Turning Point Club Box Set

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Turning Point Club Box Set Page 13

by JA Huss


  “So,” she says, unwrapping her fish sandwich and taking a bite. “What’s your rule?” she asks, her mouth full as she chews. “I hope it’s to fuck me sideways, because I’m horny.”

  I smile at her. Then laugh. “That’s not my rule.”

  “Goddammit.”

  “My rule is to learn something about you. And tell you something about me.”

  “Who makes these rules?” she asks. “Who enters a plural relationship with stupid rules like no fucking and more talking?”

  I laugh again. Maybe she’s not half bad after all. At the very least, I might enjoy her company.

  “Which one do you like?” Chella asks, pointing to the bags of food. “If you tell me that, we can knock your stupid rule off our to-do list and spend the rest of our time having sex.”

  Yeah. I could like her. I point to the Wendy’s bag. “I got me a triple hamburger.”

  “Oh, I’m going to like you a lot, Quin. We’re gonna get along just fine. I know it.”

  I sigh, sit at the table so she’s across from me, and take out my burger. “Sorry,” I say. “I’ve been a dick to you and you don’t deserve it.”

  “I do deserve it,” she says, eyes downcast. But she looks up at me for the next part. “I tricked you and I’m sorry too. I know I already told you that, but I mean it. It wasn’t nice and you got hurt. I’m not here to hurt you. I swear.”

  I know I shouldn’t ask. I can hear Smith’s words in my head, warning me to leave it alone. But I have to. I have to hear it from her. I need closure. “Why are you here, Marcella?”

  She finishes chewing her food, gets up to get us two glasses of water from the kitchen, and then takes a long drink before answering. “Smith said not to encourage you, but I don’t care. I’m going to tell you how it happened. OK?”

  “Do you know where she is?” I ask. Praying, praying, praying.

  “No.”

  I hate my life. “Do you know why she left?”

  “No,” she says again. “I promise. I don’t know either of those things. And if I did, I’d tell you. But I’ve been thinking about this for a week now and I have some idea of why she chose me.”

  I nod and frown. I shouldn’t let her tell me. I should drop it, wish Rochelle good luck in my head, and then leave her behind like the baggage she is.

  But I can’t. I just can’t.

  “I think she set me up.”

  I stop my pity party and look at her. “What do you mean? How?”

  She tells me a story about a book in a used bookstore down on the 16th Street Mall and I start to feel sick. She tells me about how she bought it, how much she paid for it, and what it means to her.

  I slump in my chair feeling defeated and alone.

  She tells me about how they became friends. And how Chella used to go watch her play in small venues every Sunday night. And then she tells me about the offer. About what Rochelle told her about me.

  “She said she loved you and that it was never going to work out.”

  “She said that?” I ask. “She said love?”

  Chella nods. “Love, Quin. But she told me that you couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say it back. That you guys had no future and she needed to leave or Bric would find out and he’d make her leave. She wanted to end it on her own terms.”

  I knew it. I knew it was because of that time she broke the cardinal rule. “Did you tell this story to Smith?” I ask.

  “No,” Chella says. “Smith doesn’t want to talk about her at all. He won’t say her name anymore. But before we go on… that’s what she told me, Quin. Not what I think really happened.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I think that was her lie to me. You know? To get me to think… I don’t know.” She stops talking and resumes eating.

  “No,” I say. “Keep going. Finish that thought.”

  She chews her food. Swallows. “I think something else was happening that she didn’t want to tell me. I have always thought that, since we first started talking about it. But I didn’t want to ruin my chances at… the game, right? So I just pretended I believed her.”

  “What do you think was happening?” I ask. “Even if you don’t know for sure, just tell me what you think.”

  “Something… big,” she says. “Something very stressful and life-altering. Maybe someone died?” she offers. “Big like that.”

  “Who would’ve died?” I mumble, talking to myself.

