Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  “It is true,” I say, my eyes locked on Alexander.

  “We’re still in love,” he says back. Meeting my intense gaze.

  “Obviously,” I say, shrugging with acceptance. “And I’ve moved on. I’ve told you that. I’m not interested in the two of you beyond how I can use you to get what I need. So don’t forget that.” The last few words are directed at Augustine.

  “Noted,” she whispers. But her body is stiff now. Rigid with tension.

  It’s dumb. This whole game is dumb. I mean, the animosity in this room is so thick, we’re stuck in place. How that translates to life-altering sex, I have no idea.

  But it doesn’t matter. I’m a defense lawyer. My job is to lie without lying and I do it well. They will get what they came for, even if it’s not real, and we’ll all come out the other end satisfied the other side got screwed.

  I count the seconds of awkward silence and when I get to eight, I’ve had enough. I unknot the tie at my neck, pull it through my collar with a soft whoosh, and toss it on the ground.

  My suit coat comes off next, laid carefully over the back of a chair, and then I’m walking towards her, tossing my platinum cufflinks to the floor and unbuttoning my shirt as I go. I’m getting hard. Harder with each step forward. I don’t bother glancing at Alexander, but I know she’s watching me because he hasn’t moved.

  I stand in front of her as I unbutton my shirt. I let it hang open. Let her gaze wander to the lines of cut muscles running across my hips and disappearing inside my pants. They’re like an arrow pointing to my cock and there’s no way for her to miss this.

  She exhales, then drags her eyes away from what she wants and up to what she needs to do to get it.

  I take her hand in mine. Stroke it gently. Then place it on my lower stomach. She presses against the tight ripple of muscles. Exhales.

  I smile. “Don’t move,” I say, pointing at her. “And I’m dead fucking serious about that, August.”

  She swallows. Unsure of exactly what’s happening here tonight, but very sure it’s something she wants to be part of. Because she nods her affirmation.

  I remove her hand and let go. It hangs in the air, like she can’t move. Can’t do anything without my permission.

  God. I’m really good at this mind-fucking these days. These two better have game or they’re gonna lose pretty bad.

  I turn, unconcerned with what she does with her hand once I can’t see it anymore, and give Alexander my full attention.

  He’s still across the room, arms at his side, mouth slightly open, eyes on me, then darting to her, then back to me as I walk towards him, slipping my shirt down my arms as I approach.

  Alexander is like me. Not gay, not even quite bi, but… more than curious. Open, I guess. To whatever feels good.

  I feel good. He knows this. We had fun back in LA. Even if it was more about hate and jealousy than anything approaching love or affection.

  It’s not about hate and jealousy this time. Not about love or affection, either.

  It’s about greed.

  My gaze bores into his. I can almost feel the anger coming off his body. “Relax,” I say. “This is gonna be fun.”

  “I don’t—”

  But he doesn’t get any farther than that, because I lean in, take his face firmly in mine, and kiss him on the lips.

  He’s muttering protests past my lips but I don’t give a fuck. I just push my tongue inside his mouth, grip his head so he can’t back away, and kiss him. Open-mouthed. Lots of tongue. Eyes closed. And the second he softens and begins to kiss me back, my hand reaches down for his cock.

  He’s not hard, but he’s close.

  I massage him as our kiss becomes less angry and more passionate.

  My hands go to his suit coat and slip it down his arms, mouths still locked. Then I back away, smirking at him like I just won a very crucial battle. It’s a Bunker Hill kind of win. It’s fucking Normandy.

  My fingers are on his tie, unknotting it the way I did mine a few minutes ago, only in reverse. It slides through his collar with that familiar sexy sound and goes sailing down to the floor.

  “Jordan,” Augustine says, behind me.

  “Quiet,” I say, not bothering to look at her. He’s the only thing that matters right now. “Don’t fucking move, Augustine. Or this ends, and I do mean ends.”

  “You think you’re in control here, Wells?” Alexander asks me.

