by Sam Mariano
I just didn’t know.
I never knew.
I feel like it should be impossible for someone to have these feelings and manage to keep them all separate. This must have been so hard on Griff.
Overcome with tenderness, I reach up to run a hand along his scruffy jawline. I smile softly, then work my fingers through his hair, around the back of his head. I pull him down for a kiss. He hasn’t even kissed me yet—well, on the mouth, at least.
His lips brush mine softly, like he’s afraid to be too demanding. Like he, too, still feels I’m not his to kiss. I don’t think about that. I close my eyes and give him access when he deepens the kiss just a little. I still want him. Arousal pools between my legs, even though he satisfied me. I run a hand down his torso and unhook the button of his pants. Next, I unzip them and shove my hand down the front, rubbing his cock through the fabric. Boxer briefs? I go for the waistband to shove my hand inside those, too, but he catches my wrist and tugs it out of his pants.
I break away from his lips to shoot him a look of confusion. “That has to come out if you’re going to fuck me.”
Laughing lightly, he says, “It does? Well, I guess I’ve been doing sex wrong.”
I frown. Despite his lightness, he isn’t looking me in the eye.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him. “Don’t you want to…?”
Now his gaze jumps to mine, startled. “I do. Of course I do.”
“Then what’s the problem? Is it Sebastian? He told me to do this—he swears he’s fine with it.”
Griff shakes his head, but breaks my gaze again briefly. “No, it’s not that. There’s nothing wrong, I just…” He meets my gaze, a little more firmly. “I want to take you out first.”
I blink at him. “Take me out? Like, on a date?”
“Yeah. You’re not some hooker I hired for the night; you’re Moira. If we’re going to do this, we should do it right. Not because Seb told you to. We should go out just the two of us. I should take you on a proper date.”
I grin up at him. That’s such a Griff thing to insist on. He already has me naked in bed, he’s already given me an orgasm, but he doesn’t want to have sex with me until he feels he’s fulfilled his gentlemanly duty by taking me out first. “All right, if you say so.”
“I’d kinda like to stay a little longer, though,” he tells me. His gaze drops to my breasts, but unapologetically this time. “I’d like to spend a little more time looking at these, too.”
“Look your fill,” I tell him. “Look, touch, taste—I don’t have anything else to do right now.”
So he does. It’s unspeakably tender, lying here in bed with Griff. We talk a little more, kiss a lot more, and he touches me all over. It’s so much different from what I’m used to. Sebastian loves me intensely, of course, and he pleases me so much, but I feel more like an extension of Sebastian than Griff. Sebastian treats me like something that belongs to him—that’s a given. Griff treats my body like a coveted treasure that he can’t believe he’s allowed to have. He savors the feel of my skin, the brush of my lips. He kisses me slowly, like he’s memorizing the taste.
It’s lovely.
When the door opens, I’m snuggled up on Griff’s chest, my head resting on his bicep, our hands twined together between us. I immediately let go and sit up, fear traveling down my spine. I still feel like I’ve done something irrevocably wrong, and when I see Sebastian walk through the door, all the justifying and insistence that he said he was okay with it flies right out the window.
The sight of my husband shouldn’t hurt, but I feel guilt weighing down on every part of me, threatening to crush me. It replays the sounds I made just a little bit ago when Griff had his face buried between my legs, the tenderness I felt for him while we snuggled and talked. The guilt is so heavy I can’t breathe properly.
This man is the only one I’m supposed to be doing these things with.
Sebastian walks in, by all appearances relaxed. My husband is the most capable man I’ve ever met. It takes a lot to shake him. He’s at ease in any given situation—and if he’s not, you’ll never know.
Now he’s stripped off his suit jacket and left it behind somewhere, probably in the living room. He’s wearing his white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top. The tie he wore to work is long gone, but he’s still neatly tucked into his black slacks. The sleeves of his shirt have been pushed up to his elbow and he’s holding a glass with a couple fingers of amber liquid in the bottom.
