by Shayne Ford
“What are you saying?”
Without a word, he walks away from me, enters the second bedroom, and slams the door in my face.
I burst in.
“What are you doing?” I ask, catching sight of the clothes he throws on the bed.
“What does it look like?”
“Where are you going?”
“Europe.”
My heart goes still.
“What?! Why?”
He gives me a side glance.
“Why the fuck not?”
“We’ll go together, anyway.”
Two big strides put him in front of me.
“From now on, we no longer do stuff together. I’m not gonna sit around and take the blame for whatever shit you throw at me. I’m sick of it, Jagger. You’ve been playing me for too long. I can’t do this anymore. She’ll come to you or... you can go back to New York and hook up with her, get a place of your own and be like everybody else. With me out of the picture people will forget. Your mom will drop it, and no one will know what the hell happened that day at the beach house. You’ll fucking have her, and she’ll have her peace of mind, and that’s fucking that.”
He spins around and pulls away, and I grab his shoulder.
“You can’t do that, Braxton.”
He yanks my hand off him and looks at me, defiant.
“Oh, yeah... I fucking can. The only thing I can no longer do, is to be so close to you, and face your suspicion. I’m sick of you not trusting me. It would’ve been so much easier had she not been with you,” he throws at me, and my blood pulls out of my face. “Do I like to fuck her? You bet. Do I care for her? I fucking do. But what I care about the most is you, and sometimes, like now, it doesn’t even serve me well. So fuck that, Jagger! Do you really think I wanted her gone because I had something to gain? No, I didn’t Not this way. You’re smarter than that. I have nothing if you get back with her or if you don’t. You’re losing your head because of her, and this is not gonna work... and you fucking know it, so it’s better if I leave.”
BRAXTON
“I don’t want you to leave,” he says serious, the panic sobering him up.
I shrug.
“Like I care. It’s over, and you fucking know it. You’re no longer the man I grew up with. I know you love her, but this is neither here nor there. There’s no pulling her to us. She’s pulling you to her whether she knows it or not. She didn’t even have to say anything, and you had already started to run in circles, getting a job and what not. You got crazy over that guy, what’s his face...? Jonas. Why? Because you wanted to offer her what he has to offer, and what her husband did. You want to give her what she’s accustomed to. Fine. There’s nothing wrong with that, but then don’t fool yourself and lie to me. You don’t want any more freedom than the sucker who’d lost it before he had it and no longer dreams about it. You want to conform, and that’s fine again, but I don’t need to be part of that story. First off, I can’t. But even if I could, I don’t want to sit around, waiting for the day when you’re gonna throw me out of your bedroom, because your sweetheart doesn’t dig threesomes anymore, or the sex becomes nothing more than a dull routine like it is for most people. I told her, and I’m saying the same thing to you. I don’t want to change. I don’t care in which part of the world I live, and how lonely I’ll be. I just don’t care anymore. But I don’t want to be like you...”
I start packing my things.
“I haven’t changed, Braxton,” he says with a soft voice, and I wonder if he truly believes this.
“Yes, you have. The sad part is that you don’t even know it.”
“I haven’t.”
“Whatever... Now if you don’t mind, can you get the hell out of my room? I need to change.”
He stays quiet.
I throw him a side glance and notice the pain flashing in his eyes. He picks up a jacket from a chair, pulls it on and walks out the door.
I hear the entrance door closing with a slam, and then the sound of a car engine revving up before silence fills the house.
Two hours later, I crash on the bed, my muscles sore from working out and swimming.
It’s close to one o’clock in the morning when I hear his car pulling in front of the house and then the main door opening, and closing.
The house goes quiet for the next fifteen minutes, and then the water runs in the shower, and a few moments later, a breeze sweeps the room as he opens the door to my bedroom.
The draperies puff slightly before they slacken and fall back.
His footsteps near the bed, the mattress dipping behind me as he lies next to me.
A scent of mint and pine trees comes to me. I stay still.
“I don’t want you to go, Braxton,” he says as if we hadn’t had the last exchange of words more than two hours ago.
“It doesn’t really matter,” I say softly. “It’s over.”
“It matters to me.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Jagger. She’s more important than me... and it’s natural to be that way. You love her, and she loves you, and I’m happy for you. You’re really lucky in that sense. If I go away, things will be so much easier. For her and you.”
“It’s not only about that,” he says, and I turn to him.