  “Sure looks that way,” I answer back. I’m already unbuttoning his shirt. And he’s letting me, so…

  I release him from my gaze and look down at his chest as my fingers work the buttons. The muscles beneath are revealed to me four inches at a time and when I get to the waistband of his slacks, I pull the shirt out and finish. Only then do I look back up at him and smile.

  I reach for his hand, and he fights me a little, but I grip him hard with both of mine, and then release the cufflink and slip it inside his pocket, my hand purposefully brushing against his now fully erect cock. I do that again with the other hand and this time he puts up no fight.

  Jesus. His first surrender comes quick.

  Then I have the edges of his collar and I’m slipping his shirt over his shoulders. Letting my fingers graze his skin as I pull the starched cotton down his arms.

  His breathing has quickened. It’s not heavy and fast like it will be very soon, but there’s no denying his heightened arousal now.

  I throw his shirt to the floor and we stand there. Two shirtless, half-naked men. Similar build, similar height, similar objectives.

  We both want to win. His win is… fuck, I have no idea. I don’t really understand these two. But you don’t always need to understand a person’s motives to catch them off guard and take control of their own game.

  “I want to touch you,” I say, looking him in the eyes.

  Behind me I hear Augustine let out a breath.

  “So do it,” Alexander says. Impassive. Well, trying to be.

  There’s only inches separating us, but a moment later those inches are erased. With one step my bare chest presses against his. My face tilts one way, his face the other. My hands on his belt, his hands on mine. The jingle of two sets of hands unbuckling two belts fill the room. And then there’s the sound of zippers being released. And breathing, absolutely heavy now, as his hand grips my cock and my hand grips his.

  I close my eyes because it feels like the right move. But I open them quick enough to see he did the same.

  He’s mirroring me. Unable or unwilling to lead when it comes to homoerotic moments. But I got this.

  I lean in and kiss him again. This time his mouth is eager. He’s waiting for me to guide him, but then he’s compliant and malleable. His tongue twisting against mine. The slight stubble around his mouth scratching against the slight stubble of mine.

  “You don’t get her tonight,” I say, still kissing him.

  “Fuck you,” he whispers back.

  “I get you, you get me, she gets us.”

  He smiles. I can feel it, even though I can’t see it. “Sounds good to me.”

  “It should,” I say. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  “Fuck you,” he says again. “I never needed you.”

  “But yet you’re still kissing me.” I grab his cock, pulling it out of his boxer briefs.

  “Suck me,” he says.

  “No.” I laugh, pulling fully out of the kiss now. “No. You will suck me, Alexander. You will suck me until I come. But I’m not gonna give you that pleasure. Not unless…”

  “Unless what?” he asks.

  “Not unless you can control yourself.”

  “That’s why you’re here,” he says back.

  “No, wrong again. I’m here for her.” I nod my head back towards Augustine, who’s been a very good girl while Alexander and I sort through this little power play, because when I look over at her, she truly has not moved. “Now get down on your fucking knees and do your job.”

  “Fuck you.” He lau
ghs.

  I do a one-shoulder shrug. “Either you do as I say or you can leave.” I look back at Augustine. “You can both leave.”

  “Do it,” Augustine says. “I want to see it, Alexander.”

  Augustine understands, even though Alexander is still having trouble. I turn my body to look at her properly, because she’s slipped her hand under her dress, dragging the silky fabric up to expose the fact that she isn’t wearing underwear. Her fingers begin to play with the pink folds of bare skin between her legs.

  “You’ll make her hot,” I say, leaning into Alexander’s ear. “You’ll drive her crazy. We,” I say, stressing the word, “will drive her crazy. Together. And then we can make her scream. Then I’ll let you lose a little control. You want that, right?”

  He’s silent. My whisper is so soft, I’m not even sure he hears me.

  “Yes,” he finally says. And when I look into his eyes, I see the hunger inside him. A dangerous, voracious appetite that might have slipped into addiction a few years back.

