by JA Huss
I glance over at Augustine. Who has gone absolutely still. Like this is the first time she’s hearing this little speech from her husband as well.
“So fuck it. We lied. OK? We lied. We’re here for you and we’re using this building to get what we want because…” He shrugs. “It just doesn’t work any other way. Do I wish I could have a wife to myself? I dunno. Maybe? I really don’t know. Because that’s never going to be an option if I stay with Augustine. It’s just not an option. And I love her. And you too, I guess. I don’t know. But I’m certainly willing to give it a try if you are.”
I’ve been holding my breath and it comes out in a soft, low exhale. “Well, I admit. I didn’t expect that.”
Augustine takes Alexander’s hand and places it on her cheek. She smiles up at him like he’s her God. And then she turns to me and says, “I’d like to try too.”
There’s two things running through my brain right now. One. They’re full of shit. Something else is going on and this was just… I dunno. His way of distracting me. And two…
God, that’s hard to admit.
Two.
They’re serious. We had something good, we lost it, and now we want it back. I mean… besides Ixion. Because what we had included him, regardless of what he thinks about it.
I don’t want to be cynical Jordan anymore. Life is short. That’s one thing I’ve learned since we fell apart. One thing that really hit home these past few months when the games took a dark turn.
I mean… I had a US Senator killed a few months ago.
He deserved it. He was a total piece of shit. And in my defense, I did wait for him to make his choice before I made the call.
But who do I think I am? Really. Who the fuck gave me the right to kill a man for another person’s vengeance?
Chella never asked me to do it. She didn’t complain after, but…
“Jordan,” Augustine says, pushing herself so close to me, I can practically hear her heart beating fast. “Just… give it a try. You have nothing to lose.”
Is that true?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Alexander says, getting irritated with my indecision. “Forget it.”
He turns to walk away but I grab his arm and say, “Wait.”
“Why?” he growls.
“I’m just… I’ve got a lot on my mind. And you two, man. You came out of the fuckin’ blue and I don’t know what to think about that.”
“So stop thinking,” he says, shrugging me off.
Which might be good advice. Maybe the best advice.
So I reach for him again. I pull him towards me with a hard jerk. And when he takes those two steps forward and comes into our space, I lean in and kiss him.
For a moment he hesitates. And a jolt of realization courses through me. A sick feeling in my gut that this was all a lie. All a plot to… to… something.
But then his mouth softens and his lips react, and we’re kissing.
And relief floods through me so thoroughly. My muscles respond with some kind of endorphin or adrenaline rush. Filling me with heat, and a weird feeling that defies description.
Augustine’s hand is at my cock. My eyes are closed, my mouth still kissing Alexander. But I know she reaches for him too because he groans.
“Wait, wait,” I mumble. Not wanting to stop but…
“What now?” Alexander asks.
“Be right back.”
I don’t wait for them to answer. I know I’m on Alexander’s last nerve tonight. But I don’t care. I kinda like pissing him off. Besides, he doesn’t have to wait for me. She’s his wife.
I turn the corner in the hallway and find the control room door. This is where—predictably—all the controls are for the basement. Lights, music, sound effects. Yeah, I didn’t realize that last part was a thing. But when I broke in here a couple months ago I went snooping around and that’s when I found the control room. And the moaning soundtrack.
It’s actually more than moaning. There’s whispers too. Male voices mostly, but some female. His voice is demanding. Hers, accommodating.
And I don’t recall this being a thing, since it was probably played under the thumping music and there were plenty of real-life men whispering commands and plenty of real-life women giving in to them as they moaned, but it’s fucking hot.
And I want them to hear it. If they can’t experience the real Club, then I can give them a little sample at least.
I flip the switch on the master control panel and choose the last track combination I played for music.
I might not care if Alexander starts without me, but I don’t want to miss anything either.
Then I find the small jar of white paint, grab two paintbrushes, and flip the main lights out and the black lights on as I exit.
It’s… porny as fuck.
And just admitting that to myself makes me smile. Because whatever.
When I make my way back to the hallway where I left them, Alexander has Augustine pushed up against the wall. His hand has lifted up the hem of her dress and he’s caressing her thigh as he kisses her neck.
Her eyes are closed. Her mouth is open. Her sweet, plump lips are moving just a little. Like they need a job to do. Like she wants to put them on his cock and suck.
That’s the real magic of plural sex. The woman can’t help it. She’s being stimulated in so many ways and in so many places she just… wants things. Wants to fill herself up in every way possible.
I set the paint and brushes down on a small table and slip in next to them. One hand on Alexander’s waist, the other reaching for Augustine’s breast. My mouth finds hers and I fulfill the need she didn’t even realize she had. Her tongue sweeps across my lips. Probing and twisting. Alexander has one palm flat against the wall, boxing Augustine in on one side. The other… it reaches behind me and grips the back of my neck.
He pushes us closer. Asking us to do more.
