by Xavier Neal
Our. Whether or not it’s conventional, it’s the new truth. Gwen is ours. Along the same thought path that makes Hudson ours. As in mine. As in someone I shouldn’t hesitate to appreciate in all aspects.
I watch his mouth press to the opening of the beer bottle.
An unusual yearning to lick the lost droplet off his bottom lip races throughout my system.
The first time it was easy to blame it on booze. People do weird shit when they’ve been drinking or are shitfaced. But then it happened again. And again. And then we took Gwen in a new way last week. After that moment there was no way to deny my connection to Hudson was just mental. Seeing his cock and not being the one to examine it had me jealous the exact same way I was over the fact Gwen had another man’s dick on her tongue. When she came that night with my face buried between her thighs it was like someone finally turned the light on in my world of darkness. But when he came? It was like the entire foundation I stood on cracked. Hearing him come, feeling them both shudder, ripped a phantom orgasm out of me. It also left me wanting to do things with a man I’ve never done before. The thing is, Hudson’s not just some random guy. He’s…different. I don’t want him because he’s a dude. I want him because he’s Hudson. Because his lips make me groan. Because his eyes make my heart stall. Because he handles me like a human he enjoys being around instead of a human who humiliates him.
“Blondie,” his voice is low. Raspy.
My eyes debate on looking away from the side of his face I’m burning to touch. “Yeah?”
“You’re lookin’ at like me like you wanna do something.” Hudson slides his beer bottle to the table and lets his face turn towards mine. “You gonna do it or just spend all night thinking about it?”
I swallow my apprehension. “Not sure.”
The corner of his lip kicks up. “Would it help to know I want you to do it?”
A mixture of a groan and a chortle escapes me.
“Would it help if I told you I’ve been fighting a hard on since the moment I sat on this couch?” He shifts a bit closer. “That my dick is as hard as a fucking rock right now?”
My eyes drop to his crotch to discover the truth.
Hudson readjusts himself, and I wet my lips in anticipation of seeing it. Touching it. Fuck, stroking it.
I ignore the tiny voice in the back of my head begging me to think about labels and possible degradation that still comes from two men being together. “Show me.”
He leans back, loosens his jeans, and pulls his cock out. With his pants and boxers partially down his legs, he gives his nuts a good tug, slightly smiling at the pleasure it brings. Hudson’s body remains in its laid-back position even once I start to move. My hand slowly wraps around his shaft, uneasiness and excitement coursing side by side in my veins.
“Fuck,” Hudson groans softly.
The immediate reaction to increase the pressure is unconscious.
Another groan leaves him at the same time he lifts his hips up in an attempt to create more friction. An unusual combination of power and fascination encourage the next movements. I keep my grip tight and begin stroking at a moderate speed. Hudson promptly moans his approval. My attention stays planted on the familiar yet foreign body part in my possession. It’s not like I’ve never touched my own dick. It’s not unusual anatomy. On a scientific level, yeah, it’s the exact same, but it feels so fucking different. His cock is slightly shorter than mine used to be when it was fully erect. It’s smoother along the shaft. Heavier. Hotter to the touch. It feels like it’s throbbing in elation with each passing pump.
I watch with building intensity as Hudson struggles to keep from coming. The sight of his eyes falling shut while his hands claw impatiently at the couch cultivates a crooked grin. “Having some trouble?”
The teasing in my tone isn’t appreciated. “Fuck you.”
My hand increases with celerity, and he bites his bottom lip in objection. Despite his best efforts to maintain his control, Hudson thrusts his dick repeatedly into my grip, causing my hand to tap the base and brush his balls. Watching him struggle to prevent himself from coming only increases my efforts in assuring he does. Our strife for dominance over the situation is accompanied with groans behind gritted teeth and breaths begging to be grabbed.
Unable to keep his resistance, he whimpers his favorite word. “Fuck….”
Several hot spurts seer my hand, and I cease all of my movements. My eyes shamelessly soak in the sexual vision of his straining neck. His unsteady breathing. His fingers digging aggressively into the couch cushions. He groans, and I echo each one with fervor.
When he finally stops shaking, he rolls his head my direction and opens his eyes.
Regardless of having no other light than the glow of the T.V. I can still see the sated glaze. “We good?”
The question shocks me.
He cares. Like he really cares. About me. About my feelings with this whole situation and…what we’re doing not only with Gwen, but when we’re alone. Are we good? I mean, our…friendship or whatever it was we had, has without a doubt been irrevocably changed. But why does that have to be a bad thing? Clearly, we both want more. Hell, we both enjoy more. What’s wrong with letting shit just go where it naturally does if everyone is alright with it?
I offer him a smirk. “We’re really good.”
And it’s true. I’m starting to not only enjoy my life again, but those that are in it. This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time, and I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach, this is only the beginning.
I tighten the knot of my black tie just as there’s a knock on my front door. Unsure of why anyone would be bothering me this early in the morning, I exit the bathroom, turning the light off on my way out.
