Playing For Love

by J. C. Grant

  Staring up at the ceiling, I tried to relax. This was my second colonic this week. I would never admit it to David, but I loved getting them. I felt better, thinner, had more energy.

  Wanting to get a pedicure on the way home, I hoped David had more work to get done at the gym. Since coming clean yesterday about Fergus following me everywhere—even when David was with me—and the why, I hoped I was going to get a little more freedom, but his ‘go straight home’ when I left the gym squashed that.

  “One more and you're done, Mrs. Taylor.”

  “Okay.” What else was I supposed to say? She had a hose inside me, filling my colon with warm water.

  Once I was done, I checked my phone. Finding I was message free, I decided to chance the pedicure.

  Honestly, it shouldn't matter. Fergus is following me. David's got a tracker everywhere, but up my ass.

  I drove over to my old nail salon in Silver Lake—I wasn't familiar with the ones by us. It took a little longer, and maybe that was my mistake, because David noticed right away.

  David: Come home, sweet girl.

  11:09 AM

  I needed more than just colon cleaning time away from him, so I ignored it and picked out a polish.

  David: I know where you are. You

  gonna make me come get you?

  11:28 AM

  I debated texting him back and explaining, but I wanted to find out what exactly he was going to do.

  David: Times up, sweet girl.

  11:42 AM

  This should be fun.

  After his reaction to the stripper incident and me running off to meet Zach, I didn't fear him getting truly upset with me anymore.

  Twenty-minutes later as I sat with my feet under the nail dryer, the Range Rover pulled into the parking lot. I stared unabashedly as my husband's body exited the truck, muscles shifting and flexing under his thin, deep, V-neck tee. My pussy throbbed in need as peeks of his hard thighs inside those ripped/destroyed jeans caught my eye.

  Damn, I did good. On the husband and buying those jeans.

  Those beat-up worn boots and his square aviator sunglasses completed his look. His wedding band glinted in the sunlight, drawing my attention. I kept getting caught off guard with these moments lately, struck with the reality that he was mine.

  Utterly and completely mine.

  David opened the door and everyone paused. This was always the reaction when David entered a room—the energy he threw off couldn't be ignored—but here in this small space, it was more intense. He found me instantly, lowering his sunglasses enough to nail me with a dark, possessive look. “Mrs. Taylor.”

  My core clenched and flooded, responding to that delicious growl.

  I knew I’d made the right choice in ignoring him when he gently but firmly escorted me out and around the back of the building and pushed me into an almost alcove, facing the wall.

  The sounds of traffic only yards away filled my senses. It was noon-ish on a Friday, and we were definitely going to get caught.

  He took my purse and set it down, then placed my hands on the stucco wall, nice and civilized, like I'd just volunteered for a stop and frisk. But I could feel a simmering aggression radiating off him. And just like that I felt it, the familiar surge of hormones and chemicals telling me to fuck him senseless. My heartbeat sped up, my breathing turned shallow.

  When his big body pressed behind me, my entire world narrowed to a pinpoint, nothing but the rise and fall of warm, hard muscle against my back and his rigid cock against my ass. He leaned down, his rough stubble and lips grazing the sensitive flesh below my ear.

  “Does it make you wet?” he rumbled in that dark and decadent voice, his hands slowly roaming over my thighs, up my sides, over my breasts, taunting my nipples with their proximity.

  My breath caught and I forgot the question, my whole being willing his fingers to stroke the hardening peaks.

  “Does it?” he demanded, breaking my focus.

  “What?” I panted.

  He huffed a smug laugh, then rasped, “Does it make you wet? Knowing I dropped everything to come after you? That I'll do anything to get to you?”

  Oh, fuck. Yes, it really did.

  His fingertips trailed over my nipples and I arched into him, my ass pushing against his length and breasts straining for a firmer touch.

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  “So...” He drew the word out on a growl, swiveling his hips into me and teasing my nipples, tormenting me with the same skilled moves he used when we were fucking. “I pull these jeans down, your cunt's gonna be ready for me?”

  “Yes,” I gasped again. Just watching him climb out of the truck had me wet. I could feel it soaking into my jeans.

  “Better fucking be,” he growled, his large hands going to my jeans, undoing the button and zipper, and roughly shoving them down my thighs.

  His hand pushed between my legs from behind, two fingers trailing lightly over my lips, spreading my wetness over my folds. A moan of relief escaped me and my spread legs wider, as wide as I could with my jeans around my knees, asking for more.

  “You are so fucking wet,” he groaned as histhick digits slipped through my slick folds, teasing my clit with long torturous strokes.

  “David, please,” I whispered, angling my hips and pushing down, trying to work them inside me.

  Abruptly, he pulled away.

  “Stick your ass out,” he demanded, coldly, unzipping his own jeans.

  I tilted my hips back as far as I could.

  I knew this must be what being in heat felt like. Mindless with a need so primal and overwhelming, a bitch was unconcerned about an audience or location. Nothing existed beyond getting him inside me, fucking me with long hard strokes. My whole world revolved around his cock.

  “Good girl,” he growled appreciatively, and my insides clenched as my body relaxed. Becoming submissive with only those two words a little aggression.