  “I don’t know. But she was sad. I will say that. She was very sad. On the inside. She never said anything and she always had a smile. But I recognized it.” Chella stops for a moment, looking out the window for a few seconds. “I know sadness. So I recognized it.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Any of it. Both Rochelle’s sadness and Chella’s. So I change the subject. “Do you still have the book?” I ask. “I wrote something in there for her. I’d like it back, if you have it. I’ll pay you for it.”

  Chella gets up and goes into her new bedroom. Comes back with a box and places it on the table in front of me. She opens the box and unwraps the book from vintage linens that remind me so strongly of Rochelle, my throat begins to ache.

  “It’s yours,” she says. “It’s a gift. I don’t need the money.”

  I want to touch that book so bad. I want to pick it up and hold it to my heart and hug it the way I wish I could hug Rochelle right now. But I close the box back up and push it away with one finger. Like it’s poison. Because it is poison. If I take this book—if I allow myself to keep it—then I will write the end of this new story before we even get past the beginning. I will doom the new game of Taking Turns to failure. And maybe I don’t care all that much for Chella, but Bric likes her. Smith likes her. And they both gave me what I wanted by continuing the game with Rochelle. They gave me three years of happiness with her.

  I owe them a fair chance, at least. I owe them this much.

  “No,” I say, trying to hide the deep sadness coursing through my body. “I don’t want it.”

  I expect Chella to ask more questions. I expect some persuasion from her. Urging me to keep it. Hide it away if I don’t want to look at it. I hope for this conversation because I hope she will talk me into staying in the past. Give me the excuse I’m looking for.

  But she doesn’t. Chella nods, picks up the box, and takes it back to her new room.

  I close my eyes and breathe through the pain, and the loss, and the regrets.

  I fucked up. All of this is my fault because I fucked up.

  Chapter Fourteen - Chella

  When I come back out of the bedroom Quin is sitting on the new leather couch looking… sad. He’s slouched down, legs open in kind of a sexy way. But his face. One look at his face and I know the last thing on his mind is having sex with me.

  I sit down next to him. “Is there anything I can do?”

  It takes a few seconds for him to look at me. And then it’s just a quick glance before he looks straight ahead again. “I don’t think so, Chella. I think I loved her.”

  I want to keep saying sorry, over and over and over again. But it’s stupid. It’s probably annoying and it won’t help. So I stay quiet. I wrap my hands around his upper arm, lean my head on his shoulder, and stay quiet. Right now, we are just two friends being sad together.

  “Say something,” Quin finally says.

  “I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know you well enough to make you feel better. And there’s really nothing I can say except… I hope you find her again.”

  “I was really counting on you having answers.”

  Shit.

  “I really thought it was some fucked-up joke or you’d tell me it was just temporary. Or she’d call me. But that’s not what’s happening, is it?”

  “No,” I say softly. “I don’t think so.”

  He shrinks in that moment. Folding into himself. Trying to escape reality.

  “We can be friends though, Quin. I’m not trying to take her place.”

&nbs
p; He reaches over for me. His large hand comes down on my ass cheek and he pulls me on top of him until I’m straddling his legs, my hands on his shoulders.

  “If I don’t fuck you… who will?”

  I laugh a little, thinking… Bric? But I don’t say it. It seems impolite to say it.

  “You know what I just figured out?” Quin asks.

  “What?” I say, looking down at him.

  He stares straight past my shoulder. Looking at some apparition of the girl he loves and lost. “We’re gonna be spending the most time together. Your days off work belong to me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I’m sure Smith planned it that way to make me stop thinking about Rochelle.”

  I try to fit this new information into my current world-view of what’s happening in this… relationship. But there’s missing information, or I’m not quite understanding, or whatever. Because I have to ask, “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Smith can’t touch you unless…” But he stops. “You didn’t get that far yet, so I can’t say. But I can fuck you. Any way I want, any time I want, because I’m Number Two this time. I get all of you, you get all of me. We have to talk, and build a real relationship by getting to know each other. He did it on purpose. Because I was Number One last time and things…”

  He stops. But I’m dying to know more. “Things… what, Quin?”

