by JA Huss
She looks at the car as it pulls away and she understands. She knows what’s happening. What she’s got herself into. Or at least, she’s telling herself that. She’s busy rationalizing this as some sex experiment. Something she’ll walk away from in a few weeks, probably? Something dirty, yes. But very, very temporary. She will have her fun, we will have our fun, and then she will get out.
So she thinks.
I grab her arm when she refuses to move and push her across the threshold, dropping my new set of keys into a tray on the side table and locking the door behind us. I turn to the alarm panel on the wall and arm it.
“You have the code to my alarm? How?”
I just smile as I take off my coat and hang it in the coat closet. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Small chuckle from me. “Fool me once, Marcella. You locked me in that first night. I wasn’t expecting it. My research shows you almost never use the alarm. Which is stupid,” I add. “This neighborhood looks nice. It’s got streets lined with multimillion-dollar houses. But it’s fucking downtown Denver, Chella. I thought you were smart.”
I leave her standing there in the foyer as I make my way through the front room, past the coffer-paneled fireplace that separates the front room from the dining room, and then into the large kitchen that shares a space with a nicely appointed family room.
The small, slow clicking of high heels follows me as I reach into the fridge and take out a bottle of 1995 Clos d’Ambonnay. “We should celebrate,” I say, taking the champagne to the island where I have two tall-fluted glasses ready. “Why are you still wearing your coat?”
“What’s happening?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask, popping the cork on the champagne. “You just signed a contract.”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice a little louder as she recovers from her shock. “But you didn’t know that. You got my key five days ago. So why the fuck—”
“Don’t,” I say in a loud, firm voice as I put up a hand. “You do not talk to me that way. Understand?”
She exhales, like she was holding her breath for a few seconds. “You didn’t know I was going to sign.”
“I knew. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
“And if I didn’t sign? Then what? You’d still have my key? My alarm code? What if I wanted to—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up, Marcella. You’re ruining my night.”
She blinks at me. Twice.
“OK, look,” I say. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll help you tonight. It’s an adjustment. I get it.” I step around the island and start unbuttoning her coat. But when I try to slip it off, it gets stuck because she’s still holding her little clutch purse. I take it from her hand, place it on the counter, and take the coat to the front closet by the door. When I come back to the kitchen, she’s sitting in a stool at the island, head in her hands.
“Why are you so moody?” I ask. I’m starting to get annoyed with her.
She lifts her head up and stares at me while I pour our drinks.
“What?” I ask.
“Answer my questions. If I didn’t sign, then what? You’d keep that key, wouldn’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Chella. You did sign. Do you want out already? Because you can tell me to fuck off and I’ll be happy to fuck off.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds. Maybe ten or more. She is silent.
I hand her a glass and she takes it.
“See,” I say. “It’s not so hard. What should we drink to?”
She looks at her champagne, just staring at the bubbles in the light amber liquid. She takes a deep breath and says, “I’m going to give it a week.”
“Why?” I ask.
“So I can see if this is something—”
“No.” I laugh. “Why not get out now? And be honest, for once, Chella. You’re such a bad liar.” I come around the island to her again. Place my hand flat on her knee. Slip it under her dress and press my fingers against her pussy.
Her gaze slowly lifts up to mine.
“Just say it,” I whisper. “Because I get it. You’re turned on, Chella.” I slide my fingers into her, making the wetness pool around my skin. “It’s erotic, right? The thought of the three of us sharing you?”
She swallows hard, but she nods her head. My eyes search her eyes. I watch her breasts lift and fall as her heart rate picks up.
“It’s OK. If we didn’t think you’d be into it, we’d never have asked you in the first place.”
“Whose idea was it?” she asks. “Yours? Or Bric’s?”
“Why not Quin’s?”
“Ha.” She laughs. “He hates me.”
“He doesn’t have to like you to want to fuck you.”
“Was it you? Or Bric?” she repeats.
“Does it matter?”
“It matters,” she says, “because I’d like to know who’s on my side and who’s just here for the game.”
I press my fingers deeper into her pussy and she closes her eyes for a moment, unable to stop herself. I move close, erase the space between us until her knee bumps up against my hard cock. “We’re all here for the game. It’s just a peek, Marcella. A little glimpse into the forbidden. Just some filthy, taboo sex, and nothing more. Don’t read too much into it. But don’t take it for granted, either. We can vote you out if we get tired.”
She gives in. Her shoulders slump and the tight line of her mouth drops into a frown.
“Don’t worry so much,” I say, taking her hand and placing it on my cock. She squeezes without any more urging from me. A few seconds later, she’s stroking me through my pants. “It’s just fun. It’s not a life commitment. We’re not holding you hostage. And if it makes you feel better, if you had said no, I’d have given you your key and new alarm code back at Turning Point Club. I’m not about to fuck up my life over a woman.”
She looks up at that, still frowning.
“Do you want out?” I ask. “Do you want my key back?”
She shakes her head no. But she is still frowning.
“Good,” I say, leaning in to kiss her lips. “Then let the games begin.” I hold up my glass and say, “Make a toast.”