  He gripped my hips and I felt the barest graze of heat before, he slammed in deep, knocking the breath out of me.

  “That what you wanted?” His voice low and strained.

  “Fuck yes,” I panted, trying to push back, trying fuck myself on his cock.

  He was rough, fast, dominant, and claiming.

  It was over far too soon.

  *****

  I laid in bed and enjoyed feeling spoiled, wrapped in my Egyptian cotton heaven when I woke up Saturday morning, alone.

  One day he would sleep later than me.

  The past week flew by as we fell into a comfortable routine. Beginning with breakfast and the gym. David played the part of trainer and jealous husband perfectly, and the sex was getting hotter the more jealous he was. I got my writing done while he took care of gym business. David cooked us lunch and dinner at home. In between, all three of us explored the property, getting Chance more acquainted.

  The only disruption in our routine was David's meeting with his agent last night. He'd apologized profusely for not wanting me to go with him, something about what was said or might be said about me, I didn't bother telling him I would rather have an extra colonic then go to dinner with his agent.

  Seriously, I would.

  We were enjoying our quiet before the storm, at least I was. David had a photoshoot in Italy the following week, and I had a cover shoot I had yet to mention to him, mostly because Elaine and I knew he would veto it. It conflicted with his schedule, which meant I wouldn't be going to Italy with him, and since he'd bought me a full set of Tumi luggage, obviously he was under the impression I was. But that was an argument I was saving for tomorrow.

  Or maybe Monday.

  Today, I had a full day planned. A full day that I hadn't put in my phone, so David was unaware, but I needed to tell him before he started making plans.

  I got up and found one of David's tees and a pair of the David's Property panties—they were super cute and comfy, but his reaction when I wore them was why I loved them. Slipping them on, I made my way into the living roo
m, hearing what sounded like David cooking and Chance banging around his bowl as he ate.

  “Hey, babe?” I called as I entered the living area.

  “Yeah, sweet girl.” His deep, rich rumble carried across the large open space, hitting me full force, washing over me. Comforting me. He spoke over his shoulder. “Made waffles. Hope that's okay. Gimme a sec and I'll have your coffee ready.”

  As I sat at the breakfast bar, my eyes slid over the muscles in his back, down to his narrow waist to those indents above the thick swells of his ass. His low-hanging sweats teased me. I asked, “What are you doing this morning?”

  I watched as those muscles tensed. A moment later, he turned from the stovetop to look at me.

  “What am I doing this morning?” he asked, suspicious and a little offended. His arms braced on the island, making his pecs flex as he stared me down. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Just wondered if you had any plans?” I asked casually.

  “Well, I thought we'd go to the gym so we can sleep in tomorrow morning. Figured we'd be out late tonight.” His voice was half accusation, half confusion.

  “I made plans for today,” I uttered, quietly.

  “I don't have anything in my schedule for you today.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking through it.

  “I didn't put it in the planner thing.”

  He looked up, our eyes meeting; there was a flash of hurt. Then he asked in a hushed tone, “Why?”

  “I didn't think about it. It's just a spa treatment and a hair appointment. And a mani-pedi,” I added quietly, but he heard clearly from the hardening look on his face.

  “So a full day.”

  “Just six or seven hours,” I hedged.

  “A full day,” he repeated. “When did you make these appointments?”

  “During the week. Not all at once or anything. I didn't not tell you on purpose. I just don't like taking the time to use that planner when I can remember a few appointments.”

  “But I don't know what you're doing if you don't. What if I'd made appointments for you for today?”

  “Then I would cancel one of them.”

  He half rolled his eyes. “Please, use the planner, Austin. Please.”

  “Sor—”

  “Don't apologize,” he cut me off. “Do you want to eat in here or in bed?”

  “Bed I guess. My first appointment is at nine though, so I need to hurry up and get ready.”

  “No.” His stern voice caught me off guard. “You're sitting with me and eating. You're not getting ready to go get ready. Now, get your ass back in bed.”

  “David—”

  “Now, Austin. Or I'll carry you. Your choice.” His voice was hard with a warning edge. There was something underlying it, something I didn't want to have to address right now.

  I stood up and turned to walk back to the bedroom, feeling chastised. The closer I got to the bedroom, the worse I felt. A small part of me knew I'd done it on purpose. It was my way of keeping my freedom, but it hurt him—I knew that.

  And I did it anyway.

  I was a bitch. I threw myself back into bed, frustrated that I couldn't seem to get the balance I needed. He gave me everything, bent over backward to make me happy, and I still couldn't shake my need for defiance.

  “Austin, sit up,” David commanded as he entered the room.

  I obeyed silently, not meeting his eyes as he

  placed the breakfast tray over my lap and walked around the bed. I could feel his eyes boring into me. It was unnerving. I knew he was watching for any signs to give away what was going on in my mind. I desperately hoped my expression was devoid.

  “You understand why you did it?” he asked as he settled next to me. His tone was kind, but the question made me feel like a child.

  “Yes. It's a way for me to keep my freedom,” I reluctantly admitted.

  “Is there some deeper meaning behind the costumes?” He entwined our fingers.