The moment I open the door my mouth drops to the ground.
“Good morning,” Gwenny coos.
My eyes struggle with the decision whether to focus on her full glossy lips or the thigh high turquoise spring dress hugging all the right curves. Its lacy floral pattern across the shoulders and arms has my hands itching to hear the fabric rip as it’s being torn by my hands.
I rest my arm against the door frame. “Tell me you’re not going to work like this.”
She smirks. “And if I am?”
“Then Jason and I need to have a long talk about buying you a new office appropriate wardrobe.”
Gwenny moves in closer to let her body graze against mine. “How about you show me something else is long instead?”
A heated grumble barely leaves my lips before I’m crashing my mouth to hers. There’s no resistance in my tongue’s pursuit to punish her for teasing me with its words. She softly moans with every push, and my hand snakes down the curve of her ass to press her into my throbbing cock.
The noise from a neighbor’s door shutting causes me to break the kiss. However, the sound of Gwenny’s panting and her heaving chest repeatedly brushing mine has me tempted to fuck her right out in the open.
I suck the coffee flavor off my bottom lip at the same time I back up to allow her entrance into my apartment.
Once we’re both inside, I give her a moment to examine the place I call home. While her body doesn’t move far from the door, her attention soaks in the open kitchen directly to our right, the living room directly to our left, and the small hallway to the side of it that leads to my bedroom as well as the only bathroom.
When her mental tour is finished, she turns towards me and offers one of the cups of coffee she’s holding. “Brought you something hot this morning.”
“And coffee too.”
Gwenny’s cheeks noticeably heat, and I slide the drink into my grip with a cocky smile.
“Wanna tell me what Jason did to piss you off so early or finish your coffee first?”
She attempts to hide her guilt.
I stroll past her towards the beige couch. After dropping onto it and having a sip of the still hot latte, I state, “Come on, Gwenny. There’s only two reasons you’d be at my front
door this fucking early with coffee and since I didn’t fuck your brains out last night, I’m rightfully assuming it’s the other.”
Not that I don’t wanna fuck her brains out. We just haven’t made it there yet. Oddly enough, I’m not sure whose fault it is exactly. It’s not like we’re strangers to rolling around together in front of and not in front of Jason. Same goes for the shit between him and I. Gwenny’s witnessed a couple rub and tugs between us, which left her begging to come herself. Hate to admit it, but I think I might be the reason my dick’s not paying proper homage to her pussy. A tiny part of me is still apprehensive about fucking someone else’s wife. Fucking someone else who I care abouts wife. Maybe if he got to screw her first, I would be less…hesitant, but if he was still able to fuck her we wouldn’t be in this situation. Despite having an expert coach in the art of expressing feelings, I actively avoid having to overthink shit by cancelling plans with the two of them to drown my thoughts in cheap beer at the corner bar. I would rather deal with the onset of a hangover than the obvious hang-ups about banging my girlfriend. Fuck, about having a married woman labeled as my girlfriend. Make that a double fuck about having a married man as my boyfriend. God, just letting my brain roam that direction right now has me contemplating on finding an excuse to banish her from the land of Hudson this morning. Which would be a goddamn waste…especially in that dress.
“What happened?”
Gwen crosses over to join me on the couch. “He’s just in a bad mood.”
My eyebrows lift in skepticism.
She places her cup of coffee and white wristlet purse on my tiny coffee table. “He has been since yesterday.”
“Why?” I have another sip. “Because I cancelled last night?”
“No, but that damn sure didn’t help.” Her glower deepens. “He probably could’ve really used a night with you to take his mind off of shit.”
“Off of what exactly? Something go wrong at therapy?”
“He…Well….He couldn’t perform one of the exercises.”
“Doesn’t that happen? Isn’t that the point? To challenge his body?”
Gwenny rests against the arm of the couch. “It wasn’t a new exercise. It was a routine one. One he had done over and over again without trouble in the past.”
The information causes me to hum my grievances.
He probably feels like his body’s failing him. Probably feels like an even bigger failure than he did before. That’s most likely why he’s really pissed off. Can’t blame him, even if I hate the way he takes it out on Gwenny.
“He was awful after that. We didn’t even finish physical therapy. He quit the session. Demanded we get out of the pool and that I drive him home soaking wet. Every chance I tried to talk to him ended with him telling me to the shut the hell up.” Her brown eyes coat in pain. “He refused to shower when we got home. To eat dinner last night. He slept in his chair….I said good morning to him today, and he just started shouting until I was in tears.”
An urge to pummel him into the ground clashes with the one to protect him. This is the major problem with this…relationship. I get both sides of the equation. I understand his frustrations, his fears, and his…unresolved hatred for his life, while at the same time I get why Gwenny’s upset, why she’s hurt, and why she feels unloved. Originally, I never considered I might actually see both sides and not know which one to choose. I don’t want to pick whose pain gets my sympathy or whose irritations get my compassion.