  “You want to fuck her?” I whisper. “Hard? Put your hands around her throat? Choke her until she collapses? While your cock is buried deep, deep inside her pussy?”

  I can hear him swallow.

  “Don’t you?” I whisper again.

  He nods.

  “Then get on your knees and pay for the privilege.”

  I have had many moments I’m not proud of. It comes with the job of game master. Many moments when I have stopped to ask myself existential questions. Who am I and what am I really doing? Am I good? Am I evil?

  Alexander drops to his knees, pulling my cock out of my pants, and leans his face in.

  This isn’t one of them.

  Because I do not care.

  I grab his hair with both hands. Fist it, and the moment he opens his mouth, I force my way down his throat.

  I do not hear his gagging, or his whimpering, or his choking.

  Because I do not care.

  He needs to learn so many lessons, and tonight’s lesson is crucial.

  If he wants to dish it out, he needs to learn to take it too.

  I press his face up to my stomach. I reach down, grab my balls, and lift them up to his mouth. Make him try to—no. Force him to fit them inside his mouth.

  “Look at me,” I say, jerking his head as he pulls back to gasp for breath.

  Alexander forces his eyes open and lifts them up to meet mine.

  I have to wonder what’s going through his mind. Is the draw of that power over Augustine so overwhelming that he will put up with… this?

  Obviously that answer is yes.

  His face is red and blotchy, his eyes watering from the effort of not blinking.

  I smile as I bend down, my cock slipping out of his mouth, allowing his stifled gasps of air to turn into long, deep inhalations.

  I kiss him on the lips, waiting for him to kiss me back. It takes several seconds, but he finally does. It’s lacking the passion he had before I tried to throat-fuck him, but it’s an acceptable effort.

  “Thank you,” I say, whispering the words past his lips. “That was very nice. Should we invite Augustine to join us?”

  He backs off my kiss and turns his head to look at his wife.

  She is shell-shocked. Eyes wide, hand between her legs pressed flat against her clit. Still now, like she stopped pleasuring herself at some point and forgot what she was doing.

  I find that quite adorable.

  “Yes or no?” I ask him. “I mean, I’m pretty sure we can have fun without her. So—”

  “Yes,” Alexander says. “Come here, August.”

  “Don’t move, Augustine,” I say. “He’s not in charge anymore. Understand?”

  “Fuck you,” Alexander says. “She’s my wife.” I grip Alexander’s face hard. He resists this time, hands flying up, smacking against my forearms and breaking my hold. “She’s my fucking wife, Wells.”

  “She might be,” I say. “But I’m her master now.”

  “Just—” Augustine is standing now. “Just go along, Alexander. This is what you wanted too, remember? We need to find a way forward and this… this might be it. This might be our last chance.”

  Alexander is near his limit tonight because he gets to his feet. I follow him and back off a few paces to give him the space he needs to think straight. Or… well, not straight. If this guy was thinking straight he’d have never brought his wife over here. Never come to Denver at all.

  “Augustine,” I say, making a come-here motion with my finger.

  She steps forward, slowly. Carefully. Like she might spook Alexander away.

  She’s here for him. It’s so clearly written on her face right now, a little stab of pain shoots through my cold, black heart. She’s here to save him from himself. Even if it means she has to temporarily forgive me. Has to look past what I did to them. Has to bow to my sickness and games.

  I’m just about to open my mouth and say enough—to stop this before it starts, to save her from herself—when she is close enough to me to take my hand.

  Which she does. Carefully. Like I’m dangerous. Like I’m the wild animal in this room, and not her husband. Like I might explode and kill us all.

  She looks up into my eyes, her expression going from blank and impassive to soft and seductive. Her hand comes up to my cheek and she smiles as she strokes me.

  Lies.

  “I understand,” she says, holding my gaze for a solid five count before shifting her eyes to Alexander and repeating her decision with more conviction. “I understand.”

  Lies.