  “I don't know.”

  “It's okay, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “It's a big change. Going from being independent to this.” He pulled back, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I knew you'd go through this. That's why I have a tracker on your car and phone.” He gently reminded me. “It's fine. We're fine. Right?”

  “I'm not going anywhere.”

  “I know you're not going anywhere.” His voice was so confident, so resolute, all my tension fled. “Are we okay?”

  “Yeah, we're okay.”

  “Eat. You've got a full day of getting ready for tonight.”

  The way he said it made me think he thought I was trying to look good for someone else.

  “I just want to look good for you,” I said softly.

  His hand squeezed mine and held on, forcing me to eat with my other hand.

  David

  I knew she was struggling with the constant togetherness; just like I was struggling to give her space. And obviously she needed more than I was comfortable with. I'd been trying to give her more space, since Fergus was watching her whenever she stepped out of the house. But it felt wrong, I felt wrong when she was gone for any real length of time.

  A thought occurred to me, how I could communicate she did have her freedom with me. Freedom to do whatever she wanted with me. To me. And a way to make it interesting while finding out what she needed. Find out if this was just growing pains or something more.

  Once she left, I didn't want to go to the gym, even though I'd told her that's what I was going to do to fill the time. I couldn't bring myself to go up there without her anymore. I threw on a pair of jeans and a white tee, slipped into my boots, and grabbed my phone, wallet, and keys off the closet island. Then I left to run my little errand.

  *****

  “Holy shit, I didn't realize he was this big.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why am I here? You've never had me come over here,” Aaron announced as he walked in the door, maneuvering around Chance.

  I'd called Aaron, while running my errand, telling him to come over and help me get some things organized. Normally we handle this sort of thing during a lunch meeting at a restaurant, the rest of our communication was over the phone or through email.

  “Because my wife went to the spa and I can't seem to fucking function without her today,” I barked at the nosy fucker as I shut the door.

  “Dude, she has you so messed up. I bet she doesn't have a clue what a pussy you are,” he said, following me to the dining room.

  “Fuck you. Sit your skinny ass down.”

  “Give me your phone, pussy.”

  I tried not to laugh, but Aaron—hundred-and-forty pound, skinny-ass Aaron calling me a pussy was funny.

  He was frequently mistaken for my younger brother—my tween-age younger brother. With his size and lack of style, he easily passed for a thirteen-year-old. I hired him when he was nineteen and I was twenty-four. He was mature for his age, even then. Not the type to use his position to get laid. And he was in a relationship, had been the entire time he worked for me. I never asked why he hadn't gotten married, but now that I was, I couldn't help but wonder.

  I sat across from him at the dining room table—it was currently the only surface that I hadn't fucked Austin on, which reminded me I needed to rectify that.

  Soon.

  Aaron told me about times and appointments and potential traveling dates. After thirty minutes, he blurted,

  “Okay. What are you so freaked about?”

  “She's spending all day at the spa to look good for this fucking Halloween party. And she didn't spend three hours getting ready for our wedding.”

  “Special circumstance with the wedding. She probably would've taken all day to get ready if you'd given her an extra day.”

  “Maybe,” I reluctantly agreed.

  “You think she's trying to impress someone else. Does she even know who is going to be there?”

  “I don't know. She hasn't been texting or calling anyone but her
friend and her mom. And Elaine.”

  “You're worried about what then? That she secretly hopes Zach will be there?” he pushed.

  “I don't know if she's thinking about someone else!” I half shouted, annoyed at his dig about Zach.

  “So sext her,” he suggested nonchalantly.

  “What? No. I hated it when chicks did that shit to me. So fucking needy and desperate.”

  “You are needy and desperate when it comes to her. And she married you, so I think she already knows.”

  I grumbled an acknowledgement. She did know, and she had her needy moments too.

  “Would you hate it if Austin sexted you?”

  “She—” I stopped in my response of 'she's never done it' because I would love it if Austin sent me some hot pics, knowing she was thinking about me, wanting me. “I'd fucking love that.”

  “Then do it. She'll definitely be thinking about you. Don't go straight to dick pics, girls don't like that.”

  “I know how to seduce my wife, thank you.”

  Fucker.

  I grabbed my phone and stood.

  “Bigger the mirror, the better.” I heard Aaron call behind me as I made my way to the bedroom.

  It was weird having Aaron in the house. Really, it was weird anytime anyone beside me and Austin were in the house.

  Going into our bathroom, I stood in front of the mirror, pulling my shirt off and unzipping my jeans. I opened the camera on my phone and shoved my left hand inside my open fly, grabbing my cock and took the pic. I typed out a text, attached the pic, and sent it.

  “How many did you send?” Aaron asked as I walked back in, zipping up my jeans.

  “One. Why?”

  “Oh.” He shrugged. “Just figured you would send a few.”

  “One should be enough to get her attention.” He had me second-guessing that theory, though.

  “Did you text or snapchat her?”

  “Do I have snapchat?” I asked, sitting across from him at the table.

  “Not through Elaine. You have to take video or selfies at the time and send them. Do you know if Austin has a snapchat account?”