by JA Huss
His hand is between her legs, rubbing against her clit. Her thigh is between his, pressing up against his cock. His other hand grips her breast and squeezes. Then it’s sliding up her chest, and resting on her throat, and she opens her mouth as her head tips back, and waits for him to follow her lead.
Their kiss is long, and passionate, and they breathe heavy and fast.
And even though this is my job, a job I said I wouldn’t do, I can’t help it.
I watch.
She’s wearing a white tank t-shirt. Alexander grabs the collar and pulls down, taking her bra with the shirt, so her breasts are lifted up by the bunched-up fabric beneath them, popping out of her shirt.
He’s whispering something in her ear now. Something low. Something I strain to hear, but can’t. Almost move closer because I’m so curious. What does he say to her? Is it the same thing every time? Something stupid and dirty like, “Do you want my cock inside you?” Something like that?
Or maybe… maybe it’s something kinda sweet. Something like, “I ache for you.”
Augustine whines, her head nodding, eyes still closed. “Yes,” she squeaks out. “Yes,” she whispers again.
My guess is… it’s not sweet.
Alexander backs up, letting his hand drop from her throat as he leads her past me—grinning, but just briefly—like he’s showing me a secret. Until they’re standing in front of the couch.
He leans into her ear and whispers again. This time Augustine’s eyes are open as she nods, her face flushed, beads of sweat on her temple making her hair glisten, biting her lip…
God, what is he saying? Because it’s driving her crazy with lust.
He places a hand on her shoulder and urges her to sit on the couch in front of him. For a second I think I know where this is going, but I’m wrong. Because she lifts her legs up, bending her knees and spreading herself wide. Her skirt riding up her legs, giving him total access.
Alexander snaps her legs closed with a firm grip on both knees, then in one quick, rushed movement, he’s got her panties down at her ankles. A moment later they’re flying across the room in my direction.
His gaze follows them, then his eyes find mine. “Stay right there,” he says. “She’s mine.”
OK. I almost laugh. I mean, clearly she’s not or I wouldn’t be here.
But if he notices my smirk, he doesn’t care. And I’m not going to interfere anyway. She told me to watch, so fuck it. I’ll watch.
I lean against the kitchen island about twenty feet away from them, cross my arms, and just observe.
He’s dominant now and while she’s not quite submissive, she’s not in charge anymore either.
Alexander drops to his knees, spreads her open again, and starts kissing her leg, starting mid-calf and working his way up. He pauses at her knee, biting the soft flesh on the underside. This makes her breathe heavy and wiggle a little as she squeaks out pointless protests. Then he moves on, nipping and kissing the inside of her thigh. One finger is already inside her, his thumb massaging her clit. I can see that she’s wet. His finger is slick with her lust.
But instead of eating her pussy, he pushes her shirt up one-handed and whispers, “Take it off,” just loud enough for me to hear.
Against my better judgement, I move closer to hear him better. He’s a talker and I find talking to be a powerful stimulant… especially when I’m just observing.
It’s been a long time since I just got to watch. When the club was open it was a regular thing. Just another part of my sex life. And it was easy to get lost in someone else’s fantasy. I mean… we—the players—were all that place contained. So they put on a show, or I put on a show, and they watched me, or I watched them and it was… normal.
Just another move in the game.
I don’t think they could know that though. How could they? So this is how they play too. Two people on exhibit.
I like it.
There’s a chair about four feet away from them, so I take a seat, my legs open, my hand on my cock. It’s not hard, but it’s growing underneath the loose fabric of my sweat shorts.
Augustine has her shirt and bra off now. Her breasts are just as perfect as I remember them. Better, maybe. Like the years have only added to her beauty. She’s not wearing make-up today, but she looks radiant and fresh now. So different then she was just a few hours ago when we arrived.
It’s him, I realize. He’s making her look this way.
It’s not jealousy I feel in this moment of realization, it’s something else. Like I’ve missed something. Or maybe… missed out on something.
His fingers are strumming her clit. Short, quick back-and-forth movements. And then he’s got two fingers inside her, pumping her hard. She squirts liquid up into the air and Alexander smiles. Like he just won a prize.
Her fingernails are digging into his upper arms like a vice. Gripping him like she never wants to let go.
“You’re a good girl, Mrs. Bartos,” Alexander croons.
“Yes,” she squeaks. “I’m very good.” Then she grabs his hair with both hands and stares into his eyes. “I’m good,” she insists. “I am.”
Then I have this… this moment of recognition. Augustine and the little begging she liked to do and it makes me feel, once again, like I’ve been missing something.
Because I forgot about that. I’d forgotten all her little tells. All the little ways she’d let us know she was having a good time, or that she wanted more, or… she’s just enjoying herself. All the small things she’d say or the words she’d use. So that we knew, whatever it was we were doing, she liked it. And we should keep going.
“I know,” he says, one finger stroking her cheek as he continues to pump two fingers inside her.
Her back bucks up. Spine arching like she’s about to come. She bites her lip and he kisses it, whispering something inaudible. I lean forward, wanting to catch the words, but they escape into the air and float away.