I’m in a giving mood, so…
I rip her dress down the front.
She gasps. He laughs.
I just grin and keep going. Shredding it down the middle, ripping it free, pulling her strapless bra down as I whisper in her ear, “I’ll take you shopping for a new one tomorrow.”
Alexander helps me get her naked. Off comes the bra and panties—we leave the stockings and garters on.
And then I back away, admiring her body in the black light. Getting hard just listening to the whispers and moans filtering through under the thumping music.
And I get the paint.
Alexander’s grin is worth all the fighting and effort we’ve put into this new adventure. Totally worth it.
He takes a brush when I offer it, winks at his wife, dips the end in the white paint, and draws a circle around her nipple.
She glows in the dark now.
Yeah, this… this is what I’ve missed.
I dip my brush in the paint too and draw a line starting between her breasts, right down to her shaved pussy. She closes her eyes when I tickle her clit. Moaning. Real moaning.
And Alexander, right on cue, begins to whisper in her ear. “You like that? You want more? You like us both, don’t you. You want us both inside you.”
And she responds with hums, and groans, and “Yeses.”
I hand the paint to Alexander, then reach for him. Grabbing his cock through his pants. He looks at me, startled, but then he just grins lazily and resumes his painting.
I unzip his pants. My hand pushing its way inside the opening, grabbing at his hard cock. He’s not wearing any underwear and that makes me want to kiss him. Because he’s kinda perfect. For me.
No. For us.
I pull him out. That’s how the men stay in the Club. Fully dressed in black tie, zippers open with protruding hard cocks sticking out.
“Fuck,” he says, my hand already pumping him.
Augustine is paying attention because she reaches for my zipper. Her hand pushing its way inside my pants and then a smile as she realizes I am also bare.
&nbs
p; Perfect for her. For us.
Her fingertips fold over my shaft as she pulls me out and begins to stroke me. Gently at first, but when I reach up and twist her nipple, she grips me hard. And I, in turn, squeeze Alexander.
We are a chain reaction.
We are a chain reaction of lust, and longing, and labored breathing. We unfold, then fold again, reshaping what we thought we were, who we thought we were, into what we will become.
We are a chain reaction of past into present into future. A single bond becoming double, becoming triple, becoming…
Complete.
We are sweaty skin under our starched shirts, and white, wet paint marring and scarring the blackness of our tuxedo lapels as Augustine writhes against our collective touch and I think…
I think…
There is no mask on this woman when there should be a mask. And there’s no other bodies pressing against us when there should be other bodies. And there’s no scene being played out in the rooms nearby or at the end of the hallway or… anywhere.
It’s just us.
In this forgotten playground of carnal desire and delight.
It’s just us.
In this old building basement that, when devoid of the magic of lights, and music, and sound effects, is just that.
An old building basement.
I say, “Let’s go.”
And there’s confusion. A little bit. And questions painted on their dark faces like the white stripe I painted down Augustine’s torso.
She is naked, save for her stockings and garters. But I take off my coat, then my shirt—as Alexander watches me with curiosity and fascination. His eyes on the muscles of my stomach. His hands automatically reaching out to touch.
I place my shirt over her shoulders and she in turn slips her arms into it. I button her up and reach for Alexander’s pants, tugging on his belt buckle then slipping it through the loops as he continues to watch, and touch, and whisper things like, “Yeah… Yeah.”
I reach around Augustine’s waist, cinching the belt tight against my shirt she’s now wearing. Then I take Alexander’s coat off him, missing his touch when he has to pull away to let the silky lining of the sleeves slip past his arms.
But his fingertips resume their exploration of me. Softly sliding down the muscles of my back as I drape the coat over Augustine’s shoulders and then she slips her arms in, and they slide down the warm silky lining where his arms used to be, and I swear to God, she sighs.
I put my suit coat back on. And now we are a mismatch of clothes. I have no shirt and Alexander has no coat, and she has no dress.
“Let’s go,” I say again, turning away but grabbing her hand as I do that, so I can lead her.
We enter the elevator, leaving the basement behind.
Empty, but still loud with music and whispers.
Dark, but still lit up with black light.
Lonely, because when we leave, when we get to the lobby and exit through the frosted glass revolving door, there’s no one left to play the games this building used to play.
Alexander lingers behind, locking the Club back up with his key. And I lead Augustine to the car parked in what used to be the valet.
We hear a gasp come from off to the right.
Chella’s Tea Room.
Groups of women sitting in the outdoor tables stop sipping their drinks, their mugs and cups paused at their lips as they see something they haven’t seen in a very long time.
Three people exiting the place where they used to play.
“Shit,” Augustine says, acutely aware that she is a woman guilty of carnal pleasures. And we, her men, are missing a coat and a shirt. And the paint. Oh, I bet they miss the paint and all the pleasure it guaranteed them once upon a time. “They’re looking at us. They know.”
