforward sex. Nothing exciting, nothing public, nothing experimental. Nothing kinky.”

  “See, there. What do you even think is kinky?” She let the sheets slip, one rose-colored nipple peeking over the edge. His gaze was drawn to it. The hard tip was barely concealed by the sheet, just begging for his fingers, his mouth. He had to look away, back up to her face.

  “What we did the other night at the reunion. That was kinky.”

  Abby blushed. He loved her blushes, the way her skin turned rosy, her complexion mottling out the freckles. She blushed not just on her face, but on her shoulders and neck as well, her whole body giving away when she was embarrassed…or aroused. “Okay. That was kinky. But that wasn’t like you. I don’t want to go unloading a whole bunch from my past and have you, like, never want to sleep with me again. Just so you can temporarily get your rocks off thinking about a fantasy that, in reality, I doubt you’d actually want to do.”

  A fantasy he wouldn’t want to do? He’d do anything if it meant she would share her honest self with him. “At the reunion, that was hot. That was some of the hottest fun we’ve had together, and it wasn’t even sex sex. I want to spice things up with you like that.”

  Abby continued to look at him, uncertain, so he pressed on. “Don’t you want to spice things up with me?”

  Abby fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. “I don’t mind the way things are now,” she said, but her voice was flat, the tone she got when she was lying.

  He might as well call her on it. “Bullshit.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Okay, fine. It hasn’t been really exciting, no, but I don’t have a problem with it. People don’t just fuck like they’re newlyweds forever.”

  It hadn’t even been that different when they were newlyweds, with Sam always trying to show Abby he respected her and would take good care of her. He waited, and the silence between them stretched out while she looked thoughtful and more than a little apprehensive. Finally, she looked back over at him. “But if you want to spice things up, I’m not opposed to it.”

  Not opposed. That was a start. Not opposed was a far cry from how soaking wet she’d been when he’d fingered her on the porch at the reunion. But if she didn’t want to admit to it, he didn’t need to push. “How about if we forget the past entirely, and try this from another angle?”

  She furrowed her brow, cautious. “Like what?”

  The idea was slowly spinning itself up in his mind. “How about instead of you telling me about your past, we focus on the present? We could play a game.”

  Abby pursed her lips. “What kind of game?”

  “We each take turns sharing a sexual fantasy. Something we’d really like to try. And if the other person is interested, too, we make them come true.”

  Abby tipped her head to the side. She relaxed her arms, so the blanket slipped down more, all the way off her breasts. “Are you just going to try to one-up me? Try to prove that you’re kinky?”

  “I might be kinky. I don’t know.” He wouldn’t know unless he tried, right? Was that something people automatically knew about themselves? He needed her to at least try this, to let him show himself as more than whatever boring stick-in-the-mud she must consider him to be. “But I know that I’m interested in spicing things up with you, and this is one way to do that.”

  “What if one of us comes up with something the other one doesn’t want to do?” she asked.

  “We don’t do it.” That seemed obvious. “The game ends whenever we want it to. There’s no winner or loser or anything.” Even saying it, though, he knew that was only a half-truth. He would be game for whatever she threw at him, no matter what. She might try to call his bluff, but he wasn’t bluffing. There might not be a winner or loser, officially, but he was going to win. She would see that she hadn’t made a mistake choosing him. He could be as adventurous as she wanted.

  “All right.” She nodded. “You’re on.”

  …

  For a few moments, they looked at each other. He was going to look away first, for sure, and Abby kept a hard stare on Sam. This game was…interesting. Definitely out of character for him. She almost felt bad for him. She could unload the big guns right away, pull out one of her really fucked-up fantasies and get him to call everything off, but she didn’t want to totally freak him out. Maybe she’d lob him some kind of softball, some fantasy that pushed the envelope a little.

  Before she could come up with anything, though, he said, “I’ll start.”

  “Oh?” Another surprise. Something uneasy settled in her stomach. Maybe he had a secret side, too, like she did. Was that even possible? How much did she not know about Sam? But no. He was a pretty easy-to-read guy. Transparent, direct, these were qualities she valued in him from the day they’d met. After college, she’d had enough of games for a lifetime. How ironic that now they were turning back to another one.

  “Yeah. I have to think about it first, though.” He grinned at her and stripped off his shirt. Damn, that line of muscles was always enough to distract her from anything she was doing at the moment. He went to CrossFit so often, his body was built lean and strong. He was hard where she was soft, every inch of him a complement to her plump curves.

  It wasn’t just his body, though. She was definitely turned on at the idea of this game. “So you don’t have a fantasy just ready to lay on me?”

  “Nope.” He moved closer, crawling on his hands and knees until he was face-to-face with her. This room had suddenly grown much hotter.

  “You think I’m just going to fuck you now?” she teased.

