by Xavier Neal
His thumb gives my forearm a loving stroke igniting the urge to cry again.
This isn’t gonna fly forever. I gotta get it together. If I become a babbling brook every time he makes the tiniest effort it could end up undoing all the progress by making him feel more guilt for prior neglect. I don’t want that. I don’t need that. We may not have a newly established relationship between just us two, but we do between us three, and maybe that includes recreating the connection we lost over the past year in front of someone else.
I do my best to steady my tone. “Jason’s right. It’s probably the doll.”
Hudson looks unimpressed. “A doll?”
“Oh, this creepy piece of shit was like hauntingly terrifying,” I inform. “Think like an Annabelle, Chucky hybrid.”
The horror appears.
“Yeah. It was a family heirloom that somehow managed to go missing, and I was christened with the unfortunate task to find out where.”
He shakes his head rapidly. “Fuck that.”
“After she showed me a picture, I was afraid the thing was gonna pop up from under our bed with a butcher knife.” Jason fakes a shiver, finger still gently caressing me. “It was crem da la creepy.”
“Where’d you end up finding it?”
“Somehow it had managed to go into a donation pile for a women’s shelter. The hard part was figuring out which shelter. Once that was accomplished, getting the doll was a piece of cake.” I finish the last of the wine in my glass. “She really was creepy.”
The three of us share a snicker. Afterward, Hudson asks, “How’d you even get into the Lost and Found business?”
“Used to work for an insurance company who basically tasked me with doing the same thing. I was damn good at my job and they knew it yet never wanted to acknowledge it, verbally or financially. It got to a point where I wanted more, so I went after it.”
My eyes swing back and forth admiring the awe in their stares.
“You really are somethin’,” Hudson mutters under his breath.
“You have no idea,” Jason quietly adds.
I pull my hair to one side of my heating face just as the music changes. “Oh….I love this song!”
“Wanna dance?” Hudson promptly offers.
Jason removes his touch and encourages, “Go ahead.”
Concern is instant. “Are you sure? Because-”
“Go.”
His expression and tone are united in firmness.
The soft goodbye kiss on his cheek I plant pulls a small sigh out of him.
Hudson whisks me to the dancing area closer to the cover band. His hands land on my hips at the same time I wind my arms around his neck. Our hips gently knock into one another on beat and we sing along to the cover of Prince’s ‘Kiss’ loudly. Hudson’s head enthusiastically moves along with every word making my smile grow wider.
It isn’t until the band has moved onto another cover of the beloved singer that Hudson speaks. “My aunt Lindsay actually bought a red Corvette because she loved this song that much.”
“My parents were huge music fans. My dad used to tour with some bands back in the day, playing sold out shows. He never told me which ones and it wasn’t until after he died, I actually believed him.”
“What happened when he died?”
“I found the photo albums.” The images come rushing back to me kicking up my smile another notch. “Growing up he wanted music to just be music. He didn’t want me to like one artist or another because he worked with them or because they were on the radio. He wanted music to move me and follow it wherever it went. My mom was the same way. There used to be songs she’d play specifically when my dad had pissed her off and songs she would play to remind him of a monumental moment in their lives. Like when they offically brought me home from foster care, they were playing Prince’s 1999 in the car, so every year until they died, they would play it for me while we ate Sock It To Me cake, which was the cake we had that day too.”
Hudson’s movements falter. “You were adopted?”
“When I was eight. No idea what happened to my birth parents, but never really cared. As far as I’m concerned Jim and Mae were my parents. They raised me. They loved me. They supported me from the minute they had me until their last days.”
He holds me closer, music almost nonexistent. “What happened?”
“Pneumonia.”
“For both?”
I reluctantly nod. “They were an older couple who never had kids of their own because Jim was always traveling. When he finally settled they were in their fifties, so they adopted. He caught the flu and within days she did too. Neither could shake it. Eventually it turned into pneumonia. Lost them both in the same week.”
His entire body stops moving. “Oh shit.”
“Not too different from Jason. His father died of a heart attack and mother from a stroke just a couple days later. He’s pretty sure the stress of his father dying was the cause, but doctors couldn’t exactly confirm the theory.”
A mixture of sadness and surprise sink into his stare. “So, you and Jason are the only family you both have?”
I hesitate to nod again, but do.
It’s one reason our severed connection hurts at the level it does. We’re all we have left.
He tosses my husband a look at the same time I do.
The battle between jealousy and acceptance on his face is so brutal my heart aches. I quietly sigh, “He looks lonely.”
Hudson acknowledges the turmoil with an immediate decision. “Then let’s get him home and remind him that he’s not.”
My eyebrows lift at the same time Hudson turns to give me a sly grin.
