by JA Huss
The real show for me is Quin. Who presses his hard, erect cock against her ass, both hands on her hips. I watch his face. I wait for it. That look. The way he closes his eyes when he first enters her.
When he opens them again, he’s staring at me.
We smile.
This is why we play the game, and Rochelle is the only girl we’ve ever had who never has to be told what to do. Never has to think twice. Never has to second-guess herself.
We are a team of professionals.
I place a hand on Rochelle’s back, stroking her softly as Quin fucks her slowly. He pushes in hard and deep, then withdraws in increments. Slow. Too slow for Rochelle. She wants more now. We all want more now. But Quin will deny us until he’s ready. He enjoys his time inside her. Savors it, just like we savored that preliminary kiss.
When I know I’m getting close, I grab Rochelle by the upper arm and tug on her. She responds just the way she should. Climbing onto my lap, straddling my thighs. Quin’s dick slips out of her, slick and shiny from her wet pussy.
I feel that wetness a second later when she grabs my cock in her hand, guides me to her entrance, and lowers herself.
When I look at Quin, he’s watching me the same way I did him.
We smile.
Quin repositions himself as I tug Rochelle down to my chest and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly against me. I love the way her breasts press against my skin. I love the way her hair tickles my shoulders. I love the way she pants her hot breath into the sensitive skin just under my ear.
Quin starts with a finger in her ass. He pumps her and I feel it. I can feel his fingertips against my shaft as she moves her hips over mine in small circles. I want to tell him to stop fucking around and just shove his cock inside her ass, but I don’t. I’m patient. The best part of all this is the expectations.
But then the waiting is over—too soon, almost. And the tip of Quin’s cock is pressing against her ass. There is no smacking of her cheeks. No dirty words to turn her on more. We like it that way too, and we’ll do it that way next time, for sure. But this time, words aren’t necessary. There is no need to pull her hair, or slap her face, or choke her neck—even though she will beg us to do all those things next time.
This time we don’t fuck her. We love her.
It seems to last forever and then it’s over too quick.
I come inside her, wondering if she is on birth control, and not caring one bit.
Quin waits until I’m done, then kneels on the couch, urging her to suck him, and then he comes in her mouth.
She swallows, her pussy clamping down on my dick as she comes too, my semen mixing with her climax, leaking out, dripping down my shaft and over my balls.
We are a hot, sweaty mess of perfection as Quin leans into us. Our bodies tangled up the way they were always meant to be. Arms and legs wrapped around each other as we kiss her, and each other.
In this round of the game, we are, once again, all three winners.
Chapter Nineteen - Rochelle
I dress in front of the full-length mirror as Adley plays in the new walker Bric bought. Her little socked toes do their best to maneuver the thing, but the hardwood floors are clean and slick. There is a maid, I guess. A team of them who come with the loft. Bric says they’re on salary because he was renting this place out by the night before we moved in together. And he feels bad taking the contract away from them, so they will come twice a week from now on. The floors are spotless.
Bric should be here in a little bit to babysit. Quin said he got stuck doing a conference call at the last minute so won’t be home until seven or so. But I don’t care what time he gets here. I have a whole night of Quin to myself.
I love being with Bric and last night’s lovemaking was exceptional, even for us. But I came home for Quin. I haven’t lost sight of that goal. Not one bit.
Quin sent the dress I’m wearing. This is something both he and Bric have done many times in the past. Especially Bric, who likes to control what I wear to the parties he takes me to. Quin less so, only a few times. But we’ve been apart for a year, so he probably has a fancy restaurant in mind and doesn’t want me showing up for our date underdressed, and in order to avoid an awkward moment at the beginning of the night, he has provided me with his wish.
I am happy to oblige.
The dress is red and long. It has a strapless sweetheart neckline and it’s made of the most luxurious silk my fingertips have ever had the pleasure of caressing. It came with a thin diamond belt to heighten awareness of my waist. I am sure the diamonds are real, as these men do not do fake anything, but they cannot possibly be real.
They’re real.
I had forgotten how much my men like to buy jewelry.
It also came with a platinum choker, diamond earrings set in white gold, and a white gold cuff bracelet.
And the black shoes have red soles.
He also provided me with a black cashmere evening coat with the most beautiful red silk-covered buttons, because it’s snowing again.
Even though it’s Tuesday and we are going nowhere special, I’m ridiculously excited about our date.
The elevator dings and I catch Adley turning her head to see who is here. She’s made her way into the hallway, but I can see her smile in profile as Bric walks up to her and drops to his knees to have a chat.
“What are you doing, pumpkin?”
She giggles.
“We have a date tonight,” Bric coos, lifting her out of the walker. “Your mom thinks I set her up with Quin to make her happy, but I didn’t. I just wanted you all to myself so I can tell you a bedtime story using fake voices and no one will hear me.”
I shake my head at him, laughing. “I have no idea who you are right now.”
Bric whistles low as he looks me over. “Wow. That’s some dress.”
“Zip me, will you? Quin won’t be here for another twenty minutes and I want to be ready.”
He sets Adley back into her walker and her socked feet get busy trying to move again. She gets some purchase and follows him into the bedroom.