  “It’s just so easy to get attached to Number One, you know?”

  “Sorta,” I say. “I can see it a little bit. It was so confusing on Friday night and then Smith took me home and took over. Took control, I guess.” Quin laughs. I even get a small smile at that assessment. So I keep going. “He made a house key. And he changed my alarm code. It’s like, he moved himself in.”

  “We’re not supposed to talk about what you do with them,” Quin says. “But tell me what happened next. I really need this distraction and I’ve always wondered how the other guys handled being Number One. Because obviously, I fucked it all up.”

  “What do you mean?” I’m so confused.

  “What did he do then?”

  “He had champagne ready. He kissed me. Fingered me.”

  “He got you all wound up and then he told you the rule, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. But we took a shower together and he shaved my legs. That was… interesting. And then we… masturbated in front of each other.”

  “Classic Smith.” Quin lets out a small laugh that has nothing to do with happiness. “The reason he’s not allowed to touch you is because if he did, he’d have this claim on you as Number One. And we try to avoid things like that. It makes it hard to have a real plural relationship.”

  “So that’s what you’re all after? The four of us as one… unit, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” Quin looks at me. Finally. His hands start rubbing my thighs and I’m so fucking horny after being neglected by Smith this weekend. “We don’t find that very often. And obviously we never had a real one with Rochelle. I liked her a lot. Bric liked her OK. But Smith never liked her. That’s why he was Number Two last time.”

  Ah-ha! I got that answer anyway, so fuck you, Smith Baldwin.

  “Next week I’ll tell you more if you’re still confused after Bric explains the rest of it.”

  I’m dying to know what Bric’s rule is. In fact, everything about this new life I’ve started with the three of them is fascinating.

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  “Thirty-four. You?” He’s still looking at me. His hands are still rubbing my thighs. Every now and then, one will creep up my ass cheek.

  “Thirty,” I say. “But I’ll be thirty-one in February.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” I say. “That’s our rule, right? Get to know each other.”

  “Why the fuck would you agree to something like this? I mean, you’re very pretty, Chella. You’re smart, and you have a good job, and you come from serious money and power. You don’t need anything from us. You don’t need Bric’s promise of a dream come true. So why the fuck are you doing this?”

  I shrug. I’m not ready to talk about all the things in my head. Or my past, or where my life is going. “When Rochelle told me about you guys I was… enthralled.”

  “The book?” Quin asks. “You obviously know what that book is. And she picked you because you bought it, didn’t she?”

  “Well,” I say. “So much for hiding my true motive.”

  “Why do you want to hide it?”

  “Come on, Quin.” I laugh. “I realize you guys have been doing this for a long time. But it’s still not… normal.”

  “Oh,” he says. But his hands have been getting more and more active over the past few minutes. He’s got my thong pulled aside and his fingers are probing at the wetness between my legs, dragging it up and over the entrance to my asshole.

  I have to close my eyes when he inserts his finger just a tiny fraction.

  “Do you like it in the ass?” he whispers.

  I bite my lip, don’t open my eyes, and nod my head. “Yes. I do.”

  “Do you want to see my cock?” he asks, pulling a long strand of hair away from my face and tucking it behind my ear. “Do you want to suck it? And sit on it, and fuck me until you come all over my dick?”

  I am panting with want. I am swimming in want. I will die of the longing. “Yes,” I say.

  “Take off my jacket.”

  I open my eyes, draw in a deep breath, and start undressing him. Underneath my pussy I can feel his cock growing through his pants.

  Once I get the suit coat off, he says, “Loosen my tie. Take it off me. Put it around your head, and make it into a blindfold.” His finger slips deeper into my asshole as he says this, making me squirm and gasp. “Do it,” he gently urges.