Desire to have them both giving me pleasure and using me to share theirs runs rampant. Hudson links our hands and leads us back to the table where he throws down a couple hundred dollar bills on the check.
Our bodies barely cross the threshold before they’re being tugged in different directions. Hudson’s eager tongue is conquering my mouth, enslaving my tongue with twirl after twirl while Jason’s hands are drifting up the back of my thighs. Each time I attempt to pull away to moan, to whimper, to express my excitement over the fact my husband is touching me the way I’ve missed, Hudson’s grip hardens, commanding the opposite.
Abruptly, he removes his mouth from mine and demands, “Drop the dress, Gwenny.”
My eyes widen in uncertainty until Jason’s gruff voice echoes, “Drop the dress, baby.”
I take a step back, gently toss my clutch, and undo the top of the it.
When the article of clothing hits the floor so do their jaws.
An odd empowerment begins to run through my veins from the way they are paralyzed at seeing me displayed in only a pair of high heels. My thighs press tightly together as my pussy aches from the increasing hungriness in their hazed eyes.
“Wanna taste that pussy?”
Hudson’s question causes a grumble out of Jason.
“You up for another challenge?”
Our attention lands on him yet he keeps his on my husband.
“I don’t think you can make her come twice before she makes me come once.”
Jason’s glare is instant.
“Prove me wrong, I’ll pay for the beer and shit at the Highland game. Prove me right and you better have lots of room on that credit card because I’ll be calling us an uber and drinking top shelf shit all fucking night.”
There’s no room for an objection from me.
My husband motions his head towards the living room. “Couch. Now.”
The three of us make our way into the dimly lit area and the moment we’re there Hudson’s mouth is back on mine. He keeps our mouths fused during the positioning process, which receives groans out of Jason. However, my mind isn’t given the opportunity to contemplate if it’s approval or opposition. Hudson’s forceful tongue movements have me falling towards an orgasm eruption, and I have to concentrate all my energy on not coming undone before I’m properly licked.
His dick is slightly shorter than Jason’s, but much thicker. The few veins appear to be pulsating, ready to be worshiped, and the drop of pre-cum leaking from the head is tempting my tongue to stop wasting time.
Suddenly, there’s a long, languorous lick along the slit of my pussy, prompting me to release a sharp gasp. Before the noise has a chance to fill the air, fingers are wound tightly in my hair and tugging me down Hudson’s shaft. The unified groan ripples throughout all three of us.
My husband’s hot tongue feverishly moves to reunite with the muscles that miss submitting to it. His fingertips dig roughly into my ass cheeks as his mouth moves with a vengeance. Thoughtlessly my body rocks back into each thrust anxious for every stroke executed.
Hudson’s body however refuses to be ignored. His hips lift themselves to slide his cock further into my mouth. Torn between wanting to relish the assault on my pussy, and devouring the salty flavor covering my tongue, has me moaning in desperation.
“Fuck Gwenny, you don’t have to help me win….”
The reminder of the earlier bet turns Jason’s tongue into a ravenous monster.
His frantic actions spur me to begin a savage sucking that neither I nor Hudson was expecting. He groans louder. Yanks my hair harder. Thrusts the tip of his dick to the back of my throat like it’s trying to ring a bell for a prize.
Feeling it swell between my lips combined with a hard suck on my clit has me screaming for mercy. My first orgasm rips through me, wobbling my knees as well as my balance. Jason’s grip doesn’t budge from the force, but he hums his approval loudly. The muscles clamp down in praise while wet waves flood his taste buds.
“Fuck,” Hudson says in a shaky breath. “I wanna feel that shit again.” Both sets of fingers are now buried in my hair. “Make her fucking come again, Blondie.”
Jason groans and his sucking on my clit becomes even more unrelenting. The three of us develop an erotic oscillation that has me incapable of breathing. Every strong suck on my pussy has my mouth clenching around Hudson’s cock and him pumping faster. Our mutual need to bathe in pleasure has us each obsessed with crossing a euphoric finish line. Each movement is executed with an untamed passion. Each action anxious to consume every second of this moment with unrestrained purpose.
My husband gives my clit one last wiggle proceeded immediately with a nip. Another climax is exposed for the taking, and he buries his entire face in it. I mewl and shake and suck Hudson’s cock with the same magnitude that just destroyed the dry spell of my marriage.
“Fuck!” Hudson howls at the same time scorching bursts splash down my esophagus.
Eagerly I drink in the salty proof of his satisfaction and allow myself to suffocate in the endless ecstasy enveloping our existence.