She looks away, maybe thinking of something to say. And then she raises her glass and looks me in the eyes. “To the peek,” she says. A long inhale of breath to steady herself. “Because that’s all it is. Just a peek.”
“To the peek,” I say.
We drink. But I catch a small whisper just as she brings the champagne to her lips. “I just hope I don’t get lost in this peek.”
“You’re gonna,” I say setting my glass down and taking my attention back to her pussy. “That’s how we keep them, Chella. We feed the craving, turn it into an addiction, and then we own you. We will own you. There’s no telling how long it will take for you to kick the habit of us. But after this week, you’ll be in too deep to walk away. You’ll need your fix. You’ll see what I bring to this little arrangement. You’ll want Bric to do things to you that will make you feel shame. You’ll fall for Quin and his contagious personality.”
She laughs and breaks a smile. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know him yet. I know him very well and I know he’ll be the first one you fall in love with.”
“Come on,” she says. “That’s never going to happen. I know what this looks like, but it’s not what it looks like.”
“Liar,” I say. “You’re hanging in mid-air right now and what happens next is just… gravity.” I kiss her again. She responds with her tongue. We linger in the kiss as I insert another finger into her pussy and my thumb finds her clit.
She’s moaning when the angel on my shoulder surfaces.
Just for a moment.
So I do my good deed for the day. I warn her with a whisper into her mouth. “Just don’t fall too hard, Marcella Walcott. Because that’s exactly when we’ll cut you off.”
Chapter Twelve - Chella
I don’t know what to feel. I am angry beca
use he made a copy of my key. He changed my alarm code. I’m angry at myself too. For being weak. For giving in to them. For putting my weakness in writing for anyone to see.
Because they know me. They understand why girls like me will agree to do the things they want.
And I hate it. I am filled with shame for what I am. A sick, sick woman with a sick, sick fetish. I am obsessed with sex and everyone will know.
I sigh. Everyone will know. How long did it take Bric and Smith to see through me? Minutes? In that closet the first night? The next night when Bric came to see me?
Is this why my family life fell apart so badly? Why I have no one?
I know it is.
But I don’t care. They’re right. I’m addicted to the dark. I want what they’re offering and I don’t care.
I kiss Smith back. I want more of him, even as I feel the repulsion inside me.
“Chella,” Smith says, trying to get my attention. Like he knows what I’m thinking.
And even that pisses me off. Why does he get to see through me? After all this time, after all the walls I’ve put up, after all the years of denial and self-deprivation, why now, when I have it well under control? Why now?
I know why.
Rochelle came to me. She slipped inside my life. Became my friend. She saw through me immediately, didn’t she? Just like Smith.
That book…
“Chella,” Smith repeats. He pulls out of the kiss and backs away one step. Two.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my words coming out in ragged gasps.
Smith smiles down at me. Places both hands flat against both my cheeks. “The toast is over, love.”
I look at the two glasses of champagne. Still full and sitting on the counter. “What?”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Smith says, stroking my cheek. He’s got the other hand on his cock, a thick outline beneath his trousers. I place my hand over his and then we switch places, his strong hand on mine, urging me once again to stroke him. “But I have a lot of rules.”
I’m watching our hands. The way he guides me to move the way he likes it. I memorize that movement so I can do again later without his help.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. I look up.
“Unzip my pants and take out my cock and my balls.”
I nod at him. Say, “Yes, OK.” And do just as he asks.
“Make me come.”
I keep eye contact as I cup his balls with one hand and stroke him with the other. Long strokes. Slow, then faster. I want to get down on my knees and put him in my mouth. But he’s got a hold on my hair. A hold so tight, it’s pulling on my scalp.
So I just open my mouth and lock my eyes with his as I keep going.
The smile he gives me might be worth all his bullshit. He has a dimple in one cheek that I’ve never seen before. Maybe because I’ve never seen a real smile from him.
“Do you want to know my rules, Chella?”
“Yes,” I say in a throaty whisper. “Tell me the rules. I can follow them, I promise.”
He lets go of my hair and pets my head. “I’m happy to hear that. Now open your legs wide and give me full access.” I comply. Willingly. Immediately. And then his hand slides back up under my dress and his fingers begin to play.
I close my eyes and drop my head back a little. Allowing myself to enjoy it.
“Does it feel good?”
“Mmmmm,” I manage.
He flattens his hand and begins to rub his fingertips across my clit in short, quick bursts. I’m on edge. I’m so close. I stroke him harder, wanting him to come with me when I can’t stand it any longer.
He’s moaning. I’m moaning. And then…
He steps away. His fingers pull out of my throbbing, wet pussy. My hand slips off his huge, fat cock.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “We’re so close.”
He pets my head again while his other hand tucks his cock away and zips up his pants. “I know, Chella. But the rules, love. I’m sorry, but the rules of Taking Turns say I’m… not allowed to fuck you. I’m not allowed to make you come. You’re not allowed to make me come.”
“What?” I ask. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He laughs. “I’ll excuse that slip in language because I kinda set you up here.”
