The Open Door: A Found Duet Novella

by Laurelin Paige

  It was overwhelming.

  I didn’t know where to begin to organize my own emotions, let alone understand what JC was feeling.

  It was obvious he was trying to sort it all out in his head. He had the furrow in his forehead he always got when he was thinking intensely, and he didn’t even attempt to come open my car door, a move he never would have missed if he hadn’t been distracted.

  I respected his need to process on his own―JC had always been a sensitive man and frequently needed bouts of solitude to wade through the gravity of all he felt. I’d learned to give him his time, learned to sit quietly at his side or leave him to brood alone over his piano until he came out of his reverie.

  But this time I was feeling things too. I didn’t know if I could handle an entire ride back to the City in such thick silence.

  On the other hand, I didn’t have any idea what to say to break the tension.

  Inside the car, JC tossed the key fob into the cup holder, and I absentmindedly reached for my seatbelt, searching for an entrance to conversation. But, after several seconds, he still hadn’t made a move to push the button to start the engine.

  With my hand clasped around the belt, poised to pull across my lap, I paused to scrutinize his profile.

  “Well,” he said, staring out the window into the black night in front of him. “That was enlightening.”

  I let go of the belt, tentatively relieved he’d broken the ice. “That’s one word for it.” There were a bunch of other words to add―confusing, amazing, shocking, arousing. But like hell was I going to be the first one to say more.

  “I thought I was a fairly open-minded guy―and I am. Thumbs up to people getting off on what they like. But...wow. Not sure I ever needed to see some of that.”

  I nodded. “It sure puts the things we do in perspective. Anal is, like, boring comparatively.”

  He laughed. He had to remember the first time he introduced me to a butt plug. I’d been plenty freaked, only to discover afterward that it was one of my favorite sexual pleasures. I’d felt progressive then, sexually.

  Boy, had I been naïve.

  “Did you see that guy with his dick pierced?” he asked, throwing a glance in my direction.

  “It was pierced twice!”

  “I don’t even want to imagine.”

  “Ouch.” We both grimaced in unison.

  “Do you think it really makes a difference to the woman?” His subtext told me the question he really wanted answered.

  “You do not need to pierce your dick for me, Justin Caleb Bruzzo.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “I’d do it, you know. For you.”

  “I know you would. That’s sweet. But don’t. Please don’t. I like your cock exactly the way it is.”

  “Thank you. That’s appreciated.”

  “I can imagine. There was that woman who had weights hanging from her nipple piercings, and I had to look away.” I shivered, remembering.

  “Did you see the one who was acting like a baby?”

  “I saw the guy who was a dog, but not a baby. What room were they in?”

  “The first. This was two women. The one, who couldn’t have been much older than twenty-one, she had stringy maroon hair and that tattoo of Natalie Portman?”

  I shook my head. She didn’t sound at all familiar.

  “She wore a diaper-like thing and a bib with a pacifier pinned to it. She kept making these little baby crying sounds so the other woman breastfed her.”

  How the hell had I missed that? “I’m glad I didn’t see it. I fed Braden right before we left, but I can’t even watch commercials with babies in them without feeling let down.” The idea alone had me checking my breasts for leakage. “It probably wasn’t a good idea to go bra-less.”

  JC usually never missed an opportunity to look or comment on my breasts, but he let this one pass, obviously still thinking about the party. “Did you see the woman who was flogging the guy on the St. Andrew’s cross? She had all those red welts on her back and thighs. Some of them were even bleeding.”

  “Is that what the X cross is called?” I waited for him to nod. “I bet she’d been strapped on before we came in. They must have just switched places.”

  “Must have.”

  “I understand pain being pleasurable. I like some of that stuff, too.” Like pinching and biting and hard spanking and being handled roughly. Nothing that caused bleeding. “I just think I’m not into real sadomasochism.”

  “Pain isn’t really my thing, either.”

  I’d never thought it was, but it was nice to confirm that we felt the same about it. I’d never thought pain or submission would be my older sister’s thing either, and yet she’d ended up married to her assistant, who was apparently a Dom in the bedroom. I’d only found out because I’d walked in on them fooling around once at her office. It was still strange to think of Norma tied to her bed or crawling on all fours, which was why I tried not to think about it at all.

  JC got quiet again, thinking. “That last scene…” He trailed off, staring again out the front window.

  “I know, right?” I didn’t really know, though, because he still hadn’t given enough clues for me to figure out how he felt about it.

  To be fair, I hadn’t given him much either.

  I ventured to say more. “When I told Alayna I thought the party would be like watching live porn, I’d thought it would be the normal homemade sex tape variety. I had no idea it would be the hardcore black market type.”

  His head nodded once. “It was so…real.”

  “Brutal.”

  “I felt uncomfortable watching it. Aren’t we supposed to be fighting against rape culture? I mean, to each his own, and I know that it was actually consensual, but I don’t know.”

  “Yeah.” Then he’d been turned off. Which was the right reaction to have. Surely. Probably.

  I’d felt that way too.

  I’d just felt other things as well.

  I turned my head to look out the window, biting my tongue. He didn’t need to know about my sick impulses of desire.