Is it wrong to feel this fulfilled by someone other than just the man I married? Is there something wrong with me, with us, for no longer being able to handle our marriage as two? Is it wrong that every time we’re together it’s as if this is how it was always meant to be? I guess my real question is, if this is so wrong, why does our new unconventional way feel so right?
“Pass the ball!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “Pass the goddamn ball!”
All of a sudden, it’s passed to Shemar Morris, the king of three pointers. He doesn’t hesitate to shoot the ball despite his distance from the basket. The ball sinks in, hitting nothing but net a split second before the buzzer.
“Yeeeahhhhh!!!!” We shout in unison with the other screaming fans.
Shemar victoriously punches the air while his teammates rally their excitement as well.
Nothing like shattering a tied score at the very last moment.
Fuck, nothing like being at a game to witness it happening.
Hudson looks down at me with matched excitement. “That shit was amazing!”
“Best fucking thing to happen to the Hellcats.”
“Fuck yeah!”
Our excitement over the victory is exchanged once more before Hudson begins to wheel me towards the exit. As much as I hate being pushed around like some sort of child in a stroller, the crowded arena isn’t exactly the easiest place to maneuver. Coming in the two of us fought about it. Hudson’s adamant demanding that my pride was going to cost me more than just time away from the game rang louder than anticipated.
It’s a daily problem. I know people just want to help, but I don’t want help. I don’t want to need help. I may not be a fully functioning human being anymore, but I’m not helpless either. Every time Gwen has to reach something for me or assist in basic shit like putting my shoes on there’s an uncontrollable rage that roars inside of me. I’m working on smothering it, though Hudson has this way with words that proves the old saying you have to fight fire with fire. Unlike Gwen who obviously feels guilty whenever she pushes back, he does so unapologetically. It’s frustrating as hell…and sexy as fuck.
Hudson continues rambling on and on about Shemar’s career before Highland, but I find myself struggling to pay attention. My eyes keep catching those of people trying to avert their attention away from me. The gawking is something that shouldn’t still irk me after this long in a wheelchair, but it does. It’s also what keeps me from wanting to do anything outside the house. It’s hard enough being treated less than equal. Being stared at like you’re a freak only amplifies the feelings of inadequacy.
By the time we’re in the vehicle, all joy has been banished allowing bitterness to skillfully take its place.
Hudson turns around from the front to face me. “Are you really gonna sit back there and fucking pout right now? The Hellcats are most likely going to the playoffs this year, something we both didn’t think would be happening when the season started, and instead of celebrating that shit you’re moping? Why? Because a few people couldn’t stop staring at the dude in the wheelchair? You think you’re the only asshole in the world who goes through that? Get the fuck over yourself, Blondie. Stop letting other people prevent you from enjoying your life.”
As always his blunt way of calling me on my shit creates the instinct to wanna throw punches, but I don’t. I need the constant reminder. I need to know that the fault of this type of shit is on me. That I have more power than I let myself believe. What those fucking people think of me shouldn’t matter. They don’t know me. They don’t care about me. They don’t love me. I gotta learn to tune them out and focus on those who do. Like Gwen. Like…Hudson.
I try to ignore my bruised ego. “Who else do you think will end up there?”
His hazel eyes glow in victory. “Honestly? The Riverside Ravens are gonna be our biggest competition. They’ve lost, what? One game this season?”
My face sneers while nodding.
Hudson turns back around, and we begin bitching about our least favorite team in the league. Parking lot traffic moves about as slow as anticipated, but as soon as we’re out of it and on the highway, our drive home is brief. We argue the entire time over sports like they’re politics, conversation vacillating between heated and humorous.
“Bullshit!” he practically yells behind me as I wheel myself into the kitchen.
“Volume,” I scold, noticing the dimmed lights around the house. “Gwen’s probably asleep.”
He cringes. “Shit...my bad.”
“Want a beer?”
“Had two at the game.…” His hesitation surprises me. “Gotta drive home, so probably shouldn’t.”
“You can always crash on our couch or in one of the spare bedrooms.”
The first official invitation to stay over catches us both off guard.
Most of the time when we hang or he takes Gwen out, he leaves at the end of the night. Granted it’s usua
lly late, but he always goes back to his apartment. While I’m not sure I’m ready to share my fucking bed with him, I don’t hate the idea of him being here when we get up in the morning. Or having breakfast with Gwen and him.
I clear my throat and open the fridge. “Beer?”
“Yeah.”
Once we’ve both got one, we relocate the living room where he drops onto the couch, and I park myself directly beside him. After agreeing to leave the lights off, he busies himself with flipping through channels while I open my beer. Hudson immediately stops searching the minute he comes across a James Bond movie. A debate on who is the best Bond in history naturally occurs, and I have to keep reminding him not to wake up our sleeping beauty.
