Après Ski

by K T Morrison

  When Lawson stood up, saying, “I’ll get the tub,” and the other guys broke their locked vision from her hindquarters there was a certain tinge of disappointment. She liked being the center of attention. Had never been before.

  Losing the weight and keeping her muscle had done amazing things to her spirit that she’d never anticipated. And now this? Now her husband would tease her with the most insane suggestion? Jesus Christ, if that’s what he was actually fucking saying. Just say it, already, Cam. Say it so I can say no, you crazy asshole.

  While the others stood up and moved around, Ryan still watched her, a knowing look on his face, holding his bottle of beer between his knees, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, his mouth open, his tongue running around the ring of his berry-colored lips.

  “What ...?” she said in a reflexive, adversarial way.

  “Olympics, eh?”

  “Not really,” she said with a smirk ... Then she realized Cam wasn’t around. She looked left and right, turned right around where she stood and saw her husband slipping into the bedroom. First thought, of course, was that he was innocently going to get some trunks so he could go in the hot tub. Second thought was he just left her alone in this room on purpose. Did he really want something to happen? “Uh, I wasn’t really that close, someone was exaggerating. My hometown thought I was and they really supported me, but I was fourth out from even making the team.”

  Now he stood up—and she noted him tug at the front of his pants—came over to stand with her. He said, “I like how humble you are.”

  “You do?” she said dumbly, looking up into his dazzling eyes and getting a little struck again.

  “Woman as beautiful as you. Accomplished as you. Successful. Humility is surprising, everyone these days can’t wait to lie about how tuned in they are.”

  “I’m the best at humility.”

  “Braggart,” he said, then boldly brushed hair away from her face, the heel of his thumb caressing her cheek.

  She withdrew, but then missed their connection. She smiled, said, “You any good on the slopes?”

  “I bet you could show me a thing or two.”

  Now she smiled and narrowed her eyes. “I bet I could.” What are you doing, Amberly?

  Ryan smiled, too. “Maybe we’ll get a chance.”

  “I bet you could show me a thing or two,” she said, unable to help herself.

  “Not on the slopes,” he said.

  She gave him a girlish laugh, and agreed: “Not on the slopes.” Not on the slopes?—just what are you saying?

  “I could definitely show you something,” he said with panty-melting confidence. Her tummy hardened.

  She said, “What do you have to show me?” and let their bodies come just a fraction closer.

  “You know where it is,” he said.

  “I’m not putting my hand down there.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “That’s all you have to show me?”

  “I’m more than my equipment,” he said, and without even noticing it happen, they’d come together close enough to touch, her back arched and her stomach jutted toward him, his hips lightly pressing her now. If she leaned forward only just the slightest degree more she would feel his hardness again. And this time she would be looking in his eyes. As much as she wanted that it felt so wrong. Something about the wrongness felt good, too; felt electric. She held his gaze and they both twisted their mouths around, delaying the moment one of them would flinch.

  Sasha and Lawson came in from the deck now, the hot tub fired up, and Sasha turned the stereo louder. She smiled and stared still, and Ryan smiled wider still. She turned away.

  CAM CLOSED himself in the bedroom, his heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, immediately pressing his back to the door and listening. Was this a big mistake? What the hell was he thinking? Seeing his wife like this was driving him crazy. The idea of her with one of these guys—or, Oh-my-God, two of them; three of them?—was squeezing on his heart. He pulled the neck of his T-shirt wider. It was so fucking hot in here. Who started that fire?

  Beyond the door he could hear voices now. Ryan and Sasha, not talking to each other but to Amberly. Sasha saying, “Show us again.”

  Ryan saying, “Yes, show us, Amberly.”

  Somebody turned up the music. There was laughing now, the sound of feet vibrating on the floor under his own. More laughing. They were dancing with her. God this was so terrible but it was one-hundred-percent what he wanted. This was feeding something in him. He wanted this for her as much as he wanted it for himself. She’d been out on the dance floor and the rosy cheeks she sported spoke volumes. She deserved excitement.

  Now there was more talking underneath the music, the sounds of fabric rustling, two people dancing close together.

  Amberly’s voice came close to the door, getting even closer, saying, “Just wait, just wait ...”

  Ryan’s voice said something low. Amberly responded, “Okay, I will. I just want to talk to my husband. Hold on.”

  He could hear her approaching the door and he stepped away to give her access. The door didn’t open. Instead he heard the singsong of hangers. Then the bumping of elbows and knees in the narrow closet space just beyond their bedroom door. Muffled giggling. He pressed his ear to the pine. He could hear Ryan saying, “You’re driving me crazy.”

  His wife said, “I’m not trying to,” her voice a pleading wine. Then she giggled.

  “Ryan said, “You know you are.”

  Then she said quietly and seriously, “I know you’re hard.”

  “You feel it, don’t you.”

  There was a long pause and Amberly whispered, “I felt it.”

  More jingling of coat hangers, the sound of fabric pressing against each other, a gasp from Amberly.