  Except, wasn’t the whole idea of going to The Open Door supposed to be to grow together? To open up to each other? To reconnect? How could we do that authentically if I held back my true reactions?

  Taking a deep breath, I turned back to face his profile, determined to be brave. “It was disarming, yes. But I kind of thought it was hot too.”

  His head snapped in my direction. He studied me for seconds that seemed to stretch. “When she clawed at him?” he said finally. “That was really good. Really...hot.”

  I searched his eyes, looking to see if he was just telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. Everything I saw told me he was genuine.

  My body twisted toward him, my pulse picking up. “And when he first grabbed her, and she was surprised. That was intense.”

  “I liked how she kept saying no. But you knew she really wanted it. Even though she really sounded like she meant no.”

  “And when he told her she deserved it.” The thrill I’d felt when it had happened returned with a rush. “Hot.”

  “Then she clamped her thighs shut, but he forced his knee between her legs.” His voice was thick, his eyes hooded.

  “When he ripped her dress.”

  “When he put his hand at her throat.”

  My breath caught, imagining JC forcing his knee between my legs, ripping my dress, his hands covering my throat.

  We held each other’s gaze for a long beat, the atmosphere around us charged and pulsing. I was acutely aware of the dampness of my panties, of the shallowness of my breaths, of the hum of lust vibrating under my skin.

  JC’s heated expression said he was feeling much the same.

  At exactly the same moment, he pulled the lever to push his seat away from the steering wheel while I climbed over the console to straddle him. Our mouths met with a crash, his tongue sweeping between my lips without hesitation. His kiss was greedy and urgent and reckless, his teeth c
lacking against mine as he tried to devour me. Like he couldn’t get enough of me. Like he never wanted to stop. Like he couldn’t if he tried.

  I weaved my fingers in his hair, my nails scratching along his scalp while his hands moved behind my neck to undo the knot of my dress. As soon as it fell, his palms were on my breasts, pinching at my nipples. “All those tits everywhere, and all I wanted was to touch these.” He bent his head to lick a bead of milk that had surfaced at my tip. “You have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

  I gasped as his teeth grazed along my sensitive nipple, throwing my chest up to encourage him to do it again. He did better than that, giving ample attention to both breasts with his mouth and hands, licking up the drops of milk as they leaked, triggering that build of tension in my lower belly that I loved so very much.

  Without consciously being aware of my actions, my hips bucked against him. My pussy found the thick ridge of his cock pressing at the seam of his pants and began to throb. I did it again, needing more, but it wasn’t enough. I reached to work his buckle, impatiently fumbling until I’d gotten his fly down. His cock fell out, heavy and hard.

  “You didn’t wear underwear?” I wasn’t complaining.

  “I didn’t know what to expect tonight. I wanted to be prepared for any―fuck!” He cut off with a curse as I rubbed my pussy along his bare length. “God, you’re so wet. I can feel you through your panties.”

  I swept my hips up again and back, whimpering with each swipe. My panties needed to be off. He needed to be inside me. But I didn’t want to stop grinding long enough to make any of that possible.

  He seemed just as reluctant to disconnect. His hips bucked up to meet my strokes while his mouth once again sought mine to kiss. With his lips successfully locked on mine, his fingers groped under my skirt for my clit.

  “No, no. Inside,” I panted. “I need you inside.” My clit was getting enough friction with me sitting on top of him. He didn’t need to bother with that. He needed to address my desperate need to be filled.

  In an attempt to help out, I reached between my thighs and pushed the crotch panel aside. It was a tight pair of panties though, without much slack in the material, which made the task of providing room for him particularly hard.

  I growled in frustration, unenthusiastic about climbing off him long enough to strip the stupid things off of me.

  “Hold on,” JC said just as I’d begun to lift myself out of his lap. “Let me…”

  His words trailed away as he gripped the lace in both of his hands and pulled them in opposite directions. After a tense few seconds of nothing happening, the material began to tear apart. The elastic bands seemed tougher to break through. He abandoned the attempt immediately and concentrated on just getting enough fabric pulled away to give him room.

  “That’s harder than it looks,” he said as he positioned his cock at my now bare entrance.

  “That was hot,” I corrected before sliding down the length of him with a gasp of relief. When I was fully seated, my insides stretching from his size, I lingered just long enough to feel him, to really feel him―feel how he filled me, how he pulsed hot and hard against my walls, how his crown sat deep in the center of me.

  It was only a second, two at most, and then I rode.

  I rode him wild, like I hadn’t in who knew how long. My hands clutched his shoulders to steady myself. With swift, frantic beats of my thighs, my hips circled this way than that, eliciting the most sensual sounds from his throat. I echoed him with breathy pants as each stroke hit my clit in exactly the right way, and the sweet storm gathered inside me.

  “You’re such a dirty girl,” my husband said, kissing my breasts as he plumped them with his hands. “So fucking dirty. Grinding on me with your pussy like that. When did you get so filthy, huh? So fucking depraved.”

  His words spurred me on, drove me to ride harder and faster, despite my screaming thigh muscles. I was going to feel this in the morning, and I didn’t care one bit. Filthy girls didn’t give attention to discomfort. Filthy girls fucked like nothing else mattered. Filthy girls fucked like they wanted to be fucked.