I don’t look at his face until he pauses at the foot of the bed and raises the glass to his lips. I can feel his eyes on me, so even though it makes me feel sick to my stomach, I meet his gaze.
I feel changed, and I wonder if he can see it. I wonder if it’s real, or if I’m just worried his vision of me will be forever tarnished by this.
I tell myself it was his idea, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. If this was his idea and he can’t handle it, that won’t change the damage that’s been done. It will be worse, too, because I’ll hurt Griff trying to make it all up to Sebastian—and this was his damn idea in the first place.
I’m starting to get mad at Sebastian, but I’m more terrified than mad so that emotion wins. That’s the one that consumes me. That’s the one I’m sure he sees swimming in my guilty eyes when I look up at him.
He swallows the liquor, then walks around to his side of the bed and puts his drink down. I get up on my knees and crawl closer, needing to be near him. I need him to look at me the same way he did this morning. I need him to touch me, to kiss me. I need to know nothing is broken between us, nothing is damaged.
He has to know all this, he has to see it, but I’m not the one he checks in with first. That makes me think he’s definitely mad at me. I should be the one he takes care of first, but he glances right past me to Griff.
“Have fun?”
Griff doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that, either.
Sebastian smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt. “You’re a couple of fucking puritans, you know that?” Instead of finishing his drink, he grabs it and passes it to me.
I shoot him a questioning glance as I take it.
“Drink up,” he says. “Seems like you need that more than I do.”
8
Sebastian
My wife is completely terrified.
I wasn’t entirely sure how I would feel walking into this, despite my earlier reassurances that everything would be fine. It was what had to happen and I’m a man who does what needs doing, but it’s one thing to decide logically that this is the course of action, and quite another to walk into my bedroom where my wife lies naked in our bed, the smell of sex in the air, her hair mussed from someone else’s hands running through her dark locks, both of them with faintly guilty looks on their faces.
They’re bad at this already.
I’m sure they’ll adjust, though. This is uncharted territory and they’re not sure how it works. That’s understandable. I’m not either; I’m just much better at taking the lead even if I have no fucking idea where we’re heading.
So, that’s what I do. Moira looks up at me with all her feelings in her big blue eyes. I think she’d burst into tears if I so much as frowned at her. That makes me feel bad. I don’t want Moira to be so fragile about this, but I get it. The idea of fucking up our relationship scares me, too, I’m just not going to bleed my fucking feelings all over the place like she does.
Someone’s gotta be the strong one. I should’ve known it would have to be me. Griff usually handles his shit a lot better, but he doesn’t look much more comfortable than Moira right now.
Well, in my opinion there’s one sure way to blow past this kind of discomfort, to stop this sort of tiptoeing and show everyone once and for all how I want things.
Moira finishes the whiskey, grimacing like she just swallowed poison. I can’t help smirking. She hates hard liquor, but that’ll help her nerves. I take the glass from her and put it down on the end table,
peeling off my shirt and starting on my belt.
Moira’s gaze drops to my belt, then darts back to my face, a bit uncertainly.
Griff clears his throat. “Should I go?”
I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “No.”
He eases back on the pillow, but he looks no more certain than Moira.
“Did you come inside her or did you use a condom?” I ask.
Moira wilts—visibly wilts, like she wants to sink into the floor and disappear. No, no, no, that’s not what I want.
Seeing the way Moira reacts, Griff’s gaze shifts from her to me, picking up some hostility on the journey. “I didn’t—” He shakes his head, his jaw locking. He makes a visible effort to unlock it, then continues, “It didn’t go that far.”
Now I frown, cocking my head in confusion. “What didn’t go that far? What are you talking about? You didn’t get off? You stopped? What the hell were you two doing up here?”
Moira buries her face in her hands.