  The response was simple, he opened the door and told Ryan to get the fuck out. ‘Course that was all in his head, instead he was frozen to the spot, ear to the door, hands pulled back to prevent him from making a big mistake in ending this thing that he truly desired. “Holy shit,” he whispered, listening still.

  The sound of lips kissing, not lips kissing each other but maybe Ryan’s on Amberly’s neck. He could hear Amberly breathing, could hear a certain lustiness to the syncopation.

  She grunted and gave muffled complaint. “No, no,” she said, “just let me talk to my husband.”

  “Don’t go in there,” he said.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “Feel it.”

  There was a long pause of silence.

  Finally Amberly said, “I feel it.” She said it very matter-of-factly, very sedately. More silence—was she touching him? The coat hangers jingled again and he heard her say in a hoarse whisper, “Show it to me.”

  A masculine chuckle now. More coat hangers, then the sound of a zipper being drawn down. No more sound, only heavy breathing. He pressed his ear tight, forming a painful seal against the glossy wood.

  Amberly whispered, “Put it away.” Then a bump sounded through the wood of the door as her hand rested on the lever.

  He stepped back two paces, three paces, watching, waiting for her.

  They spoke again in low voices. His vision was hazy white. His heart beat out an erratic drum solo in his rib cage, pounding up his neck, washing in his ears like the ocean. He took another step almost to the bed. The door opened and Amberly slipped inside, the hem of her dress pulled high enough he could see the seam where her ass met her thighs.

  WHEN SHE TURNED AROUND, Cam was standing right there, staring at her, his face sagging like an operatic mask of sorrow.

  She pulled her skirt down a little and stepped toward him. She hissed, “What the hell is going on?”

  “You tell me what’s going on.”

  She said, “What are you telling me?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  She scoffed. “Goddamnit, Cam, I’m serious. It sounds like you’re saying something.”

  “I am saying so
mething.”

  She ran the back of her wrist over her forehead like she was feverish. “Cam, you’re not. You’re not saying something.”

  He breathed deeply, exhaled slowly and rubbed his chest just below his heart like he had indigestion.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him.

  “I think so,” he said.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to do whatever you want.”

  “Okay, seriously. Do you mean with these guys—with Ryan?”

  “With Ryan. With Lawson, or Sasha, or whoever. Whatever you want to do. I just want to be here.”

  That was pretty much what she thought. But the affirmation from her husband really snatched the rug out from under her feet. The room reeled and she stumbled past him and sat on the bed. “What are you talking about?” she said, more to the room than to her husband.

  Then he was at her side. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m just elated these days. I love you like no other man could ever love you. You’re everything. I don’t know what came over me, but when we were down in the Mountain Village and you were dancing with them ... I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

  “That was just dancing.”

  “I know. That’s the point. That was just dancing. I started to imagine …”

  She turned to face him. “Imagine what?”

  “Imagine if it was more than dancing.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did,” he said in an eager hiss. He took her hand. “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. You know that I didn’t think about that.”

  “I know. If you did, I wouldn’t want it.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “I think you do.”

  She turned to him and their eyes met. “I do?”

  Did she? They stared at one another, this guy she’d known since she was nineteen years old. This guy who swept her off her feet and promised her the moon, and here seven years later he delivered it. They’d done it as a couple, but she needed him at her back.

  “Do I want to do that?” she said again.

  “You tell me.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” she said and laughed. “I think ... I think I do, but I don’t want to ...”

  He was over top of her in a second, his mouth on hers, straddling her, knees planted either side of her hips, her back on the bed now. They kissed and she rubbed his sides. He was a good lover, a good husband, a good man. She wouldn’t want any more than that. But still, that fire she felt when she danced with Ryan ...

  He whispered in her ear: “When you showed them your legs Sasha squeezed his cock ...”

  She said, “What?” He moaned in her ear and she ran her hands through his hair, but didn’t answer her. “Cam, what did you say?”

  He smiled, said, “Looking at your body made him so hard he squeezed his cock through his pants. He was hard.”

  “Oh, my God—what?”

  “I know,” he said, “it’s true.”

  She could feel her own husband pushing his hardness against her stomach. “Fuck, you’re hard, too?”

  “I’m so fucking hard right now,” he said, and proved it by humping the belly of his erection across her hipbone and over her stomach.

  In a confidential whisper, she told him: “Ryan was hard, too.”

  Cam hiked up her short dress and slipped his hand in the front of her panties. She was so damn eager for it she bucked her hips, wanting his touch. As soon as her husband’s fingers touched her she knew she was in trouble. All those thoughts on the dance floor had done something. What happened in the closet had done something. Now he told her, “You’re so fucking wet.”

  “On the dance floor ... Ryan was hard,” she whispered.

  “Tell me,” he said and then he slipped two fingers up inside her.

  She cried out, dug her nails into his neck. “When he was dancing, he pushed into me.”

  “Tell me more,” he said and began to fuck her with his fingers, kissing on her neck.

