by JA Huss
She unbuttons the shirt slowly.
And each time her fingernails brush against my bare chest I come up with a new reason to justify this behavior.
He’s part of the plan.
He has to know she’s here.
Hell, he was trying to fuck me earlier tonight.
It’s all good…
Augustine opens my shirt and bends her back, so her head can bow down and her lips can kiss my stomach.
Holy fuck. I forgot how good she was.
My hands find a place on the top of her head, pressing her down as I raise up my hips.
She looks up at me from under her hair—knowing I’m not going to stop her—and smiles as she scoots off the couch, kneels down between my legs, and places her mouth over my hardened cock, licking it through my pants.
“You know,” she says, pausing to look up at me again. She bites her lip. And damn, that alone might make me come. “If he were here he’d suck your cock too.”
She whispers that last part. Like it’s a secret.
“I don’t think so,” I say, picturing Alexander back when we used to fuck her together. “He was never really into me. He was into you and me. That’s all.”
“But you’re in charge now, Jordan. You could… make him.”
Imagining Alexander sucking me off with her, at the same time… OK. Yeah. I could get on board with that. But the part that really turns me on is telling him to do it.
I scoot down a little, wanting to lie back. Augustine has my pants unbuttoned and her hands reaching in for my cock.
She grabs it. Squeezes it tight. My hips rise up automatically. Urging her to give me more.
I don’t want to fuck around, I just want to fuck. I want her to suck my dick for a couple minutes and then I want to bend her over the couch and take her the way Alexander wouldn’t.
She obviously has other ideas. Because her tongue slowly extends from between her wet lips and flicks against the tip of my head. Teasing me. Back and forth until I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and force her head down. Force her to take me inside her mouth. All the way to the back of her throat.
Augustine is a sexual being. Has always been that way. And she takes this challenge seriously. She opens up, allows me to place her as deep as I want, muscles in her throat seizing up, gag reflex engaged… but she does not pull away.
Saliva spills down her chin and pools onto my skin where my shaft meets my balls. I close my eyes, enjoying that feeling. How it drips over my balls.
And picture Alexander doing this to me instead of her.
How far would he take me in his throat? How far would he let me push him? How far would he go before he said no?
I’ve always been into men. Not all men, but some. Like Bric. Like Ixion, even though he never returned those feelings. And Alexander. I never liked him, but I did like what we did in private with Augustine. And back in LA there were many nights I fell asleep masturbating to what it would feel like to have him suck my cock.
Now I’m going to get my chance.
He’s here, not because he wants me. But because he wants her. And all those things he never wanted to do before could be the first way I challenge him.
I groan and say, “Stop,” as my hands reach out, lift the t-shirt over her head, and grab her tits so hard, she gasps. “Take off those shorts and sit in my lap.”
She smiles. And that smile is filled with approval, and submission, and promises of many more things to come.
I watch her, my fist pumping up and down my shaft, as she wiggles the shorts over her hips and lets them fall to the floor at her feet.
One knee on one side. Other knee on other side. And then her soft, wet pussy is touching my cock.
Her hands go to my shoulders. Her gaze locked on mine. She digs her fingernails into my flesh as her hips begin to move back and forth along my dick.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” I say.
And then I stand up, walk her over to the window, press her back against it as she hikes her legs up to let me grab her behind the knee—and that’s exactly what I do.
I fuck her standing up, her back pressed against the window. My pants fall over my hips and fall to my knees where they get stuck.
I fuck her, half undressed, soft light filtering in from the outdoor landscape lighting. Illuminating her back. Making her skin shimmer like some unearthly fantasy sex goddess.
She is moaning as I thrust forward and back. Deep, deep inside her, then almost to the point of pulling out.
She’s moaning, “More, deeper, faster, harder,” to the rhythm of my thrusts.
But I don’t give her what she wants.
Because I don’t have to.
She has put me in charge.
She should’ve thought about that more carefully, because I really, really like to be in charge.
And yeah, I’ll make sure Alexander doesn’t cross his line.
But right now… he’s not here to make sure I don’t cross mine.
I spin around, take her over to the couch, kicking off my shoes and letting my pants fall away as I walk.
Throw her down, hair falling over her face.
Grab her by the hips, flip her over.
Push her face first into the cushion, hold her there until she stops squealing.
And then I lift her hips up, slap her inner thighs to make her open her legs, and smack both hands down on her ass cheeks with a loud crack.
“Oh,” she cries.
There are perfect, red handprints on her skin.
I slap her again. Same exact place.
“Oh, God,” she cries, this time between clenched teeth.
Then again, even harder.
“Ow,” she screams.
I grab her hair and pull it, yanking her neck back and turning her head so she has to look at me. “Is this what you want?” I ask. “You want me to be in charge of you and your husband?”
“Yes,” she moans. “Yes. Please. Fuck me! Fuck me!”