He looks different. His eyes are soft and sad. Propped on his elbow, he looks at me. The sheet covers his naked body from his waist down.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It wasn’t my intention to play with you... The truth is I need you as much as you need me. I don’t know how to explain this. I wasn’t jealous. I was nervous. I don’t know if she’s that kind of woman. I don’t know if she has the power to do that. What you expect from her is not what most women do. They don’t drop everything and chase a man around. No matter how much she loves me, I don’t think she’s that kind of woman. Maybe your gut’s telling you something else, but mine isn’t, and the truth is she’s always fought herself. This is the kind of fight that people usually lose. It’s easier to crush that voice inside you than to follow it because it usually tells you to do something stupid or to follow your heart or live a little. People would rather not do that because they know there’s a price to pay, and she knows it too. She’s already paying it. She’s wild, but not that wild. I don’t think she’s gonna leave everything behind for me. And to be honest, I probably wouldn’t if I were her. Nobody has that courage other than perhaps you...” he says and pauses, and I clench my jaw. “I know what you’ve done for me, Braxton. I’m not blind. I know you’ve followed me around, and you’ve waited for me. And I’m aware you’ve always felt as if you needed me more than I needed you, but that’s not the truth. That’s why I don’t want you to go. I’m not interested in finding out how life is without you. I know I’m different, and so are you, and if I didn’t have you, I’d be lost. You’re the only person I can truthfully reflect myself into. Without you, I wouldn’t know what’s real and what’s not. And I know you feel the same way, too. ”
He curls his fingers around my forearm, waiting for my reaction.
I stay silent.
“That’s why I was angry with you. You’d predicted she’d do something you would’ve done, but when I heard her voice, I realized she’s not you. The thing is, I don’t think she loves me as much as you do,” he says, and his eyes sparkle with emotion, and as much as I’d like to shatter his belief, I can’t.
I no longer can. Because that’s the fucking truth.
“She’ll come to you...” I say quietly.
“Maybe.”
“If not... You can always go back to her and blame it on me...”
He shakes his head.
“No, I don’t want to lie to her. And I don’t think I want to go back to New York, not for a while...”
His fingers slide up my arm.
“So... Are you staying?”
4
VIOLET
Soft and warm, the wind sweeps the tiles, rolling in through the open doors.
Barefoot, I walk i
n the middle of the chamber, the breeze playing with my summer dress, caressing my skin. Soft music echoes in the background, a faint light falling through the drapes.
I hold my breath and listen, my pulse throbbing in my ears.
The voices murmur, the soft words bouncing around the walls, secretive and indistinguishable, at times entangled with laughter.
Lead by the sounds, I reach a different room. I crack the door open and peek inside.
Floors made of polished stones stretch beneath my feet. White drapes flow in the wind, the wall open to the backyard and the sea.
As the voices go silent, a sound of heavy breathing mixed with soft moaning starts drifting through the air. I crane my neck out, and quietly swing the door open, even more.
A man’s naked body presses against the wall. I run my gaze up on him. Muscular legs, shredded abs, his hard biceps flexing and bulging.
His fingers curl around another man’s neck who stands in front of him. The dark hair of the second man brushes his hand. My eyes stall on the first man’s fingers and then his ring.
I shift my gaze up and take in their profiles as their lips almost touch.
I gasp.
Brown bangs fall into the eyes of the man who leans against the wall. His lips arch into a slow smile as the black-haired man moans again, his full, hard cock grinding against his hand.
The dark-haired man braces his elbow against the wall and starts stroking the brown-haired man’s erection too.
Their eyes get heavy with pleasure, their lips parting slightly as their heads tilt back. I’m getting wet between my legs.
The brown-haired man stretches a lazy smile as they tenderly connect their lips, soft in the beginning, and then passionately, their tongues entangling, their cheeks going hollow, their kiss so sensual and erotic, my sex pulses with pleasure.
I lick my lips, yearning to feel what they taste, and then I clench my thighs, the tension soaring through me, demanding to be released.
They breathe heavily and groan, their bodies grinding into each other, their hips rolling. The moment they break the kiss, the black-haired man drops to his knees.
A silent cry of desperation rises in me as he slides the brown-haired man’s erection between his swollen lips.
He gives him long strokes, sucking his hardness and licking his balls while the standing man slips his hands into his hair, and rocks his hips, fucking his hungry mouth.
I desperately suck in air.
“Don’t stop,” the standing man rumbles and groans, arching his back, and waving his body, thrusting.
The dark-haired man responds with a throaty growl, his fist sliding on his own erection. He takes the hard cock deeper in his mouth and starts bobbing his head faster. Their moans and growls merge in a song of lust and abandon before they both come, stroking their cocks, shooting silky, warm cum.
The dark-haired man rises to his feet, their mouths hungrily locking again, indulging on the taste.
My chest tightens, and my head starts swimming as the room begins to spin. My heart races, crazed, and then a clear voice thunders in my ear.
“He’s mine, Violet. He was always mine.”
I jolt upright and flip my eyes wide open, sucking air as if I ran the marathon. Shit. My back’s covered with sweat.
Short breaths roll out of my lungs, my heart beating so fast, a sharp pain spears through my chest.
The familiar sight of my room comes into focus, but it’s not enough to calm me down. I jump off the bed, slide the patio doors open, and let the air come in.
Bent at my waist, I wheeze and cough. It takes minutes before I properly breathe. A sliver of sun lights up the horizon.
Slowly, I drag my feet inside and check the time.
It’s only five.
Still shaking, I walk into the bathroom, peel off my pajamas and step into the shower.
A couple of hours later, I enter Rapt.