“Smith.” I breathe in short, quick pants. “What the hell?”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t talk about the other rules. I can only tell you mine. And rule number one of our relationship is no fucking and that also includes no touching.”
“That makes no sense,” I blurt.
“It does, love.” He pets my hair again, like I am a lost, sad dog. A very sick, lost and sad dog. “You’ll see that it does. Now be a good girl and go get ready for bed. It’s late now. We’re having an early breakfast with Quin and Bric so I can give them a report on how tonight went. And you have work after that. So go on. Go upstairs and take a shower.”
I.
Am.
Speechless.
“Chella,” Smith says, raising his voice. “I just told you to do something. When I give an order you will acknowledge me and then carry it out.”
I just stare at him. “Where are these rules?” I demand. “Were they in the contract?”
“The contract stated your role was to make us happy. And these rules make us happy. End of discussion. Go upstairs and get in the shower.”
I let out a long, disgusted sigh. Stand up. And walk away before I slap his fucking face.
It’s a game. It’s a game. It’s a game.
I run his words back in my head as I climb the stairs. The rules of Taking Turns say I’m not allowed to fuck you.
Or touch me. He said that too. What’s that mean? He can’t make me come? I can’t make him come? Which means… we masturbate a lot and then we leave each other hanging?
“That rule is fucking stupid,” I yell.
“Last time, Chella,” he yells back from below. “Last time I’ll let you get away with talking back. So be ready if you choose to do it again.”
“Fuck you,” I say. But I say it quietly.
When I get to the bedroom there’s lingerie laid out on my bed. Just a soft pink chemise. The bust is made of lace and it has a flirty skirt that drapes down to just above my hips. There’s also matching panties, same color.
I hold it up and look at it. Kinda sweet. Not what I expected from this freak, that’s for sure.
“Why aren’t you in the shower?” Smith asks.
He’s standing in the doorway and I take a moment to appreciate him. He’s fucking handsome. Tall with those broad shoulders. I can’t see the muscles in his upper arms or back, but I know they’re there. He has a shadow of stubble across his perfectly square jaw that wasn’t there earlier in the day. I watch him watch me.
“I asked you a question.” he says.
I look back at the lingerie in my hands. “I was looking at it.”
“You don’t get an opinion,” he says. “So you don’t need to look so hard.”
“Can we talk about these rules?” I ask.
“No.”
“Then how will I know what to expect?”
“We’ll let you know.”
“Don’t you think that sets me up for failure?”
“The failure is half the fun, Chella. Now get your ass in the goddamned shower.”
“What will you do if I don’t obey you?”
Smith smiles. A crooked, devious, devilish smile. “I’ll have Bric handle it. You can’t get your way with me by ignoring my rules.”
“And what will Bric do?” I’m genuinely curious. I’m not even trying to piss him off.
“You’ll have that discussion with him, should you ever find yourself in that position.”
I put the lingerie back on the bed and go into the closet to undress. Smith follows me, cocks a hip against the doorjamb and watches every move.
I slip the dress down and his eyes follow it to the floor.
That’s pretty much all I’m wearing, so I place both hands on his chest as I try to maneuver past, through the door, but he slaps them away.
“Don’t fucking touch me again, Chella. I’m very serious about this.”
I let it go. I am tired, I realize. Tired of this game, tired of this day, and I need that hot shower more than he knows.
I start the water and when I look over my shoulder, he’s there again. Watching. Silent. Arms crossed over his chest. Frown on his face.
“Am I not making you happy?”
“Not even a little bit,” he growls.
I let that go too. Maybe when we have breakfast tomorrow he will tell Bric and Quin I’m not worth it. I can’t make them happy. And maybe they will cut me loose.
If that happens… will I fight it? Or will I let it go? Walk out and never look back?
I wish I didn’t know the answer. I wish the answer was walk out. Be strong. Leave this darkness behind before it’s too late.
But I won’t. If they decide I’m not their type or not good enough for whatever reason, I will fight it. I will prove it to them.
“Chella,” Smith snaps. “Stop daydreaming and get in the shower.”
I step into the shower and get my hair wet. The heat feels so good. But when I open my eyes, Smith is dropping his pants just outside the glass door. “What are you doing now?”
He takes off his shirt, throws it on the floor, then opens the door and I step aside to let him pass. “What the fuck does it look like?”
“I thought we can’t touch.”
“I won’t be touching you. You’ve got a big shower.”
Whatever. I give up. We trade places. I rinse my hair and apply conditioner as he soaps up his body. And even though I tell myself I’m not interested in those shoulders, or those arms, or that fat fucking cock of his—which is so hard, it’s climbing up his stomach—I am. I can’t stop watching him.
I think he feels the same way about me. His eyes linger on the thick, frothy bubbles as they fall over my breasts. He stares at my shaved pussy like he wants me.
If he wants me, why does allow Bric and Quin to dictate his behavior with me?
“Are you done with the water?” he asks.
“I have two shower heads,” I say, pointing to the one that’s not in use.