“You gotta quit this shit, Gwenny.”
Her perplexed expression causes my heart to pound harshly.
“You can’t keep putting me in the middle.” I place my coffee cup beside hers. “You can’t keep crying on my shoulder and then expecting me to put him in his place for the shitty way he treats you.”
“I’m not!”
“You are,” I argue instantly. “Every time Jason’s a raging dick, I get the earful. And then because you’re my girlfriend, it’s fucking instinct to chew him out for being a jackass, but that’s not fucking right either because he’s my boyfriend.” The mixed commotion of my feelings grows more intense. “We’re supposed to be in this shit together, so I need you to stop making one of us the hero and the other the villain. I’m sure we trade off depending on who was an asshole that day, but you have to learn to be direct with whoever it is that’s pissing you off. That is the right thing to do. That is also what the Gwenny Jason raves about used to do. I’m sure at some point you taught yourself to avoid confrontation at home because it was easier for him. Because it hurts less. Because you felt obligated to. But you wanna know what Jason really misses about life in general? Being treated like a goddamn normal person. He loves the way I don’t sugar coat shit or walk on egg shells in fear of not being sensitive enough to his ‘situation’. He’s still a regular guy, Gwenny, and the sooner you start to treat him like one the better this relationship will be for all of us.”
Silence sways between the two of us during our long drawn out staring match.
Maybe I was too harsh. Probably could’ve phrased some of that shit better, but it is what it is. She’s gotta stop playing the victim, just like he’s gotta stop hating that sometimes he is.
Unexpectedly, Gwenny sits up straight, brushes her hair off her shoulder, scoots closer, and commands, “On your knees.”
Taken completely off guard, I bite, “What?”
“I taught myself to avoid certain confrontation as well as deny myself specific avenues of satisfaction. If I’m taking back control of one version of myself, why not both?”
My unhinged jaw bobs in speechlessness.
“You two need to understand I am not always at your mercy. That sometimes,” her hand winds around the edge of my tie and tugs me closer, “you’re at mine. Now on your knees, Hudson, before I make you watch instead of participate.”
What the fuck have I done? Did I just raise the badass Gwenny from the dead like some sort of Frankenstein shit?
Sliding off the couch and onto my knees, I keep my attention attached to her.
She pins me in place with a challenging expression as she inches up the edge of her dress and plants her feet on the couch. Her toned thighs spread wide exposing to me a much better option for breakfast than the coffee. I wet my lips in anticipation of tasting the cream already coating her pussy.
Gwenny drags her finger towards the spot my tongue is waiting to ravish. The digit slips through the slickness eliciting a deep feral moan from her. Jealous and enticed alike, I simply adjust my straining dick and continue waiting for my opportunity to prove I’ll do a better job than she is. The sound of her teasing her wet pussy bounces around the room as if it’s a mocking reminder of the distance between me and the place I will not be leaving until she comes twice.
Another loud moan seeps free.
Fine. Three times.
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip at the sight of one finger becoming two. My cock knocks against my dress pants in protest yet I continue to restrain myself from taking over this moment.
She’s absolutely fucking right. If this relationship is going to work, we can’t always be the ones calling the shots any more than we can always be the good guy or bad guy. Each one of us is going to cycle through all three. The hero, the villain, and the master.
Her efforts in making herself come increase. She frantically pushes her fingers in deeper, applying pressure to her clit in the process. Gwenny whimpers so profusely at the impending orgasm, that I find myself whimpering at it too. The way her fingers continuously disappear again and again threatens to have me blow my load without ever being fucking touched. Fuck, acknowledged. All of a sudden, her body bows, her toes curl, and her lips part to release the softest sigh.
Having witnessed this moment numerous times, in various places, I know exactly what is. It’s impossible to keep the sexual sternness out of my tone. “You just came on my couch.”
Gwenny’s eyes meet mine. “And you’re gonna clean it up.”
My mo
uth lunges for her pussy before the words have time to truly register. She moans my name loudly though it falls on deaf ears. Overwhelmed by sexual frustration from not being the first one to make her come in my apartment, I let resentment free with every lash of my tongue. I thrust it deep between the tense walls and curl it upwards. Gwenny tries to pry herself away from the pleasure yet my fingers flex to keep her pinned in place. Relentlessly, I rock her body against my voracious mouth, fucking her incessantly with my tongue, the way my aching cock is dying too.
She cries my name fiercely as she comes, “Hudson!”
Hearing her scream only spurs my savage movements to continue. I reposition my mouth to latch onto her clit and give the sensitive nub the harshest suck possible. In spite of her protests about not being able to handle anymore, I roll my tongue languorously around and around until her entire body shakes. Until her choked voice is practically weeping. Until her thighs tremble uncontrollably in my clutches. I lick and tug in such a ceaseless, covetous cycle that I almost can’t stop myself from coming when she does.