  I loosen the tie, slip it over his neck, and place it over my head, pulling it tight again when it’s over my eyes.

  “That’s better,” Quin says. “Now take off my shirt.”

  My fingers reach for his chest, feel for the buttons. They slid up to the top one and begin to unbutton. When I get to the waistband of his trousers, I pull the shirt out. I caress the soft hair that leads down to his hard cock.

  “Don’t touch it yet, Marcella Walcott. Not until I say so. Understand?”

  I nod. “Yes.” I unbutton the last two buttons and then take a deep breath as I slip the shirt down his shoulders. I can’t stop myself from feeling his muscles. I have a thing for shoulders and even though I’m blind, I can see them perfectly in my mind’s eye, just from the light flicker of contact I have through my fingertips.

  “Sit up,” Quin says. “Unzip my pants, take out my cock and my balls, and then put me inside you.”

  His fingers are there the instant I rise up on his lap. I have to press my lips together to stifle the moan, but it still escapes.

  “Do you like that?” Quin whispers as he puts his fingers inside me.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “You know what I like, Chella?”

  “What?” I ask, busy completing the task he gave me. His cock is thick, like Smith’s. And long, and hard, and his tip is swollen when I drag my fingers arose the slit, releasing the liquid I can’t wait to suck.

  “I like all your answers tonight.” And then he chuckles. Like he’s happy. I reach up with one, the other one still busy cupping his balls, and feel his smile.

  “I just want to make you happy, Quin.”

  “You are, Chella. You’re making so many things better tonight. Now fuck me, baby. Slide down on top of my cock and fuck me until you come all over it.”

  I ease up, my hand sliding his tip to my entrance. And I am so fucking wet, I turn myself on when I play with my clit.

  “Sit. Down.” He wants this as much as I do. This turns me on even more. So I do what he says. I sit on his cock and then sink down, letting him fill me up.

  As soon as he’s inside me his palms cup my face and he kisses my mouth. So softly, so tenderly that instead of the despe
rate writhing I imagined, I move slowly, and deliberately, and carefully.

  “I like that,” he says, his words deep and throaty. “Keep going. Just like that, Chella. Make me forget. Make me happy. Make me want this new future more than I want my old past.”

  I kiss him back, our tongues slowly getting to know each other. My hands on his chest, then his shoulders. Feeling the curves. The hills and valleys of his biceps. I dig my nails into his back. He’s still holding my face, but his hands wander down to my arms as well. And then they push me back, just a little, just enough so he can squeeze my breasts.

  We move together like lovers. Like long-time lovers. And I can’t help but wonder… if it feels so good this time, then how much better will it be next week? Next month? Next year?

  “Come,” he commands. “Come first and then I’d like to fuck you hard.”

  I start moving faster. More urgently. Trying to stimulate my clit and obey his command. But I don’t have to try too hard or for too long, because his fingers are right there, right where I need the friction most.

  The moans coming from my mouth are so sensual, so erotic, and filthy, I wish I was recording them so I could play them for Smith and we could masturbate to the sound of my orgasm with Quin.

  When I’m done, and I’m feeling spent, and I need to just rest my head on his chest for a moment… he stands up, walks me over to the window, and fucks me just the way he promised.

  Hard.

  We get in that new bed together. We break it in and we have sex three more times. I don’t even have time for nightmares and sleepwalking. By the time we fall asleep, a new day is starting. Our bodies are tangled together like we’re a couple, even though we’re not meant to be a couple.

  He holds me tight, one hand on my breasts as his chest spoons my back, the other between my legs, like he’s making a statement of ownership.

  We sleep until early afternoon and I wake to him tracing a circle around my bunched-up nipple. “Do you like this apartment?” he asks as soon as I open my eyes.

  His hair is messy and perfect at the same time. I see his shoulders in the filtered light coming in from outside. “You’re fucking handsome, you know that?”

 

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