Griff looks worried about it. He can barely keep from glaring at me, since I’m the one making her so damn uncomfortable. “Do we have to tell you that? Do all of our activities have to pass inspection?”
I shuck my pants and shake my head, eyebrows rising. “I guess not. I just figured I send you upstairs to fuck my wife, stands to reason that my wife would get fucked. I’m not sure where in there my intent got lost—I was pretty clear with Moira.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t fuck at your behest,” Griff states.
I meet his gaze, and he raises a challenging eyebrow.
I shrug. “All right. If you don’t want to fuck my wife, then don’t. I don’t know what all this is about then.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Griff says.
“So, you don’t want to share Moira?”
“No, I do.”
I frown. “But you don’t want to fuck her?”
“No, I… Yeah, I do. Not like this, though.”
I shake my head at him and walk over to turn out the light.
“What are you doing?” Griff asks, as soon as the room goes dark. “Am I staying the night? Shouldn’t I at least go to the guest room?”
“We have a king bed. There’s plenty of room for you to stay here.”
I pull back the blanket on my side and slide in. Moira immediately comes to my side, needing reassurance. I can see the fear in her eyes even now, so I cradle the back of her neck in my hand and draw her in for a soft, slow kiss. She melts against me, wrapping her arms around me, clinging to me. Her fear ignites desire within me. I don’t make Moira worry about losing me on a regular basis—that would be cruel—but I like knowing the thought of losing me terrifies her. It’s reassurance that her little ass isn’t going anywhere.
Right now she’s desperate to make it up to me, and I like that, too. There’s nothing more intoxicating than the repentant trail of Moira’s lips along my jawline, down my neck, across my chest. Without words, she expresses her love. With the kind of raw need most healthy people can’t feel in a vacuum like this, she makes me feel like the most important man in her world.
Of course, Griff being right here on the bed with us, that’s probably not feeling so good for him. Feels great to me, though. I need to give a little back.
“It’s Griff’s turn,” I tell Moira.
She tears her lips away from my chest and looks up at me, confused. “What?”
I cock my head toward Griff.
Moira sits back on her heels and hesitates. “You want me to…? In front of you?”
I nod my head.
Moira swallows audibly, looking none too confident, but she turns and crawls over to Griff. His mouth opens to object, but as Moira straddles his lap with her naked ass, he can’t summon the willpower. She sits there for a second just looking at him, then she runs her hands up his chest before leaning in and kissing him. There’s no deepening of the kiss—just soft little pecks. There’s tenderness, but no desperation. She doesn’t kiss him like she needs him, the way she kisses me, but he doesn’t seem to be in a position to complain.
No, the tables have turned now. His hands go to her waist like he can’t help touching her. He follows the pace she sets, but he’s the one who needs her. Moira needs me, Griff needs Moira, and I… well, I guess I need Griff, because there’s really no alternative I can envision where I’d be sitting here watching another man fondle my wife.
Watching him need her turns me on. I have power over him now, because I have total power over Moira. That motherfucker isn’t going anywhere as long as Moira has him by the balls.
Relief spreads through me. I’m feeling better about life, about this decision. I’m feeling grateful for my dutiful little wife, even as she straddles someone else’s cock, as his big hands palm her breasts and trace the curve of her back.
I push up and prowl across the bed, grabbing Moira’s hips and dragging her off his lap. A startled gasp slips out of her and Griff looks immediately bereft when her mouth leaves his, but since she’s mine, he doesn’t dare object.
Oh yes, I like this already.
Moira looks back at me over her shoulder. She’s on her hands and knees. I put a hand on her back and pet her, partly to reassure her, partly to push her into the position I want her in. I grip her hips a little tighter and pull her ass up in the air. She’s accustomed to this, so she lowers her upper body toward the bed and her legs spread for me naturally. I can’t resist pushing a finger inside her sweet pussy to see how wet Griff made her. I close my eyes as my finger sinks inside her. Oh, she’s fucking drenched. Too drenched. Did he really make her this wet?