And then Alexander is there, opening her door. Eyes locked on mine as she gets into the passenger seat of his sporty black German car.
He says, “Let them look.”
And then he closes her up inside and grins at me.
I nod. Grinning back.
Let them look.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We fucked hard last night.
And softly too.
It was heated and passionate. But there must be some truth to Alexander’s dark side, because he did come very close to crossing a few lines.
The choking came first. Then the slapping. First her ass. Which made her moan for more. Then her face, which made her come.
But I stepped in. Unsure how much truth there was to that lie they told.
Late that night, or maybe it was early this morning, we took a shower. I finished first, exhausted and ready to climb between the sheets of their bed.
Our bed?
I heard them whispering in the master bathroom. I didn’t catch it all. I was too tired to care. But I heard her say something like, “This doesn’t change anything.”
I drifted off trying to understand her. What she meant by that.
Didn’t change anything between them? Maybe?
So they are having marriage issues after all.
Then sleep took me away and I no longer cared. The perfect night was over and I was happy.
I’m meeting Evangeline at the Mile High Cafe across the street from the Capitol building. She called me at work this morning and asked to have lunch. I wasn’t sure why she’d want to have lunch with me, but the only obvious reason is Ixion. And I’m always in for a conversation about Ixion.
She already has a table in the back when I walk in and push my way past the crowd of courthouse people waiting for their takeaway sandwiches or hoping for a place to sit and relax. I see her first, already heading to the back, when she lifts her hand to wave at me.
I don’t know her that well. Not really. I mean, I know more than I should. More than most. Because I was in charge of running her Total Exposure game a few months back. So I know her issues, and her fears, and that she overcame them. I know she loves Ixion the way I do. I know he loves her back, probably not the way he loves me.
She is thin, but shapely. Dark hair and bright eyes. And she’s a very talented violinist. Was once a child prodigy who toured the world playing for celebrities, and royalty, and CEO’s.
I know she’s sensitive, and artistic, and even though Ixion put all her shattered pieces back together, she has leftover chips and cracks.
He’s careful with her.
So I’m careful with her too.
I smile as I approach her table, unsure how to greet her properly—a handshake like we’re business partners, when we’re not. Or a kiss to the cheek like we’re old friends, when we’re not.
I opt for neither. Neutrality. And just take my seat. “How are you?” I ask.
“Well,” she says. “Very well, actually.”
“And Ixion?” I ask, my voice low and throaty when I say his name.
“Also well.” She smiles at me again, but this time it’s tight. “But that’s what I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” I ask, feeling a little sick that the thought of them having issues… excites me.
Things with Augustine and Alexander seem to be working out—at the very least, they’re starting to make sense—and the only thing missing now is the fourth piece of the quasi-quad we once had.
And that’s so inappropriate.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” I say, shaking my head at the waitress who appears to ask if I want to order something. Evangeline isn’t eating, so I decide this won’t be an eating lunch. Just a talking lunch.
“I know you’re his best friend—”
Which makes me laugh. And makes her pause.
“What?”
“Well.” I chuckle. “We were. Once. But…”
“No,” she says, reaching across the table to take my hand in both of hers. “You are.” And then her tight smile becomes warm again as she lets go and leans back in her chair. “Trust me.”
I want to ask all the questions about that. Like… Does
he talk about me? Does he tell you about our childhood? Or mention anything about what we were to each other back in LA? Or what I did to him to make him disappear? Make him hate me?
But that’s not why she’s here and anyway, she’s going to tell me something, even if it’s not any of that. And something is enough for now.
“It’s about the house,” she says. “The mansion next to the Botanic Gardens where we played our game.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. He came by a few days ago wanting to know more about it.”
“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Tell him what?” I ask. “I don’t know anything. I mean… I live there now. It’s mine. But I bought it in foreclosure and the bank, you know. They’re not chatty. They give you a price and you pay it or don’t. That’s about all I know about that place.”
She sighs with relief. “Good. Good. Well, I did some digging on my own. Lucinda helped me…”
I lose my train of thought for a moment when she mentions Lucinda’s name. Fucking Lucinda. She’s been in my life a lot since I joined the Club a few years ago. She was the first one to accept me. The night of her birthday Bric threw a party and when the Club throws a party for a member’s wife, it’s… a pretty sexy affair.
I fucked her with her husband that night. And everyone watched.
God… last night I thought I was over it. But thinking about what I had, and what I don’t have now… it brings it all back to me. Makes it fresh again.
I’m kind of a sick fuck.
“… so what do you think?”
“I’m sorry?”
“About telling him?”
“OK, explain this to me again? Sorry, I wandered.”
She smiles and huffs out some air. A little bit frustrated with me, but not much. “We figured out who the house belonged to.”
“OK.”
“That family in the pictures that were all over the house.”
“Makes sense,” I say.
“Well, the house was in foreclosure, but it’s the reason why it was in foreclosure that makes me hesitate.”