It’s almost not fair. For like one-eighth of a second I think that. It’s almost not fair. Because he hasn’t fucked her in so long, she doesn’t care what I do right now.
She just wants my cock inside her. Pounding her into climax.
And besides, who cares?
Who fucking cares about fair?
I stick two fingers inside her, taking this cue directly from watching Alexander last weekend. And then I pump her hard and fast with them. In and out, back and forth across her pussy.
She squirts immediately.
And I laugh.
A loud, possibly insane laugh.
Because I have the power.
Because they gave it to me.
Because I know her body and her mind.
Because I will abuse everything about this situation.
I am, and have always been the bad guy in this relationship. We all know this.
If that’s what they want, that’s who they’ll get.
CHAPTER SIX
“Oh, my God,” she screams as she squirts. “Yes!”
You know, the usual stuff. None of it impresses me. I mean, I like fucking her. Her body is quite nice, her breasts large enough to look good in plunging-neckline shirts and dresses. They are like ripe fruit. Honeydew. Something so pretty and smooth, you can’t help but touch it.
Her nipples are tight and two shades darker than her skin. Peaked up like little monuments. A testament to how much she’s enjoying this.
“I want you inside me,” she moans.
I’m sure she does.
“More. Again. More.” She’s begging me. How long has Alexander been priming her to get this kind of… sexual desperation?
And it’s not like he doesn’t get her off, he just doesn’t give her cock.
“Does he stick things inside you?” I whisper, my fingers slower now. So she can think about this.
“What?”
“Things, Augustine. Long, hard things to make you think about the cock you’re not allowed to have
.”
“Uh… no,” she whimpers. “No. But I want more right now, Jordan. Just please. Don’t play with me. Just give something freely for once.”
I huff a small amount of air through my nose to simulate a laugh. “This is your game, remember? Not mine.”
She exhales. Meets my gaze. Holds it for several seconds. With difficulty. Because I’m still fingering her. Still making her crazy. “You can write the rules,” she says, her voice trembling. “I don’t care. You can make all the rules you want. Tomorrow. Just give me what I need tonight.”
I pull my fingers out and she bites her lip, whimpering. “No.”
But I just smile. “I’m on board with this plan,” I say. “But I’m not going to make it easy for him. Or you,” I add. Because I’m feeling generous and that bit of truth is a gift. So she can prepare herself for what will happen.
She frowns.
“I might fuck you again tonight,” I say, throwing her a bone. “But I want to do something else first.”
“What? What do you want to do?”
I smile as I reach down, find my phone in my pants pocket, and pull up the camera. “Let’s make some evidence, Augustine.”
And then I laugh. Because that expression on her face is funny.
“What?”
“A little video for your husband.”
“What? Why?”
“Because if I were him it would piss me off. Especially since he’s the one who wanted to play the game.”
She starts to turn around and face me. “We don’t need—” But I yank her hair and push her face into the couch back.
“Stay right where you are,” I say. “I wasn’t really asking your permission, Augustine. I was telling you what comes next.”
It occurs to me then… I should make them sign a contract. There’s so many ways for this to get messy. And I am nothing if not a great lawyer.
But first, the video.
“Smile,” I say. “We’re rolling.”
I do fuck her later. But only after I get a nice point-of-view video of her sucking my dick. Only after I gag her with it. Only after I come on her face. Only after I email all that beautiful footage to her husband.
And after that I send her home to deal with the consequences.
I have to admit—the whole Make My Husband Jealous game isn’t one I’ve done before. Never played one myself. Never facilitated one for someone else. Never even thought about it, actually.
I’m calling this game… the Divorce.
Which makes me laugh.
I know, I’m a heartless asshole, but I’m not the one who started this. I was perfectly willing to walk away from them. I was more than happy to let them live their lives without me.
They started this.
My phone rings so I reach over and pluck it off the bedside table. It can only be one person.
“Yes,” I say.
“Is this how you’re going to play?” Alexander growls at me. “Dirty?”
I laugh again. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“She told you then?”
“Didn’t you talk to her?”
“She’s with you.”
“No,” I say. “I sent her away about an hour ago.”
“She… she never came home,” he says.
I sit up in bed. “Well, where the fuck would she go?”
“I dunno.” And when he says that I can picture him. Like perfectly in my mind’s eye. The way he was back in LA. Younger, but really no different. He was always one of those broody assholes. Always aloof, and distant, and dark. “We’re… we’re not really close these days, in case you haven’t noticed.”
I swing my legs out of bed and put him on speaker as I find a pair of jeans and pull them on. “Well, there has to be some fucking place she’d go. A friend’s house? A hotel? Does she disappear often when you two play this fucked-up game?”
“It’s not like this is typical, Jordan. I don’t know. She’s never not come back before.”
“What do you mean? What’s that mean? Come back? Why does she leave?” For a second I picture him hitting her. Being violent and scaring her.
“We argue,” he says. “A lot. You know we were separated.”
“What kind of arguments?” I ask. “Violent ones?”