Alexander takes her hand and places it over his cock. She unbuttons his shorts with nimble fingers and pulls him out, her hand automatically wrapping around his long, thick shaft.
He’s always had a nice cock, now that I think about it.
But then she’s done stroking and places him near her entrance.
“What do you want?” Alexander asks her. Staring intently down into her eyes.
She stares back, speechless now, like she’s lost in the moment. Like she’s somewhere else and she’s trying to find her way back.
And I feel like saying, She wants you to fuck her, dude. Obviously.
But she says it for me. “Do it. Do it, please.”
He leans back, his legs open, sitting on the floor in front of her. “Are you sure?” he asks, tilting his head to the side a little. Grinning.
“Yes, yes!” she whines. Scooting her ass forward until it’s hanging off the edge of the couch cushion.
He moves his hips forward, reaching for her as it bumps up against her pussy, and I find myself holding my breath as I wait for him to enter her. To fuck her. To make her scream.
But he doesn’t. “This,” he says, positioning the tip of his cock against her swollen clit.
“Yes, yes,” she repeats. Only this time it’s just small sounds mixed with breath.
He presses it up against her wet flesh and she moans. Then he flicks it back and forth and Augustine goes wild. Her mouth clamps shut as she hums out something incoherent.
He does it again and she hisses through her teeth. Then again, and she’s moaning. He’s flicking the tip of his dick back and forth across her clit, so fast it blurs and a moment later she…
Explodes.
Literally squirts up in the air, moans and screams coming out of her mouth, and I can only assume she’s coming. But it goes on and on and on. And she’s begging him now, not to fuck her, but not to stop.
But he does stop.
And I swear to God, I think she just has one continuous orgasm that lasted five minutes at least.
She is exhausted. Her thighs are trembling as she holds her legs open for him. Sweat is pouring down her face. She is flushed pink from her cheeks to her belly.
She is spent.
And he never even put his cock inside her.
Their foreplay was so well… choreographed I suddenly feel like an unwelcome outsider. Like… a voyeur of the worst kind.
The kind who invades someone’s privacy.
The kind who steals little secrets and moments to use for himself later when he… when he has no more fantasies of his own and needs something to make him feel…
Jesus, Jordan. Get a fucking grip.
Alexander lets out a laugh and then climbs up onto the couch, pulling her close to him as he closes her legs and holds her tight.
She melts. Melds her body into his, and they become one.
It occurs to me then how much of them I’ve missed these past several years. How well they know each other. How she kept the little things that made her… her. And he kept the little things that made him… him. And then they rearranged them. Scattered them all around and scrambled them all up like a game of memory, waiting to be matched back up again in a new way.
Yeah, they grew apart, but they’ve grown together too.
And I missed it.
They take a shower after that and I go back outside and sit by the river. Reliving their sex over and over again in my head. Unsure how I feel about it. Unsure what it was, actually. Which is dumb. Because it’s just… just two people who’ve been together for a very long time doing things they’ve done a million times before.
It just bothers me though. How well they know each other. How each one knows just what to do. How to do it. When to do it.
Why the fuck do they need me? I mean, shit, if I had that on film like the old days…
I shake that thought away by shaking my head.
That’s not how I remember sex with Augustine and Alexander. And we’ve fucked her together plenty of times back in the day.
I remember it as… just… I dunno. Blind lust. Hard, thumping heart beats and sweaty bodies all twisted up in sheets. It was intimate, but not like this. More desperation and less devotion. It was urgent and reckless.
Nothing they did in there was anything less than careful.
So again… why am I here?
I am no closer to that answer than I was before I watched them.
A little while later Augustine comes outside, the screen door of the cabin smacking against the door frame as the spring swings it closed. She’s wearing a loose turquoise tank top and a pair of cut-off shorts, looking like the girl I left behind and not the one who brought me here today.
She sits down next to me, smelling of soap, leans back, propped up with palms flat on the rock, and says, “So… what’d we do wrong?”
I laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about? I felt like I was watching porn.”
I look at her and find her looking at me with squinted eyes. “You didn’t even notice?”
“Notice what? That he didn’t fuck you? Didn’t look like you needed it, Augustine.”
“He didn’t come.”
“Oh,” I say, thinking about that. “I guess I didn’t notice. I was too busy looking at you.”
“Right? I mean, that’s why it took me so long to notice too! But he doesn’t come, Jordan.”
“What do you mean? Like ever?”
“Well, he comes when he masturbates. But I haven’t been able to make him come in almost a year.”
“Are you fucking serious? But he gets hard. His cock is fucking huge.”
“I know. There’s no problem in that area. He just… I just…” She winces and sighs. Like she knows what she needs to say, she’s just unwilling to say it.
“You don’t turn him on?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
“I dunno. He’s just…” She looks me in the eyes. “He wants more than me. He won’t leave me. I don’t want to leave him. But… he wants you. Here with us.”
I laugh. So loud. “Come on.”
“I mean it.”