  Her head pushed back into the bed and she closed her eyes. She told him everything. “He … in the Mountain Village, he danced with me, sometimes I could feel it, it was hard and he pushed it against me.”

  “You didn’t stop him?”

  “I didn’t stop him. I wasn’t sure ...”

  “You liked it.”

  “I don’t know,” she whined. The sound between her legs grew slushy. “Yes,” she admitted. “I liked it.”

  “That why you like dancing with him?”

  “No, I like dancing with him anyway, I danced with him before he pressed it, I danced with him all night ... It wasn’t until later, and just—” she whimpered feeling him get deep. “Here, too, just now in the hotel room. You were on the deck, he was really hard and he pushed it into my ass.” She loved telling him.

  “Tell me you liked it.”

  “I did, I did like it.”

  “It’s ...”

  “It’s what?—tell me.”

  “It’s enormous.”

  Her husband groaned in her ear, exhaling a gravelly sound.

  She hugged him while he fingered her. “It’s so big.”

  “You like it because it’s big?”

  “I do,” she grunted, her voice constricted and squeaky.

  “You want to see it?” he asked her

  She told him the truth. “I saw it ... ah ... he sh-showed it to me.”

  “He showed it to you?”

  She hitched her knees up, squeezed her husband’s waist, wanted everything he could give her. Wanted his cock. “In the closet ... outside the door ...”

  “You’re so bad ...”

  “I asked him-mm ... to show it to me ...”

  “Why, Amberly, why would you do that?”

  “I wanted to see how ... big it was, what it looked like—don’t be mad ... I thought it was ah-okay ...”

  “It is and it isn’t.”

  “It isn’t?” she said, her brow pinching, worry constricting her heart.

  “It is Amberly, it is. I swear it is,” he gushed, gulping her kisses, their breaths rushing and roaring, the feel of his fingers thrusting in and out of her tickling the top most reaches of her brain. “Did you like it?”

  She nodded, afraid to admit what she thought of what was showed to her, but wanting to be so honest with the man she loved.

  “What did it look like?”

  “A ... ah ... a cock but b-bigger ...”

  “Would it stretch you?”

  The thought of it inside her, squished her viscera, made squirrelly electric whips lash through her, leaving her shivering. She could imagine what it would feel like, the big cock head pressing into her, how it would go deep and stretch and ...

  She was going to come. Jesus, she was going to come hard. “Oh, shit, oh, shit,” she hissed, “mm ... faster, Cam, faster ...”

  “Was it bigger than Cassidy’s?”

  “W-what?”

  “Cassidy’s big cock. I watched you with your Cassidys. I saw all the pictures in the cloud before you deleted them, you slut.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  EIGHT MONTHS AGO IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

  THE TWO CASSIDYS horsed around together, thighs-deep in the gently flowing stream. They were alone in the water; they had the stream to themselves. Sunlight filtered through the rustling leaves that fluttered high above; water babbled, churned, and eddied around smooth rounded granite stones that tumbled up the shore to a sandy border before it sloped a steep grade to long wild rye grass that swayed in the breeze.

  They were naked.

  It stopped her in her tracks, coming down the sandy trail to a narrow hard-packed line like a knife cut through the long bunch grass, the only thing leading her to them was their raucous sounds of playing. Now she stood on a higher plane, standing underneath the spreading limbs of a squat pine, its soft needles scratching at her shoulder as the branch bobbed from her passing, looking down on an exciting
tableau: two beautiful, tanned young people cavorting naked in the flowing water. Their hair had been slicked back from the wet, the two of them glimmered with river water. Cassidy’s back was to her and he looked to wrestle Cass, maybe take her into the water with him, arms outstretched to grapple her. The muscles of his back flexed, white liquid light gleaming off all his masculine edges. His fucking perfect boy-ass was bare and round, paler than his dark tan, and its naughty revelation to her tightened her throat so quickly it made an audible click. Cass was completely bare too, her breasts swaying as she assumed a similar wrestler’s pose, her brown nipples tightened to cold-water buds.

  She was frozen, unsure of whether to join them, turn around and head back to the site, or crouch down and spy them, maybe get the lens on them and zoom in a little. Of course, they were expecting her. Her company wasn’t unwanted, they knew she would follow them. They just got in the water to cool off and wanted their clothes dry. No big deal; she was the one being a Victorian prude. The whole van ride into the mountains she’d told them how she and Cam drove around like ski-bums; the Cassidys surely just thought she was cool. And she was cool, dammit, this wouldn’t be such a big deal if she wasn’t embarrassed by how fucking turned on she felt by this. They had no idea her tummy had turned to a hard column of intertwined steel cables, straining and groaning at the sight of their bare and naked bodies. They probably didn’t know she was being such an old nerd about this—though, really, she was only about six years older than they were.

  Fuck it.

  She hiked down the trail buoyantly, swinging her hips, camera bouncing on her stomach (hard, twisting, knotted stomach), letting herself come into full sunlight, happy that they would see her, and stoked at the chance to show them her nonchalant expression.