  They hurt me. So bad. Because… because I did love her. I wanted her so much. She was my future, not his. She was the love of my life, not his. She was supposed to be with me, not him.

  So the lies hurt.

  “What should we do now?” she asks. And then, because it has always been her—she has always been the glue that held everything together—she moves between us. One hand flat against my bare chest. The other flat against Alexander’s bare chest. And she hums out, “Hmmmm?” Like it’s a question. “What should we do now? Should I take off the rest of your clothes?”

  She doesn’t wait for us. Just turns to her husband and bends down. Her hand finds his cock, an automatic gesture that kills me, for some reason. And then she’s slipping his shoes off. Dragging his pants and briefs all the way down his legs until he quietly and obediently steps out of them.

  I think I hold my breath the entire time. And when she turns to me I release it in a long, controlled exhale that I try to keep silent.

  But she doesn’t need to hear the trepidation inside me.

  She can see it. She can feel it. She knows me, has known me all this time.

  I close my eyes as she grabs my cock now. Slips my shoes off. Drags my pants and briefs down my legs. Then presses her hand flat against the muscle of my thigh, and says, “Step out, Jordan.”

  Which I do.

  And then we—her men—are naked.

  And she is not.

  Because that’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?

  She has always been the master of us.

  Her hand has mine, and when I open my eyes, I see that she has his hand too. She brings them both to her mouth, kisses us at the same time, and then says, “Undress me.”

  Alexander moves first. Reaching behind her to unzip her dress. Because of course he knows that there’s a zipper. He’s probably the one who zipped her up earlier this evening. He’s probably the one who picked it out of her closet. He’s probably the one who bought it for her. Maybe it was a gift? Or something she’s been looking at through the glass of a window for months, giving him hints that she’d like it to be hers.

  I die. I get lost in their history in that one simple motion of unzipping her dress.

  I’m going to lose, I realize.

  Lucinda was wrong. I’m not the game master.

  Augustine is. Has always been. And always will be the one person who brings me to my knees just
like I made Alexander fall to his.

  “Jordan,” she says, snapping me back to the moment we’re sharing. “Undress me.”

  I pull the dress down, Alexander helping. And it falls to her hips and stays there. She is wearing a black strapless bra that pushes her tits high up on her chest.

  “Here,” she says, taking our hands and placing them on the bunched-up fabric around her waist. “Pull it down for me, please.”

  Alexander and I tug—just enough to get it over the curve of her hips—and her dress falls to the floor and forms a silky puddle of red at her feet.

  Like blood, I think. The blood we will draw as we attack each other and—

  “Touch me,” she urges now.

  We do. My hand going between her legs, Alexander’s up to her breasts. He kisses her while I watch. Unable to think about how he’s still claiming her as his while I watch and submit to it.

  I look away. Look down at her legs. At my hand. My fingers already pushing inside her. She’s not wearing underwear but she is wearing garters and stockings. Black silk stockings. I rub my other hand up and down her leg, feeling the curve of her thigh, the dip behind her knee, the muscles of her calf.

  And when I look up again, she is kissing Alexander like she’s just as hungry for him as he is for her.

  What am I doing here?

  Her hand on my head makes me forget to answer my own question. The way she opens her legs for me, inviting me to place my mouth where my hand is already working her clit, blatant and apparent.

  I can’t not obey her.

  She is my master, after all.

  She is the reason I live. She is the mate of my soul. She is the only woman I’ve ever really wanted.

  I don’t care if I have to share her. I don’t care that this will end in a matter of weeks. I don’t even care that I was set up to lose this game from the very beginning. That my only purpose here is to make their love stronger. To keep their bond together.

  My tongue sweeps against her soft, pink folds. Laps at her wet cream. Slips inside her opening as my thumb strums her clit in small circles.

  She’s breathing heavy now. All three of us are. She is still kissing Alexander. And I am the interloper. The extra one. The intruder.

  “Come with me,” she says.

  I am lost. What the fuck is wrong with me?