“No. Whatever your problem is, that’s not it. He can’t even kiss me without wanting to walk out, Augustine. This makes no sense.”
“I’ve asked him about that. Why he doesn’t just… you know. With you.”
“What’s he say?”
“He says… he says you don’t want him the same way so he… can’t. He’s fucking weird, OK? I dunno. He’s just fucking weird.”
“But you love him.”
“He’s the only guy for me, Jordan.”
Which, I’m not going to lie, fucking hurts to hear. Even if it can’t be true. I mean, she is here with me, right? Asking me to join them. But I keep my mouth shut because it’s not the time or the place for that kind of self-absorbed bullshit. She’s asking me for help. She wants me to save her marriage. And I want her to sell me that stupid building.
This is a game.
She wants me to put together a game for her, only I’m the one of the playing pieces.
“Three weeks,” she says. “We didn’t finish our negotiation. But three weeks, OK? And if we can’t fix this in three weeks I’ll sell you the building and Alex and I will get out of your life.” She takes a deep breath and extends her hand. “Deal?”
But there’s something behind her words. Something I recognize, just barely. Something nagging at the back of my mind. A little itch that says… Pay attention. This contract has small print somewhere. Print so tiny you can’t even see it.
It’s the lawyer in me. The instincts I’ve honed over the last several years in court. The thing inside that recognizes the details not being negotiated.
I shake her hand anyway.
Partly because OK, I can handle three weeks of kink with two people I’ve already shared a shitload of kink with. And partly because that building is as good as mine.
But mostly because this wasn’t how it was.
We used to be good together. They used to be good together.
“What happened?” I ask her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean back when we were all together. You, me, Ixion, Alexander… it was fun, right?”
She looks sad for a moment. Like we’re remembering two completely different things.
But it was good. It was good…
CHAPTER FOUR
LA was unbearably hot that summer. I was on break from law school. Ixion and Augustine were working together by that time. Making film shorts and shit you do after film school. Alexander was the money. He had some consultant gig for the film industry.
It was his loft we all lived in. The AC was broken, I remember that because it was motherfucking hot. He has this giant fan. Like one of those industrial wind machine things you see in gyms. It was so loud we’d have the TV on full blast and still couldn’t hear it but we couldn’t turn it off.
I don’t even remember why the AC was broken. Maybe it was a scheduling thing. Couldn’t get anyone out or something. Because it was fixed later, when things were just getting ready to cool down.
But the passion we had that summer kinda faded with the heat. It’s like we needed to sweat the lust out of us.
Everything was uncomfortable. The sex, the sleep, hell, even the showers. Because you’d get out and the humidity would hit you like a wet blanket.
Sometimes even Ixion was there, watching, as usual. He did join in once or twice, but not that summer. He just watched.
It was me, and Alexander, and Augustine. Weeks and weeks of us.
What happened to him? I wonder.
He never had a problem kissing me back then. It didn’t take much to make him hard. And even though neither of us was looking for a man—we were just part of the triangle—we sure as fuck had some fun. Even when Augustine wasn’t there a few times.
And she was… Jesus. She was the girl who could swing a bat, play pool, ride a motorcycle, and look hot doing
it.
I let out a small laugh, which makes Augustine look over at me, my question still hanging in the air between us.
“You were different back then,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“Just…” I look at her and all the tomboy is gone now. She’s a woman. No trace of that girl. And even though she’s wearing shorts and a tank top—pretty much what she wore every day back then too—it’s not the same. “You’re not the same.”
“Explain,” she says. “Because I think I am. Inside, anyway, I am.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But that look in your eyes—it’s gone now.”
“What look?”
“The wild, ya know. The dare. The don’t-fuck-with-me. It’s gone. You’re…” I shrug. “His wife now.”
She makes a face. You know what it means when you see it, but I’m not sure there’s a word for it. It’s an eye roll, but more. Something in between disgust and contempt that comes out as a huff of air between barely parted lips.
“You wanna know what’s different?” I ask.
She looks at me and nods.
“It’s Ixion.”
She huffs again, but this time it comes with a very small smile. “No. He was never involved in this.”
“I know, but he told me something a few months back. When he was mad at me. He said, ‘I was the glue.’ And I didn’t even really understand what he meant, ya know. But I’ve thought about that a lot since then and I think he’s right. He was the glue. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t Alexander. It was him.”
“I’ve tried to talk to him, he’s not interested.”
“I know, but that’s because he’s finally happy. He let the past go. He’s moved on and I’m glad for that. So leave him alone. Don’t bring him into this.”
She sighs. Scratches her neck. Runs her fingers through her hair. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I told you, he won’t speak to me.”
“You know it wasn’t him, right? You do know it was me.”
“I know,” she says softly. “I’ve let it all go, Jordan. I’m over it. I just… I just want… I dunno.”
“You want the past back, Augustine. And that’s not possible. I mean, I’ll play your little game, but it’s not going to matter. None of this can save your marriage if that’s what you think. If I were you, I’d accept what Alexander gives you with gratitude.”