I turn my back to him as he walks up behind me, lifts my hair carefully aside, making it drape over my shoulder, and then leans into my neck for a warm kiss. One hand is on my breast, the other flat against my stomach.
I melt backwards, enjoying his touches.
“I’m jealous,” he whispers into the shell of my ear.
“You are not,” I say back, my heart picking up a faster beat. “Elias Bricman doesn’t do jealous.”
“But if he did, he’d be jealous now. You look beautiful. I will have to rethink my choice for tomorrow night. There’s no way I’m letting Quin make you prettier than I will.”
“Men.” I chuckle.
He backs off, slightly, and reaches for the zipper low down on my back. His fingers touch my bare skin for just a moment, and I sigh.
It’s dangerous to love him so much. I know it’s a different kind of love than what I feel for Quin. It’s more like lust. But still, it’s dangerous.
A part of me is wondering if we’ll ever leave this game. A part of me is wondering if I want to. A part of me is terrified about those parts of me.
I am here for Quin. I came back for Quin. I want Quin.
And yet I want this too.
I have become Elias, I think. Addicted to the game. Addicted to the familiarity of the three of us. Addicted to the way they make me feel when we make love together. I’d forgotten that while I was gone. The last year or so of the time I was playing, Bric was emotionally absent. Content to visit me on his days and nights. Content to take me out to parties and events. Content to let Quin have me in a special way. To claim me, to own me, to love me just for me.
But now he seems… invested. I think it’s because of Adley, to be honest. I think he’s bonded with her. Correction, I know he has. Adley has changed the dynamic in ways I hadn’t thought of when I decided to come home. She has changed the way Quin thinks about me, for sure
. Adley was the reason he was so angry with me those first few days. Missing out on my pregnancy and her birth was a blow he won’t easily forget. Forgive, yes. Maybe. But forget? Sex is not enough to make him forget.
And now Adley is the reason Bric is invested, I’m sure of it.
What does that mean for the long-term plan? I admit, Quin doesn’t seem to be thinking about me as his sole partner. He is invested too, but in a different way. He’s invested in the us. Even more so than he was last year when I left.
Am I setting myself up for failure? Am I pushing the possibility of me and Quin away, and replacing it with the surety of me, and Quin, and Bric?
Bric finishes the zip, gathers up my hair, and places it down my back just the way he found it.
He’s so tender. I wonder if anybody else in the world knows just how tender Elias Bricman can be?
I don’t know first-hand how he likes to fuck women down in the basement of the Club. But I have an idea. He’s warned me before. I have asked him for certain things during sex. I have moaned out phrases like, “Choke me” and “Fuck me harder” and “Slap my ass”. And sometimes I wanted it harder than he delivered, and would beg for more.
He would always put me back in my place with a firm, “No, Rochelle. You don’t understand how much farther I can go.” One time he even confessed that he was dangerous. We weren’t fucking at the time. Just talking. And I said I liked being choked. And I do. I don’t want to be suffocated, for fuck’s sake. But I crave his unpredictable dominance when I’m about to come.
So I said that. And he replied, “I will hurt you. I will enjoy hurting you. I am dangerous. So don’t ask me to do that in the middle of things, Rochelle. Don’t ever ask me to do that when we’re wild.”
I believed him. And I never asked again. There was a dark look in his eyes. A raw blaze of rage that scared me a little. But it went away and I forgot about it. Until now.
I won’t ask. I believe there are a lot of things locked deep inside Elias Bricman’s head. And I know for certain that no woman he’s ever fucked down in that Club has ever had the pleasure of him zipping up her dress and whispering his quiet jealousy in her ear.
I am special.
Chapter Twenty - Quin
I catch them in a quiet moment. I came up the stairs, the elevator being used or broken. But either way, I was impatient to get home so I took the stairs, and I catch them.
Adley is wandering down the hallway in a baby walker, a bright red plastic block in her mouth, drool running down her chin. I stoop to look her in the eyes—those blue, blue eyes—and she smiles at me. I’m just about to pick her up and hold her close, really feel the connection, when I hear whispers coming from the bedroom.
“Be right back,” I whisper down to Adley. When I get to the door Rochelle is standing in front of a massive framed, full-length mirror propped against the wall. Bric is standing behind her, almost possessively, as he adjusts her hair. I think he was just zipping up her dress. He leans down into her neck and whispers something I don’t catch. Rochelle laughs, closing her eyes like she’s enjoying the moment.
They are beautiful people.
“That dress,” I say, walking into the bedroom. “I almost want to rip it off you.”
“Do it,” Bric growls.
It comes out way too serious to be a joke, and both Rochelle and I laugh. “Do not touch this dress until after dinner, Mr. Foster. I like it way too much to take it off now.”
I come up next to them, put my arm around Rochelle’s waist, and pull her close to me. Bric reciprocates, his arm sliding past mine, and pulls us both close to him.
We stare at each other in the mirror.
We are beautiful people.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out my phone. “Hold still a sec,” I say, bringing up the camera. There is no flash and no shutter click as I take the picture. But we all feel the way the moment was just captured.