  “Yeah. I do.” He tipped his head to the side. “Because I think the idea of this game has you as hot as I am.” With his eyes locked on hers, he inched the sheet down, baring the rest of her body, and carefully dipped his fingers into the folds between her legs.

  Abby’s eyelids fluttered, mouth falling open in a sigh. Little ripples of pleasure floated up her spine. He never went right at her like this; he always built up to it with kisses and more gentle touches. This was foreign, bold, and she was soaking wet.

  “You like this,” he said, voice tinged with wonder.

  “Mm-hmm.” She smiled in acquiescence, scooting down the bed to lie on her back. His fingers were dancing over her clit enough to muddle her brain.

  “You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?”

  Abby opened her eyes at his question. Sam lay beside her, propped up on one elbow, his expression curious. She didn’t answer,
instead tucking an arm behind her head. She lifted one leg, bending it at the knee, giving him more access to her clit. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll surprise me.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. Lost in those eyes, she gasped at a sudden feeling of fullness making her muscles twitch. His fingers slid deep inside her, more than usual, probably three, wide and thick and definitely more than she was expecting. “Fuck,” she gasped, catching her breath. “Yeah, that’s a surprise.” Her light chuckle made her clench around his fingers, taking her breath away once more.

  “Tell me what you like.” Sam’s fingers shifted, curling, pressing up against her G-spot, making her see stars again. “Pretend this is the first time.”

  So he was going to make her talk. This wasn’t what they normally did; if they talked during sex, it was playful or joking, fun instead of intense. His expression was deadly serious, though, his eyes dark with arousal.

  “Well, I like that.” She tried to laugh, but pressure on her clit turned that laugh into a moan. The heel of his hand pressed against her, rubbing just like he had when he’d fingered her on the deck.

  “Tell me,” he repeated. “Do you like the full feeling?”

  She nodded, for a moment the words caught in her throat. “Yes. Stretched…oh.” He was fucking her harder with his hand. “Not so fast. Slow.” He slowed down, pressing and pulling back, circling her clit with his palm. “I want your cock.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Abby’s eyes opened; when had she closed them? He was serious; he wasn’t going to fuck her yet. Fine, he wanted her to ask for things? She would. “My nipples. I like…when you suck on them.”

  He bent his head to obey. That was nice, sweet, the tight pull of his mouth, but not enough. Before she could ask for more, though, he bit down, just like he had at the start of tonight, harder and rougher than usual. The pain sparked like a bright light behind her eyes. That was so good, and she arched up against his hand. He didn’t need to be told to switch sides, his mouth rough on her other nipple as well, sucking to the point of pain before closing his teeth on that nub. She clenched around his fingers, his hand making obscene wet noises between her legs.

  It wasn’t fair that she be the only one to enjoy this. She pushed him away, shoving him over onto his back, his fingers sliding from her body. Before he could ask, she held up a finger. “It’s my turn.” But then, just because she could, just because he wouldn’t expect it, she took his fingers into her mouth and sucked her juices off them.

  “Fucking hell.” His head slammed back against the pillow.

  “I like the way I taste.”

  His eyes went wide like he’d seen nirvana, and shit, she could blow his mind with almost no effort at all. Because yeah, she did like the way she tasted, even though maybe that was weird, and she liked the way he tasted, too. She tugged his boxers off—how was he still wearing them?—and sucked the head of his cock into her mouth.

  “Ah, fuck,” he swore. He didn’t swear as much as she did, only in moments like this, when he was overwhelmed.

  Abby lapped the slit and looked at him. “Tell me what you like.”

  Sam had gone completely inarticulate in the time it took her to put her mouth on him, but he managed to stammer out some words. “That. I like that.”

  “Yeah? You like when I suck your dick?” She slid her mouth over him again. His heavy weight against her tongue, the sensation of her mouth being filled, she loved the whole experience of giving a blow job. They didn’t do this that much. Not nearly often enough for how pleasurable it was, that sense of control…but no, more than that. He could take control at any time as well, grab her hair and force her mouth down onto him. Not that Sam would ever do such a thing, though, unless maybe she really persuaded him into it.

  “I like your tongue. And when you take me so deep…” His words trailed off as she did that, relaxing her throat, letting him push past her gag reflex so she could swallow him down. His voice jumped a half octave. “Damn, Abby.” He touched her head, which wasn’t a surprise, since he often brushed her hair back in moments like this.

  He wanted to know what she liked? Fine. She licked her way off him. “Pull my hair.”

  He paused only a moment, hesitation present in the frozen way his fingers touched her, and then he slid his palm through her hair and closed his hand into a fist. Shit, that was perfect, needles of pain rippling across her scalp, pulling out a whimper from between her lips. When she bent to take him into her mouth again, this time, he used his grip on her hair to push her down even more.