I stroll along the corridor and make a turn for my office. The nightmare sticks with me like bad flu, the vivid details coming back to me.
I toss my purse on the desk and amble to the window. Hands propped on the windowsill, I train my eyes on the nearby buildings.
A plane crosses the sky.
They must be already in Ibiza, I muse, spinning my mind trying to understand what the hell happened. I hit the same wall over and over again, unable to find an answer.
Nothing seems to make sense.
As the morning unfurls over New York City, my mind goes back to our last weekend together.
Brushing everything with the painstaking attention of a detective, I weigh every detail.
Is my subconscious trying to tell me something my mind has a hard time admitting or is my imagination producing images I long to see?
Is it both?
Would it make a difference if they fuck each other? Is it so out of the question? Are they bisexual? Sure, they can be, although I’ve never caught them looking at other men, yet the chemistry between them is real and mind-blowing.
They’re both as straight as they come when it comes to me, but they’re also highly sexual, and their minds don’t know barriers. I can’t imagine anything stopping them.
I dart to the desk and swing my laptop open.
Sifting through reference articles I had gathered to compile my material on the sperm competition topic, I find a well-researched column, written by a Ph.D. regarding sexual encounters involving one female and two males. Or more.
It turns out, competing for a female is nature’s way of pulling out all the stops, to maximize and heighten the male potency and drive in order to enhance the female’s pleasure.
Voyeurism and sperm competition increases sexual drives, basically topping a high with another high, shortening the refractory period between erections, making the males come harder, empowering and fulfilling the female, rendering her multi-orgasmic.
Add to this the emotions that have surged through us, and you have ambrosia, the food of Gods.
“You’re early.”
I flick my eyes up and slam the laptop shut.
“Yes,” I say, eating my surprise.
“What’s wrong with you?” Liv asks, smiling as she claims her favorite chair. “You look as if you haven’t slept the whole weekend.”
“I had a nightmare...”
I reopen the laptop.
“What are you working on?”
“Nothing.”
She gives me a quizzical look.
“The threesome crap,” I say, letting out a sigh of frustration, and her chest rocks with laughter.
I throw her a small smile.
“What?”
“You’re so funny sometimes.”
“It’s not funny.”
“How can you complain? You have the job. You get paid to research and write about the stuff that other people get fired for if they ogle it at work. Who wouldn’t want to start their Monday morning working on that topic?”
“Please, that’s what the nightmare was about,” I say, and she lets out more laughter.
“It’s hard work, Violet. What can I say? Were you in it?” she asks, amused.
My mouth drops open as I struggle to come up with an answer.
“The dream...”
“Oh, yeah, sort of... I wasn’t part of it, though,” I mumble, blinking more than I’d like.
A mysterious smile spreads across her lips.
“Were you?” I ask tentatively. “In a threesome?”
Blush colors her cheeks.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
She flips her finger up.
“Once. Accidentally. Too much alcohol.”
“Oh. I see. Male? Female?”
“Female.”
“How was it?”
She smiles.
“I don’t want to be part of your article.”
“You’re not... I’ll change the names,” I say.
“Violet?!”
“I’m kidding,” I say, amuse
d.
“It was okay. At the moment it felt right, but it was a one-time deal, nothing more than a party, some alcohol, and a willing man. You get the idea.”
“Did you know them?”
“The guy and I were together at that time, and she was an ex-fling of his.”
“Weren’t you jealous?”
“No, not really. She was hot. They weren’t interested in getting back together, and I wasn’t in it for the long-haul, so it worked out well for all of us. Plus, he knew us... What we wanted, and what we liked. It wasn’t one of those awkward things when participants peel off their clothing and look at each other as if they’re about to sunbathe together at the public pool.”
“Oh...” I mutter, hiding my smile.
“Anyway, that was my experience. Not really column material. So what’s new with you? Besides the record traffic for your columns.”
“Not much,” I say, setting my eyes on the screen, anticipating her next question.
“What about your man?”
“He’s no longer my man,” I murmur, and raise my eyes. “He’s gone. I don’t think he was ever mine,” I add, my voice hollow and cold.
The blood draws out of her face.
“Where is he?”
“Spain.”
“What the hell is he doing in Spain?”
“Ibiza.”
“Oh, shit.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair.
“He kicked me to the curb to go DJ-ing in Europe. And you know what the worst part is?”
“Oh, there’s a worst part, now?” she says sarcastically.
I nod.
“I think he sort of planned it that way so he could go. And he used what happened two weeks ago to put an end to it.”
“Why would he do that?”
I tell her about my last conversation with him, and how indifferent he was, and disconnected.
“Why would he tell you to go see him in Ibiza, then?”
“I don’t know... Because it’s fucking impossible?”
“Why’s that?” she asks, tipping her head to the side.
“I can’t leave my work and go chase him in Europe. It’s stupid. And for what? To spend my weekends there? To get a glimpse of the parties and the orgies he’s part of? Are you fucking kidding? I’m not that crazy to go there, and then get nightmares.”