My gaze drifts to Griff and I see him watching me, watching my finger as I move it in and out of my wife. His gaze drifts to Moira, in position like a good girl. The way I have her, she’s looking right at him while I finger her.
After a few more seconds—and a strained moan from Moira—Griff clears his throat. “I’m gonna go in the guest room.”
“Stay or go,” I say casually, pushing a second finger into my wife’s pussy. “If you stay, we can fuck her together.”
Moira shudders, pushing against my fingers.
Griff’s eyebrows rise. “Excuse me?”
“Did you eat her pussy, Griff?” I ask casually, as Moira lets out another soft moan. “Did she come for you? I hope you made her come hard. Moira’s a good little wife.” I withdraw my fingers and then shove them into her up to the knuckle. “She deserves to come hard.”
I can see part of him still wants to leave, but now he’s looking at Moira again, at her struggling against her arousal already. She loves my mouth, so when I talk about Griff eating her pussy like that, it has to make her crazy. Judging by the hooded look on Griff’s face as he watches her, by the simple fact that he’s still sitting here, she’s turning him on, too.
He looks up at me. “Is this how we’re doing this? We’re supposed to fuck her together?”
“Tonight,” I say, pulling my fingers from Moira’s pussy and running my hand over her perfect ass. She makes a faint noise of disappointment and I smirk. “What better way to seal the deal?”
Since I’m not going to wait for him to decide, and because there’s probably a better chance he stays if I do, I stop wasting time, stroke my cock a couple of times and guide it to Moira’s pussy. I rub the crown against her. She’s so fucking wet, it eases right inside. I slide home, burying myself balls deep in my eager-to-please little wife.
“Take her mouth,” I tell Griff.
He tears his eyes away from Moira’s face, his gaze lingering briefly on the visual of me pulling out and impaling her again, but then he meets my eyes, his brow furrowed in consternation. “What?”
“Fuck her mouth,” I say slowly, rocking my hips and drawing a low moan out of her.
“This isn’t right,” Griff says, shaking his head. “This isn’t right. This is Moira. We shouldn’t be treating her like some whore.”
I grin at him as I shove myself inside my wife again. “Trust
me, Griff, Moira wants to be treated like your little whore. Don’t believe me? Get on the bed and see how loud she moans when we’re fucking her tight little pussy and her sweet little mouth at the same time.”
“Oh, God,” Moira murmurs, pressing her forehead to the bed.
“Tell Griff you want his cock, Moira.”
“I do,” she tells him, gasping again as I piston my hips and fill her pussy. “Griff, it’s okay. I want to.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs. He’s made of stern fucking stuff to be able to resist this long, but now he pushes his jeans down and kicks them off, pushing off his boxer briefs. His cock springs free—he’s already hard, which shouldn’t surprise me. If he could watch Moira get fucked, listen to all her little sounds and not get turned on, I would be more concerned.
He gets up on his knees and grasps his cock in one hand, but he looks like he still doesn’t want to put it near Moira. He’s probably got some sort of Madonna complex—thinks of her as untouchable, so he shouldn’t put his dirty hands on her. He’ll have to get over that. I guess Moira’s needs can be met by me alone and she can just manage him, but I’d like for him to learn how to please her. Otherwise he’ll probably start to notice I can do things for her he can’t and we’ll be right back at square one.
“Put your cock in her fucking mouth, Griff.”
He glares at me, not appreciating my direction. Then, like he actually wants to annoy me, he fists a hand in my wife’s hair and holds her still while he eases his cock into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. Moira moans around his cock as she takes him, and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on even more.
Yes, this is fucking beautiful. I pump my hips harder and Moira’s body jerks forward, but now Griff is on the other side. She keeps her weight braced on the bed with one hand, but she grabs Griff’s hip with the other to anchor herself to him so she has some control over how deep he goes into her throat while I fuck her.