  She relaxed her throat and moaned, just absolutely moaned around his dick, and he began to use his grip to hold her in place and thrust. Maybe this was instinct, something any guy would do if given the chance, but it wasn’t any guy. It was Sam, Sam the straitlaced architect, who was professional and courteous and who’d never done anything wild. Sam was pulling her hair and fucking her mouth like never before, and Abby had a hand between her legs rubbing her clit before she was fully conscious of what she was doing.

  “You’re so good at this, babe.” He relaxed his grip on her hair, and she came up for air, gasping, licking her swollen lips. She wanted him right now, this need surging up inside her more than just lust. She wanted to claim, to own, to possess.

  Instead, he moved first, rolling her onto her back, slotting himself between her thighs like he had hundreds of times before.

  “Bend my knee back,” she directed.

  Sam lifted one of her legs up to press against her chest, opening her up even more to him. His grip tightened on her calf as he slid into her soaked pussy.

  No matter how many times they did this, the first thrust took her breath away. A strangled groan escaped her at the overwhelming sensation of being split open on his cock. This position was a whole different level. He was able to reach deeper, penetrating farther, rubbing against some spots deep, deep inside her pussy he’d never hit before. This wasn’t her G-spot, it was something else, something that had her moaning.

  Normally, Sam’s thrusts were measured, controlled, deep and slow enough that she could take the time she needed to reach orgasm. Tonight, he was different. Tonight, he fucked her hard, using that grip on her leg to slam into her.

  “Just like that,” she said, voice tight, the thrust lighting her up from the inside. “Hard. It’s so good.” She swore, the curses spilling out of her, something tightening deep in her groin.

  “Yeah. Perfect,” he groaned. “Just…take it.”

  Take it? He was never rough with her, and this wasn’t an act. His eyes locked onto hers, fierce, focused, jaw tight, his thrusts erratic and blunt. He was like a different person entirely, like Sam but some other variant of him, and Abby couldn’t look away from those deep eyes. She wasn’t even touching her clit, her hands gripping his arms instead, and each thrust rubbed perfectly so she was spiraling up before she expected.

  Sometimes her climaxes took a while, eyes closed and lips tight, focused on the sensations without the distraction of thinking of anything else. Not tonight. Just like the reunion, she was on the edge quickly, overwhelmed, her climax tightening inside her like a dam that would burst at any moment. Each muscle clenched, body poised to leap from that precipice.

  The pleasure split open all at once, orgasm exploding outward from her core, nerves firing as she clenched and clenched and clenched around the cock inside her. She was lost, toes curling in the sheets, as Sam buried himself all the way deep and came hot and wet inside her. Boneless, she collapsed, her leg slipping down and to the side as Sam’s arms gave way and he lay down on her.

  They breathed, quiet and overwhelmed, into the silence between them. Abby blinked her eyes open at last, catching her breath, the weight of Sam’s body a solid presence on hers.

  Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe there was more to Sam than she’d ever thought.

  Maybe she was the one who needed to be afraid of what they’d begun.

  Chapter Three

  The Night Owl was arguabl
y the best bar in town for the drinks alone, never mind the nostalgia. Every time Sam walked in the place, it felt like home. He had years’ worth of memories there: back when he and Abby were dating, they used to grab a nightcap at the Night Owl after seeing a show, cozied up in one of the booths in the back where nobody bothered them. But now, it was the bastion of guy time, the favorite hangout for his CrossFit buddies after another grueling workout. He was last to arrive, the others already gathered around their usual round table in the front window, holding beers and mixed drinks.

  They were an odd group: on the far side of the table sat Mitchell, the person Sam had met first when he joined CrossFit. Built solid and broad like a refrigerator, Mitchell, with his blond hair and crystal blue eyes, he had a sort of “European warrior” look. Next to him, Deshawn sat in stark contrast, short and lean, a light-skinned Black man with thin dreadlocks tied back. Deshawn was the scrappy sort of workout partner, the kind who could outlast almost anybody and was competitive enough to try to really do it. Rounding out the trio was Jack, average build, average height, a white guy with short, spiky brown hair and glasses. He’d joined their group most recently, a student at the university using CrossFit to unwind from the stress of his PhD program. They all looked up as Sam slid into the empty chair and joined them.

  “Geez, did I take that long? You’ve all got drinks already.” Sam looked around for their server, who was nowhere to be seen.

  “You take the longest showers.” Mitchell shook his head. “I managed to shower and get over here before you, and I walked.” He managed a cross between soft-spoken and no-nonsense, probably useful when he was running the kitchen at the Mapleton Pub. Out of everybody in this group, Mitchell was probably the one Sam felt closest to, but they didn’t really hang out outside of these guys’ nights and the gym.

  “Walking’s easier, though,” Sam protested. “Parking’s a bitch.”

  Deshawn, shaking his head, lifted up a glass in a toast. “Here’s to that, man. I’m in the garage.”