“No,” he says. And I believe him. Because there’s no defensiveness in that denial. No incredulous how-dare-you-accuse-me going on here. It’s just kinda sad. “I called her,” he says. “Before I called you. Just to see if she was coming home tonight. I think she’s got her phone turned off because it went straight to voicemail.”
“Hold on,” I say, pressing the screen of my phone so I can put him on hold and make another call. I find her contact, press it, and yup. Sure enough, it goes straight to voicemail.
I end the call and get Alexander back. “Alexander,” I say. “Where the fuck would she go?”
“I dunno… maybe a hotel?”
“What kind of hotel? Four Seasons kind of hotel? Or Motel 6 kind of hotel?”
There’s a difference and it’s got nothing to do with the cost of the rooms or service at the front desk. Four Seasons is an I’m-staying-put hotel. Motel 6 is an I’m-getting-the-fuck-out-of-here hotel.
“Something luxury. I guess.”
I look at the clock and pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s two-fifteen AM. “I have to be in court tomorrow at eight-thirty. I don’t have time to go looking for your wife. Now fucking think harder. Where the hell is she? Because I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know where she is.”
“I’m surprised you even care.”
“Don’t be an asshole. Of course I care. She’s not… she’s not nobody to me. OK? I’m only doing this because you two fucked-up assholes wanted it. And you have something I want. It’s a goddamned business deal, Alexander. That’s all. And when I get what I want I’ll leave you two. Disappear just like I did back in LA.”
“You mean leave us to pick up the pieces.”
I huff out a small laugh. But it dies pretty quick. “I said I was sorry for that. OK? And besides, I wasn’t the one who started this all up again. I walked away, you two came back.”
“Hold on,” he says. “I think she’s home.” And then I hear him call out, “August!”
And from some distance away, I hear her soft voice call back. “It’s me.”
“OK,” Alexander says. “She’s here. Go back to sleep.”
And then he ends the call.
There is no sleep to be had.
Not a wink.
So I get up early—like fucking four-thirty—and take a shower to wash her scent off me.
But the whole time, like from the moment he hung up on me to this moment right here, I’m thinking about all this.
Did they plan that? Was that Alexander’s counter-move? Did I just take a knight and lose a bishop?
What kind of game are they really playing?
All I know is it’s two against one here.
Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Bartos vs the state of Jordan Wells’ mind.
Which kinda makes me laugh. Because it’s stupid. But also because that’s how it feels. Like I’m on trial here. Like this is more than a game to be won, but a do-or-die last-chance attempt to avoid the death penalty.
I wish I knew their motive. Why they’re putting so much effort into this little scheme. How could me tearing them apart possibly save them?
And they have to know. They have to know that if they get me onboard, if I ever do really start playing for real, they’re never going to win.
I mean, I’m calling it the Divorce Game for a reason. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen to them.
I get dressed, skip breakfast, and go to work early, stopping by my office first, before I have to be in court.
Today isn’t too difficult as far as work goes, which is good because I’m very distracted.
I just can’t get the idea that they’re setting me up out of my mind. Like… all this bullshit about them lo
ving me is just that. Bullshit. And they’re actually holding that grudge even tighter now than they were before. This is some elaborate plan to take me down from the inside.
That’s how I’d do it. That’s how I’d ruin someone’s life. From the inside.
And look, both of them went from not-even-friends to instant lovers in the span of three weeks.
I’m in court until noon. I meet with three clients and have lunch afterward with my father—I texted Alexander during a break in the morning letting him know so he didn’t just show up at my fucking office.
“So what are you working on?” my father asks.
We’re eating lunch at his club. No, not a sex club. Just a regular private eating place, I guess. I mean, if we were down in Greenwood Village it’d be a proper country club. With a golf course and riding stables. Tennis and racquetball courts. Shit like that. But this is downtown Denver so it’s basically like a… you know, one of those really nice first-class airport lounges.
They have lots of leather couches and massive chairs with nailhead details. There’s a bar on one end and a buffet of snacks and non-alcoholic drinks on the other. They have a full menu, but it’s not a restaurant. Not exactly.
It’s just a club. A very boring one. But it’s the only one I have right now.
“Nothing very interesting,” I say, studying him carefully. “I got a woman facing a felony trespass charge that will probably get dropped down to a misdemeanor. One asshole who just got his sixth DUI and who totally deserves to go to jail for that, but I took it anyway because his father works for the governor and”—I hold out my hands, palms up—“what choice do I have? And then I have this other asshole. A professor at CU who got caught doing the dirty with a student and is about to lose his tenure. The usual,” I say, trying not to sigh. “How about you?”
“Swamped,” my dad says. But he’s smiling. “Totally and utterly swamped.”
“And you love it,” I say.
“You know I do.”
I worry about him. He had a heart attack last year. We really thought he was gonna die. Triple bypass surgery and three months of recovery later and he was back in the office. My mother protested, as did his doctors, but you know my father.