  And I was such a dirty, filthy girl. In that moment, it was the label I’d been longing for all my life, and I meant to earn it.

  “So beautifully filthy. Such a greedy little cunt. Making a mess on my cock.” JC continued to chant his disparaging praise, each new sentiment winding the tension tighter inside of me until I was at the edge of orgasm. Until I was completely there, the release exploding through me with shocking power.

  My grinding came to a halt and my pussy gripped down on his cock as my body convulsed violently from the pleasure. Not missing a beat, he dug his fingers into my hips and bucked into me with rapid strokes, bringing him to his own climax while I was still recovering from mine.

  “That was incredible,” I said when I could speak again. I wasn’t going to be able to walk for a day or two, but damn. It had been the best sex we’d had in years.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he agreed. “See? We don’t need that crazy club. We do just fine on our own.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  With that, it seemed we’d both agreed our little outing had been a one-time adventure. The Open Door may have provided much needed inspiration to arouse our love life, but it was clear that neither of us believed it deserved enough credit to bear repeating.

  Chapter Seven

  Things changed between us after that.

  They were subtle changes, but noticeable all the same. JC would catch me in the kitchen, heating up cereal for the baby, and he’d grab my ass. Then, instead of scowling at him or giving him a lecture about it being the wrong time―the way I’d usually react―I’d give him a flirty smile in return.

  Or he’d text me something vulgar while I was working late at The Sky Launch, something he’d stopped doing ages ago. Things like:

  I want to slowly spread your legs wide and bite up the inside of your thighs.

  and

  I’ve been so hard thinking about you I had to whack off into your dirty panties.

  One night he didn’t just text, but he showed up himself, which led to a heavy makeout session in the coat room. It was rarely used in the summer months, and all I could think was why hadn’t we done this sooner?

  Then came the secret Pinterest board. I got the email saying he’d shared it with me one afternoon while he was out of town. I followed the link and found a page with pictures he’d pinned, dirty pictures. Erotic pictures. Beautiful pictures of men and women in sexy poses and positions.

  “I want to do this to you,” he had commented under a picture of a woman bent over a suited man’s knee.

  “Heaven,” he’d said on another photo with a man and woman cuddling in their underwear in bed.

  One of my favorite gifs was of a near naked woman sitting on a couch and a man’s arm reaching from behind her to stick his hand inside her panties. “My favorite,” JC had commented.

  I started adding images too. Inspirational images. Arousing images. Images of women I thought he’d like the look of and women doing things I wanted to do to him. Images of men doing things I wanted him to do to me. Then there were the pictures of myself, sexy pictures that he later told me were his favorite on the board.

  I did other things.

  I’d leave the bathroom door open while I took a shower, or I’d stuff a pair of panties in his briefcase.

  One afternoon while the kids napped and JC was on a business call, I walked around and “dusted” while wearing lingerie and heels. Not that the room needed dusting since the housekeepers had just been there that morning.

  Obviously cleaning wasn’t the point.

  We flirted and touched and gazed and stared, and, while we didn’t have more sex than usual, the sex we did have got significantly better. I couldn’t decide if it was because of all the build-up or if we were simply more present in our moments together. Probably a little of both.

  Whatever it was, I liked it. It made every or
dinary day a little less mundane. More exciting. Made me remember all the reasons I’d fallen in love with him in the first place.

  But the weeks went by. They turned into months, and life, as it has a tendency to do, got in the way of these simple acts. Work got busy for both of us. JC was out of town more. Jacob started kindergarten and that was a Thing that took my attention. I weaned Braden and between his crying and my aching breasts, the last thing I felt was sexy. More often than not, I’d be asleep when JC got to the bedroom at night. Or he’d be asleep when I got there. Or both of us would be tired, and, after a goodnight kiss, we’d curl up in opposite directions and pass out.

  By the time September had kicked into full gear, we’d returned completely to our normal patterns, which was fine. It wasn’t like we’d been unhappy before. We’d been good. Well, good enough.

  Then one night around the middle of the month, I walked exhausted into the bathroom to get ready for bed and found JC had drawn me a bubble bath. I had been so eager for my head to hit the pillow I almost asked for a raincheck.

  But the candles were lit and the floral scented steam rising from the tub was enticing. Besides, he’d already started stripping me from my clothes.

  “Only if you’re joining me,” I said, letting him peel my T-shirt off my body.

  “Totally planning on it.”

  I was glad I’d indulged as soon as I was in the water, seated between JC’s legs, my back pressed up against his chest. He cleaned me thoroughly, with rapt attention, scrubbing my entire body with a natural sea sponge and my favorite body wash.

  “We should take some time for ourselves.” He lifted my hair to wash the back of my neck. “I’ve been missing you.”

  My first reaction was how the hell are we supposed to do that? I could see our calendar vividly in my head, and it was packed full.

  But our anniversary was coming up, and that bore celebrating. “We could probably manage a night away. Maybe get a hotel uptown. Or Hudson and Alayna have their cabin in the Poconos. I bet they’d let us borrow it.”