“We make a nice… thriple.” Rochelle chuckles. “That’s a real word, by the way. I saw it on a Showtime series last year.”
“They have a thriple on Showtime?” Bric asks.
“Mmm-hmm,” Rochelle says. “But it’s not nearly as hot as the one in this room.”
“Stay home and let me fuck you,” Bric moans.
“Later,” I say. “We need this night.”
He knows it’s true. I have a lot of things to say to Rochelle and I need to do that away from Adley and away from Bric. Away from this house. This family, I guess. It’s something between us, and only us.
“Are you ready?” I ask Rochelle. Bric backs away, shaking his head like it’s a damn shame. It probably is. But we’ll be back, and he knows that.
He leaves Rochelle and I alone and a few seconds later we hear Adley squeal as Bric greets her in the hallway.
“Should I be nervous?” Rochelle asks me in the mirror.
I turn, get her coat off the bed, and then hold it open so she can slip her arms inside.
I lean into her ear, the same way Bric was just a few moments ago, and whisper, “No.”
This settles her.
She knows I have something to say, but she also knows I won’t lie to her. Would never lie to her. So she trusts me.
That’s all I’m hoping for at the end of this night. Just a little more trust. On my part, not hers.
We need this night.
I take one more look at us in the mirror, decide this requires another picture, and pull my phone out again. I want to look at both those pictures right now. Compare them. Weigh the merits and pitfalls of each scenario in my head. But it’s premature and we have a night planned anyway, so instead I say, “Ready?”
Bric is sitting on the couch holding Adley in his arms. She’s slapping his cheeks as he makes funny faces. “She’s got bottles in the fridge, Bric,” Rochelle says, slipping into mom mode. “She should only want one, but we might be late. Feed her, give her a bath, and then put her down in about an hour. There’s a jar of baby food on the counter if you want to give that a try.” She laughs, picturing it, I think. “But it’s not necessary. She likes the bottle at night. Call me if you have any questions.”
“I got this,” Bric says through lips being pinched together by Adley’s little fingers. “Go away now. We’re having fun without you already.”
Rochelle lets out a long sigh as I call for the elevator. Whatever was holding it up a few minutes ago has passed, because it comes immediately. We step in and watch the doors close.
Bric and Adley disappear.
“This is the first time, isn’t it?” I ask.
Rochelle nods. “First time leaving her behind. I have a little pain in my heart, Quin. Hold my hand.”
I smile, but take her hand. When the doors open, I lead her to the Suburban and open her door. It’s not classy, and she practically has to climb into it, it’s so high off the ground, but it’s me. It’s us. We’ve done so many fun things with this fucking truck.
I go around to my side, get in, and start it up. Rochelle is biting her finger, like leaving Adley behind really is causing her pain.
“Are you OK?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “I’m not worried about Bric. It just… it feels weird leaving her behind. She’s been my little sidekick for six months, you know?”
“We’re coming back, Rochelle. We can even come back early if you like. But I do have something special planned for after dinner.”
“What?” she asks.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Give me a hint,” she begs.
There is a recognizable brightness in her hazel eyes. Something that has been mostly missing since she came back. Something I’ve missed as well.
So I give in. “Well,” I say, backing the ’Burban out of the parking space. “You’ve never been to my house. Bric brought you here back when you first met. But I never took you home. I’ve always regretted that.”
“We’re going to your house?” she asks, a quiver of excitement in her voice.
“After,” I say, as if this explains everything.
I have taken Rochelle out to many nice restaurants since we started… dating. All over the city. In fact, it was something we did for fun. We’d scour the Westword, looking for new restaurants, and we even had a list ready to go on the refrigerator, held up by a vintage Pepsi magnet she found in an antique store once. If we ever got bored, we’d just look at the list and choose one that had not been marked off yet.
Tonight’s pick was all on me. I don’t have that list anymore. She left it stuck to the fridge when she disappeared last year and I took nothing out of that apartment, even though Bric told me I should. So the list is gone. That whole life is gone, I realize. Everything we’re doing now is new.
I like that. A lot. I like that it’s a do-over, of sorts. A way to look at what went wrong and fix it. Make things better.
I think it’s going well. It was hard for the first few days, but after I went up there Sunday night and found Bric has filled in for me, I felt better knowing he was there. He picks up my slack. He smooths over my wrinkles. He compensates for my shortcomings. And he set up this date. He said it was for a selfish reason. He wants to take Rochelle to a party on Thursday night and to make it fair, he gave us a night out alone.
But it was not selfish. It was very generous. I like that about Bric. And Smith too. Even though most people don’t see him as selfless, Smith is the definition of the word. He’s a giver. And Bric is his partner in crime in that endeavor.
We end up at Sallie’s. It sounds like a diner, but it’s not. It’s a very fancy Italian restaurant down in Englewood. An unassuming place down on South Broadway. A good twenty-minute drive at this time of night, but Rochelle talks excitedly the whole time. She tells me about her day. Something I’ve missed a lot over the past year.
“We took a walk to see if Chella’s neighborhood really wasn’t walking-accessible the way you said it was,” she says.